2012-12-27 A question of belonging

The name 'Kwabena Odame' is definitely nothing new to many of the X-Men's senior members. He'd been brought to the secret base in Westchester County in secrecy by Wolverine, before the rescue operation at Latveria. During his all too brief stay, some medical tests had been done on him, revealing that his bloodstream was infused by deadly, narcotic-inducing nanites at the hands of Victor von Doom.

However, many things have changed since he first came to the X-Men.

For one thing, he'd learned more about his rather unique mutagene, and the abilities they presented to him. For another, he'd been a part of the rescue operation into Latveria. And now, after two days in the X-Men infirmary, he has recovered from the severe, though mostly superficial injuries he'd sustained during the operation. As the African strolls quietly through the corridors of the base, his thoughts linger upon a myriad of questions, many unanswered.

Scott Summers is in his office doing some planning for the upcoming semester. It has been difficult for him, missing the Latverian mission. He's spent the past few months on sabbatical doing humanitarian work in third world countries. He'd have been back sooner. He should have been back sooner, and he feels guilty. His door is ajar as he works. He catches a glimpse of Kwabena as he walks by. "Mr. Odame."

Hearing his name called out, Kwabena stops and looks over toward the open office door. Curiousity flickers into his mismatched eyes, and he peers toward the office and its occupant beyond. One gloved hand stretches out to push the door open just so, and following a brief glance about at the office's decor, he looks toward Summers. "Yes," comes a curious response. "Dat is me."

While the mutant seems to be wearing a costume of gunmetal gray at all times, he's elected to don the simple blue jeans and black t-shirt over top, for he never really considered the form-fitting material that worked with his mutation to be entirely beneficial when it comes to fashion sense.

"My name is Scott Summers. I'm a teacher here and one of the field leaders...for the team. I've been gone the past few months...gone on a sabbatical. I apologize we've not met sooner." Scott motions his head to a chair, "Have you a few moments?"

Once the introductions are made, Kwabena seems to grow visibly less anxious. Stepping more fully into the room, his body relaxes and a bit of a smile touches his face. "It is my pleasah to meet you," answers the heavily accented Ghanaian. His English is admittedly very solid, but the accent will never truly fade. Something seems to piece together in his mind, and after sitting, he looks upon Scott with a renewed measure of value. "Logan said dat you were 'finding yourself in de Congo'," he points out. "You chose wisely, I will tell you dat."

Of course, it's entirely possible that Logan was just... being Logan. Kwabena certainly didn't know him well enough to know never to take him -too- literally.

"I found a lot of poverty. Not sure I found myself. Prefer Ghana or Nigeria," Scott's brief smile fades. "I read your report. Wanted to see if you were settling in well here at the Mansion. I also wanted to answer any questions you might have as best I can. I've been gone for four months, so I am sort of out of the loop."

"Ghana is no strangah to poverty," agrees Kwabena. There is a tone that ranges somewhere between homesick and bittersweet. "But my peopah have made some few progresses. I hope you undahstand what I mean."

Adopting a forward lean, Kwabena looks away from Scott's shielded eyes, hands folding together in a thoughtful way as he studies them. "I do not entirely undahstand what dis place is," he admits. "There has been much secrecy. I know dat an invitation has been extended to me." He seems to want to say more, but elects to withhold any other thoughts, at least for now. A weight seems to have settled upon him.

"What sort of invitation?" Scott asks, getting right to the point. "This place is a school. We teach children who are different to do some very special things. We give them confidence, so when they go into the world they can be a benefit to society and have a happy life."

"A school on de uppah levels, and a place with such technology on de lowah." Kwabena nods his head slowly, as if to suggest that he understands all too well, even though it hasn't been spelled out for him. Not entirely. "An invitation to spend as much time here as I need." He unfolds his hands, creating a shrugging gesture with them. "I don't know where I'm going, Scott. I know where I've been, and it's not a place I want to go back to. But is dis de place for me?" he asks, rhetorically if anything. "I am too old to be a student, and I couldn't see myself being a teacher." He studies the man curiously, as if hoping he might shed more light on the questions that have yet to be answered.

"Well," Scott says earnestly. "There's a lot to do around here other than learning or teaching. For instance, we always need ground crew. We need someone to plow the roads. We need someone to cook. To teach. To clean. If it's about finding a place here, we can /find/ you a place here. The real question is what do you want for you, moving forward? You might not know that now. I recommend staying here until you do."

Listening intently, Kwabena nods his head a couple of times. "I..." he starts, hesitantly, "...do want to understand myself bettah. To know what I can do. To learn to control it." He looks back up toward the man's shielded face, and an almost roguish grin peels his lips back to show bright white teeth. "And I -could- teach a few classes on survival techniques, you know." Not to mention the many things he'd learned about the darker places in the world, something the older students might need to learn at some moment in their lives.

"I know that I can do great things," he adds. "And I nevah want to go back to the life I left."

"Well, if Logan has brought you here, I imagine he feels the same way." Scott rolls his tongue on the inside of his mouth and crosses his legs. "I'll tell you what. Let me get a chance to talk to the Professor. I've got some ideas and I'm sure he will as well...about ways to proceed." Scott tilts his head towards Odame, "As for now, please feel free to continue to use the gymnasium on this floor, take your meals in the cafeteria,...et cetera."

"Thank you," answers Kwabena, but before he might stand, something crosses his mind.

"There is one more thing." His tone seems to darken. "My... infliction." He lifts his sleeve, revealing a small device that represents a wrist-watch, except instead of a watch face, it bears the logo of the Fantastic 4. "A man in New York created dis. It fights the effects of de nanites. It will expire soon, and I will need to see him again." He refrains from using the man's name, as if to display that he understands the power of secrecy all too well.

"From the logo, it's pretty clear who made that for you," Scott says with a smile. "I've got no problem with you heading into the city to take care of it. If Logan is your liaison, I recommend running it by him as well."

That signature grin returns. "I see your point." Then, there is a short nod of his head, and he covers the device with his sleeve once more. "I want to say tank you again. And if you evah plan to visit Ghana, you have a tour guide."

"Sounds great. I love going to Africa. It was nice to meet you." Scott stands and extends his hand. "Welcome to the Institute."

Standing in turn, Kwabena bids farewell with a firm handshake of his own. "Meet me in de gymnasium some time, Scott, and I will show you a few things I have learned." Then, with a short nod of his head, he turns and departs, only with a renewed sense of belonging that was not there before.

"Sounds good. I'm always looking to improve my regiment." Scott gives a nod and sits back in his seat. He slides out his notebook and writes something down quickly as a note.