2013-02-26 God and Mutants

Winter is beginning to subside, and the students at the various colleges and universities around the area are beginning to come out and take their studies out of doors. It's not -warm- warm, but it the thermometer is beginning to rise, and with little breeze, it's got the makings of a good day.

With the warmer weather coming, Kurt has kept his heavier coat 'home', or rather, back at the little apartment that he's calling 'home' for the time being. Time to get out, enjoy the sun, and push a good deal of the worry and concern to the side for out and out physical activity.

A stir-crazy blue fuzzy elf is no good.

Out on the trails, with only a few people taking the opportunity to bring their bikes out, Kurt is in the trees, taking the larger branches easily, finding purchase.. and trying to keep the thought of his lost *bamf* from his mind. Not easy, mind, but it's given him a chance to push himself rather than relying on something.

As Father Mike said, perhaps a blessing in disguise?

It's such a novelty, really, to be able to walk the park without having to keep to the trees or other less open areas, always looking over her shoulder. Not, mind, that Olena frequented Central Park much before Erik Lehnsherr and Mystique happened upon her. No, the places she frequented then were far less lovely.

The warmth of the day is welcome. Unlike many, however, the young Ukrainian hasn't loosened her coat, though her scarf doesn't cover her face and her hood is back. She doesn't have nearly the meat on her bones the average American does. More than that, she enjoys being warm. It's something of a novelty.

Her steps take her along the paths between wrought iron rails and benches, across small bridges, until she eventually reaches a more wooded area. The trees are pretty, really, still stark against the white. Which means, even if she wasn't as perceptive as she is, the man that springs among them isn't entirely hidden. Of course, men springing among the treetops is a little odd -- even for New York. So, the young Ukrainian pauses, her senses sharpening.

Blue skin... or fur. Tail. The glow from yellow eyes. Less brimstone than she remembers, though it's something of a natural parfum for that mutant -- even if he hasn't had any way to generate more of it of late. Indeed, chances are that most others wouldn't pick it up. But, she's not most others.

Her back stiffens. Her eyes narrow. Her lips thin. Her stare is penetrating as she watches him for several moments.

Not so strange to the blue fuzzy elf, those stares. As long as things aren't hurled in his general direction, though anything less than bullets wouldn't be much of a difficulty to respond to. He's a 'good neighbor' as far as the trails go. Doesn't care to spook horses, ignores lovers along the paths, and sometimes plays with the kids on their bikes as to who can go the faster.. safely.

Taking a breather on one of the lower branches, yellow eyes gaze upon the trail, checking to be sure nothing is coming or going that might cause injury in a start. His eyes land upon the figure, her hood down, bundled as if expecting a snow fall in the next hour, though the glare it appears that he is being given is.. less than friendly.

Been there, done that.

Rising on his perch from the 'ready' crouch, Kurt doesn't bother holding on to the truck for support when he offers a cheerful greeting to the eye of a potential storm. "Guten Tag, fraulein.. a good day for a walk, ja?"

Olena glances around, looks to the clouds, the sparsely populated park -- simply because of the hour -- and back to the fuzzy blue mutant. "Better than some," she concedes with the hint of a dismissive shrug. Her Eastern European accent is heavy, but clear.

She's already yelled at one X-Man, today. It was cathartic. She's not quite worked up to the point where she needs to yell at another... Yet. That could change.

"I remember you," she says after a moment. "You were one smell of sirka." (Brimstone.) "You not walk, then. You..." She hunts the word. Her finger bounces up and down, tracing an imaginary acrobatic path. "Jump," she settles on. Her gloved hand opens widely, fingers spread, before flashing into a fist and opening swiftly once more -- as if she were gesturing a firework. "Vanish. Poof. Smell like sirka. I remember you."

A wry, humourless, almost sour smile touches her lips. "How's your friend. One with red..." her fingers wave in front of her eyes, mimicking a visor. "Thing. Get home ok?"

If she heard Kurt speak before, she would easily have also recognized the obvious German accent with which Kurt speaks. Now that he's got a partner in conversation, he jumps down, landing easily.. like a gymnast. He's curious, and he quirks his head, puzzled but a smile is creeping across his face. "Ja? You remember me? I hear that alot.."

As she tries to search for that ever elusive word, Kurt is happy to supply it. "Bamf. It was my bamf." Past tense. He nods, "Ja.. that is right."

The question regarding Scott, however, gains the girl a light shrug. "Ich kenne nicht. I don't know. I suppose fine.. why? Was he in trouble?" There is a pause, and there's something behind those glowing yellow eyes. A touch of concern that creeps into those blue, fuzzy features.

"Do I know you?"

Olena lets out a small sound that's something like "Hmf," but less huffy and more like a single syllable 'why am I not surprised'. "Oh, he fine," she assures Nightcrawler with another dismissive flip of her hand. "No problem."

Her head cants to one side. "Bamf," she echoes, testing out the word. She shrugs. "Ok." The tenses mean little to her. That he doesn't have it any more doesn't really cross her mind.

Yes, she recognizes his accent, too. All in all, of all the X-Men, she remembers him, the woman with the firebird around her, and the silver mutant that spoke with a Russian accent best. But, that doesn't mean she doesn't remember the others. As Cyclops discovered.

That she's not startled by his appearance probably betrays the fact she's seen too many weird things, or is just to jaded overall, to be fussed about it. That, and, as she said, she's seen him before. She knows he looks like this.

"Know me?" The Ukrainian lets out a dry chuckle. "No." She looks down at her warm, stylish clothes -- clothes someone else paid dearly for -- and that wry half-smile turns sharp. She brushes a lapel. "I have changed clothes. Changed..." Damned language barrier. She flips her hands again. "No matter. No. I remember you. You would not remember me. No reason."

Kurt shifts his weight, and he looks all the world as if he's trying to find that memory and simply is coming up .. blank. He's been around the world so many times.. and the latest, the Arctic near where Illyana and Piotr used to vacation.

Drawing the blank is unacceptable to him so he turns to face her to properly introduce himself. "I am Kurt Wagner. If we have met, forgive my memory. Things have been.. difficult lately. If we have not, well.." Then he'll certainly remember who she is later. He offers something of a smile, and his head inclines in an abbreviated bow, "But I am certain that even if I had amnesia, I would remember you."

Olena stands there for a moment, debating what she should and shouldn't tell the demon before her. In the end, she decides there is little to hide. He, too, is a foreigner in America, and Mystique has promised her immigrant papers so that she need no longer fear the authorities. Further, although the masters of the mobster that held her captive are still out there, they will not survive for much longer. (She will help see to it.) So, there is little fear, now, at having her real name known.

"I am Olena Kovalenko," she tells him. The last syllable of her name makes it clear to anyone familiar with Eastern European cultures that she is Ukrainian, not Russian. Indeed, she rather expects that a German would have a finer grasp of this than an ignorant American. "We have never... formal'no vzayemodiyaly..." (Formally interacted.) She gives up trying to figure out a direct translation. "Met... face-to-face," she settles upon. "And I had better reason to remember you than you to remember me before."

A name. Everyone has one, and to know it is important to the blue fuzzy mutant. "Olena Kovalenko.." Kurt repeats slowly, his eyes narrowing as he tries to recall where he'd heard the name. Slowly, it comes.. "Olympics.. there was articles about you in Der Spiegel.. your team." He straightens, his head quirking, and that confusion rides high in his expression. But how would she know him?

The only time he recalls being in the Ukraine was..

Poznyar?

Well, that was most recently. The names, however, never made it to most of the documentation that he found and read. And the horrible things he read.. it truly made him cry, and soul sick.

Yellow eyes flicker to the path behind them and before, and gesturing towards the path ahead, asks, "I didn't say something stupid, did I?" Kurt is still trying to keep this light. Don't assume anything. Could be from the New Year's party at Selena's where.. unfortunate things happened. Mind, he didn't spill punch on anyone, but.. "If I did, I apologize."

Olena's gaze clouds when he mentions the Olympics. But, it passes with the rest of his words. Thus, she actually laughs now. It's a dark sound, however, traces of bitterness hidden beneath the amusement. "Not to worry. You did not speak to me at all." Again, her hand waves dismissively. "Do not say sorry for that. No need sorry for that. Then, there was no cause to speak. Nothing beyond say where to go." A beat. "Would have been nice, say where to go. Safer place. Would have been nice."

Where to go.. where to go?

Kurt studies the Olympic Gold winner, and he shakes his head slowly, those memories haunting him. He'd taken over the tanks, shot at the guards.. though he honestly wasn't looking to kill them. As much as he wanted to. And within?

"Poznyar.." he whispers. "Ja?" Beat. "I am sorry that such men could do that." There simply aren't words, and he looks.. genuinely sad.

As for.. safer place? "We didn't know where was safer. You know more of your country than we."

"Poznyar," Olena echoes, face draining of any levity, "da."

"You would think," she says now, in the reasonable, melancholic tone Eastern European storytellers get when beginning a sad story, "with so many of us, anywhere could be safe." Her brown eyes meet his yellow ones. "But, is not so. We were too..." A cant of her head in concession. "Weak. Hungry. Beaten." A beat. "Broken." It's still in her eyes, actually, a deeply haunted look.

"They came at us with dogs. Knifes. Machine guns. Once, I think, there was bomb." She mimics throwing a grenade. "Gas. Is... hard to keep track. Many days. Many days run. No food. Little water. Much fear."

Her lips curl once more into that sharp, humourless half-smile. "You lucky, pan Wagner. Could go home. That what I tell..." She waves her hand in front of her face again, once more indicating a visor. "Him. Eyes. Red-Eye. You save us from gas chamber. Spasybi. But, not from bullet. Bullet quicker. More blood; less choking. That lucky, ok."

The recounting brings a great sadness to the fuzzy elf. In the middle, there's that moment when his had lifts to genuflect, making the sign of the cross. What he'd seen he knows wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. He's German.. and even though he's a mutant, there's still the national shame, even if it is slowly disappearing amongst the youngers.

"Nie vergessen.." Never forget.

Kurt lowers his head, and smiles tightly, his own smile without humour. "I lit candles." As if that was anywhere near enough? "I took the files, looked at them. As many as I could.. und each page, I asked why."

A deep breath is taken, and there's a gleam in those yellow eyes that hadn't been there. The demon can cry? Raising a hand to wipe the moisture away, he tries to speak after several minutes of silence. "You survived. With life, there is hope."

And the opportunity for payback. That's Olena's hope.

She regards the blue X-Man before her. "You lit candles," she echoes. She's not quite sure what to make of that. Especially not given that demonic appearance of his. And then there's her own issues. Her glance flicks skyward for a moment. "I do not think God much cares about us, pan Wagner. I used to light candles. I do not any longer."

"For every one who died," Kurt responds. "For those with names, und those without it marked." For their souls.

"Ja.. He does care, fraulein," Kurt's voice doesn't make it above the sad whisper. "Those He has taken are with Him, away from the pain of life here. Und us?" He snorts a soft breath. "It is for us to try und make it better for those that come after us. Those who have gone before.." and he shakes his head. "Light a candle, und pray for peace because there will never be understanding. I will never understand those who could do that."

Clearing his throat to keep his words a little steadier, yellow eyes are on the path before them, and he takes those beginning steps. "Father Mike at St. Patrick's will stand beside you.. or if you would like, I'll show you where the Blessed Mother is." As for the words? They'll come. They always do.

Olena barks a laugh, now, a harsher sound than before. "God turned his back on me, pan Wagner. I cannot say why; I do not know. I had done nothing wrong." Her eyes flash. "I did not know I was different than everyone else. How could I know? I am not you. I do not look different. I see different. I hear different. But, I was little girl. I see how I see. I hear how I hear. How do I know that is different? I do not. But, still, God punish. He make me as I am. But, still, I punished. Why?"

She snirks now, turns from him, strides two steps in frustration and spins back toward him. "I thought when I hear battle and see fire in sky, was end of world. And you were there. You and other X-Men. I see fire." She gestures to him. "And demons. But I think is maybe angels. Angels come to rescue. That God no longer punish."

Again, the emotion drains from her face, save for the smouldering of her eyes. She straightens, dusts invisible dirt from her sleeve. "I was wrong." She winces slightly, searching again for words. "I hate this English," she complains bluntly. "What is phrase?" She snaps her finger. "Out of pot, into fire. Da. That's what was. Out of pot, into fire. Out of Purgatory, into Hell."

She lifts up her hand and holds up a single finger. "Yesterday, pan Wagner, I finally escape Hell. Was not God that rescue me. Was mutants. Is always mutants."

"They have been chasing me since my birth, fraulein. I do understand." But that doesn't make any of this 'right'. "You have a gift.. und others are jealous of it. If they cannot have it for themselves, they will kill those whom they cannot control. But it is not God's doing. I am certain he cries for us."

Kurt takes a deep breath, listening again as she vents.. rails at the inexcusable, and says nothing. He drops those three-fingered hands deep into his pockets, his gaze forward. He doesn't want to look at those eyes now. He can't. Won't. He's heard those words so very many times, too. The anger, yes.. even he feels such things at the injustice. He's even said some of them before finding peace.

But, there's more.

"Ja.. Frying pan into the fire."

Pausing in his step at that particular bit of news, Kurt straightens, his gaze moving back now to the young woman that he couldn't bear to look at only moments ago. "Ja? I will not claim to know all in this city, but may I ask who?"

Olena cants her head at that. "Was not X-Men," she notes, perhaps a little too harshly -- though her tone doesn't come across so much as harsh as it does subtly reproachful. Mostly, it's just matter-of-fact.

And since most mutants she's met seem to react well to the name, she doesn't see a reason not to share it. "He called himself Erik Lehnsherr," she replies. "And his friend. Mystique."

Kurt stands still, frozen in the information. Not so much that his mother found her, but.. that she's with..

There's a million things that fight to be first from his lips and he shakes his head; a little dizzy, actually. Finally, however, he smiles rather wryly. "She does show up at the strangest of places," he murmurs.

Shaking his head, Kurt is quick to agree, "Nein.. not them.." Not the X-Men. "But Mystique.." There's the moment when he considers his next words, and finally offers, "Mystique is my mother."

Now, her words bother him more, as if they hadn't before? Kurt begins down the path again, slowly, wanting to be sure his conversation companion keeps pace. "I am glad you are being helped, fraulein." Is there anything more he can add to it? He'd love to warn her, but.. when it comes to his mother, lately she's been.. loving. Caring. Protective. So, he can see that.

"Just.. be careful."

Olena arches a brow in mild surprise at Wagner's confession of parentage. Her eyes sweep over him. "I see family resemblance," she admits, perhaps even subtly acknowledging the dry humour in her statement with a slight shift in her expression.

She follows with him a few paces. "Be careful?" Her expression now shifts to something a little more serious, though there's still a sardonic hint behind it. "I am always careful, pan Wagner. It is why I still live."

She pauses in her steps now, however. "Perhaps I will see your church. See if, perhaps, what you say is true." She's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt solely because of Mystique. "For now, though, is time I go. I must return to Center. There are other things I must do."

She touches her fingertips to her forehead in a brief gesture of farewell. "Perhaps we will meet another time. Good day, pan Wagner. Enjoy your walk."

With that, she turns back down the path in the direction from which she first came, leaving the fuzzy blue elf alone with his thoughts.