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| Black and White; Ororo, ask to join | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 2 2011, 09:12 PM (377 Views) | |
| Max_Coleridge | Dec 2 2011, 09:12 PM Post #1 |
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October 12 Weeks had passed since the day that New York had escaped near total destruction, and what damage had been inflicted, was healing nicely. The same could be said for Max Coleridge as he got out of the back of his car, clothed in one of his best suits, which covered the damage underneath. However, as he walked up the steps Worthington Complex, his blind man's cane tapping a path before his feet, he look perfectly well and, if not completely recovered, then recovering nicely from the events of that day... physically. "Can I be of assistance?" Said a male voice as a door opened before him. The words were clipped and precise, not those of a convenient stranger helping the handicapped, but a professional servant. The doorman. Max tapped his way into the lobby before answering. "I'm here to see Ms. Munroe. She isn't expecting me but please tell her that Max Coleridge is in the lobby." The doorman eyed the gift in Max's hand; it was a narrow square box that looked to him like a box of chocolates, with a garish orange and pink pastel color scheme. "Would you like me to deliver the package, sir?" "No, thank you." Max replied with a shake of his head, "I'll deliver it personally." "Very well. I'll see if Ms. Munroe is in." Max knew she was here, and it was likely that the doorman did too, it was his job to know where people were, but seeing if she was in was a time honored euphemism if the caller was going to be avoided. Max didn't think he would be, Ororo Munroe didn't seem the kind of woman to hide behind lies, and she was here. He heard the doorman's footsteps glide away and Max settled in to wait. His thoughts couldn't help turning back to September 26th, the last time he'd seen her, though in truth, that day was never far from his thoughts in the recent weeks, and not just because the lingering pain of the torture. Hardship is the grindstone that shapes a person's life, for good or ill. Something had happened to him that day, a shift in his mind that he was still trying to work his way through. |
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| Ororo | Dec 3 2011, 02:47 PM Post #2 |
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"...and we're planning a wilderness survival outing in a month or so for some of the older students, to get them more involved in -- oh, excuse me," Ororo apologized as her informal report on the state of Utopia was interrupted by a buzz from the building's front desk. "Yes?" "Ms. Munroe? You have a visitor, a Mr. Max Coleridge. Shall I buzz him up?" Ororo's startled expression lasted only a moment, but was noteworthy for all that. What in the world...? "No," she replied judiciously; she knew that he and Warren were rivals, and inviting him into Warren's apartments seemed like it would end poorly. "Please make Mr. Coleridge comfortable in one of the conference rooms and tell him I'll be there in just a moment." "I'll have to finish filling you all in on the rest of the Savage Land gossip later, I'm afraid. Remind me to tell you about the baby stegasaurus," she said to the table as she finished her tea and headed to the door, trying to make sense of this unexpected visit. The last time she'd seen Max was a couple of weeks ago, during the Winter Island battle, after he'd been kidnapped and tortured by the Purifiers. He'd been fortunate to survive the experience at all, and it was hard to believe that he was fully healed from it, no matter what resources the Hellfire Club had available to aid his recuperation. As she took the elevator down, habit sent her looking for the phone application that months earlier would have placed the Institute's security on a precautionary alert... back when there'd been an Institute to secure. She laughed lightly at her own distractedness as she put the phone away, but there was no humor in it; the death and destruction of that day was still a shadow on her soul, made still worse by the many deaths that preceded and followed it. She had come to terms with those slaughters, both of and by the Purifiers, and with the forces that had led to them, but there was no avoiding the sadness that came with contemplating them. Nor would she wish to avoid it if she could. The opening of the elevator doors shook her out of her contemplation, and while the smile on her face as she entered the lobby was largely pro-forma, it became rather more genuine when the doorman pointed her to the correct conference room and she saw Max. It was clear the man was not fully healed, either physically or emotionally, but he seemed both reasonably well and reasonably relaxed; whatever had brought him here was not an immediate crisis. That was reassuring. "Mr. Coleridge... this is quite a surprise! Glad as I am to see you doing so well, though, I suspect your physicians will be rather less pleased. Is everything all right?" |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 3 2011, 05:56 PM Post #3 |
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"Sir? Ms. Munroe will be down directly. If you'll come with me," he heard the doorman return then hesitated a moment before coming to Max's side and grasping his elbow. "We have a lovely... uh," the man faltered; he was well-trained but had most likely never had to call on these rusty and awkward protocols of behavior. Max took pity on the man and laughed off the awkwardness in the air with a joke. "As long as it has a good view, I can wait anywhere." "Yes, sir," the doorman chuckled as they slowly made their way to a tasteful but business-like conference room. "I assure you, it has a lovely view of the river and a nearby park. Would you like to sit or stand while you wait?" A voice from the doorway settled the question, or rather, made it moot. "Mr. Coleridge... this is quite a surprise! Glad as I am to see you doing so well, though, I suspect your physicians will be rather less pleased. Is everything all right?" "To the best of my knowledge, Ms. Munroe, there are no looming crisis' on the horizon or immediate danger waiting to spring from the undergrowth." The doorman took the opportunity to fade, giving Ororo a nod as he departed. "Please, call me Max; under the circumstances, I think we've moved past the polite formalities." He lips cocked in a smile, "And as for those not pleased at me being up and around, that would be Longshot; the doctors I can handle but a cranky, displeased Longshot is a different story." His grin faded a touch as he sobered, "But that's a hardship I'll weather," he dismissed it with a casual shrug. "I felt I had to give you my thanks in person. You saved my life," he shook his head slightly in disbelief, "that's not something I'm accustomed to - releasing me from that cross and... afterward," he said, much of his jovialness was an act but even so, he still couldn't bring himself to play what happened and what he must've looked like hanging on that cross, with a joke. With his sight stripped away from him, it was an image he was spared from having to remember. Even though his world was one of lies and deceit and faked emotions carefully hiding reality, he didn't try any of that now, not for this; it would sully this single moment of gratitude. "Thank you," he said simply and offered her the brightly colored box. |
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| Ororo | Dec 4 2011, 05:10 PM Post #4 |
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"'Max', then," she agreed from the doorway. "And I am Ororo. And yes, I can imagine Longshot would be annoyed by you refusing to take proper care of yourself after almost dying. As would the doctors whose professional reputations are on the line. To be frank, I'm annoyed as well. A lot of people put a lot of effort into rescuing you, Max; to disregard your own health now displays rather a lack of gratitude, don't you think?" Her irritation was completely sincere, only slightly mollified by his undeniable charm. "Not to mention what it does to your own recovery process. I suppose you need to cover up the extent of your injuries rather than show weakness before your Court, and I know the Black King is accustomed to being in charge of his surroundings, but the world has a way of stubbornly refusing to abide by royal decrees." She put aside her irritation when he revealed his purpose for coming, his air of jovial indifference fading before what seemed like a genuine gratitude that forced her to reevaluate her initial theories about what had brought this man to their door, much as their meeting in the Hellfire Club had forced her to reevaluate her initial suspicions about their intentions with respect to Jay. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. -- Max," she corrected herself. "But really, there was no need. You and your Court did as much for us when the Purifiers attacked our home, after all." Regardless, she took the festive-looking box from her visitor's hands and gripped his shoulder wordlessly to express both her gratitude for the gift and her appreciation for his continued survival. She was slightly apprehensive about the box's contents, though: Max was a wealthy man somewhat given to ostentatious displays, so there was no predicting his notion of what constituted an appropriate gift for, as he saw it, saving his life. "Not to mention that saving your life was a group effort," she added as she unwrapped it. "For example, I would not have been there at all if not for your newest Black Pawn, Mr. Guth --" She stopped talking as the breath was taken away from her, and the view out the window was suddenly lit by flashes of heat lightning. "Oh," she said softly as the box lid fell from her nerveless fingers. "Oh, my." I am thirteen years old, and the priestess sitting across from me is a stranger, though her white hair and blue eyes mark her as my grandmother. I can barely understand her pidgin Swahili, but she and her people have welcomed me, and she is helping me still the winds that have followed me across the desert. Today she guides me in meditation, my stumbling chant punctuated by her rhythmic drumming. The memory flooded Ororo's mind: the smell of Ainet's medicine tent, pungent and sharp; Ainet's lined face, emotionless save when she chose otherwise; Ororo's own adolescent body, grown so unwieldy in the past year. I am fourteen years old, and my prayers have been answered; the drought that threatened us is dispelled by rain, the Bright Lady's gift. Grandmother Ainet is announcing to the People that I am Oshtur reborn, given to the People to ensure our survival against the desert, and against the other tribes who threaten us. The village trembles with their cheering and their laughing, and Ainet's hands braid those sounds with the beating of her drum. It was the drumbeats she remembered most, the patterns of sound that her grandmother made with her hands to mark weddings and births and deaths and their petitions to Oshtur, and which Ororo had in turn learned to make. It was the first technique she learned for controlling her mutant ability, long before she knew what it was; all she knew was that the complex but predictable rhythms, and the exercises for bringing them to life, could control the winds that came to her. Eventually she learned not to need the drums; she learned to control her thoughts and emotions without props, and through them the weather. But she'd never forgotten the ritual drum, the same drum throughout all those years. On her most recent trip to Kenya, when she'd learned that Ainet had died, she'd learned that the drum had gone missing in the tribal migration that followed. Her sadness for its loss was hardly noticed in her grief over Ainet herself, but it nevertheless persisted. And there was no doubt that the weather-cracked drum that she held in her hands now was the same instrument that had been with her throughout those years. Her hands knew it, moving of their own accord through the complex polyrhythms of its invocation. "How... Max, where did you find this?" |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 5 2011, 03:35 PM Post #5 |
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He'd taken her chiding with a breezy smile that could've bordered on arrogance if not for the knowledge underneath that she might actually mean it, be irritated that he'd risked his life and was still doing so. She cared - to some degree she did care, whether it was more than the general caring that Ororo had for all life, he'd have to see. He didn't see the flicker of lightning in the distance when she opened her gift, wouldn't have seen it even if his sight was active, it was too far away, but he felt something had happened, there was a charged feeling in the air and smelled the new faint aroma of ozone in the room. He broke the solemn moment with a warm grin when he heard the amazement in her voice; from what little he'd gained from Jay and Longshot, the serene and calm Ororo rarely allowed herself to be amazed, or at the very least, to show it. That he'd managed to break through her armor at all, made his grin all the more genuine. "How and where?" he mused. "Ask me again some other time, when you're in the mood to be entertained by an amusing story about Longshot riding a camel, which, like all entertaining stories, may or may not be true. For now, know that finding that gift was luckier than finding a needle in a haystack, fortunately, I know someone who can do just that, and when he's properly motivated to get his master back to resting instead of traipsing around the countryside," Max smiled wickedly at the memory of Longshot's complaints and grumbles, "it doesn't take as long as you might think. But that doesn't make for a proper story," he went on, grasping her hand that had been idly tapping a long ago familiar beat on the drum skin, "not like the stories I heard while I was there; of the white haired, blue-eyed, Goddess reborn, Oshtur, who, though she left to do important work, still comes to her people from time to time and is there where they need her." He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers reverently. "This room may be serviceable for business meetings but the acoustics doesn't do your playing justice; there's a nice park only a short walk away. You deserve to be out under the open sky, under the sun, to get reacquainted with your gift. I would enjoy hearing it. And perhaps one day, I'll hear the stories of Ororo Oshtur firsthand... or," he flashed a charming smile, "maybe make a new story, about the king and the Goddess." He placed the hand he'd kissed on his arm. "Would you like to join me for a walk?" |
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| Ororo | Dec 5 2011, 10:09 PM Post #6 |
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Max's reply to her question, entertaining though it was, raised nearly as many questions as it answered. Why had the Black Court travelled to the Serengeti to visit Ororo's tribal homeland? Max seemed to suggest that they'd done so entirely to obtain a thank-you gift, but that seemed implausible on the face of it. But if not that, then what? The Hellfire Club might well be looking into my background, and that of the other senior X-Men, she considered, strategic possibilities running quickly through her mind as though this were a Danger Room session, or might somehow be involved with the mercenaries who attacked me and Warpath on our way back from Wakanda. The mercenaries had been after the vibranium blades T'Challa had ceremonially gifted her with after her assistance to the Wakandan military, and she'd made several failed attempts to track down whoever had hired them before her attention was claimed by the Purifiers; it was certainly possible that the Hellfire Club had been involved. But if so, why would Max mention it to her at all? To distract my attention from some other operation, perhaps? But that seemed ridiculous; the X-Men were already about as distracted as it was possible to be. The Black King was certainly capable of playing what her more irreverent students called 'eleven-dimensional chess,' but in Ororo's experience speculating about that level of indirection led nowhere useful. Perhaps Scott's mind could operate at that tactical level, but Ororo was not in that league. Then Max took her hand and kissed it: not a casual European greeting, but something more intent and purposeful. Which brought other possibilities to Ororo's mind, possibilities that Scott's tactical prowess was decidedly unsuited to evaluating. Bright Lady, is he courting me? It made more sense than some incomprehensible tactical scheme for achieving inconceivable motives, certainly. She and Max had flirted during her visit to the Hellfire Club last month to check on Jay; she'd even enjoyed the opportunity to 'let her hair down,' as they say. She hadn't thought it was anything serious; Max Coleridge's reputation as a playboy was well-earned. But looking back on it now, perhaps she'd been too focused on the tactical and insufficiently aware of the personal? "And perhaps one day, I'll hear the stories of Ororo Oshtur firsthand... or maybe make a new story, about the king and the Goddess." Well, that was at least unambiguous, and led directly to the question of what her response was... another question to which Ororo did not have an immediate answer. She wasn't uninterested, certainly. And though there were aspects of Max's lifestyle she was not in the least comfortable with, at his core he seemed a decent man, as well as an attractive one. And it had been quite some time since she'd had a serious relationship in her life, and she was admittedly intrigued. Well, I hardly have to decide right now, she reminded herself. A walk in the park is innocuous enough, surely. "If it's musical talent you want, you'd do better to ask Jay," she replied lightly, "but you're right that I would be delighted to get 'reaquainted' with grandmother's ngoma, and doing so in the open air would be more than appropriate. As would the company of the man who rescued it from ignominy." She took his arm where he'd invited her to, and placed her free arm under his elbow where she could provide discrete support should he need it. "Provided I have your word that, should this outing tax your recovery in any way, you will inform me immediately. Agreed?" |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 6 2011, 09:10 PM Post #7 |
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"Of course," he lied with a ready smile and for a brief moment covered her hand with his. It wasn't really a lie of deception but with his stubborn and arrogant nature, he would never admit needing help; if he had two broken legs, he would grit his teeth and crawl to where he needed to go before actually asking for help and expecting him to do otherwise was like expecting pigs to suddenly sprout wings and fly. "But I'm not made of glass, I don't think that a short stroll and sitting on a park bench will shatter me," he said reassuringly, lightly brushing her concerns away. His time with Stryker wasn't the first time he was tortured; he'd been abducted by Apocalypse and his lieutenants, and those months still made his blood run cold and cut into his soul. The memory flickered darkly across his expression before vanishing - banished back to the cellar along with a myriad of other dark memories and events in his life that he didn't want to think about, and especially not share with the beautiful woman at his side. Max let her guide him out a side entrance and along a side path toward the small nearby park. The tip of his cane tapped and glided in front of his feet, feeling long for hazards and obstacles. Max turned his face up to get the full warmth of the sun on his face. "I'll be sorry to see winter come," he said and ostentatiously tapped his cane on the concrete. "Snow and icy sidewalks are my worst terrains," he admitted. A smile curved at his lips, "But to be honest, I'm looking forward to this Christmas season. Oh, not for Christmas," he went on to explain, "I wasn't Christian even before I was crucified, though that cure anyone of being Christian, I would think. But last Christmas season young Max was only a couple of months old," he said, his face lighting up in a way that even the Sun's rays couldn't manage. "He's walking now, a bit," he added. "I think he'll enjoy the Christmas tree lights and Hanukkah lights," Max thought and added with a rich chuckle, "and the jingle bells. I think I'll be hearing a lot of bells in the next few months. And, of course, the Hellfire Club itself is always decked out for the season. It's the most festival time of the year, and we hedonists do so love our parties. I suspect Mr. Guthrie will need all the good cheer he can find." "How about you?" he asked, making the inquiry seem as casual as possible. "Is that a holiday season for your people also? Or will you be stay at the X-Men retreat for those few weeks?" |
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| Ororo | Dec 8 2011, 02:25 AM Post #8 |
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Ororo rolled her eyes at Max's ready agreement, but accepted it for now. He was certainly right that the stroll to the park ought not be too much of a strain on his system. Though something certainly seemed to be straining him, if only for a moment, to judge by the expression on his face... though on consideration, Ororo decided it seemed more like pain remembered than pain experienced. Which was no surprise, really, given what he'd gone through. She considered pushing further, but decided to set it aside; while it was clear that Max's past held all manner of traumas, there was no reason he should trust her enough to share them with her. "I'll be sorry to see winter come." "Will you?" replied Ororo conversationally. "See it, I mean," she added by way of explanation. "After all, I've seen you perform in situations where even a man with your exceptional skills and abilities would need his sight, and have heard accounts that suggest clairvoyance. And yet here you are, feeling your way along the sidewalk with a cane like any other blind man. Is that pure affectation?" It was, perhaps, not the most polite question she could have asked, but she was curious on multiple levels... not least, curious about how much of an answer he would provide. As they walked to the park she gradually brought up the temperature, shifting humidity out of the area to avoid rainfall. "Well, that's not a simple question," she replied to his inquiry about her festival traditions. "It depends on which of my people we're talking about. Of course, Christianity is fairly wide-spread throughout Africa as well... I celebrated Christmas as a child. But if you mean these people," she said, gesturing to the drum as a way of indicating her grandmother's Kenyan tribe, "well, we sang back the sun on the Long Night -- the winter solstice. There were bells, and lights, and food... some things are universal. I still sit the long vigil most years, with my students sometimes. But I also celebrate Christmas with the followers of Christ, and Channukah with the children of Abraham, and Diwali with my Hindu students. And yes, I'll be spending the holidays this year with Xavier's students. They're my people too, Max." She laughed as they settled in the park, adding "And clearly I've spent too many years teaching comparative religion, and now I lecture at the slightest provocation. Occupational hazard, I suppose." Once they were settled in the park, Ororo began to call the rhythms of her adolescence out of the tight-stretched weather-beaten leather as they spoke. The way Max's face lit up when he discussed his son brought a matching smile to Ororo's face. "Tell me about him," she prompted. |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 8 2011, 11:02 PM Post #9 |
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Could he see? she'd asked. He'd smiled, pleased at the compliment of his skills, but he had to pause at the boldness of her question; it was so unlike the sly indirect information-fishing that he was used to dealing with from those of the Hellfire Club. Information was power, and power wasn't something that Max Coleridge simply handed away to anyone who asked, but Storm... Ororo Munroe... He'd been drawn to others in his life and felt the stirrings of something that could lead to a deeper emotional connection than mere sex, which after all these years barely fostered any emotional links at all. But even among the select handful of those he believed he had true affection for, it shocked and admittedly worried him more than a little, that Ororo Munroe might be a whole new level - someone he might consider letting behind his protective curtain of lies and misdirection. Someday, maybe, but not this day, and set aside his desire to tell her all. "Maybe it's because, as king of a group known for their deceptions, and unable to have a word pass my lips that isn't either a lie or a misdirection, this is another one," he held up the white cane a moment before letting it go back to its task, "a Machiavellian ruse to draw out my enemies by making me seem weaker and more defenseless than I am." His smile was bitter acid, knowing that that was exactly what most people assumed. "Or," the evil smile faded, replaced by a sadder but more earnest one, "how about this one? I am blind but I haven't always been so; that's something you could check with Worthington about, we were in school together, before he became angelic and other things happened in my life. Anyway... to answer you, my blindness is an annoyance and a hindrance, and a constant challenge. I decided long ago that if I took the easy way to overcome it, it would be tantamount to admitting that it's too much for me to handle - that it had defeated me. My other sight is a tool, and one I don't use merely to make life a little bit easier on myself." He turned his face toward her as they walked and smiled teasingly. "Pick which answer you prefer." That too was something of a trick as in a certain way, they were both true. But there were no simple, easy answer in life, and especially not in his life. Max had been nodding along, taking in her dedication to others: to her mother's people, to the young people around her, her friends; such a full life with an infinity of connections. Diwali. It caught him off guard for a moment but it was coming soon, and he would need to prepare for it. He had much to mediate about this year. He chuckled as she chided herself. "You have a generous nature, sharing your knowledge and yourself with others. It is a rarity; though that's probably down to the company I normally keep. I'm sure your students enjoy your company." He shrugged casually, "I've never really found faith to be a," he paused, trying to find the right word, "communal effort. Sure, there are candles and cakes, fireworks and songs, and meditation and gift-giving, but religion is about belief, and while you can kneel together and chant the right words, faith is something that resides in your mind... and heart; it can't be given. Maybe it can be shared, but not in my experience. Perhaps that's more just my personality though." He said in an aside to her, "I get the impression people generally find me a little too ... austere for most tastes." As he'd talked, he found his way to a bench in the sun and listened to the hollow sounds of Ororo's drum. "My son... is my joy. He keeps me going. Because of him, I see there's more to the world than the darkness I inhabit. You should meet him sometime," he offered. Beneath Ororo's fingers, the stretched skin of the drum sounded to rhythm. Max cocked his head and listened to the beat. "More than the voice of a choir. More than the haunting melody of a flute. The drum is the instrument of the divine; you don't just hear it," he put his hand against the center of his chest, "you feel it there - the Goddess's heartbeat." |
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| Ororo | Dec 9 2011, 11:59 PM Post #10 |
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"Pick which answer you prefer," he told her, and despite his teasing smile... or perhaps because of it?... Ororo decided to take the request literally. "So either it's a trick to misdirect your enemies, or an expression of pride? Hm... well, let's see, then. You're proud enough, certainly," she mused with a smile that came out more wicked than she'd intended, "but of course you're also right about the Hellfire Club and deception." She watched him carefully as she spoke, wondering if he would give anything away as she did so, but wasn't surprised when he didn't. "You're a puzzle, Max Coleridge," she chuckled, "but I suppose you prefer it that way. So I'll see what I can do to unravel it this morning... but not right this moment," she added with a smile, allowing the conversation to drift along while the question percolated in her mind, feeling somehow more important than it seemed at first glance. She set the question aside as they discussed faith, and listened carefully to more than just his words. "Yes, faith is a personal thing," she replied, her hands falling of their own accord into the rhythms of invocation she'd learned from her grandmother. "To reach into myself, into the deep places, and bring the truths I find there up into the air and fashion my life around those truths... that is the most personal thing a woman or a man can do." Her voice was soft and precise, one word following another with the easy rhythm of waves crashing against the shore. "But in my experience, it can be shared. Oh, not the trappings of it, necessarily, the 'candles and cakes,' as you called them; it can be nice to share those with a community, but that's not what's important. That isn't the glory." She paused, uncertain that what she was trying to say would mean anything to this enigmatic man who had been her sometime ally for many years, but nonetheless remained mostly a stranger. "My companions in faith come from many religions and no religion, Max. They have many different names for the Goddess, and some have no name for Her that they know how to speak. A few would reject the very idea that our faith is shared. But each of them has brought the same truth up from the deep places where they speak with Her voice, whether they know it or not, and have chosen to fashion their lives around that truth, and that makes them my sisters and brothers in faith. And that's the glorious thing, Max; that's the greatest miracle of a life full of miracles, not only that I hear the voice of the world, but that I have found a family that does the same." She stopped drumming then, and placed a hand on Max's arm. "So, you asked me earlier whether you were motivated by pride or deception. Here's what I think, Max: it could be either, or it could be both, but you have it in you to make it neither... to instead be the truth you've learned to see in the world. What I haven't decided, yet, is which you've chosen to do." Her hands returned to their drumming then, and she listened quietly for a while, allowing the implicit question to stay unvoiced. |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 12 2011, 12:02 AM Post #11 |
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Max smiled to himself as he listened to Ororo speak. Her earnestness and passion shining through as an invisible aura. It was only a few weeks ago that he'd listened to Stryker sermonizing with the same zeal, but Ororo was his opposite in every way: where he condemned those who didn't fall into a narrow band of acceptability, she welcomed all; where he was intolerant, she was forgiving; and whereas he proclaimed his way the right and only way, she seemed to accept different ways of thinking. But just how welcoming and accepting was she when you didn't see yourself as a lost little lamb in need of guidance? He cocked his head slightly in surprise at the feel of her hand on arm but couldn't help smiling at her words. "There's the disapproval. I wondered how long it would take; much longer than I expected, it's my turn to be surprised, Ororo," he said, seemingly unconcerned at her disapproval. "I hear the implied suggestion that I need to change my wicked ways, but have you considered turning that around and asking yourself why you see my deceptions and pride as something that needs changing?" "When you came to the Hellfire Club, you asked me what went on within its walls; I gave you a vague answer and let it go at that." He waited a beat, letting her remember the encounter. "I'll tell you now - complete and absolute freedom. There are still a few rules," he reassured her, "but for the most part, the people who come to us answer only to their own conscious' and of course, they must face the consequences of their actions. Sex... drugs... gambling... all the addictions... and the so-called vices of Man. The holy men and women of all kinds of faiths lock themselves away in convents and monasteries; lock themselves away from the evils of this world to show their strength of character... their virtue," he cocked his head up toward the sun to feel its warmth. "I think it shows the opposite. Virtue isn't real virtue, true virtue, until it's been tested against vice," he said, the passion of a believer in his voice. "Vice the grindstone of virtue, not something to be shunned and feared. How many religious allegories are there of men and women with false virtue, who have it stripped away by vice, only to rebuild themselves something real? It takes no strength of character to walk away from temptation," he shook his head, "the people I admire are those who can sip pleasures from the cup of life without drowning in it." "The unfortunate thing about those deep inner truths that you spoke of earlier, is that they feel just as profoundly true as the self-made delusions. Did you have the dubious pleasure of listening to Reverend Stryker speak? I did, for over well over an hour, though my sense of time was somewhat distorted through it. He had the same zeal but I enjoyed your discussion more." He grimaced, replaying the last few minutes in his head. "I've killed the mood, haven't I? I apologize. I meant this to be nothing more than a pleasant outing in the park. Let me make things right. See me again. Are you staying in town long?" |
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| Ororo | Dec 12 2011, 06:39 PM Post #12 |
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Listening to Max's thoughts on vice and virtue, Ororo suddenly laughed at the unexpected realization that she'd returned to an old joke that never stopped being funny."I'm sorry, Max," she apologized hastily. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise. It just always amuses me when I am taken for an ascetic. I assure you, nobody who saw me eat an ice cream sundae would make that mistake," she added with a chuckle. "This may surprise you, but I actually agree with you about the futility of locking oneself away from the world in order to preserve virtue or seek truth. It's ultimately why I didn't stay an African goddess. If we don't bring our virtues into the world, then what is the good of them? If we don't judge the truths we think we see against the world, how do we ever learn? That's how we separate self-made delusions from the true voices from the depths: by seeing what happens when we bring them out into the world, when we fashion our lives around them." It was clear that Max's experiences with Stryker were still very much alive with him, and Ororo regretted having brought them up even indirectly. With most people she would have gone on to change the subject to something innocuous, but she suspected he wouldn't appreciate such a subject-shift if it implied that she felt he needed protection. So she continued, with careful deliberation. "You brought up Stryker; he's a perfect example. When he brought his message out into the world, the result was death, destruction, and misery. That was his true message, that was the voice he was channeling. And however he tried to mask it with his words, that true nature was made manifest in his actions. I saw it in the wounds on your body; the world saw it in the Sentinels he released. Nimrod's attempt to destroy New York revealed Stryker's truth, just as Havok's protection of the city revealed his. You asked me why I see deception and pride as things to avoid? That's why, Max. They're illusions, and if we rely on illusions to protect us from reality, we remain stuck as we are with no chance to improve either our selves or the world." "I've killed the mood, haven't I? I apologize. I meant this to be nothing more than a pleasant outing in the park. Let me make things right. See me again." Ororo laughed again, putting the drum aside for a while, and replied playfully: "Well, whether you've killed the mood depends on what mood you were going for, I suppose. Or, as Ainet would have put it: just what are your intentions, Mr. Coleridge?" |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 13 2011, 11:45 PM Post #13 |
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Talk of Stryker did squeeze his heart and make a tendon on the side of his neck faintly spasm with remembered pain but it was the claustrophobic memories of helplessness that he fought back with the pride that Ororo dismissed as an illusion. Clinging to an appearance of normalcy, he took long, deep breaths and shrugged off the tension that knotted his shoulders. In a moment it was gone, locked back down in the darkness. "My intentions, Ms. Munroe?" he leaned in closer to her, not close enough to kiss but close enough that the intention of implied intimacy couldn't be denied. "If they have you truly baffled, then I must be doing something drastically wrong; so I'll put it to you plainly. My intentions are to get to know you better," then grinned wickedly. "And let you get to know me. To take you dining and dancing," the curves of his lips turned playfully cocky, "or perhaps start with that ice cream you enjoy so much." On a park bench, under the sunshine, talking to a beautiful woman, he'd never felt so unlike the Shroud, unlike the Black King, and more like Max Coleridge than ever. Although he felt more like the man beneath the illusions, he wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing. "You have no reason to see me again," he said, knowing full well what the sainted members of Xavier's thought of him and his organization. "But will you?" |
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| Ororo | Dec 16 2011, 10:51 PM Post #14 |
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Ororo watched quietly as Max struggled with his memories of the trauma he'd experienced at Stryker's hands, breathing evenly and peacefully, making no overt expression of sympathy or of judgment. She knew better, after years of watching overly proud men -- Scott, Logan, and T'Challa, just to name three -- rejecting such expressions as though accepting them somehow implied weakness. Truth be told, she thought it foolish, but had come to accept it as an inextricable part of their nature, one that came along with their strength of character and willingness to lead. It wasn't something she would change in any of them, even if she could, and it was no surprise that the Hellfire Club's Black King shared that trait. She'd even learned from them, up to a point: while she would never be the kind of leader that Scott was, her ability to take charge when the situation called for it she largely credited to his training and his example over the previous decade. And though she suspected both men would reject the comparison in the most extreme terms, it was becoming clear to her that Max was in many ways cut from the same cloth. It made her wonder what Max would have become given a mentor he could trust the way Scott had trusted Charles, given a partner he could depend on the way Scott depended on Jean. Of course, in the absence of another interdimensional crossover like the one that had introduced the X-Men to Ruby, Ororo would never know for certain. And ultimately it didn't matter; what mattered was the world as it was, and as it could be, not as it might have been. And Ororo couldn't deny that the prospect of exploring the world as it could be alongside this man was... tempting. "Much about you is baffling, Max," she replied smoothly to his playful challenge, "but that doesn't include your motives. Well, your immediate motives, anyway." His deeper motives were his own, of course, and she suspected they always would be. But while she expected that he would lie to her in a moment, she also expected that the lies he told would nonetheless align with his true nature. It was honesty of a sort, in its own way... integrity, anyway, which was a close-enough cousin. She could respect that. She did respect that. "You have no reason to see me again. But will you?" And there it was: as clear a question as she was going to get, and far clearer than she needed. And, contemplating it, she began to suspect that the world as it could be contained previously unimagined possibilities well worth exploring. Then again, she reminded herself, those possibilities might be nothing but a feint, covering a strike I can't predict. There weren't many people she'd ever met who could reliably lie to her, not about things that mattered, but she didn't doubt that Max was one of them... nobody reached his position of power within an organization like the Hellfire Club without mastering that art. But when she put it that way, the choice was an easy one. If it had been any part of her nature to give up on the possibility of growth simply because of the possibility of failure, she never would have left Kenya to join Charles... and she'd seen where that choice led, and rejected it. For that matter, she would never have begun her journey through the African desert in the first place: she would still be a thief on the streets of Cairo. Choosing death over growth for fear of the consequences simply wasn't in her nature, and if there's one thing Ororo knew for sure, it was that she was committed to following her own nature wherever it led her. "Well," she replied with an ease she didn't quite feel, and a smile that she did, "why don't we start with that ice cream, and see where we go from there?" |
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| Max_Coleridge | Dec 26 2011, 08:07 AM Post #15 |
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It seemed an age went by before she answered his loaded question. Will you? Two simple words that asked more than what mere words could convey. Max didn't believe in destiny or fate, and despite his talk of religions and faith, he was no mystic guru; he believed that every moment and every action built who you were but there were some pivotal moments that held more weight and changed who you were and who you could become. "Ice cream," he nodded, a smile playing at his lips, "I can work with that." He hadn't missed that certain something in her voice, a wariness of someone stepping off into darkness, not sure what they'll find. He couldn't blame her; inside his darkness was a place no one wanted to go. It was also a relief to hear that they were both making this gamble. "And now, I think I'll take my leave while things are still going my way." He caught her hand and gave in a warm squeeze. "Thank you for the company," he rose to his feet. "Please stay, enjoy your gift. I can find my way back," he reassured her. He snapped open his cane with a flick of his wrist. "Let me know when you're ready for that ice cream." No rush. No pressure. No demands beyond what she was willing to risk. So much depending on this. Lives. Futures. Souls. FIN |
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7:34 PM Jul 11