2013.07.09 - Talk with Father Wagner

It is remarkably not feeling like 'birds in a gilded cage'. Welcomes have been made and hospitality offered, and accepted. It's actually more than Kurt had imagined, but now? Well.. the elf has a lot of thinking to do.

Strolling around the suite offered, Kurt's picking at food set out on a tray; exotic fruits from Africa, flatbreads, meats, cheeses.. things one doesn't find easily in New York City. He's dressed 'down', jeans and a t-shirt, thanks to the equatorial warmth, his tail dropped and simply hanging behind him.

Piling on the fruit and cheese into his hand, he's popping a small chunk of cheese that didn't fit into his mouth as he walks thoughtfully towards the window, yellow eyes looking out on the holdings below.

Appropriately, it would seem, something happens in what is known as the Spire, which towers over Bastion in superiority. It happens the moment Kurt arrives to look out of the window. From windows in the uppermost levels, bright flashes of purple, blue, and then white begin, as if a tiny star had just erupted inside of the building. At one point, even, a blast of bright white energy lashes through the very rooftop of the spire and goes soaring off into the evening sky.

It's a spectacle, to be sure.

Not more than ten minutes later, from out of the evening sky comes a plume of black smoke. It bursts through the window, slipping through what cracks may be available if it is in fact closed, and forms up into Kwabena Odame. It would seem his street clothes have been discarded somehow, and he wears his X-Men uniform, sans insignia of course.

"Kurt," he breathes. "I apologize for intahruppting so suddenly." His chest heaves and falls, and he has the look of a man winded by something fantastic and terrible all at once.

Clearly, Kwabena is troubled.

The 'fireworks', well.. the chances are better than good that the mutants here aren't celebrating the Fourth of July. Kurt can't turn away from the light display, however, the brightly lit colours an amazing backdrop to the evening.

The elf lingers at the window, the food in his hand forgotten, though the last remnants of cheese are worried out of fangs distractedly. Yellow eyes look for a hint of what could have just transpired, and gazing down to the streets below, there's no rapidly deploying force moving. Or would they have teleporters for that?

Mutants, after all.

The black smoke has some form to it, even in its formless shape, and it's something that Kurt's growing accustomed to. Familiarity is an important thing in order to anticipate, obviously. And the blue, fuzzy mutant isn't so complacent that he's not keeping a weathered eye on his friend. They're here for a purpose. That hasn't been forgotten.

Stepping aside as the black smoke enters via the window, and the moment Shift forms, the elf reaches out to serve as a physical anchor in case his friend needs the support with three-fingered hands. "Mein freund.. are you alright?" The concern is evident in his tones, in his manner and mien. "What happened? You're in your.." Uniform. Minus the identifiers, that is. That, in itself, is cause for his complete attention.

While winded, there is a certain vigor that seems to exist in Kwabena. A good description might be that of man drunk, but under the influence of amphetamines at once. Even though that's not the case, it's certainly something to be unexpected. Anxiety, worry, and excitement all seem to roll off him at once. It doesn't even take a telepath to see it.

"I always wear it," he explains through heavy breaths. Which makes sense, in a way. His unique, matter-shifting abilities would otherwise have a tendency to result in unfortunate wardrobe accidents.

Which means, of course, that something did happen.

For a brief moment, Kwabena looks around at Kurt's quarters, making sure that they are alone. During this time he regains some control over his breathing, and finally turns back toward Kurt. His mismatched eyes meet the teleporter's pupilless yellow, and an earnest urgency takes hold. He reaches out to put both hands on the mutant's furry shoulders and says, quietly, "I came here. I didn't know where else to go. Something... has happened."

Kurt doesn't drop his hold on his friend, the support firm and assured. He watches, studies his friend as Kwa regains his composure and equilibrium. That he's excited, the elf has no doubt. The jury is still out on 'good' or 'bad' however.

That is cleared up for fuzzy blue bamfer, however, as the heartbeats pass and his friend finds a little more quiet. "Kwa, mein freund.. what has happened?" Was the lightshow him? Was there a fight?

The words, however, sends something of a chill up his spine, and Kurt is ready for action, those featureless yellow eyes looking into his friend's mismatched, looking for a hint as to their next move. "Do we have to leave? I'm ready.." and his tail swings up, as if on cue, ready to bamf them out.

"Tell me what happened." That way, Kurt will know what to look for at their departure. "Did you find the information you were looking for--?" and all hell is going to break out?

Kwabena is close to spilling everything. However, when Kurt mentions leaving, he clamps his mouth shut, and a look of alarm passes over him. Yes, there may be telepaths about. Leaving might be in their best interest.

"How fah can you take us?" he asks. "I need to be far away from here."

The tone of his voice suggests that no, neither of them are in danger, but rather, his concerns are of a personal nature.

The reaction gained from his suggestion, well.. it's expected in his own keyed up state. After all, it's not often that his friend appears to him like this!

The intensity in Kwa's tones manages to give the elf a little concern, and, remarkably, a little peace. It's not the let's bug out sound. It's more of a yeah, let's go sound to that tenor.

"Take a deep breath, mein freund. Und, don't mind the smell. You'll get used to it quickly. But, I will warn you.. we won't have much time."

Oh, they'll be far from Genosha. Far.. far away.

BAMF!

When next the pair appear out of the bamf, it's not anywhere truly recognizable as being.. on earth, much less the shores of Africa. Kurt has a range, after all. And this?

It's desolate. The skies above are a sickly green, crisscrossed with pale yellow and blue streaks of lightning- cloud to cloud. It's a dim, dismal place. Rocks and rock formations are everywhere, and the soil is red and barren.

If it helps, Kurt isn't concerned as to where they've landed?

With a vigorous nod of his head, Kwabena prepares for the impending teleportation by closing his eyes and trying to steady himself.

The disorientation grips him when they arrive. Stepping away, Kwabena pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand to still the nausea, and reaches out with the other into the air to regain his balance. "Thank..." he begins to say.

Then, he opens his eyes.

Shock and awe take him by surprise. The African looks about with his mouth wide open, observing the otherworldly wasteland they have appeared in. "Wh... where are we?" he stammers. "Dis is not Africa!"

Brimstone. Sulfurous stench permeates the 'air'. It's a dismal place, to be sure.

Kurt straightens and looks about with those glowing yellow eyes, and he seems.. oddly familiar with the place. Not only that, but perhaps there's an air about him that makes the blue teleporter look natural with the backdrop. If one is willing to believe the whispers that Kurt is part demon, that is.

"This is Hell, mein freund. It is the realm through which I bamf. I learned how to stop mid-way.. but it is not a place I like to remain for long. The hellhounds will know I am here very soon, und will come."

Pointing to an outcropping of rocks, Kurt reaches out to take hold of his friend. "There.. und then, tell me what has happened."

As if this evening couldn't get any more fantastic.

Growing up in Ghana, Kwabena naturally had a heavy Christian influence in his upbringing. Following Kurt's words, the African murmurs a few choice words, and perhaps a prayer or two, under his breath in the native language of Dagme.

With Kurt's words taken to heart, Kwabena moves over toward the outcropping and sits down. There are a few moments where the intense fear and paranoia grip him, but soon enough, he finds the courage to speak.

Turning back to Kurt, he says, "You ah nevah short on sahprizes, Kurt." Taking a breath, he tries very hard to ignore the brevity of where they are, which is difficult given the constant reminder in the air.

"I had some few words with Erik. Magneto." He corrects himself with a hand motion. "He showed me a greatah level of my powahs." There is a pause, for it is all still so fresh in the young man's mind. "I am... capable of forming black holes... or, on de oddah end..." He looks up to meet Kurt's eyes.

"I can burn with de heat of de sun."

A haunted look comes over Kwabena, though deep within, there is a growing danger he simply cannot deny.

Greed. The seed that spawns a lust for power. Perhaps Hell only serves to feed it, make it stronger, but it's there, in the way he looks off toward the horizon.

Kurt pulls his crucifix from beneath his shirt both in gesture for his friend, and, well.. as proof against evil. He'd given Domino one too when she was here, and shifting, he pulls his rosary from his pocket to hand it over. "It isn't bad to have. I won't explode to bits if you decide upon a Hail Mary." He smiles then, showing fang, "I like surprising people."

Taking a seat, Kurt perches on a stone, his attention firmly set upon his friend as the explanation comes. "He did.." What? There's a touch of the disbelief, but not.. dismissive. More of an awe. "How did he?"

Those glowing yellow eyes widen as he catches implications, and as the rest of it comes out, Kurt does resort to making the sign of the cross. "How? Why..? Und.. Kwabena. This sounds too much like the Phoenix. Jean was barely able to contain it. It took her over, und.." Well, Jean'd has been spending a great deal of time apologizing for her perceived transgressions.

"Look at me, mein freund. This isn't something perhaps that should be opened, ja? Magneto.." Here, Kurt sounds something of an angry note, "He should not have done that to you."

It had been a very long time since Kwabena had actually said a prayer. Those utterances were gestures, patterns of an upbringing that was hard to destroy. When he is actually presented with the artifacts, however, it becomes much more real to him. He sits and considers them for a moment, considering for the first time in a very long while whether he truly believes.

"It's plasma," he explains. "An excited state of my gaseous form. Superheated, ionized gas. He showed me how to accept it, control it, use it." He listens carefully to the comparison made to Jean's struggled with the Phoenix, and nods his head in silent understanding.

Playing with fire, one tends to get burned.

Looking up at Kurt again, he frowns. "But it has been opened." He leans forward a bit, hunger dancing in his eyes. "My one true weakness, weapons of enahrgy. If I harness did powah, dey will no longah pose a risk."

Stopping himself short, Kwabena blinks, realizing just what was happening. He tucks the crucifix a bit tighter in his hand, curling his fingers about it in a protective manner. "Now I face an even greatah challenge," he admits. "Doing dis... it has most likely destroyed de nanites placed into me by Victah Von Doom. Now dat dey are gone..." Now that they are gone, no longer injecting him with the opiates Doom had designed to keep him on a short leash, he would need a fix.

Soon.

"De withdrawal symptoms will come. Quickly."

To ask the blue elf, God is never far, and never departs. It's people that move away from Him. And this, Kurt knows firsthand as he is having his own crisis. It's not that he doesn't believe, no. That's not it. It's his own actions that is creating that divide, and for that, he's going to need his own priest.

Thankfully, Hell isn't drawing him in that way, though he does feel its energy deep in his soul. It calls him. It would be his own weakness to succumb.

Kurt kisses the crucifix that hangs displayed around his neck before he puts it away, and his forearms rest upon his knees as he crouch/perches on his rock. Those glowing yellow eyes stare into Kwa's mixed, trying to peer into the man's soul. Not that he has that power of discernment, but he knows men's souls.. his own included when met with the potential of all encompassing power.

"Why must you accept it, Kwa? Part of you, ja.. but it has no power over you. The pull of power that wants to claim you? To make you invincible? Und then what? Even Superman has a weakness. Is it so bad to be mortal? To be human?" Kurt shakes his head, his words coming intensely. "You would eventually cease to be.. who und what you are. Like the Phoenix, you would eventually become corrupted.. to believe that you are above men. I know, mein freund."

Now, for effect, Kurt bares his fangs, shifting his face such that a good portion of it is encased in shadow, those glowing yellow eyes taking on a potentially more sinister look in it all. The spade-tipped tail whips around, and his voice lowers, "We all have our demons, mein freund.. und some things are better left buried. To acknowledge them is one thing. To use them, und to grow in them is something else indeed."

It's something that Kurt would not ever continue, allowing the part demon of him to come fully out. It's something he, too, fights when he's here and when he's in Limbo. Perhaps it's why he feels he understands Illyana. Reaching out with a three-fingered hand again, this gesture is one of genuine compassion. "What is it that needs to be done? Do you need to let it ride, und you will be cleansed? If that is the case, now that things have happened, Jean may be your only recourse for safety."

With absolute certainty, Kwabena is listening. His soul may be tempted--by power, by the compassionate words of a wise man--but he knows, or at least believes, that no man or woman is truly invincible.

He listens, and watches, as Kurt lets such a transformation take place. The African even goes so far as to draw the crucifix closer to him, clutching it as if it were a shield to his own--albeit diminished--faith. In the end, he simply appears, for lack of a better word, haunted.

"I am not sure," he answers in a whisper. "I will go as long as I can, I will do whatevah I must to survive, but... I cannot answah dat. Doom may be a liah, and I hope he is, for oddahwise, I fear dat even a mind like dat of Reed Richards won't be able to help me. Not dis time."

Kwabena shakes his head then, and disregards his own concerns for the time being. "I will talk with Jean," he offers. "I must. And I must hurry. Dere is an opportunity here, or rathah, in Genosha, but I'm afraid I must trust only her with dat decision." He then levels his gaze upon Kurt, frowning.

"Something else troubles you," he surmises, now giving his friend the opportunity to share his own troubles.

Such a thing, should Kurt ever turn to that dark side of his, would serve to turn him. HE believes. There, deep in the elf's soul, is that tacit and constant presence. What is done, however, is simply for a show. That the blue, fuzzy mutant is made of many, many different levels. And not all of them nice.

"You should ask Jean," Kurt begins again, his words soft. "Und this power that was shown to you? Forswear it. For your good, mein freund." His smile comes, and it, too, is genuine, just as his reaching to make physical contact with the African. "Genosha is a place where a mutant's dreams can come true, but I am not convinced that there isn't a darker side." And now? The smile fades, though the compassion on the fuzzy face doesn't diminish. "Leave. Go home to Westchester." Home. "I will be fine. I will be headed to Africa, und Mother will be accompanying me. Keep in touch with me, und I will tell you where I am when you are ready?"

As for his own issues now? Kurt shakes his head, and rises from his perch on the red rock. "It is nothing that I cannot solve by spending some time on my knees. Bastion's church is gone, but Hammer Bay's still stands."

Again, the three-fingered hand is held out, and his voice is low. "I can take you back to the boat. Go.. ja?"

It is a great favor to ask a mutant, to ignore a part of one's self, and though there were not many people that Kwabena had come to truly trust, Kurt was one of those few. He does not commit any agreement, not verbally, and not visually. He does, however, tuck the crucifix away inside one of his uniform's pouches.

"I agree," he says, in regard to Kurt's opinion of Genosha. "And it is dat which troubles me most." It's the part of it that drives him to want to stay--to actually go so far as to spy on Magneto and Genosha. This is a truth he maintains to himself, however. Not because he does not trust Kurt, but because he suspects that Magneto may have telepaths in his company.

Which is why he must leave the decision up to Jean Grey.

A slow and earnest nod is granted. There is nothing more that needs to be said. Not in this unsettling place. Rising from the brimstone beneath him, Kwabena reaches out for Kurt's hand.

"Lets go."

Kurt knows what it is he asks of his friend. He not only knows but truly understands. It's not a day that passes that he lives it.

Yellow eyes watch as the crucifix is put away. The rosary. One of those things that one never forgets; the meaning of the bit of jewelry is immediately understood.

Faith. Grounding.

"I would guess that there would be no issue with your re-" In the distance now, there comes the howl of a hound. But, the sound travels farther in the fetid air, and there is a decided.. unnaturalness to it. Infernal. Just in case anyone's forgotten quite where they are.

Looking up and towards the sound, those yellow eyes fix at a point in the distance. It lingers only for a couple of heartbeats before Kurt looks back to his friend and smiles. "Time to go."

In the next breath, Hell disappears, and with the familiar sound of *bamf* to herald their arrival, the pair land in the boat that is anchored off the Bay. It's not long before the smell of brimstone and sulfur dissipates. "Here?"

At the sound, Kwabena's skin begins to crawl. "Yes," he breathes. "Please, get me out of dis place!"

He grabs hold fervently.

Once the world has settled around him and his nose is assaulted by the welcome familiarity of saltwater, he breathes a sigh of relief. "Saltwatah and brine. Much bettah dan fiah and brimstone."

He looks about for a moment, then moves to retrieve something from one of the boat's many compartments. It is one of the smallest, most discreet X-Comm communicators. He turns and offers it to Kurt.

"An extra," he says quietly. "In case you lose de oddah one."

There is a brief moment of sadness, for in that moment, Kwabena wonders how long it might be before he sees his friend again.

The moment passes, but not without its bitterness. He turns about, looking out toward the open sea and the thin line of coastline beyond. It is the continent that holds his home, and a place he's not been in many years.

"Yes," he answers. "I'll know where to go from here."