2013.07.20 - Parting gifts

The sky is overcast, but there isn't any rain. Not yet, anyway. Besides, near the equator, the grey won't linger, cast off by the winds as it's wont to be. The people of Hammer Bay move through the streets, and one or two look back at the walls of Bastion before continuing their business of the day.

Kurt's days in Genosha are numbered. If anything, he's in last days, and there are a few last things to be done before he departs. One of those is to stop in one of the varied stalls, to pick up a few things. Not really necessary things, mind, but it's a gesture to add to the coffers of a mutant struggling to make ends meet.

Kurt's got a ragdoll made of brightly coloured rags with button eyes, and artwork painted on flat, polished stone.

Olena doesn't prowl the market in her guise as Strilka, today. That's not to say she's not armed. It's just to say she's not obviously armed. No giant bow on her back or bristling quiver full of arrows. No combat leathers -- though the biker ensemble she prefers when not in 'uniform' makes the distinction somewhat moot.

The archer, Magneto's hunting hound and Mystique's right hand, is restless, today. It's notable, perhaps, however, that she's not the sort to lash out indiscriminately, just because she's got pent up energy. Instead, like Nightcrawler, she merely wanders the market, occasionally bartering or buying something that takes her fancy.

The young woman doesn't have the anonymity she once had in this port. She's done too much here -- though many see her as a hero, here. Not a villain. That suits her, somehow.

Her steps slow as the faintest scent of brimstone reaches her across the square. The teleporter doesn't need to use his power for the scent to cling to his fur and thus be free to waft on the wind to a nose sensitive enough to pick it out of the myriad of other, somewhat more overpowering smells. After all, the brimstone and fur are familiar to her, now.

Idly, the archer's footsteps lead her toward the booth the former X-Man patronizes.

Truth be told, even other mutants aren't always that keen on Nightcrawler's appearance. He does resemble the demon of old; but he's got the benefit of looking distinctly like the matriarch of the island. The Queen? The Imperatress. That doesn't stop the occasional passerby from crossing themselves in proof against demons, of course. And in response, Kurt acknowledges it with a dip of his head before those featureless yellow eyes take in the life of the market.

A familiar form comes into view in his periphery, and there seems to be no desire to hide her presence. As a result, Kurt slows in his step until he reaches a fruit stand. There, he pauses and turns to wait.

"Guten Tag, fraulein."

Olena remembers Mass from when she was a child. Even a teenager. She hasn't set foot in a church in years, however. And she's not so inclined to believe that true demons look noticeably different from anyone else.

Besides. She's heard the blue 'demon' preach.

"Guten Tag, mein herr," the Ukrainian replies, her German accented but passable. Indeed, she's more fluent in it than she is in English -- though her English is slowly improving.

She holds up a hand lightly, a wry smile touching. "I am not stalking you," she continues in German, nonetheless. "Or even monitoring you. I am just out for a walk." A beat. "Like you, I imagine?"

"If if you were monitoring me, I would imagine you would be a great deal more stealthy." Here, Kurt smiles and continues in German. "If you were stalking me, again, I don't think I would see you. Or the attempt would be there at the very least." If the elf sees any tails, he's usually disinclined to mention it. He simply *bamfs* away.

A soft exhale sounds, a casual one, and the smile remains now, though within, there's mixed something of a wistfulness. "Ja. I'm going home so I thought I would take the final walks around. Purchase a few things," here, he holds up the ragdoll.

Twisting around subtly, Kurt's gaze moves back to the archer, and his tail twitches even as the corners of his mouth twitch up in amusement, "Are you sure you're not my mother, und the real Olena is on the roof somewhere?"

Olena actually chuckles at that. "A fair question," she replies, expression hovering the line between amused and almost-but-not-quite apologetic. She's not actually sorry for anything. But, his suspicion is understandable. She flips a hand lightly. "I expect your mother is around somewhere. She is disinclined, I think, to leave you entirely to your own devices." That's not telling tales out of school. That's just bald common knowledge. "But, I assure you. I am not her." A beat. "Not this time, anyway."

Whether or not he accepts her assurance? It doesn't really bother her either way.

She regards the ragdoll. "It's cute. To whom will you give that?" She doesn't really think he's the ragdoll type, himself.

"She's not."

The voice comes from a passerby shopper, some punk guy with a healthy amount of piercings in more than just his ears. Dark, muddy green hair covers his head, the figure tall and lanky with tattoos covering almost all of the left side of his body. At first.

In about a second flat that skin bleeds cobalt. Height is dropped. A bony frame fleshes out with what many would consider to be the stereotypically perfect womanly form. Green hair becomes fiery red. Brown eyes become solid yellow.

The change is accompanied by a soft murmur of surprise from the others. A gasp here, a whispered "It's her..!" from another. Truly, Mystique has allowed her reputation to flourish around Genosha. The dark, wicked smile about her suggests that she knows all of this acutely well.

"But I am."

"There have been more than a few embarrassing situations," Kurt admits. "Normally, Mother is good about letting me know." After she's had her bit of fun, that is.

"I know she doesn't like to leave me to my own devices. I like to believe that it's because she doesn't normally get the chance to see me." Here, the fuzzy blue elf smiles again, "That is the optimist side of me." He's not stupid, however.

Holding the doll up, Kurt looks at the brightly coloured creation and cants his head. "I was thinking about giving it to my daughter but.." There is a long moment before he holds out the doll. "Would you like it? It's not something one would buy for oneself, but as a gift? A gift from the idealistic fuzzy blue elf." He more than aware that back, in the chamber, most held him with contempt. No matter.

Mystique's appearance brings Kurt's attention around, the ragdoll still offered in hand. The smile doesn't fade, though he does catch the whispers and murmurs from the crowd. The metamorph certainly does like to make an entrance, so Kurt's beginning to believe? "Mother.. I knew you must have been around somewhere."

Strilka didn't hold him with contempt in the chamber. Nor anytime she's met him -- aside from that very first time in New York. She was angrier then.

The young woman, the very same age as his time-trapped daughter, in fact, takes the doll for a moment, regarding it. She runs a pair of fingers over its raggedy hair, the corners of her lips curling up ever-so-slightly, her eyes softening just a little bit... until Mystique reveals herself. Though most of her expression doesn't, actually change -- her smile remains -- the gentling of her eyes the doll had brought fades entirely, a sharp, unreadable focus chasing it away. "No," she replies to Kurt, returning the doll to him. "You should give it to your daughter. But, thank you." And it's hard to tell if the courtesy is genuine or merely formality.

The whispers of the crowd aren't lost on Olena, either. But, she's come to expect them. She tails the Matriarch often enough that she factors in those responses when reading the crowd. It's the ones that don't murmur in shock and awe that she pays closest attention.

She gives the blue metamorph a simple nod in greeting -- not so much a genuflection as a formal acknowledgment -- and falls silent, now.

"Usually," Mystique agrees with Kurt with no loss of bemusement. "Sometimes it's also fun to keep him on his toes. He is right, though. Opportunities to share time with him are far too few."

It's also not every week that he stops by to where she happens to work. She has to make sure that he's seeing everything under the most appropriate of lighting. How she wants him to see it. Perhaps some day he will be ready to accept the full, unaltered truth. Until then, she will continue to be his mother.

That, and something of a guardian towards Olena. When the gift ends up being rejected she quietly makes her way around to Olena's side, lightly taking her by the shoulders. She's familiar enough with the archress's past to piece things together for herself. "There is no need to close yourself off, dear. Everyone should be allowed a proper childhood, regardless of when such a moment may be cherished." Also, don't be concerned about accepting gifts from the metamorph's son. She couldn't be more pleased than to see these two become friends. Olena may well provide enough weight to Mystique's argument that Kurt might finally join their struggle. First, it would appear that she needs to convince Olena that it's okay to truly be herself within the Imperatress's presence.

Kurt does catch the softening of the eyes, the moment where the girl inside that construct is seen. That makes the elf smile, and he shakes his head slowly, not wanting the doll back and disinclined to taking it. "Please, fraulein, take it," is murmured. "Und if there comes a day, then I give you permission to give it to a child that needs comfort."

Mystique's presence brings Kurt's posture up a little, the tip of his tail still twitching. "That is an understatement, mother. Keeping me on my toes?" He chuffs a laugh softly, more breath than laugh. "There are still some of my friends that want to ask you out on a date, I'm certain." Like -that- would ever be encouraged by the fuzzy blue mutant!

His mother's encouragement to Olena is met with a quirk to his head, his brows rising on a shadowed face. "Please?"

Olena's no fool. She's been watching. Learning. She's fully aware that Mystique is a worthy mentor, and fully trustworthy as a trainer. But, she's equally aware of many -- though by no means all or even most -- of the games the metamorph plays... and that she is as expendable as anyone else, as far as both Mystique and Magneto are concerned. It's something she can live with, for the greater good of the Cause. But it's not something to which she's in any way blind.

Therefore, revealing too much is dangerous. Not, mind, that she's truly under any illusion of privacy. She knows the telepaths that regularly sweep the island for threats against the newly acknowledged Imperator. And she knows Mystique already knows most of her weaknesses. So, perhaps the doll is a little thing, after all.

She glances between two pairs of yellow eyes, Mystique's hands a gentle weight on her shoulders. Her acquiescence comes in the form of a brief, oblique cant of her head, and a soft exhale as she slips the doll into her pocket.

"Danke."

On the contrary. For as evil as Mystique may be seen by many (and very likely a terrorist to a large degree,) there's so much more to her than such. It isn't an exaggeration to think of her as the mother of Genosha, she genuinely cares about her fellow mutants. Sure, sometimes they really are expendable, though always for the greater good of their kind. She does wish to see them grow, become strong, and succeed. Olena's no exception, particularly in how the morph's grown to be fond of the other woman. Before the Brotherhood, this wayward mutant has not had a pleasant life.

She would much sooner sacrifice Omega Red than she would Strilka. Arkady's had his time with life, nothing will ever bring him back to a more sane mind. The very definition of a lost cause.

When the gift is accepted there's nothing but warmth in Mystique's smile, giving the other woman's shoulders a gentle squeeze. It's okay, really it is! Yes, she'll send her out to turn some folks into pincushions down the road, but still!

After having tormented Logan the other night it's nice to start today out on a lazy note.

Kurt's dip of his head, and accompanying smile is added to his, "Bitte schon." His tail wraps idly around the merchant booth's tarp pole, and he looks now beyond to the other stalls. "It's nice to see that people are trying to make a living now. To make a life for themselves," he observes, "Reminds me of home. In the different sections of the city. Each community looking for their voice, und inviting others in to celebrate with them for their festivals und happy events."

Looking back at Olena, his brows rise, "Have you ever seen a St. Gennaro's feast celebration in Little Italy? Or, perhaps, New Years in Chinatown?" He smiles now, "You should. There is a time for reflection, but there is always time for celebrating life."

Olena shakes her head, now, still speaking in German -- because it's still easier than English. "No. Most of what I saw in New York was..." She completes the sentence with an off-hand shrug. Let's face it: Most of the girl's time was spent running from the mob, gunning for the mob, or hijacking Sentinels. Otherwise, she was working at the now flattened MAC.

Priorities.

"Perhaps I will see it some other time I am there." Genosha is now her home, however. Even if she visits New York again, home will always be here in Hammer Bay. It's certainly not in Ukraine.

Saint Gennaro's... That reminds Mystique of something. While Kurt is distracted for the moment she retrieves something out of a pocket of the tiger camo pants she's opted for with this morph (the commando look helps to keep morale strong amongst the others, and not just because she happens to look good in it.)

Not a word is given as she comes to stand beside Kurt, taking him by the arm nearest to her until she can close her five fingered hands around his three fingered one.

And drop something into his palm.

She closes his fingers around the thin chain and pendant then lets him go, looking around at the market as though nothing were amiss. (She's just being protective of these two. If anyone's foolish enough to tarnish this moment for her...)

Effortlessly switching to German as well, she says to Olena "You are always welcome to visit anywhere that you wish. We have our own travel network here, free of charge." To their mutants.

There is absolutely no problem with Kurt continuing the conversation in German. "When you come to New York, go to St. Patrick's und look for Father Mike. He will tell me that someone is looking for me." It's one of the easiest. Though?

Kurt's smile turns lopsided, "Or, you could call me." There is a moment, and he leans ever so slightly, "Did that sound like I was trying to hit on you? Because if it did?" He lets the thought linger before he looks theatrically back to his mother and clears his throat.

"You'd like the Feasts. The Italians eat. A lot."

Mystique's move to stand beside him brings his attention around, and those bright yellow eyes follow her motions. As her hand slips into his, he squeezes it as if it was the most natural thing for him to do- he's got his mother's hand, and for a moment, as he feels the slight weight of the chain and pendant, those brows rise once again, shrouded in shadow as they are. She releases his hand soon after, leaving behind his gift, and those three fingers take the measure of that which is left behind.

"You have teleporters then, mother? I think we are becoming a dime a dozen."

Indeed, the Brotherhood have teleporters. And telepaths. And many other mutants with useful skills that contribute to the good of the whole. Most of them, however, aren't truly fighters. So, the Brotherhood's fighting strength isn't, perhaps, quite as numerous as the UN might fear. Then again, with the powerhouse that is Magneto... it really doesn't matter.

Olena glances to Mystique as she makes mention of the travel network. She gives a small smile and a light nod. "Ja. Danke." She's aware. And has taken advantage of it once or twice. Truthfully, though, before she spends any amount of time in NYC, she wants to spend a few days in Kiev. And, perhaps, Kalush. Though for very different reasons.

As Kurt hits on her, however, she blinks owlishly, leaving off all thoughts of travel. Instead, she takes a step back. Oh, it has nothing to do with his appearance. It has everything to do with the fact that the girl wouldn't know how to flirt if her life depended on it. That, and he's Mystique's son.

He's waaaaaaay off-limits for any number of reasons.

Her eyes remain a trifle wide, nostrils flared slightly, ears rising in an almost doe-like fashion... a doe that scents the wolves.

"Perhaps some other time..."

"A few," Mystique replies. "Enough to get by with." There's something about her tone which might suggest she feels that no one could replace Kurt for that ability, but extenuating circumstances... She'll take what she can get, and lesser 'porters are better than none.

Besides, she's too amused with the flirting game that's taking place before her. She doubts that this one will get anywhere useful but she approves of the attempt.

Sure enough, it falls short. In some things she might be happy to correct Olena, that it really is okay with Mystique (such as with the doll.) With this matter, she's not going to step in at all.

Besides, didn't Kurt already have a ladyfriend or two? Didn't she try to brutally murder one of them? She's still alive, isn't she? If not Mystique would be sorely disappointed such a pleasure did not fall upon her, as it should have. Though, it would still appear that Kurt is definitely a product of his real parents, and not just her.

Fending off any impending awkwardness, she inclines her head slightly toward Kurt's yet closed hand. "Do you remember the cathedral we had toured the other day?" Well, she got him a little memento from the place. Something that isn't normally sold there, either. She's not going to mention that part.

If Kurt actually thought about it, mutants specifically trained in their abilities is a rare thing. One may know their own gifts, certainly, and rudimentary understanding and application, of course. But to be skilled in the nuances really does require training, and in some cases, years, under an experienced guide. The blue bamfer's teleportation, as a result, is so much more.. varied than the simple progression from point A to point B.

Olena's recoil, a response that is so very familiar to the elf regardless of reason, is met with a sunny smile. Instead of pressing, the teleporter simply offers an abbreviated flourished bow. "I am certain Mother will give you my number."

In many respects, Kurt really doesn't fall far from the tree. There are things that he's done- recently even, that he'd never admit out loud that so echoed his mother and father at his birth. And then there is the fact that he does like girls, and is the consummate flirt. Not so much recently, mind. He's quite happy in his situation, but it never hurts to flex.

Now, as Mother references his hand, Kurt takes it as tacit permission to lift it so it can be seen rather than waiting when he's alone. He does so, and allows the chain to flow through his fingers as he holds the medallion.

St. Michael.

The patron saint for those on the front lines. Armed Services. Those that would go into harm's way for the protection of others.

The elf stands there, silent, starting at it before he nods slowly, "I--" and he clears his throat after the rough, first start. "I do, ja." He has to pause another moment before, "It is very thoughtful, mother."

Olena relaxes... a little. At the very least, she shoves her hands into her pockets, as the island's blue bloods have their meaningful family moment. Her head turns a quarter inch, briefly, as her fist jams up against the doll. She'd momentarily forgotten it was there. Her fingers wrap around its torso, squeezing it lightly.

She falls back into comfortable patterns, now, remaining silent. Watching.

St. Michael means very little to her.

Okay, Mystique might be willing to part with Kurt's number. But, only if Olena truly wanted it. Right now, that desire isn't there. There's awkwardness in spades. Some day she will come out of her shell. In her own time.

Kurt's reaction is, as predicted, adorable. She leans in closer, an arm around his shoulders as she kisses the top of his head. She did say that she liked to keep him on his toes, after all. The warning had been right there from the beginning.

"Have a safe return, Nightcrawler."

For now, she's interfered enough. Soon he will be gone, as will she. There is much left to do.

For a second, it's almost like they're mother and son! Really! Years of absence between them filled in that moment in time. Kurt gets a properly doofy look on his face as he mother gives him a kiss, the smile turning lopsided again. At least she doesn't try to wipe off lipstick with the most successful of cleaners, mother spit.

"I will, Mother. I appreciate all the aid you've given me here." From the opening of the databases of Humanity First, to the guided tour of the caldera, and all those points in between.

"When I get back, I'll need to stay put to get all my information, but then.." Here, his smile shows fangs, "I will be racking up the frequent flier miles around the globe. Und, if I'm lucky, join the mile high club?"