2013.10.29 - Damned Good At It

X-Men Base - Team Quarters
This long metal hall has steel doors lining it, reserved for the use of X-men who are not faculty at Xavier's. It is well lit, and has the occupant's name on a plaque beside each door.
----
"So, to make a long story short?"
Tempered frustration is evident as Kwabena brushes the documents aside and swivels the computer screen about so that Rachel can see. The two of them have been going back and forth for the better part of an hour, scouring through the information that Jackie Estacado had provided to them at Kwabena's old dope house in Brooklyn. In spite of every google search, neither of them have been able to draw any viable connections that could be used to track him down.
"Nothing." Kwabena sits back, scowling. "He's not just good, he's damned good. Dere isn't a singah piece of information here dat I could use to even begin hunting him down. At best, dere would be guess work. Which would involve trolling around all of de bad parts of town, trying to beat information out of people."
Which isn't so say Kwabena would be against doing just that, but it's clear that wouldn't be his first choice. He's tempering the frustration well, his tone of voice even in spite of a brewing displeasure, but it's quite clear he's upset at the time they've already spent trying to locate what seems to be a ghost.
"Or I could try spray-painting your name on another drug-den, but I think that was a one-time deal."
Rachel dutifully looks at the computer screen, but she knows there's nothing on it for her that's not there for Kwabena. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she rakes a hand back through her hair. "Sorry. If I hadn't insisted we leave when we did, maybe you'd have more to go on." Even though she's annoyed with herself for that one, she well remembers her confrontation with the Darkness. She'll apologise for it, but it had to be done. She just wasn't ready for what she found in that place.
"At least I can make it quicker for us." Rachel offers, not terribly enthusiastically. "Point me at the bad guys, I'll look inside their heads. No beatings required, and they can't lie to me." No, not enthusiastic AT ALL, but willing.
Rachel stretches her arms over her head, wincing just slightly as her shoulder twinges, but it's only a minor pain. The people on Muir Island do good work. "Conquest. I don't like it. If he's going to live up to /that/ name, it's going to have to involve something big. And we've heard /nothing/ - while Kurt's all over the place, it seems."
A short laugh is what Rachel gets for that little joke, along with a rueful smirk.
"Don't beat yourself up ovah it. I didn't want to be dere any longah dan you. In fact? I nevah even intended to open dat case." A quick glance at the briefcase Jackie gave them becomes more of a symbolic gesture than anything else.
A furrowed brow precedes a dark look, mostly due to the wince of pain Kwabena just noticed. "Yeah," he agrees. "Not a peep. Nothing on de news feeds, nothing trending on twittah. Seems de only 'world news' right now is centered on Genosha." He doesn't have to say that he doesn't like this particular Harbinger's name. The look of agreement is all she'd need, even if she weren't a telepath.
"We can ask de Proffessah to use Cerebro. See if he can be located. I've already put word out into de narcotics trade, dough my name isn't too hot right now." Leaning back into his chair, Kwabena hooks an ankle over his knee, relaxing. "All dat's left? Get a team ready for a fast deployment."
A long sigh is released, but soon enough, a look of unbridled worry seems to be centered upon Rachel.
At least she got that laugh out of Kwabena. There's been very little /to/ laugh about lately, and in truth there still isn't, but getting too depressed isn't going to help them any.
Rachel makes a quiet noise, a kind of dismissive snort, when Kwabena tries to cheer her up in turn, but she looks quickly back at him when he mentions that case, her eyes suddenly intent, but then she smiles, a bit. Good, she doesn't have to say.
She affects not to notice his look. Her shoulder's fine, or will be by the time she's needed. "Not surprising, I guess. Jean and Magneto gave everyone a lot to talk about. If there is anything out there? It's getting lost in the static, not worth the airtime. Almost makes me wonder if Sinister expected..." She shakes her head. "Never mind. I know not everything's part of the plan."
Rachel goes quiet as soon as Cerebro is mentioned, a pensive expression on her features, and answers Kwabena's last suggestion first. "Five targets. If they coordinate their attacks, we'd have to find five teams. That's going to stretch us too thing." She goes quiet again, drawing her lower lip between her teeth and worrying at it for a second or two, before she realises what she's doing and stops herself in disgust.
"Or we put me in Cerebro, and see what happens." The words are spoken quickly, choppily. "The Darkness wanted the Phoenix to come out to play, and the Phoenix seemed drawn to it. Maybe I can use that." She shrugs, a sharp movement of her shoulders. "Jean can't do everything, after all." She says that last bit under her breath while looking at the table, but then looks up to meet Kwabena's eyes as he looks at her.
Telepath.
"What?"
She's right, of course. They will need to coordinate. They will need help. He could go on and on about strategy, about calling on his friends, about how Cerebro is too dangerous for even Jean to wield.
Instead? A kind of tired softness enters his eyes, a change from the frustration inherent with drawing tactical blanks. "I don't want to ask you to do dis," he admits. "Sure, it's a strong strategy. De Phoenix, de Dahkness, and all of dese things. But, Rachel?"
Kwabena pauses for a moment. A frown comes over his face and he seems conflicted. Over what? Well, she is a telepath. She could easily find out just what is going on inside of that bald head of his. Instead, a very quiet, almost defeated sigh comes through his nose. The leg comes unhooked, and he runs his hands down the leg of his jeans in a gesture of awkwardness that is unexpected even to him.
"I don't want to be responsible for something bad happening to you."
Being hurt.
Finding herself lost in the destructive power of the Phoenix Entity.
Or learning just what kind of a man he thinks himself to be.
<Empathy> Shift sends: It's a jumble of thoughts. They find their source in a very clear attraction to Rachel, a caring he's developed for her, a desire to keep her safe. He knows better than to think of this as some kind of 'I'm the man' thing. He knows she can take care of herself in a fight. It's more along the lines of a desire not to willingly lead her into a bad situation, because he feels she'll go along with him if he asks her to. But --that-- is the thought that launches all of the bad thoughts. He did sleep with Satana, and there's much confusion there. Did he do it to try and distance himself from the way he feels about Rachel? Did he do it simply because he's been lonely and stressed out, what with the Genosha op and what Jackie did with his name? Or was it really nothing more than Satana exerting her metahuman power over him? Was he a victim to her? But surely there was at least one small part of him that wanted her, and it's all got him torn up, feeling as if in spite of everything, he's little more than a failure. A former drug addict and criminal, who in spite of his best efforts to become better, will always be trash. [to Rachel Summers]
 
Rachel could look inside Kwabena's head. She did it enough on Genosha, and before. 'Before', though, was Rachel's comparative lack of telepathic good manners. Genosha? Well, she'd warned him, and all the rest of the team, that she'd be in their heads a lot, and she doesn't feel any regret about it. She did learn a couple of things through that, though. First, that Kwabena doesn't like telepaths in his mind much, even though he tolerates her. Second, that the ironic counterpoint to that is that he has virtually no mental defences at all. At least against her. So, since they've been back, she's been trying to keep /out/ of his mind.
Because she doesn't want him feeling uncomfortable around her.
Which is not to say it's not frustrating to be on her best behaviour for a change. Particularly when he's taking his time to get to the point. A hint of that impatience enters her eyes as she tilts her head to one side, studying him with a curious look. A little smile showing she's aware of her own reaction but there's nothing that she can do about it.
"You didn't ask, I volunteered."
She puts that in when he pauses to draw breath, almost impishly, noticeably more confident now she's had a moment to get used to the idea. Her smile turns rueful as she realises that he's not finished, and with an effort she holds her tongue while he continues, though she nods at the mention of the Phoenix, and then the Darkness, and /almost/ tells him he shouldn't be trying to talk her out of this, but she makes herself wait.
Until he pauses, and gets that look on his face, and then her impatience gets the better of her, and she breaks her private promise to spend less time inside his head. She doesn't move, there's no outward sign that her power's at work, for she needs do little more than drop her shields and listen to his surface thoughts.
One thing about telepathy? It's a lot faster than speech, and you can absorb a heck of a lot of information in an instant. There's no time for a physical reaction to betray her. She's been aware, on some level, of his attraction to her, and her own banter with him ceased being entirely a game some time ago, though the depth of it still surprises her a little. She feels a rush of fond amusement at his desire to keep her safe.
But then the rest of the man's memories rush past her mind's eye, and anger blots out nuance and depth.
The air in the room suddenly becomes heavy, like the tension before a thunderstorm breaks, and only Rachel's belated recollection that neither one of them has ever promised the other one anything keeps Rachel from exploding.
"Too late."
She bites the words out and stands up, looking down at him with an utterly blank expression, while perhaps a flicker of golden fire kindles in her eyes. "Set it up. I can handle it. I'll find the damn Darkness for you. And we'll /finish/ this."
She's probably not just talking about Jackie Estacado any more.
Telepathy is, indeed, very fast. So fast that Kwabena simply doesn't have the time to stop what's happening until he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it's too late. The heaviness that fills the room only serves to remind him of this fact, and with a pained expression his eyes drift closed, a grimace coming over him.
It only takes a second, maybe two, for him to find the gall to look up at her. The flood of thoughts has already been bitten back, even though he knows it's too late. More than anything, however, it's the blankness of her expression that cuts him. Not the cold demeanor in which she speaks, not the subtle suggestion that something ended before it ever really had a chance to start. It's the stern realization that he's already failed to do a thing that became a wish. To protect her.
Ironic, how one can stand in the middle of a cosmic detonation rivaling that of the big bang, while such a seemingly small thing can be more damaging.
The thing is? Kwabena's stubborn. For all of his talent, his resourcefulness, his ability to adapt and get the job done? He's still a stubborn son of a bitch.
"Rachel."
He stands up. He doesn't come closer, for the flicker of golden fire has him feeling frightened. He doesn't know her well enough to know what this will do, though it's ironic how he wishes he did know. "Whatevah you're thinking it's... it's not..."
 
Rachel's seething. She has her temper by the throat and she's trying not to let go and do something she'd regret.
The trouble is, she's not actually sure she WOULD regret it, and she's becoming less sure by the moment.
She's been so blind. She's a telepath and she didn't even catch a hint of this before now. She's been so arrogant, that she really believed she could /tell/ Kwabena she's screwed up and expect him to accept her. And worst of all, she's been such a fool to forget what she did, what she was, what she still IS, and carry on as if she's a normal person, with a chance of at least some of the things a normal life has to offer.
She's furious with him, and she's at least as furious with herself. And something in her mind that's not Rachel /likes/ her furious, likes the strong emotion coursing through her.
And that something? Not too long ago it helped destroy the Spire.
As Kwabena stands up, Rachel takes a step back. She's not afraid. Not of him, anyway. It's done on instinct, keeping the same distance between them. And he might notice that her fists are clenched now, too. Her blank mask cracks a little as he speaks, her eyes narrowing scornfully.
"Whatever I'm thinking? Please. I'm thinking what /you're/ thinking." It's a lie, she's not in his mind any more. The temptation's too strong. But the flame in her eyes is stronger now, unquestionably present, not a trick of the light. And there's the tiniest sensation of movement in the air, now. Like a slight breath of wind.
"I know what it is. Hell, I don't even blame you." A lie, though the self-loathing is thick in her voice. "Everything you've done? Everything you fear about who you were? It's /nothing/. I've done worse things than you can imagine." Her lips draw back from her teeth. It's not a smile, it's full of too much bitterness for that. "At least you don't need to hear about that now, right?"
The door behind Kwabena slams open with such force that the frame actually distorts.
"Get out of my way."
What would she do? Plow through him? Pour the fire of that alien entity into him, scattering his molecules throughout the Institute? Throughout the county? Throughout the country?
Kwabena can't read minds. The reaction he sees in her, however, is strong enough that it damn near makes him smile. That is a surprise. In all of his guilt, self loathing, feelings of failure, that he would find some fleeting happiness in knowing how angry this makes her? That it would affect her so strongly?
No grin comes to his face, of course. He's so utterly surprised by it that it catches him entirely off guard, stalling him to a point where a certain blankness of his own comes to bear. The blankness of confusion.
When she speaks, he listens. A touch of that remorse flickers back across his face, but before he can reply, she's speaking again, that self-loathing not at all what he'd expected. He blinks, a sign of the surprise at what Rachel is saying, but a part of it begins to make sense. All of the hints she's made about her future, her severe desire not to draw her memories to form, the constant effort she places to hide the marks upon her face.
"What if I w--"
*SLAM!*
The defensive outburst is cut short by the slamming of the door. He feels the draft of air, forced to touch his neck with the sheer speed of that door. An expression that borders on desperation has formed on his face, but it's summarily stalled out, just like his words. He lingers for a moment before taking a step to the side, but as he goes, his eyes remain locked upon Rachel. They've become stronger now, no longer soaking in self-loathing and regret. Before he's fully out of the way, however...
"What if I want to know?"
The words are spoken quietly, softly. Honestly. Perhaps she'll reach out again, ripping into his mind to find out it's true. Suddenly, Kwabena can't help but feel that he wants her to know. The emotion swells, and the only thing that keeps him from being absolutely stupid and moving to block her exit is the respect she's earned.
Suddenly, he blurts out, "I regret everything!" Heat comes into his words. "Keeping you at arms length. Putting de mission first every time. Being too much of a cowahd to say something." Though his voice rises, he's not angry with Rachel. He's not even really angry with himself anymore. No, he's simply... feeling. "And all of dis... dis goddamned..." He breaks off, for he can't even understand what's coming to the surface, much less make sense of it all.
Every word that comes to mind is like a shield in his head, a shield he wants nothing more than to simply drop.
Stand in her way. Find out. Or don't.
Rachel's quite capable of going through Kwabena, and she wouldn't need the power of the Phoenix to do it.
In the moment between the door slamming open and Kwabena stepping aside, Rachel's utterly still. Not even breathing. Eyes locked on his, waiting for any sign that he means to stop her. And that's the only reason she sees it. Her shields are closed tight around her mind, letting nothing in or out, but she can still see the expression on his face, and it's one she doesn't understand.
But then he moves, and the stillness of the moment is broken. Rachel takes a step forward, back ramrod straight, tension in every line of her body. She looks straight ahead as she stalks past him. A part of her obscurely disappointed that they're both going to get out of this relatively unscathed.
She doesn't remember spinning around. She doesn't remember grabbing hold of the door frame to keep herself from lunging back into the room. She remembers the question he asked, and then? Just for a moment?
Nothing but fire.
"You want to know? Why? So you're sure you made the right choice?" The cold control is gone from her, the words come hot and fast. "You want to see what I really am? Take a good look!" The telepathic illusion's gone from her features, revealing the black, almost delicate curving claw-marks of the Hound brand that mars her face, and her eyes are blank, white-hot orbs, all trace of green gone. But more than that, her clothes have changed, and what's replaced them is blood red sheath that covers her from the neck down and which is studded with viciously sharp spikes. "They made me this! They made me kill my own kind! And I was SO damn good at it!"
Rachel's voice is rising as her control slips further and further away - but then Kwabena says the last thing she'd expect.
'I regret everything.'
She hears the words, but it's the honesty behind them that grabs her attention and won't let go, she'd lost her grip on her shields at the same moment her appearance changed. She's suddenly left... empty. She blinks, and green eyes look at him, lost and confused. She smiles sadly. "You're an X-Man, Shift. You got that bit right."
She's very definitely talking about the mission, and not the succubus.
She remains standing in the doorway, looking at him with an unreadable expression, the conflict now in her own eyes. But then she shakes her head, turns, and is gone.
The instinctive heat comes into his eyes the moment she spins about and grasps that door. He's not sure what to expect next. A part of him is ready for her to tear him asunder, which draws a stern sort of acceptance into his eye.
When Kwabena gasps, it's not because of the claw-marks upon Rachel's face. It's not because of the costume. It's because of the transformation itself. An understanding that this is what her world turned her into.
------
Earth-616. The south side of Chicago. Colors defined who they were, what they stood for, what they owned. They owned blocks. They owned families. They owned everything. The very air of that neighborhood was breathed in and out every day because the Taliband permitted it. Every ounce of dope, every block of hard, even the rights to own the corner stores and barber shops all moved through their organization.
Until a rival gang moved into the McKee Building.
The Taliband was ready for action. Each and every one of them, from the 12 year old Bobby Jefferson to the hardened, ex-con middle-aged Sam Smith, were packing heat and seeing red. However, it was Kwabena Odame who took the charge. He was the mutant, and he never let them see what he could do.
Into the McKee Building he walked, confidently, fearlessly. His fellow gangbangers couldn't have known just what happened inside. They couldn't have known of the bullets that strayed right through his body, peppering the walls behind him. They couldn't have known of the skulls that were busted with little more than a genetically altered fist. Men, women, children. None of them stopped him. He was damned good at what he did, too, and when he left the McKee Building, he left not a single person alive. Instead, he came out with two bags full of dope, $375,000 in cash, and enough pussy lining up for a cold n----' to last a lifetime.
------
This was life for Kwabena. Day in, day out, in cities ranging from San Diego to Nashville. But it all ended when he started shooting the same dope he used to kill over.
In a twisted way, the ghetto made him who he was. They made him a killer, and eventually, an addict. They left him behind. The man who was once a king, only to become gutter trash. It all flashes through his mind, free to be ripped free and dissected upon, but all that's left upon the Ghanaian's face is a look of understanding.
He doesn't say a word. She may have killed her own kind, but he killed those who were 'lesser'. He would have asked her to consider which one was worse...
Instead, he simply lets Rachel leave.
Category:Log