2012-10-09 What Family Does

Today has shaped up to be interesting, and perhaps a bit rough for Emma Frost... though hardly anything she can't handle. She'd been somewhat pleasantly surprised to get a call from the Cuckoos so soon... until, of course, she found out why. Not that she wasn't willing to help-- but anyone would prefer not to be needed in quite this fashion. Still, she'd been out the door quickly, called to have her jet prepped from the car, cheated outrageously with the airport controllers, and called to arrange for her absence from the air.

Now, she's bouncing along in the passenger seat of a large cargo truck, driven by the head of her local office's security detail-- a large ex-sergeant with a quiet voice he doesn't use all that much. She's dressed for the excursion in what she sometimes refers to her as her "White Queen ensemble": hip-hugging white pants, surprisingly practical-looking white boots, and a midriff-bearing top with an off-the-shoulders integrated cape, with a little snowflake logo centered at the deep neck. It's useful for her more adventurous undertakings, and enormously more practical than it appears due in a large part to excellent tailoring.

As they near the location, her mind starts casting out in a searching pattern, looking for... well, herself, more or less. Once she's got them and made contact, it's easy enough to guide the truck in.

The gestalt is managing to keep all their charges in line and watered--if not fed--and the entire group hidden. That's all it can do. It took the last of the help the ghosts had to offer to contact Emma. They don't know anyone else they can trust with the strength it takes to help.

Inside the natatorium of an abandoned school, the three girls sit at the end of the empty swimming pool and at their feet sit rows of mutants and a few humans. Their eyes are closed, they're very still. Their bodies are cold and at the end of their endurance.

Emma gestures to her ride as she slides out of the truck, and he stumps off to the back of the truck. There's some unpalatable but nutritious military rations and some scratchy blankets back there. Best her people could do on the extremely short notice given. Emma, meanwhile, sweeps in, walking up the row towards the girls. As she sweeps along, her mind weaves through the girls' charges, taking stock of what all needs to be dealt with in a sort of dispassionate clinical fashion-- not unlike doing triage.

When Emma reaches the trio, she decides that the most expedient course is to glide her mind right up against the edge of theirs. It's not exactly insistent or invasive, more supportive, and she attempts to pull some of the load off their minds to start with.

The gestalt is trained to work in concert. It's effective at demonstrating to Emma exactly what it's done and how it's holding everything together. They've done a good job, if an ethically questionable one, of controlling the minds of the mutants--separating higher function from the brainstem and stifling pain and fear--and directing the minds of the soldiers.

For their part, the girls themselves are almost ghosts in their own right, a soft murmur of persona on the fringes of the icy gestalt. The gestalt allows Emma to take over some of the load, informing her of which cases need the most attention, but even once the pressure is off the iciness of the whole remains. It's a nearly emotionless thing, knowing only the slightest flutter of anger and the cold heat of pain.

It is also definitely broken. It is easy like this to see that while the girls have learned to fill in most of the gaps, there should be more to the whole. The absences are the source of the anger and the pain.

After a moment's thought to mull it over, Emma reaches forward and touches the outermost girls, hands resting feather-light on-- Esme and Phoebe, she discovers-- and leans forward to lightly lean her forehead against the third-- Sofie-- in the center. She hadn't bothered them for their names before but it couldn't be missed at this point.

It's a somewhat terrifying prospect-- she's always been just herself and more than a bit of an island, completely herself, self-possessed and woe betide anyone infringing on that self. And the Gestalt is... intimidating. Familiar, but intimidating. Like herself on her worst days, in some ways. But there is a job to do, and Emma lets herself weave into them, and then her mind reaches behind her, starting to skillfully unravel the mess made of the consciousnesses in the room. Normally, a procedure like this would take... much longer. But the girls have been in contact with these people and have a lot of information available... and the things done to the mutants were not precisely subtle.

The gestalt is distantly pleased at the efficacy of the new alliance. Emma has the same surgical precision that they do only with a different skillset. They catch on very quickly, as though they were working with their hands over hers as she played piano. The gestalt is an avid learner, incredibly curious--voracious even. Knowledge is survival, as far as the girls are concerned.

Once the gestalt gains competence, the work goes faster. As Emma is integrated into the gestalt, she gains the benefits of their expanded intellect, their multifaceted awareness, and their tirelessness. She can also hear their ghosts, though for the moment the ghosts are helpful, the two lost girls are luminous figures patrolling the edge of the gestalt consciousness to watch for danger.

Clearly, Emma missed out by not cloning herself before someone else could. The girls are fast learners, and Emma is actually quite an excellent teacher, especially in this telepathic space. She has a lot of time fast-learning, so she knows exactly how to present the skills for fast absorption. And while being a part of what is essentially four of herself is awkward and strange at first... it doesn't take long for it to become comfortable and even nearly natural.

The work goes quickly with them all working together like this, and Emma's employee soon appears with a handtruck full of rations and blankets to start moving people to the truck. Merrick, Emma identifies him as an aside, with a mental tone of trust overlaid, though she doesn't go into detail. She seems confident about offloading the mutants from their combined control and letting him deal with them as they finish tending to each in turn.

Eventually, of course, they run out of people needing attention. Emma couldn't say how long it's taken or how eerie it must be to see from the outside. Time starts to distort when one spends this much time working others' minds. She doesn't pull away from them immediately, either, instead pulling them into a sort of mental embrace where she can gently check on how they've weathered the ordeal in a sort of maternal-fussing kind of way.

The gestalt is somewhat nonplussed by being hugged and fussed over so much, on any level, but especially because it's specifically maternal. Sometimes Laura checks them over, or Remy fusses a little bit, but it's not like this.

The gestalt, and the girls in it, are suddenly awkward and torn as to whether or not they like this or want to invite more of it or what it will mean if they accept. Emma's mind is full of ideas that have no place in their world. The girls have no context at all for this kind of familial affection--they don't have an understanding of themselves as 'sisters', either, they are simply 'one'. Their reaction isn't rejection at all, only confusion and a bit of fear.

For her part, Emma seems to understand that well enough-- or is capable of managing to. She doesn't try and teach them what they're missing, either. She probably could, since she has the sorts of memories that provide the context, but it isn't really the way she thinks the girls should be handled.

So instead, she leaves it at a mild amount of fussing, letting her mind pay a little attention to each individually as well as the whole. Much of it is a certain amount of curiosity wanting to know them better now that she's experienced them in gestalt... but it's a restrained curiosity. And there's other things there, too. Warmth, of course, and a sense of pride that might seem odd to other people. Her light exploratory touch reaches past the trio as well, to touch the ghosts, and there's a sort of supportive, understanding sadness coloring her thoughts. |"Such strong, brave girls,"| she finally comments with an unmistakable sense of bittersweet pride, and takes an offered blanket to wrap around the three of them. |"I think it is time to leave this place."|


 * "Will our people be well?"| For all that the gestalt was ruthless in culling those who couldn't be saved and dominating the minds of their charges, it still worries. It did what it had to for the good of those it could help, and it did so in order to protect the mutants who had been so badly used. The gestalt is pragmatic but the girls within it are anxious about abandoning something for which they've taken responsibility.


 * "Yes. Our company in this area will help them, as much as they wish to be helped. The humans... they will find more humanitarian pursuits and become useful members of society. We will help them with that as well,"| Emma replies with approval, unable to keep the collective leanings out of her thoughts after spending time joined like that. She-- gently-- stands and offers her hands to draw them to her feet. Truck's just about ready to head out, waiting on the four of them to pile in the back. |"You've done extremely well."|


 * "Thank you."| The gestalt is somewhat unsteady now, fragmenting along the lines of the girls' selves as cold and exhaustion take over. |"It was right."| A thing that is right is rare in the world. The girls don't shy away from them, ever. They let others help them to the truck. More than twenty-four hours without food, water, or shelter has taken a toll on their bodies. It's too easy for the gestalt to lock out the physical--a flaw deliberately cultivated by a program that saw them as disposable, if expensive.


 * "It was,"| Emma agrees, and gets them up into a comfortable spot in the back. The cab would be a little crowded for five. Perhaps surprisingly to the people who think they know her, Emma elects to ride in back with them, signalling Merrick to get the truck moving after she closes the doors. The truck lurches, bounces... it's not the best ride, but it gets the job done. Better with the extra weight, too.

Emma settles down by the girls, another of the scratchy grey blankets around her shoulders, and hands them ration bars from the boxes brought in the truck. |"You three should eat,"| she advises. |"And sleep. I can keep watch for you-- you've earned some rest,"| Emma adds, sensing that keeping-watch is an important consideration for them.


 * "We always keep watch."| The girls give Emma the impression of sliding in and out of sleep, sharing sleep, their minds so intertwined that all manage to sleep without sleeping at the same time. More interesting, they sometimes nap in the day without anyone knowing, as the gestalt takes over a body so the mind can rest. |"But thank you for offering."|

The girls are curled up together, sharing warmth, eating and feeding each other ration bars, sharing water. |"We are grateful that you came."|

The response is a gentle hand petting Phoebe's hair. It's not a random choice of the three of them, though Emma knows they'll all experience the gesture to some degree. |"It is what family does,"| Emma explains simply. And maybe they aren't quite family, exactly. But then again they are in some ways, even if they didn't really pick it. Whatever, the sentiment is what it is. |"But I'm glad you asked me. It was unexpected, but welcome."| She remains close by, but not infringing on their space. They'll need some room, even if she hasn't withdrawn her mental contact entirely.

The girls settle but are still out of sorts, worried about Remy. Now that the gestalt is slowly letting go, they have a little energy left to argue with each other--vehemently, in spite of being tired--over the choice to send him away.

Sophie is adamant that it was the only choice, as he was hurt and she didn't trust the gestalt entirely to take care of him, which is not to say she's not worried. Esme is furious with her for the decision, because now they have no idea where he is and he's very hard to find even when they're close. Phoebe is upset because her sisters are fighting and she's worried about Remy.

The argument is so fast and so ferocious, it's nearly impossible to follow anything except the background emotions driving it. Underneath, Sophie is just as upset as her sisters, but she can't simply give in to her own feelings about things. Though the chaos is somewhat shielded, Emma can hardly miss it. Three strong minds in one space, under stress, make for some difficult moments.

Emma is surprised, to put it lightly. Of all the things to do at this juncture in their condition, a squirrely catfight breaking out is about the last thing she'd have expected to filter out from them. She lets them have it for a bit, waiting to see if they'll work it out on their own before she hazards to interfere. She's not really sure about doing so, given her own opinions about outside interference. Truthfully, she's a little worried at the backlash potential involved.

After some thought, she decides to wait them out until it's died down to a dull roar and they've worn the argument out, before she speaks up. It can't go completely unremarked. |"That was quite something,"| she notes, a little blandly. |"May I ask what, exactly, has you all so upset?"| Because she couldn't hope to miss the root cause of the flurry.


 * "They're angry because we made Remy go home,"| Sophie says wearily. |"It was the right choice. They're just tired."| They're all tired. |"He's hard to find even when we're not tired,"| Esme adds. |"He takes care of us,"| Phoebe murmurs.

Emma gives Sofie's shoulder a supportive pat. It's hard being nominally in charge of a bunch of... them. |"I wouldn't worry. I'm sure he can take care of himself. He'll turn up."| She may not know Remy, but she can be terribly confident even with no real reason to be. It's a gift. |"Remind me to thank him sometime."|


 * "Remy is always nice to us,"| Phoebe says. |"He takes care of us even though he thinks he's a bad person."|


 * "He is a bad person,"| Esme points out, snuggling down in Sophie's arms. |"By some standards, but so are we."|

Sophie just cuddles her sisters and puts her cheek on Phoebe's hair. She's exhausted, as the one who stayed most awake on the flight over.


 * "We're okay with being bad by those standards,"| she says at last. |"We're good people by ours. The world can be grateful for it or get out of the way."|


 * "Human standards are fairly awful,"| Emma agrees, and she just seems terribly happy to hear the girls saying what she's always felt herself. Idly, she wonders if it's genetic. Interesting implications, there. |"You can't trust anyone else's standards anyway. Though understanding their beliefs is dreadfully useful, so it has its place."|


 * "Those who sacrifice, earn privilege,"| Sophie says in that tone that says she's speaking for them all, even though the others have drifted off. |"Sebastian understands that."| She's fairly sure that Remy does, too.

Emma smirks a bit at that. |"Yes, I suppose he does,"| she allows. |"Sacrifice has its place. And its limitations. But I take your meaning."| She doesn't' disagree. She's done it herself as much as any of them. the topic has raise some mild concern-- Sofie can probably tell. But she can also tell that Emma doesn't think it needs to be raised, mild as it is. |"Will you be flying back with me? Not that I am in any particular rush, mind."|

Sophie nods. |"We would like that. We must return to Gotham."| She shares with Emma an image--though not the location--of the interior of a utilitarian building, an old machine shop perhaps, converted to living space and training facility. It's shabby but clean without being sterile, lived in and well-used, with randomly placed sleeping areas, a few pieces of beautiful artwork, stacks of cash, precious gems, weapons, and other curios scattered like toys. A lean, scruffy, infinitely disreputable-looking young man with odd eyes is in the kitchen, cooking and laughing at someone--Sophie, it seems. |"We want to go home."|

It's clear Emma has some mixed feelings about it, but also clear that she's trying not to show it. Strangely, it's on her face more than her mind. But she nods, and runs her fingers through Sophie's hair. |"I don't blame you. There's a jet waiting for us. Quiet, comfortable, relatively fast. Decidedly uncrowded,"| she replies instead. |"I'm sure it will be no surprise that I was going to offer a bed for a night, but Gotham is just as manageable."| Not her kind of town-- these days-- but in her younger days it would have been different and in the girls' shoes even different yet.

It's obvious from the girls' emotions that they just want to get 'home' and home is that place or, perhaps, any place where they can keep in touch--actual touch--with 'their people'. They already feel lost, this far from their friends and their familiar places. They like the safety of Gotham's shadows and crime, being able to burrow into the layers of grit and humanity until they disappear.

It's strange to them to want to go home so much, but it's where they're most safe. They've come to rely on friends as some small safety assurance against being hunted. If they could fly themselves, tired as they are, they would fly back to Gotham instead of waiting for a plane. |"Thank you."|

It's a set of sentiments that Emma can actually understand very well, as much as it doesn't seem like someone with her sort of life should. She doesn't reply so much, except by patting Sofie again, and a short time later the truck finally stops bouncing. Emma stands, and offers a hand. "Come on, then. The flight isn't going to get any shorter. We can trust Merrick to get these people settled properly."

The girls don't want to wake up, but they manage. Like children, they stumble sleepily onto the plane. They don't pay it much mind, they collapse into their seats and cling to one another. When they're this tired, how young they are shows in their faces and their body languages.

Emma is not immune, however other people might think she is. Special circumstances, for that matter. The young lady that serves as the plane's sole permanent flight attendant is surprised by the trio-- and their resemblance to her employer-- but this is not the weirdest thing that's ever been on the plane, and she's professional. Emma helps the girls onto what turns out to be not so much a seat as a couch, tucking them into the aft-most corner together with a far-less-scratchy blanket tucked around them. Each gets a warm hand petting across their hair as they get fully settled. |"Rest now, little ones,"| comes the quiet, unbidden thought.

Emma straightens, moves across the cabin to one of a pair of plush leather chairs bolted to the deck, and opens a book. With her mind sort of keeping a vague eye on the trio and their two more ephemeral sisters, they might be able to pick up the background noise of a sort of quiet, musical mental humming while Emma reads.