2013.03.13 - Confessions and Sins

During the weekday at St Patrick's Cathedral, those that come are heavier on the actual communicants rather than tourists. Granted, there are those who take the trip just to say they'd received absolution from the priests at New York's grand cathedral.

And then there's Kurt Wagner. He lives outside of town, but prefers St Patrick's. If asked, he'd say that it reminds him of the churches of home. So the blue, fuzzy practicing Catholic makes his trips in.

Now seated in the confessional, Kurt has his rosary in hand, and is on his knees waiting. It's been a little while, and a great deal has happened in the meantime. In a way, he's back to that 'nervousness' that some feel.

After all.. its go and sin no more. But for him? He knows he's weak...

Good things come to those who wait. Or so they say. Father Mike eventually makes his appearance, gently closing the door behind him and taking a seat. A moment later and the panel separating the two booths slides open, the man's familiar voice pitched low for privacy. His head remains cast downward and to the side, avoiding eye contact beyond an initial glance. This is about listening and communication rather than accusation. Presumably. Typically.

"Tell me your sins, my son."

Kurt is fingering the beads upon his rosary; the waiting is always the hardest part. That, and it's always a toss-up as to which priest comes to hear.

"The sound of Fr Mike's voice brings something of a relieved sigh, and he begins the rite easily, falling into the comfort of a two thousand year old ritual.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession, and in the meantime, I have committed the sins of lust, of selfishness, and have given into the desires of my more base of instincts." He went native! "I was present in a matter where my inaction could have caused lives.. and while I did what I could, I couldn't do enough."

Oh, my. Someone's been a busy little mutant over the last couple of months. It's less about asking for further detail and more about figuring out where the heck to -start.- Diving right into the personal stuff wouldn't be a good idea, best to start with where the purest form of guilt lies. "Tell me more of this inaction, what was the cost?"

Ease into things, start light and end deep. Here is a mutant who is bearing his soul, laying everything on the line for Father Mike to bear witness to. It's not a time to be insensitive.

Too much.

Kurt looks down where he kneels, and shakes his head briefly. "Father, would I be a murderer if I took a life to prevent deaths?" Police do it all the time, but who knows how it weighs on their souls.

I have worked hostage situations," plural, "where while they lived, innocents died, or could have." Church in the Bronx. Boston school. Bangkok. "I would not take a life, though a couple of times, I wanted to."

Oh, drat. Sometimes, being a parental figure really stinks. Father Mike listens to all of this, so many thoughts rushing into his thoughts. "To some, you would be labeled as such. To others, you would be a hero. A savior. These things you must decide for yourself, though know that the Lord is watching over you and will guide you towards making the right decisions."

Pause.

"Besides. Some people have it coming to them."

The Father silently focuses upon you through the small, ornate wooden grate separating the two booths, a faint grin starting to edge onto his face. "Tell me now of this lust that you have been feeling? It sounds delicious."

There, guidance comes in the form of trusting in the Lord. Kurt nods his head, and his fingers begin to fuss with the beads once again. He's waiting for his penance, what he has to perform when the priest continues..

'Some people have it...'

What?

Yellow eyes rise, and he gives it little thought- after all, there's no doubt that Fr Mike knows who is on his confessional by now. It's that next bit that catches him, and those glowing eyes narrow.

Kurt's voice is canted low now, and he sounds a surprised note. "Who.." Beat. "..mother?"

It's true about being a parental figure. The only issue here is that it isn't Father Mike on the other end of the booth. He shifts within the wooden box, arms folding behind his head as he managing to plant a foot against the thin ledge lining the outside of the window. Awfully limber..for a man of the cloth...

"Oh please. Do your 'Hail Mary's' and get your head out from under your tail, dear. Now come on, you're avoiding the confession."

It's finished with an idle, amused smirk, Father Mike's eyes shifting into the glowing, pupil-less yellow orbs of Mother Darkholme.

Kurt looks like he's ready to gain his feet, as he comes from the kneeling bench. 'Mutter.." he begins again, and lowers his voice so nit to be overheard. "It is none of your business.. " is hissed.

"Why can't you call und we go have lunch somewhere like other mothers?'

That smirk remains in place as Father Mike flickers and shifts until there's a blue-skinned redhead sitting behind the wall, still in the same position as before. "Where would the fun be in that? We aren't normal kinds of people, sweetheart. For a furry blue guy that hides in the shadows and teleports like other people drink coffee, you should already understand this."

Mystique shifts position, silently lowering her foot and leaning nice and close to the grate with her elbows propped upon the ledge and her fingers knitted together to create a basket for her jaw. It seems as though you have her complete, undivided attention, for a time.

"How's the arm?"

"Just once I would like a little normal."

Kurt doesn't rise to his feet, buvt rather, he leans back and sighs softly. At the question, he flexes his hand automatically. "It is well. The doctors said it might ache into my old age, however." And the woman he was holding on to didn't fare anywhere near as well.

He's puzzled now, though. The last time he saw his mother was at the bar. His timing.. memory is off. "Should I ask if you have been keeping yourself busy?"

"Normal's overrated. Still you have not fully embraced yourself."

It only further works in Mysti's favor that you don't ask her directly about how she knew about your arm. That's one more day that she gets to ride out being a slightly less horrible mother, though she already had an excuse lined up just in case.

"When do I not?" she simply asks, not expecting you to know the answer. She may not know a whole lot about what's happening in your life but she knows with certainty that you know even less about hers. "There's a lot of wayward mutants out there that need our help. I'm just doing my part."

When she's not busy killing a few of them just to make a point.

It's a gentle sigh which comes next, a look of concern passing through one set of yellow eyes. "I still worry that those people you're hanging out with aren't taking as good of care of you as they should be. Now you may get to look forward to an ache in your arm, what kind of help is that? That's sub-standard healthcare, if you ask me."

Kurt chuffs a small laugh, and he's not very proud of himself. "I have considered going native, mother." Nothing like embracing his inner demon!

"My friends treat me fine. My healthcare takes good care of me." Unless, of course, it doesn't.

His voice drops, "Though my bamf is not doing well. It is only partially returned to me after some.." A week of IV goo, "unpleasantness. I was given something that I did not react well to. It is partially returned, but it is not yet.. right."

And back to confession we go! "Would that be such a terrible thing? Go on, have yourself a little walkabout. Learn about who you really are." Away from the influence of all of those -other- people.

A proverbial scrape to the arm, that's something which Mystique can overlook. To hear that her own -son- had his -powers- being interfered with? Those near-sympathetic eyes suddenly become cold and hard. It's only through great willpower and concentration that the rest of her face doesn't shift into such a state. "Who has done this to you? What did they give you?"

It's a bit less of a confession now. Now, it's a bit more like an interrogation.

"Who has gone out of their way to do such a thing to you, Nightcrawler?"

"Ja, mother.. it would be completely counter to who und what I am." Duh. Kurt exhales in another sigh; seems he does that quite a bit. Shaking his head, he look adamant, even though he has professed his weakness. "Even though I share genetics, it is not who I am." Not now.

Kurt hangs his head before a deep breath is taken. How is it he feels like a child being interrogated after a fight on the playground?

'He did that!' 'Nu-uh! Did not!'

"There were some of us that were attacked by Sentinels. We were taken unaware und .. our gifts were neutralized. When we awoke, a week later, we had been pumped full of something. Most got their gifts back, but I did not."

Kurt holds a hand up, his voice still low. "I went to see someone, out of hope, und more than a little desperation. He was able to help me some, but I am not certain it is all.. blood." Shaking his head, he looks away, "There is more to his cure, but again.. I am unsure. I can teleport, ja.. but it takes too much from me." That last bit sounds.. sad.

It's true. It would go against everything that you are. But you know what? Mystique's willing to take that chance. Let the sacrifice be made. Whatever happens to come out on the other side is something she gets a fresh start with, another chance at persuading to join -her- fight. And not ..more of -this.-

Then there was your father, ho boy... How is it that a wicked mutant of a man and one that's willing to do whatever's necessary at any cost could end up with someone that's so ..so...

-Good.-

Any mother should be so proud of this. For Raven, it digs into the very core of her being. Maybe that's why she's so content to give it right back whenever she's able to. That verbal sniping might not be her being playful so much as her slowly stretching out her revenge to the point of agony.

Now there's something else going on. The Sentinels. Destiny had mentioned such a thing not that long ago. It seems that her timetable is somewhat off-center. She may not know what her next move is, but she'll figure it out soon enough.

"You're a fool if you left them standing," Mystique says in a voice that's gone cold and passionless. As the words are spoken they come through as though passing through two sets of vocal chords at once, lending the faintest of echos to each syllable. "Something must be done about this. No human has the right to take our gifts away from us. They would not -dare.-"

Mother's about to go on a warpath.

Kurt shakes his head, his expression.. sober and serious. If such a thing is possible, there it is.

And gone.

"In the scrap heap. It is too bad that I didn't think to sell their metal und make a couple hundred dollars on the market. If people are getting cash for manhole covers, just think what we could get for them."

Reaching out for the divider that sits between them, he lays his hand flat. "Sentinels are our fight, I will agree." His words haven't come above a whisper for the entire time. "We are all aware that the battle has its casualties."

Here lies a bamf.

"Und will continue to exact them."

Why should Mystique let this get to her so much? Frankly, why should she care? Didn't she throw you into a ravine when you were barely out of the womb?

You're of her blood. -Hers.- If anyone should have the right to harm you, it should be her. And -certainly- not some useless -humans- hiding behind a machine built for war upon mutantkind.

Despite the murderous rage welling up within the metamorph, barely a second passes before she places her own hand up against the divider, attempting to meet yours. Herein lies a delicately thin barrier between good and evil, right and wrong. So easily it could be broken, and yet it remains intact.

It would not stay intact forever. Hiding beneath that barrier lies a closed fist, waiting to land its assault.

"I've told you before that you are not safe out there, Nightcrawler. I've told you time and again, yet you still do not listen to what I say. Look at what has happened to you. Look at what they have -done- to you." In these words, there is sadness. The power has been taken from her child. The spark which makes him special and unique, extinquished. Even if temporarily, this cannot stand.

It will not stand.

"Come with me," she quietly asks, very nearly pleads. "We can set this right together."

Kurt leans and places his forehead against the back of his hand, bowed for a couple of heartbeats before lifting it from its brief place of rest. Glowing yellow eyes are bright; she, of all people, can discern nuances of his face beneath the fur. He studies her for a long moment before he shakes his head.

"No matter where we are, mother.. it has never been safe. Only once, home.. und it was fleeting. But, can you tell me for certain that if I remained at your side, I would be safe?"

Allowing his hand to slide from its place, Kurt leans back and makes to gain his feet, his tail hidden from view. "I would be doing the same as I do now, but with the blood of innocents on my hands. Und," here, he smiles, but the expression has no humour.. but he does show teeth, "I would not have cared."

But he does. He cares to the point where he would lay his life down if that was the only way, and he knows it.

"Where would we go?"

The mirror image of those eyes fall closed in tune with a distant sigh, coming back but a moment later to stare back at you. "Would you truly rather have someone else trying to do such for you?" Because they've been doing -such- a good job of it thus far. They couldn't even prevent her from triggering the explosives within Saint Anthony's Church. Had they even -found- them, for that matter?

She should have rigged more. She could have dealt with that problem and given you the perfect reason to come back to her.

"Think of those that have imprisoned you and claimed your power for your own and tell me they're innocent," she suddenly says in a low growl, challenging you on your own words. "I'm -proud- of the hard decisions I'm strong enough to make. I'm proud of what I've done for people like us."

Where would they go? "We will find these people, and we will stop them." Truly, as simple as that.

"I am tired of the bloodshed, mother." Kurt shakes his head, his tones soft. He's on his feet, and he still has his rosary in hand. "I have never claimed those who work against me are innocent, but I have no right to take their lives." He answered his own question to 'Father Mike', hasn't he? "The one who did that to us is in custody, und those Sentinels are.. decomissioned." His smile is hardly kind. "But I do not know if he was acting upon his own, or for another."

It's true. He doesn't know.

He looks at is mother fully, straightening his shoulders from the crouch that he's so very comfortable in. "I am proud of my actions too, mother." Other than the stuff he has to confess. *cough* "I only wish I could do more."

Shaking his head now, Kurt looks.. sad. "But I cannot go with you. Ich liebe dich, aber ich weiss du wirst zu toten." //I love you, but I know that you will kill.// "Du sollst nicht toten." //Thou shalt not kill.//

Putting his hand on the door, there's a long pause as his gaze lingers upon her before..


 * bamf*

It won't take him far, but far enough. And left behind?

His rosary.

"Tell that to the humans," Mystique reviles in that same dual-pitched voice. "They are the ones persecuting our kind, killing us for our differences. We did not start this war."

But they would end it.

It doesn't escape her notice that the man responsible is in custody. In fact, it has her mind processing yet another avenue of attack. If she could find this man, get some answers out of him...

'I only wish I could do more.' Yeah, and she only wishes that you would come to your senses.

"Ich töten, weil sie mir keine Wahl." //I kill because they give me no choice.//

She knows you're about to pull your disappearing act. She's been counting the seconds since you had stood. Suddenly being left alone, again, as usual, is no surprise to her. What does surprise her is the loss of that rosary. Did she truly manage to reach through to you this time, or is something else at play?

God, did she just shove you away when you needed her the most? Once more her eyes close, head rolling forward as that peculiar voice mutters "Ich fürchte, für die Seele." //I fear for your soul.//

She's one to talk.

Mystique shifts back into one of her thousands of personas, stepping out of the booth. Before she leaves she retrieves that fallen rosary, slowly closing it into her fist.