Log: Three trainees, Monday morning
Apr. 11th, 2005 03:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsDoug, Marie-Ange, and Cain are all working on trainee assignments, when Cain decides it's about time that his future teammates get brought up to speed on certain bits of Need-To-Know information.
The meeting room that had been unoffically designated for trainee use
had started out with the standard desks and chairs that the rest of
the meeting rooms were furnished with.
This lasted only long enough for Marie-Ange to cart down a box of
colored pencils and markers and a used drafting table from the art
room. And then for Doug to replace the standard computer with one of
the high-powered laptops that he had customized.
The addition of the extra-large, reinforced desk chair came as no
surprise. Even if Marie-Ange found it faintly silly looking, it made
sense. And it was far less silly looking than the mental image of Mr.
Marko trying to cram himself into one of the normal sized chairs.
"What are we supposed to be doing with this report?" Marie-Ange
pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"Look at the before- and after-action reviews and compare it to the
training records," Cain replied, unfolding himself from where he'd
been leaning against the wall. "See here, where the AAR talks about
Jetstream flying a cloverleaf recon pattern to draw attention away
from Dazzler and Cable on the ground? How many hours did they spend on
that in the Danger Room?" Just like training new recruits, Cain
thought as he eased into his chair. "Think it's a confidence thing -
show us how the training stuff actually works."
It was definitely hard to get used to thinking of some of the X-Men in
terms of their code names. But then, Doug supposed he was predisposed
towards formality, so he tended to think in terms of "Mr. al-Rashid"
instead of "Jetstream". Alison was a little different, but that was
because she'd leaned on Doug endlessly to stop calling her "Ms.
Blaire".
Doug chuckled wryly at a thought. "If that's the case, maybe they
need to come up with a training program for Cable and Jetstream. 'How
to not land yourself in the Medlab after every mission'." He flipped
through reports that were sitting in front of him. "I mean, it's like
the Michael Caine-Gene Hackman theory. Seems like one or the other of
them is always coming back injured from a mission."
"If you have an idea, smartass, I'm sure Cyclops would love to hear
it," Cain muttered, glaring at Doug. Slowly, his glare turned into a
smile, and he clapped the young man on the back. "Just screwin' with
you, kid. Hey, we've been looking at these for a few days now - why
don't you two put the reports away for a few minutes? Something I've
been meaning to talk to you two about."
Cain looked back and forth between Marie-Ange and Doug, pondering how
to say what he needed. They're good kids, he reminded himself.
They have to find out sooner or later.
Marie-Ange watched Cain carefully. Other than the one detention she'd
had last spring, she couldn't remember having much more than a few
short conversations with him. Which meant this was probably going to
be about that Sauron thing. Maybe she'd run that joke just a -little-
too far.
Folding his hands on the desk between them, Cain looked down for a
moment, then glanced up at his two fellow trainees. "You guys are
serious about this X-Men stuff. I ain't going to try and give you some
big lecture about how you're not ready, or not mature enough, or not
thinking it through. I'd be a hypocrite if I did, seein' as I'm
sitting in here with you. And Summers and the others think you've got
what it takes, or you wouldn't be here. What I can tell you," he
continued slowly, "is how bad it can get."
He ran a large hand through his hair, trying to find the words he'd
been practicing over and over. "You guys have seen some pretty intense
shit these past two years. Stuff most kids your age won't ever see.
But when you finish this training, you put on that uniform, you're
putting your lives on the line for what you believe in. Me? I can stop
a bullet. You," he looked right at Doug as he spoke, "can't. But... I
ain't got no grasp for talking to people like you can. I can't do what
you can do," he said, nodding to Angie. "We're going to be X-Men, part
of a team. Watching each others' backs. I ain't talking to you now as
staff to student here. When the suits go on, we're a team. That's
gonna mean trusting each other." He took a deep breath. "And that
means telling you some things about me that you oughta know."
Doug set aside the files he had in front of him and turned to face
Cain more completely. From the serious tone of his voice and the way
he was fidgeting, this was serious. Which couldn't be easy for the
big man. He tried to put a reassuring expression on his face and sat
quietly, waiting for Cain to marshal his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Cain looked across the table. "You guys know I
had a bit of an accident back before Christmas. Messed me up but good.
Docs have given me a clean bill of health, but it's changed a few
things with me, with the stuff I do. Before, I didn't need to eat,
breathe, sleep, shave, none of that. Now I do. Doc Moira figures it's
because I've started aging again." He paused to let that sink in, then
continued. "It was back in the mid-sixties when I stopped. I'll save
you the time of doin' the math. Last month was my sixty-fifth
birthday."
For a moment, all Marie-Ange could do was stare at her hands and try
to do the math. If Mr. Marko was sixty-five, that meant he was born
in.. "Nineteen forty? You were born.. before the Professor?" He was
older than Nathan, older than Mr. Wisdom. And oddly, it seemed to
make sense. It certain explained a few of the gruffer comments that he
had made to her classmates from time to time.
Cain barked out a laugh. "He's got two and a half years on me. He
always was a bit of a runt, though. He was older, I was bigger, so
everyone always assumed he was the younger one of us." Seeing the
brief look of confusion, Cain tried a smile, but it came out as more
of a grimace. This part wasn't easy to talk about.
"Back when I was six years old, my mom died. My dad remarried a widow
of a colleague of his, so I got a stepmom and an older stepbrother in
the deal. Moved into the big house and everything. This house. My dad
was Kurt Marko, his new wife was Sharon Marko. Formerly Sharon Xavier,
widow of Brian Xavier and mother of Charles. In short, the Professor's
my stepbrother. When I talk about this place being my home, that's
what I mean by it," Cain explained. "It's my home. That's why
I'll do whatever's needed to keep it safe."
He leaned back in his chair. "So now you're in the loop. Rest of the
staff was told when I got here two Thanksgivings ago, I asked them to
keep it quiet. As you may have guessed, Chuck and I don't get along
all the time, and I ain't about to have that bandied around. Any
questions?"
Doug was trying to be blase about the whole thing. He really was.
After all, this was Xaviers', the place where really wacky stuff
happened on a regular basis. But still, the idea that Mr. Marko was
actually sixty-five years old was a little hard to believe.
"You...ah...carry your age well," he said somewhat lamely, with a wry
smile on his face.
Cain snorted at that, flexing his arm dramatically. "I do, don't I?
They still won't let me eat off the seniors' menu at Denny's, though.
But that brings me to another point. Before I got here to Xavier's, I
did... a bit of wandering for a while. And I think you," he pointed at
Doug with a conspiratorial smile, "know what I'm talking about. Moira
told me about the research you did for her. And yeah, you were right
on the button there. That's also something that I don't really need
getting out, either."
Doug's eyes widened as he remembered his research on Cyttorak for
Doctor Mactaggart, and the urban legend websites, and their mention of
a 'human juggernaut' that matched the dimensions of Mr. Marko. "So
that really _was_ you?" he asked somewhat incredulously. "Um...maybe
you'd better start at the beginning," he said, attempting to connect
all of the unconnected dots in his head.
Cain kicked his feet up on another desk, leaning back in the chair.
"Vietnam's where it started. I was there, in the Marine Corps. Shit
happened and to make a long story short, I woke up fifteen years later
in a military hospital where they'd been poking and prodding at me,
trying to figure out why this regular joe sergeant of theirs was
suddenly the size of a truck and invulnerable. I decided I didn't want
to stick around, and went for a walk. For about, oh, seventeen years.
Then came that day, you know, the Big Headache?" Cain rubbed his
forehead in remembrance of the sudden migraine-like agony that had
been the only pain he'd felt in decades. "Something got poked in my
brain, told me it was time to come home. So I did."
He stopped there, distinctly deciding not to relate the details of how
he'd walked onto an air force base and started throwing planes around
until he'd gotten arrested and paroled to Xavier's under house arrest.
That story didn't need to be told, he figured.
"The big red eye.." Marie-Ange offered quietly. "The one I kept
seeing? And the red skeleton, and the living anger? That was what
happened to you in Vietnam?" She shook her head slowly. "And when you
were hurt, I stopped seeing them quite the same way. So now you are
aging like you should have been?"
"Exactly," Cain replied. "The anger's a... side effect, I guess you
could say. One that's not really a factor anymore since this last
December. So," he folded his hands and leaned back towards the other
trainees. "That's the story, I figure you guys deserve to know. When
we put these uniforms on, it ain't Mr. Marko, or Doug, or Angie
anymore. We're part of a team, and some day, that's gonna be a life or
death difference. For that team to work, there's gotta be trust. So
I'm trusting you two with this. You've earned it."
Doug nodded slowly. This was a big thing to trust a pair of students
with, but like Cain had said, when they put the uniforms on, they
wouldn't be a pair of students and the sixty-five-year-old
groundskeeper anymore. Still, it was definitely heavy. "Thanks," he
replied simply, at a loss for anything else to say.
Cain shrugged. "Ain't no big thing. Time's gonna come when you're
going to be out in the field, and you're gonna have to trust that
someone's got your back. May as well establish that early on, I say."
It seemed far bigger to Marie-Ange than Mr. Marko was making it. That
he was the Professor's brother, and nearly old enough to be a
grandfather, that was important. And explained so very much about some
of the things she'd seen. "This is, I think it is called "need to
know" only, yes? So only the staff and one or two others know?"
"Need to know, yeah, something like that," Cain agreed. "And now you
do. Now that's out of the way," he leaned forward across the desk,
spreading out papers. "We got homework. Dazzler wants us to come up
with maneuvers appropriate to these published scenarios. Now, I'm
thinking that if we take some of the flyers through here..."
As the three of them bantered ideas back and forth, Cain smiled. They
were kids, sure. Definitely not soldiers. But they were going to be
something else, that was for certain. He wasn't sure what it was, but
for the moment, "team" would do.
The meeting room that had been unoffically designated for trainee use
had started out with the standard desks and chairs that the rest of
the meeting rooms were furnished with.
This lasted only long enough for Marie-Ange to cart down a box of
colored pencils and markers and a used drafting table from the art
room. And then for Doug to replace the standard computer with one of
the high-powered laptops that he had customized.
The addition of the extra-large, reinforced desk chair came as no
surprise. Even if Marie-Ange found it faintly silly looking, it made
sense. And it was far less silly looking than the mental image of Mr.
Marko trying to cram himself into one of the normal sized chairs.
"What are we supposed to be doing with this report?" Marie-Ange
pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"Look at the before- and after-action reviews and compare it to the
training records," Cain replied, unfolding himself from where he'd
been leaning against the wall. "See here, where the AAR talks about
Jetstream flying a cloverleaf recon pattern to draw attention away
from Dazzler and Cable on the ground? How many hours did they spend on
that in the Danger Room?" Just like training new recruits, Cain
thought as he eased into his chair. "Think it's a confidence thing -
show us how the training stuff actually works."
It was definitely hard to get used to thinking of some of the X-Men in
terms of their code names. But then, Doug supposed he was predisposed
towards formality, so he tended to think in terms of "Mr. al-Rashid"
instead of "Jetstream". Alison was a little different, but that was
because she'd leaned on Doug endlessly to stop calling her "Ms.
Blaire".
Doug chuckled wryly at a thought. "If that's the case, maybe they
need to come up with a training program for Cable and Jetstream. 'How
to not land yourself in the Medlab after every mission'." He flipped
through reports that were sitting in front of him. "I mean, it's like
the Michael Caine-Gene Hackman theory. Seems like one or the other of
them is always coming back injured from a mission."
"If you have an idea, smartass, I'm sure Cyclops would love to hear
it," Cain muttered, glaring at Doug. Slowly, his glare turned into a
smile, and he clapped the young man on the back. "Just screwin' with
you, kid. Hey, we've been looking at these for a few days now - why
don't you two put the reports away for a few minutes? Something I've
been meaning to talk to you two about."
Cain looked back and forth between Marie-Ange and Doug, pondering how
to say what he needed. They're good kids, he reminded himself.
They have to find out sooner or later.
Marie-Ange watched Cain carefully. Other than the one detention she'd
had last spring, she couldn't remember having much more than a few
short conversations with him. Which meant this was probably going to
be about that Sauron thing. Maybe she'd run that joke just a -little-
too far.
Folding his hands on the desk between them, Cain looked down for a
moment, then glanced up at his two fellow trainees. "You guys are
serious about this X-Men stuff. I ain't going to try and give you some
big lecture about how you're not ready, or not mature enough, or not
thinking it through. I'd be a hypocrite if I did, seein' as I'm
sitting in here with you. And Summers and the others think you've got
what it takes, or you wouldn't be here. What I can tell you," he
continued slowly, "is how bad it can get."
He ran a large hand through his hair, trying to find the words he'd
been practicing over and over. "You guys have seen some pretty intense
shit these past two years. Stuff most kids your age won't ever see.
But when you finish this training, you put on that uniform, you're
putting your lives on the line for what you believe in. Me? I can stop
a bullet. You," he looked right at Doug as he spoke, "can't. But... I
ain't got no grasp for talking to people like you can. I can't do what
you can do," he said, nodding to Angie. "We're going to be X-Men, part
of a team. Watching each others' backs. I ain't talking to you now as
staff to student here. When the suits go on, we're a team. That's
gonna mean trusting each other." He took a deep breath. "And that
means telling you some things about me that you oughta know."
Doug set aside the files he had in front of him and turned to face
Cain more completely. From the serious tone of his voice and the way
he was fidgeting, this was serious. Which couldn't be easy for the
big man. He tried to put a reassuring expression on his face and sat
quietly, waiting for Cain to marshal his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Cain looked across the table. "You guys know I
had a bit of an accident back before Christmas. Messed me up but good.
Docs have given me a clean bill of health, but it's changed a few
things with me, with the stuff I do. Before, I didn't need to eat,
breathe, sleep, shave, none of that. Now I do. Doc Moira figures it's
because I've started aging again." He paused to let that sink in, then
continued. "It was back in the mid-sixties when I stopped. I'll save
you the time of doin' the math. Last month was my sixty-fifth
birthday."
For a moment, all Marie-Ange could do was stare at her hands and try
to do the math. If Mr. Marko was sixty-five, that meant he was born
in.. "Nineteen forty? You were born.. before the Professor?" He was
older than Nathan, older than Mr. Wisdom. And oddly, it seemed to
make sense. It certain explained a few of the gruffer comments that he
had made to her classmates from time to time.
Cain barked out a laugh. "He's got two and a half years on me. He
always was a bit of a runt, though. He was older, I was bigger, so
everyone always assumed he was the younger one of us." Seeing the
brief look of confusion, Cain tried a smile, but it came out as more
of a grimace. This part wasn't easy to talk about.
"Back when I was six years old, my mom died. My dad remarried a widow
of a colleague of his, so I got a stepmom and an older stepbrother in
the deal. Moved into the big house and everything. This house. My dad
was Kurt Marko, his new wife was Sharon Marko. Formerly Sharon Xavier,
widow of Brian Xavier and mother of Charles. In short, the Professor's
my stepbrother. When I talk about this place being my home, that's
what I mean by it," Cain explained. "It's my home. That's why
I'll do whatever's needed to keep it safe."
He leaned back in his chair. "So now you're in the loop. Rest of the
staff was told when I got here two Thanksgivings ago, I asked them to
keep it quiet. As you may have guessed, Chuck and I don't get along
all the time, and I ain't about to have that bandied around. Any
questions?"
Doug was trying to be blase about the whole thing. He really was.
After all, this was Xaviers', the place where really wacky stuff
happened on a regular basis. But still, the idea that Mr. Marko was
actually sixty-five years old was a little hard to believe.
"You...ah...carry your age well," he said somewhat lamely, with a wry
smile on his face.
Cain snorted at that, flexing his arm dramatically. "I do, don't I?
They still won't let me eat off the seniors' menu at Denny's, though.
But that brings me to another point. Before I got here to Xavier's, I
did... a bit of wandering for a while. And I think you," he pointed at
Doug with a conspiratorial smile, "know what I'm talking about. Moira
told me about the research you did for her. And yeah, you were right
on the button there. That's also something that I don't really need
getting out, either."
Doug's eyes widened as he remembered his research on Cyttorak for
Doctor Mactaggart, and the urban legend websites, and their mention of
a 'human juggernaut' that matched the dimensions of Mr. Marko. "So
that really _was_ you?" he asked somewhat incredulously. "Um...maybe
you'd better start at the beginning," he said, attempting to connect
all of the unconnected dots in his head.
Cain kicked his feet up on another desk, leaning back in the chair.
"Vietnam's where it started. I was there, in the Marine Corps. Shit
happened and to make a long story short, I woke up fifteen years later
in a military hospital where they'd been poking and prodding at me,
trying to figure out why this regular joe sergeant of theirs was
suddenly the size of a truck and invulnerable. I decided I didn't want
to stick around, and went for a walk. For about, oh, seventeen years.
Then came that day, you know, the Big Headache?" Cain rubbed his
forehead in remembrance of the sudden migraine-like agony that had
been the only pain he'd felt in decades. "Something got poked in my
brain, told me it was time to come home. So I did."
He stopped there, distinctly deciding not to relate the details of how
he'd walked onto an air force base and started throwing planes around
until he'd gotten arrested and paroled to Xavier's under house arrest.
That story didn't need to be told, he figured.
"The big red eye.." Marie-Ange offered quietly. "The one I kept
seeing? And the red skeleton, and the living anger? That was what
happened to you in Vietnam?" She shook her head slowly. "And when you
were hurt, I stopped seeing them quite the same way. So now you are
aging like you should have been?"
"Exactly," Cain replied. "The anger's a... side effect, I guess you
could say. One that's not really a factor anymore since this last
December. So," he folded his hands and leaned back towards the other
trainees. "That's the story, I figure you guys deserve to know. When
we put these uniforms on, it ain't Mr. Marko, or Doug, or Angie
anymore. We're part of a team, and some day, that's gonna be a life or
death difference. For that team to work, there's gotta be trust. So
I'm trusting you two with this. You've earned it."
Doug nodded slowly. This was a big thing to trust a pair of students
with, but like Cain had said, when they put the uniforms on, they
wouldn't be a pair of students and the sixty-five-year-old
groundskeeper anymore. Still, it was definitely heavy. "Thanks," he
replied simply, at a loss for anything else to say.
Cain shrugged. "Ain't no big thing. Time's gonna come when you're
going to be out in the field, and you're gonna have to trust that
someone's got your back. May as well establish that early on, I say."
It seemed far bigger to Marie-Ange than Mr. Marko was making it. That
he was the Professor's brother, and nearly old enough to be a
grandfather, that was important. And explained so very much about some
of the things she'd seen. "This is, I think it is called "need to
know" only, yes? So only the staff and one or two others know?"
"Need to know, yeah, something like that," Cain agreed. "And now you
do. Now that's out of the way," he leaned forward across the desk,
spreading out papers. "We got homework. Dazzler wants us to come up
with maneuvers appropriate to these published scenarios. Now, I'm
thinking that if we take some of the flyers through here..."
As the three of them bantered ideas back and forth, Cain smiled. They
were kids, sure. Definitely not soldiers. But they were going to be
something else, that was for certain. He wasn't sure what it was, but
for the moment, "team" would do.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 08:29 pm (UTC)need to come up with a training program for Cable and Jetstream. 'How
to not land yourself in the Medlab after every mission'." He flipped
through reports that were sitting in front of him. "I mean, it's like
the Michael Caine-Gene Hackman theory. Seems like one or the other of
them is always coming back injured from a mission."
Oooh. Death. Deeeeath.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:17 pm (UTC)Seriously, Nate's gotten really paranoid about whether or not this means he's gotten sloppy (hence the rant to Jack). I need to find a way to explore that a little more in-log without making Anyone out to be the bad guy. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:28 pm (UTC)I am curious as to how Nate would go about the whole Worst Person in the World (feeling) thing, though.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:43 pm (UTC)...oh dear. We seem to have hijacked this post. I loved the log, guys. It's been nice to see Cain a little less grr these days; this was just awesome.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 11:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-12 02:36 pm (UTC)