20157/A Little More Conversation

A Little More Conversation
Date of Scene:	28 February 2025
Location:	Balcony Sweet (Open)
Synopsis:	In Kurt's room at Xavier's, he and Maddie have a heart to heart about who they are -- and who they aren't.
Cast of Characters:	Madelyne Pryor, Kurt Wagner

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Madelyne Pryor has posed:
It has been a very long day.

It started like any other over the last six months, waking up on Asteroid M and making her way down to Genosha. Madelyne had practiced some meditations Emma had taught her to clear her mind, and that evening she'd ventured into a... less populated area of the island.

A part that was mostly rubble, still waiting to be rebuilt.

She'd just been trying to keep her mind clear, avoiding the crowds and the inevitable flood of thoughts that came from being in a populated area. She hadn't been trying to leave herself vulnerable to attack. Then again, she wasn't aware anyone still wanted to kill or kidnap her. Six months of living on a private asteroid had apparently made her complacent.

It was entirely thanks to Cable stepping in that she wasn't currently in whatever MLF holding cell Zero and Tempo had been planning to drop her in. Cable had said they wanted her to fill in for their leader's telepathic abilities, and he'd alluded that whatever they needed to do to force her to accomplish that would not be pleasant.

Flash forward to being underground, learning that Cable -- Nathan -- was actually her son in another timeline and having no time to process that before they were on the run again.

A few too many bodyslides later, she found herself at Xavier's for the first time in five years, and any exhaustion she might feel from getting shot, running for her life, teleporting half-way around the world, or learning about an alternate version of herself was quickly replaced by the discomfort of being in this place. This place where everyone always mistook her for Jean. This place where, more than anywhere else in the world, she felt like nothing more than a broken lab experiment who wasn't meant to exist.

But while it might have been the middle of the night -- or early morning -- in Genosha, it was still early in the day in Westchester.

By the time she finally made her way out to the frozen lake on the grounds of the Xavier Institute, it was the afternoon, approaching evening. Given the weather in Genosha, she hadn't exactly dressed for snow, but she'd needed to get out of Nathan's bunker. She'd needed fresh air, a chance to clear her mind. She still had so many questions for him, but none of them even made sense to her.

Did she really need to ask him questions about being his mother? Did it really matter? To her... kind of. To him, maybe not. It was an entirely different timeline. Any number of variables could have changed to make her the way she was in his reality, but in her mind, that was still Madelyne Pryor. His biological mother was still... her, in one form or another.

Standing beside that like, faintly shivering from the cold, she'd had only a few minutes to lose herself in thought before a familiar voice rose from behind her -- the fuzzy blue elf.

'Zorro.'

She'd kissed him little more than a week before, standing on a dock in Greenland while a horde of rushing zombies nearly overtook them. She didn't even know his name. Not really. He'd rattled off a slew of them -- Blue, Kurt, Elf, Nightcrawler. But once fatigue set in and she'd failed to ignite the fuel he'd dumped out to set ablaze and push back the horde of undead, kissing him -- making a literal and figurative spark -- had seemed like the most instinctive decision in the world.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
She had, of course, contacted the Brotherhood for a teleport out as soon as it looked like they were going to be left alone. She'd done her part. She'd helped the people get to safety aboard a ship, and she'd even given it a telekinetic shove from the dock to ensure they were safe. But she'd never expected to feel a connection with someone so quickly, and she wasn't at all prepared to face the fact that she didn't want to stop at just a kiss. It was easier just to leave.

She didn't expect him to be offering her his sweater barely a week later, her hands and face numb from standing in the cold. And when the chemistry is as potent as it is between them, one thing, as they say, leads to another...

The sun is setting over the grounds outside of Kurt's apartment window. It casts a kind of muted, ambient glow over the room.

Clothes are... well... everywhere, but Madelyne has found the gray button-down shirt Kurt had been wearing under his sweater. Having rescued it from lying over a couple of books on an end table, it's obviously too large, falling to her upper-thigh with sleeves she's rolled up to free her hands. She's fastened at least the middle few buttons, leaving an enticing 'V' at the top and a dangerous flap where the bottom button is missing entirely.

Her hair is mussed. Her cheeks positively glow. And she currently has one hip propped against the counter of his kitchenette, her arms crossed loosely across her stomach as she watches him with an unwaveringly wicked smile fixed to her lips.

"So..." she muses, her emerald eyes sparkling with playful mirth. "..Kurt.. Vagner."

She even says his last name in his accent -- or at least an approximation of it.

She's dragging it out, quite obviously trying to make it sound more awkward than it really is. After what just happened, it probably should be at least a little uncomfortable, but even when she's trying to pretend it is, she can't seem to muster any actual embarrassment.

It's too easy to simply exist around him.

"You... come here often?"

It's all she can do to keep the laugh buttoned behind her lips, but it shines clearly in her eyes.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It has been a long day at the Xavier Institute as well.

Long, but nowhere near as stressful or difficult or full of revelations compared to what Madelyne has been through perhaps.

Still, serving as a teacher to dozens of mutant students does mean that it is usually necessary to get up pretty damn early in the morning. There are things to do in order to get ready, preparations to make and a need to squeeze in at least a few personal tasks as well in that limited time.

Then for the rest of the morning and afternoon it is mostly non-stop classes. Kurt enjoys his job all in all. He enjoys teaching, enjoys having the chance to convey his knowledge on a topic that he is passionate about - that being history of course - and for the most part he does it in such a way that his students can likewise feel engaged by the subject matter.

It helps of course that they have access to a holographic training center like the Danger Room where a little clever use and programming can quite literally make the lesson of the day come alive.

But no matter how you cut it, people are people. He is dealing largely with teenagers. Teenagers with all of their angst. Teenagers with all of their hormones. Yes, he teaches a couple of college equivalency courses as well. That can make a nice change. But the bread and butter has him dealing with superpowered teenagers for much of the day.

It requires a lot of patience, a lot of supervision and at times it feels like he needs to have the ability to be in two or more places at once.

Which, fortunately for Kurt, thanks to his ability to teleport, he can almost do.

The patience part isn't really a superpower, but the fuzzy blue elf's ability and willingness to roll with just about anything most definitely comes in handy. And really, after turning his cheek and taking the high road in some of these classes, doing the same when confronted by some anti-mutant bigot is practically easy in comparison.

So while the day might have been a long one, it wasn't anything particularly out of the ordinary. Nothing that he doesn't deal with almost every single day.

That is until the whispered rumors that 'Ms. Grey' was wandering the campus looking disheveled and confused. that was certainly unusual, certainly something worth checking out and it didn't exactly take Kurt too terribly long to discover the source of those rumors, standing down by Breakstone Lake, looking pretty chilled to the bone and not at all dressed for the wintery weather in Upstate New York.

The assumption that Jean would be in such a state is understandable. Afterall, as far as most people who know, who else could it be?

But Kurt does indeed know better. He does because he travelled to Greenland with someone that a less observant individual might very well mistake for Jean. fortunately he is pretty observant. He also benefits from the fact of being aware that there is another person out there who fits the bill.

'Red'.

While Kurt wasn't exactly shy about sharing his names with those he worked with in Greenland, he did have something of a deluge of suggestions for what people could call him if they wanted. But the woman standing by the lake ultimately went by the obvious by fitting moniker made in reference to her hair.

And somehow - maybe it is the way that she stands, or the difference in her hair cut or maybe it is just the fact that they are still very much tied together after that kiss on a northern wharf that helped save hundred of people.

It doesn't take very long to set her at her ease, to whisk her back to the confines of the mansion. It doesn't take them very long at all to renew acquaintances, even if the fuzzy blue elf hadn't really been certain that he would ever see her again at all.

It also didn't take them very long to discover that spark between them back on the docks was no fluke. And that it is really, and truly more powerful then they could possible imagine.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
That late afternoon has irrevocably rolled onward, the last lingering light of day giving way to the shadows of evening. It's probably a good thing that Madelyne - Maddie, as he finally has learned her real name - has no interest in interacting with the students, with the other teachers, because at this point they have most definitely missed dinner. No, they will definitely have to make do with what Kurt has in his apartments. Or he can sneak down to the kitchen and plunder the fridge there in a little while.

They are finally getting to what they probably should have done from the get-go. They finally have a chance to talk, to maybe learn a little something about one another. To maybe figure out why they should have such insane chemistry between them.

But like her, the fuzzy blue elf has a distinct lack of self-consciousness, even stripped to the waist as he is. Even with his closet in the next room, he hasn't felt compelled to fetch another shirt, having surrendered the one he was wearing earlier to Maddie's devices.

Even now he flashes that half grin at his redheaded guest, puttering about his little kitchenette as he brews a different hot, dark liquid - coffee this time - while shooting the occasional glance her way.

Which only makes that smile grow in an ever escalating pattern. But it would seem that she already has that particular effect on him.

"As it so happens, I do come her pretty often," he agrees lightly as he pours out coffee into a pair of mugs, cradling his own in his two hands while his tail retrieves the other, stretching over to offer it to his guest with a little grin. "Practically every day as it happens," he continues.

"But I do have to say, it has never looked quite so good as it goes with now. What with you in it."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Emerald eyes flick to the hovering mug of coffee, much like they had when that thermos of hot chocolate had first been produced outside.

Once again, not hovering, but suspended by a long, agile blue tail.

Madelyne reaches out with both of her own hands, letting her eyes wander back to his as she cradles the mug and brings it to her chin.

"What a versatile appendage," she muses, eyes still alight with humor over the rim of her cup as she finally lifts it to her lips for a sip. She might, in the process of that sip, let her gaze wander.. lower. Just a little.

Kurt is such a fascinating creature. The fine blue hair that covers his entire body is so impossibly, velvety soft, and the way it covers the shape of his shoulders, his bare chest, and his arms is... particularly intriguing. At least to her.

It's while she's admiring his lean physique that his flirtatious compliment catches her off guard, snapping her gaze back to him even as her cheeks take on a pinkish glow, despite herself. Laughter, warm and surprised, not at all mocking, tumbles past her lips without warning.

"I feel compelled to point out the obvious... that you already got the girl. Making her swoon, at this point, just feels like showing off."

Which is not something that would appear to bother her, if the smile on her lips -- the one that reaches all the way up to her eyes -- is any indication. Still, she levels that gaze on Kurt, taking just a moment to lift her eyes towards the ceiling as if recalling something nearly forgotten.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date."

There's another sip of her coffee, then, as she watches him over the rim.

There are so many questions to ask that it's hard to know exactly where to start. Where are you from? How did you end up at Xavier's? What was your childhood like? Why were you on that plane to Greenland?

But instead of the more obvious questions, the one that finally comes out is, "Why history? Why swords?"

It isn't that she isn't interested in the facts. She is. But those facts are set in stone. Presumably, anyone who knows Kurt well could tell her those things about him, and if anyone understood how little or how much 'being born' somewhere might play into your life, it's Madelyne Pryor. But the things she seems most curious about are his apparent passions -- the things he got to choose for himself.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Dark may have settled over the grounds of the Xavier Institute, though lights still show through the darkened windows, past the little licks of frost that paint the corners of those little portals out onto the outside world.

They haven't quite entirely lost track of time, even if they managed to miss the evening meal.

Though in all honesty it is pretty difficult to picture Maddie being entirely at ease with the idea of sitting in a dinning hall full of students staring at her. Particularly if Jean happened to be there. Kurt might not know her as well as he would like - at least not yet - but he can tell that much for certain.

No, much better for them to sneak something to eat up here when the mood strikes. And in truth, spending a little more time getting to know one another feels both more appropriate and more important then ever.

The heat of the coffee might be welcomed - though again, his quarters appear pleasantly warm and cozy - though caffeine at this hour may or may not be appreciated depending on her sensitivity. But Kurt certainly takes a long drink from his own mug without seeming concern for any of that.

Her murmured comment draws a smile to his features and the tail bobs in turn as well, that spaded tip wiggling in a sort of familiar wave her way as if grateful for the appreciation. "It comes in handy more often then you might imagine," he admits.

Certainly the fuzzy blue elf does not seem to be at all shy in putting it to work.

Of course, while she is studying him, he is doing the same to her as well, his own gaze flickering over her admiringly and when she points out the obvious, his counter is a low, rich laughter that fills those golden eyes as well.

The end of that tail flickers out, reaching out to rest just beneath her chin as if to hold her gaze there for his own, just for an instant and Kurt flashes that warm smile once more. "Anyone who has ever suggested to you that you do not deserve a little romance, a little appreciation, no matter the circumstances has done you a grave mis-service. The very least I can do is to make sure that such a mis-service is not perpetuated," he points out.

As she quotes the sonnets of Shakespeare, he gives another low, delighted laugh and he props himself up in one corner of his desk, that mug still cradled between his hands. "I would be careful about getting my going 'Red'. Else I'm liable to pull out all sorts of books of poetry," he cautions playfully.

He too has any number of questions - not the least of which is just what circumstances would result in Cable bringing her here - but he very much wants her to feel comfortable, not interrogated so he holds off on his own curiosity a moment longer, content to answer her own.

"I love stories," he offers up, eyes still bright. "And what story could be greater then the story of the ages? There is no shortage of tales of adventure and romance all wrapped up in history," he explains.

"As for swords?" he begins, gesturing towards the walls of his room and the posters there. "Consider it an affectation, a love of old movies. Of Errol Flynn and Douglas Fairbanks and those old classic swashbuckler movies that grew into something of a personal obsession," he concedes wryly.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Making her swoon, at this point, might feel like showing off, but he doesn't simply make her swoon.

It's almost as if something... fractures.

Kurt's tail catches her chin, curling softly and lifting her gaze to his with a sly little twist of her lips. 'Rascal,' her look seems to accuse, clearly thinking that using his tail so cleverly and tenderly moments after her most recent comments gave him an unfair opening into her heart.

But she wasn't prepared for his words, their weight, or the utter sincerity behind them.

Her smile falters. Her breathing... stops. And just for a moment, it's like watching someone fall unexpectedly in slow motion -- the gradual realization that the floor has vanished, that gravity will have its way, and there's nothing to be done about it except to accept the inevitable.

She says nothing in response to it. What could she say that wasn't callous, pitiful, or an outright lie?

She lacked anything resembling a close friend, much less a romantic partner. But that was her decision, wasn't it? She could have gone to a bar, like everyone else. She could have settled for whatever specimen was brave enough to buy her a drink and let them whisper empty promises in her ear while she eavesdropped on their thoughts...

The wife or husband at home. The shallow attraction. The lies.

Against her better judgement, she'd seen into Kurt's mind. More than that. She'd seen herself through his eyes. She'd witnessed the sincerity, the yearning that echoed her own -- not for something as crude as meaningless sex, but for connection.

Something in her called out to him, and something in him answered.

The faint ringing in her ears -- a lingering effect of his declaration -- makes everything else more distant. Not impossible to process, just... slower, as if from far away.

...Else I'm liable to pull out all sorts of books of poetry.

"We wouldn't want that," Madelyne whispers, playful sarcasm thick in her voice, emerald eyes watching him, unwavering.

She's not sure when she started breathing again or how she came to be standing so close to him. She has a vague recollection of letting her cup go, of guiding it telekinetically to an empty spot on his desk so that she could lean against his chest.

One arm loops around him. The other hand settles on his sternum, just over his heart, her fingers lightly trailing through the fine, velvety fur.

"What else do you love?"

The words just seem to... tumble out. There doesn't seem to be any specific intent behind them, but the focus of her gaze is steady and intense, like the answer... matters. At least, to her, it does. She wants to know him.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Again, Kurt has no real idea just how much he is helped by the fact that he has so few pretensions. That he does not just view this as some sort of romantic game to play. That unlike so many of the sorts of men that she could have run into in some bar somewhere, he is no after some sort of conquest, willing to say anything or do anything in order to get what he wants.

Such a thing could be so very disastrous with Maddie, given the fact that she can ready minds, that she can see those thoughts even as they form.

But she has already seen inside his head, already seen into the heart of him, enough that even now, without peeking into his thoughts there can be a degree of certainty that the sincerity in his voice isn't just for show.

It is built into Kurt, really. That tendency to see the best in people, no matter the circumstance. He is very aware that no one is perfect, that everyone has flaws. He has faced it head on - as an X-Men to be sure - but even well before that in his life. Growing up as a child, in the circus.

It would have been so easy to get cynical, to see people for how they can be at their worst, instead of at their best. To harden his heart and get defensive, withdrawn and sullen. Or start to treat others as he was so often treated.

But Kurt decided to walk a different path. Certainly his faith helped in that.

But most of all, despite his appearance, despite the resemblance - and secret heritage - that reflects a more demonic origin, the fuzzy blue elf is just genuinely decent.

And it would seem that Maddie has had a shortage of genuinely decent sorts in her life.

"You say that now, but just wait until I've waxed poetic to you for hours and hours and gone on and on about the best romantic poems of all time when all you really want to do is get some sleep. See if you can still be sarcastic about the terror if it then," he teases in reply, winking playfully at her.

When she sets that cup aside, when she walks over to him, he doesn't hesitate to set his own coffee aside, to reach out with both arms and that clever tail to reel her in, to draw her to his chest for the moment. To offer a little bit or warmth and comfort, for no other reason then it seems that she needs it.

"My loves are many and varied," he says lightly, a small smile curving his lips, fingers idly massaging at the back of her neck, playing in that red hair for a moment. "I think you've gotten a taste for some already. That sense of adventure. Of excitement," he notes, which seems to hold true. Both from what they experienced up in Greenland and in reflected in the books and posters that populate his quarters.

"But I find an immense satisfaction in helping others. Dealing with teenagers isn't always fun," he admits with a wry smile. "But I do like getting the chance to make a difference for so many," he admits wryly.

"What about you, Maddie? What is it that makes your heart sing?"

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
It's such a foreign thing, to simply walk up to someone and receive comfort for no reason other than you seem to need it. Yet, with Kurt, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, like there was never a doubt in her mind that when she stepped into his space, he would receive her with open arms and draw her into him. It was as if they'd done it a hundred times before.

"Hours and hours..."

That sarcasm is gone from her tone, replaced instead with a deep sense of wistfulness as she closes her eyes and turns her temple against him, resting against his warmth.

A slow, melancholy smile curls her lips as her fingers tighten on him, her cheek nuzzling against his fur like she might a teddy bear.

"We don't have the same definition of terror, Zee."

Humor has returned to her voice, but there's also a deep sincerity just beneath the surface. She knows he's teasing. So is she. But it's one of the first real glimpses into her past -- at least, the first one she's offered herself. Kurt's already pieced some things together just from her body language, her mood, her responses -- at least enough to formulate some questions.

His answer, though, draws her head back from his chest so she can look up at him. She's surprised.

"That's why you were in Greenland?"

As before, the question is out before she really even seems to consider it, like the conversation simply flows from her lips. And when he asks his question of her, her answer is just as immediate.

"You."

Which... is probably ridiculous. She says it with a completely straight face, but the shy smile that follows seems to confess that she knows exactly how it sounds.

But no matter how preposterous it might be to have feelings for him after such a short time, knowing so little about him, it's still a better answer than 'revenge.'

Her eyes dip down after a moment -- another sign that she's fully aware how much like a 'line' that answer sounded like, so much so that she couldn't bring herself to keep meeting his gaze and instead withered under the truth of it.

He is what makes her heart sing.

Almost the only thing that makes her heart sing.

"Flying," she answers after another moment, her voice quieter, her fingers back to tenderly caressing his fur. "I'm an airline pilot, but I've been... doing some soul searching."

She can feel it coming -- the approach of 'the truth.' It's like an army with swords held high, marching inexorably towards her, and all she can do is stand there and wait for the moment she'll have to tell him who -- what -- she really is.

The tension coils like a snake around her heart, constricting, making her breath shallower as the panic begins to bubble up.

She doesn't want to go.

Her fingers curl a little tighter, her head presses a little closer.

Just a little while longer... all she wants is a little while longer...

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is so very strange in certain respects. That they can have already formed such a powerful bond after knowing each other for such a short amount of time.

Perhaps Kurt should question that a little more then he does. Perhaps he should take a closer look and try to understand. But the fuzzy blue elf excels at simply accepting, at taking things as they are instead of wishing that they were somehow different.

And really, it is hard to complain with how things have turned out thus far.

Of course it is something of a philosophical truism that just because things have gone a certain way to date, does not guarantee that they will always go that way.

Again, she draws a low laugh from him and for a moment he rubs his cheek against her own, that soft, velvet like fur grazing her flesh warmly. "That you don't find the prospect quite so terrifying is probably for the best, since it is almost a certainty that I will inflict it upon you sooner or later," he admits, amusement coloring his words, even now.

When she draws back at his answer, about the fact that one of his passions is helping people, when she looks so genuinely surprised his expression softens and his fingers slip out from behind her, from where they idly play with her hair to cradle her cheek once more.

"Well, sort of. My foster sister, she is something of an expert on magic. She is, well, a witch. She could... sense the disturbance that was being caused up there and urged me to look into it. It's how I ended up in such unexpected company," he fuzzy blue elf admits before flashing a sly grin her way. "Much to my benefit it would seem in the end."

Again, his expression softens, the line of his mouth smoothing slightly though that smile lingers in place. "Though I am pleased that we were in the right place at the right time to insure the safety of so many innocents. Too often they get caught up in those sorts of events and pay the price without ever fully understanding why they've come to such a state," he says lowly, giving a small shake of his head. "When we can help such as they on those occasions, well, how could we not?"

Again she makes him grin when she instinctively answers his own question, when she names him as something that makes her heart sing, gathering her in once more, seeming like he might just go right on holding her like that for the rest of the night and beyond.

"I certainly approve of your answer," he admits with a low laugh, a faintly wicked note underlying that sound. "I don't know what it is about you that calls out to me. Even back in Greenland. Even though we have known each other for so short a time," he says, voice both wry and full of wonder, all at once. "But I feel it safe to say that you make my heart sing too," he admits.

He nods at the mention of flying, the corners of his mouth quirking ever so slightly. "Then we shall have to insure that you have a chance to see the Blackbird. Perhaps we can take it up sometime. I suspect you might appreciate it," he says.

They are small revelations really, in the grand scheme of things. But they also feel like the first steps that they are taking together. To finally get a chance to know one another, to learn something beyond the fact that their mere presence answers something unspoken in the other.

It isn't hard to sense that Maddie is troubled, to sense that growing tension, that anxiety that creeps over her, even if he doesn't know the full reason. He's begun to learn the shape of her issues, but not the heart of them, not yet.

What he can do is insure that she knows that he is here and once more Kurt gathers the redhead close to him, pulls her in against his chest, those long fingers slipping back to stroke soothingly through her hair.

"Whatever it is Maddie that troubles you, it cannot be so bad," he murmurs.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
"You're a good person."

It's spoken so softly, but also as such a statement of absolute, unarguable fact. Madelyne is simply staring up into his gold eyes, savoring the way he plays with her hair or rests his hand on her cheek, listening to him tell her about reading her poetry and his sister and saving those people.

Like everything else with Kurt, those words seem to spring up without malice or forethought.

So often, Madelyne has learned to use her gifts to pry into the minds of others, to monitor -- if not intentionally shape -- their thoughts so she can navigate these sorts of conversations. It was easier, once she learned how, to cut directly to the chase... to skip all the dithering and half-truths. She forms her answers based on a plan she develops from what she 'reads' from them.

But she leaves Kurt's mind walled off to her own senses.

She hadn't been so 'good' for the entire time they'd been together, but the few times she'd 'peeked,' she'd found him open enough -- receptive enough -- to her intrusions to get a feel for his sincerity. And she could likely go rooting around for answers without talking to him at all, but not only was that dangerous and confusing, it lacked the inherent intimacy of this conversation.

It would be unfair to call that level of telepathy -- sifting through memories and develop a picture of someone -- 'crude.' But compared to the simple elegance and comfort of this back-and-forth, she couldn't imagine ever wanting to do that with -- or to -- Kurt. This is such a more pleasant way to spend her time with him.

That thought has barely occurred to her before Kurt is pulling her back into him again, and she draws in a deep, satisfied breath as she squeezes him, too.

But I feel it safe to say that you make my heart sing too.

Madelyne releases that breath, and a sound comes with it. Relief? Pleasure? Disbelief? Something in-between.

Then there's the mention of the Blackbird, and despite all the tension that tries to keep her eyes down, she can't help looking up again. She doesn't know what a Blackbird is, but she can certainly pick up on context clues.

"There's a plane?"

Such a soft question, yet still not enough to distract her from the thoughts that have intruded -- the realization that this 'talk' could be the end.

In fact, it was likely to be the end.

The number of people who stood by her when they learned the truth was small. The number of romantic interests who had known was... nonexistent.

Not that she'd ever given it a fair chance before.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Not that she'd ever had a reason to.

But the way Kurt pulls her closer -- the way his fingers slip through her hair -- makes a soft shudder slip down the length of her body as she blows out a breath.

"A lot troubles me," she admits, her smile tiny and weak as she looks up as far as his chin, not quite willing to meet his eyes.

"Some of it is so bad. Some of it... some of it is just..."

Her eyes slip closed as she focuses on the way his fingers feel slipping through her hair, that tender, affectionate caress that is at once so familiar and also so foreign.

Her mother didn't pet her hair like that. Nor did her father.

She had neither.

Those memories were just wraiths, haunting her, the fragments of her ethereal bodies ripped to shreds by the Phoenix burning through them inside her. Torn to shreds and fragments, like so much about her.

"I don't want this to end," she admits in a soft whisper.

But she was the one who said they needed to talk.

She was the one who rose from the couch to put on his shirt, to get even the smallest amount of distance so that she could clear her head.

So that she could be honest with him.

Gods.

"I don't even know where to begin," she murmurs.

More seconds pass, and she slowly stiffens, straightens, gently extricates herself from him -- his soft fur, his warm body, the caress of her hair.

It's to keep him from having to.

It's to keep herself from taking more than is willfully given.

It's so that she doesn't have to feel him still, stiffen, pull his hands away, turn his back on her. So she doesn't have to feel his fear or his disgust. Or his pity.

She takes a step away, her arms crossing over her stomach as she turns towards the darkened window, much the same way she had when she'd first arrived in this apartment. It's not that the grounds are all that interesting, but it gives her something to look at besides his expression.

"I wasn't born," she says after a moment. "I was made."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is unlikely that Kurt would ever argue that more conversation could be a bad thing.

He doesn't object to the idea of her peeking into his head - even less so then he might have initially admittedly. He's not a big one for secrets and even things that he doesn't chose to outwardly share - such as the questions raised about his true parentage - he doesn't feel the need to hide so much from those closest to him, as simply preferring not to discuss them quite so much.

He certainly doesn't mind sharing certain things with Maddie to be sure. They have already shared a considerable amount afterall.

But it certainly feels better to do it simply by speaking. Under the right set of circumstances, simply opening their minds to one another seems like it could be intimate indeed. But that is perhaps not fully realistic, not yet. And sometimes only words will do, when you get right down to it.

Of course if there is one thing more important then talking to one another, it would be listening to one another. The first tends to be somewhat easier then the second. But listening, really listening, can make all the difference in the world.

He can't be sure of course, he is still leaning about this exquisite redhead in his arms, but it feels like perhaps too many people have talked at Madelyne, and not enough have listened to what she might want to say.

It helps that he doesn't have an agenda beyond offering a degree of comfort of course, that his interest is mostly limited to trying to make her feel a little more comfortable, to make her feel a little more at home. And while it seems unlikely that she could ever feel that way about the mansion or estate in general from what he's seen, Maybe it is a different matter when it comes to this room alone. When it comes to his presence.

So yes, Kurt keeps her wrapped close, keeps her drawn in against him warmly, fingers lightly playing through her hair, keeps her pressed to that indigo fur that covers his body, tail coiled around her to add to that sense of embrace.

If it makes her feel a little safer, a little more comfortable to say whatever it is that is on her mind, whatever it is that troubles her so, so much the better.

But then it also brings a degree of comfort to Kurt as well. It warms him too. On one level he can hardly understand how she can already have had such an impact on his life, that he can already crave that level of closeness.

For the rest of it though, he is simply not going to worry about it. It is simply how it is, and nothing more matters.

Both expression and those golden eyes remains filled with that gentle calm as she struggles to get out what she needs, when she admits that it troubles her, that some of it is bad. He can see that fear in her eyes, that whatever she has to say might have some truly unfortunate effect. That it might somehow change everything, make him turn away and recoil.

He doesn't yet fully comprehend the lack of warmth in her life, that lack of familiarity in so many respects.

"Nothing says anything has to end, Maddie," the fuzzy blue elf asserts gently, fingers still playing lightly through her hair. "I do not know what troubles you, but I can't believe it changes anything about how I feel," he asserts quietly.

Then he offers a slight smile, the tip of his tail slipping up, catching her beneath the chin once more and tilting her gaze towards him. "Begin where you are most comfortable. And take all the time you need," he offers.

He doesn't protest when she feels the need to slip away, to put a little distance between them, though he remains perched there, nothing about him closed down or suddenly unwelcoming. He doesn't beckon for her to return, he just regards her warmly. Even when she turns away, glancing towards that darkened window.

And then she makes that simply statement. 'I was made'.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
In fairness Kurt can't exactly be sure what she means. Oh, he could guess of course, but that's all it would be. It is like unlocking a part of the puzzle at least, some of her discomfort explained.

He does give it a moment to sink in, to mull that simple statement, that gentle expression not changing as he regards her.

Then, finally, he breaks that brief silence between them. "I can see what that troubles you of course, though I'm not sure that I fully understand," the fuzzy blue elf admits. "But I'm not sure why that should necessarily change anything in the way that I feel. The way that I look at you," he states quietly.

"We are all made in one way or another Maddie. We are all shaped by different things and no two of us walk the same road. If you have walked a more unique road then some, that doesn't diminish you or make you less. Certainly not in my eyes. Not in anyone estimation if they have an ounce of sense," he adds, finally reaching a hand out in her direction once more as if to summon her back to him.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
That tail. That damnable, adorable tail.

She can't help the faint tug of a sad smile when it nudges her chin up, the way it coaxes her eyes back up to his. Still, there's that worry in them -- that sense of foreboding, that everything will come tumbling down around her in moments, and once again, as before, she'll be alone.

Utterly alone.

And so she does pull away. She paces to the window. To prove to him -- to herself -- that she doesn't need someone to hold her, to care for her, or to love her. She will survive once he rejects her. She will always find a way to survive.

She'd spoken only a few words. It was all she could manage -- all she could bring herself to admit to him. Because unlike the others -- Magneto, Fabian, among others -- she cared what he thought. She cared about their connection. She cared about keeping him in her life more than she was comfortable admitting.

She would survive without him, but at what cost?

But I'm not sure why that should necessarily change anything in the way that I feel...

Her head turns and her eyes lift back to him, emerald eyes imploring. She listens to him, really listens, and he has no idea how right he is about the others.. how many people have tried to 'help' her by talking at her, by telling her how she should exist, what she should do, what she could do for them to make herself feel useful.

Then that blue hand stretches out, and it's as if he'd used magic to summon her.

She's crossed back to him, taken his hand, crashed back into his chest before she ever even had a chance to consider what was happening.

Relief blows past her lips in a heavy sigh, as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time she'd been just a few feet from him.

"Oh Kurt," she sighs, giving a little shake of her head as she clings to him once more.

"Something... happened to me. I don't even know where to begin. I don't even understand most of it. I'm not a real person."

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? The ugly face of the beast that constantly lives inside her.

"I'm a clone of Jean Grey, but I don't even have her mutation. Not... not really. I don't know how to explain it. I'm not a human. I'm not a mutant. I don't have parents. I don't have a family. I don't..."

She squeezes her eyes closed, pressing her forehead into his chest. But despite her best efforts, a sob slips out, ripped from her throat as her fingers curl into his velvety fur.

"I shouldn't have put any of this on you. But the first moment I saw you... the first time we spoke... I couldn't help the way I was drawn to you. I've never felt anything like it before..."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
That little revelation is pretty much what he expected on some level.

There are of course any number of possible additional explanations for it all. No doubt magic could do something, or some kind of strange alien technology. But given her resemblance to Jean, cloning was certainly where Kurt's mind went first all things considered.

So, given that, it shouldn't be any real surprise that the fuzzy blue elf is entirely unphased.

It is possible, probably even likely that he wouldn't have been phased no matter what. It should come as no real shock that he is entirely comfortable judging people solely for what they say and due, rather then some preconceived notion of how they should behave.

Maybe that helps Madelyne in the moment. Maybe it only leaves her more confused. He can't really control that. He can only share his honest, genuine reaction.

There is perhaps a flicker of relief in those golden orbs, that she hasn't completely withdrawn when she crosses back to him and as her hand slips into his own once more, Kurt doesn't hesitate to pull her in the rest of the way, to hug her to his chest and sink fingers into that tangle of red hair once more while that oh so agile tail encircles her waist, adding one more grip on her.

-I'm not a real person-

Again, it is a simple statement, but it seems to strike true, right to the heart of the matter. It would seem to explain so much, about how she is reacting, about where so many of her problems reside.

Truthfully the fuzzy blue elf isn't sure if this is something she has come to believe internally, or if it in any way has been suggested to her externally, but he still shakes his head, resting his fuzzy cheek against the top of her head.

"Why would you think that?" he asks quietly. "I can feel you in my arms. I can smell the scent of your hair. I can see you, hear your beautiful voice. What is all of that if not real?" he counters gently.

"You didn't enter this world like most of us. You do not have a mother and father in the same way that most would think of it," he says, ticking off a few of her points gently, that hand slipping down, sliding to cradle her chin, to lift it just enough so that he can press a quick, warm kiss to the center of her forehead.

"That doesn't make you unreal. It makes you different. And if an people would have some understanding and sympathy and empathy for people who's existence is a little out of the ordinary, that is a little unusual, don't you think that mutants should understand that, hmmm?" he asks with a faint smile.

He leans back enough to capture her gaze once more, that gentle half-smile playing over his features, softening that faintly demonic edge. "You're not putting anything on me. You're sharing your troubles, and hopefully you'll find that by sharing them you lessen them at the same time," Kurt asserts.

"You are very, very real Maddie. And I might just insist on holding you close until you come to understand and accept that," he says whimsically.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
It's so easy to lose herself in him.

It's so easy to give herself completely over to the strong arms pulling her in close, the tail wrapping around her, the warmth of his fur, the beat of his heart as she presses herself into his chest.

In those arms, she is real.

In those arms, she has a place. A home.

But she's known him for hours. Hours. She cannot expect him to be her savior, the silver bullet to all of her troubles, when even Magneto could offer little but words of reassurance and a promise to find answers.

But who is she to Magneto?

No one. No one of any importance. Not even a mutant. Who is she to Fabian? Or Emma? Or any of the rest?

She has no place. No purpose. No worth.

And yet...

I can feel you in my arms. I can smell the scent of your hair...

The sound she exhales is soft and high, pushing herself instinctively against the cheek that presses to the top of her head like she might be able to bury herself inside him.

'Don't stop,' that sound seems to beg. 'Please, don't stop...'

She lifts her head at the touch of her chin, her green eyes wide and glassy, her cheeks just faintly glistening -- until he places that kiss against her forehead. Then her eyes slip closed again, savoring the warmth of his lips.

When he leans back again, she looks up at him, meeting his gaze, confusion and awe mingling.

...until you come to understand and accept that.

She reaches up, then, her slender fingers stretching out to cup his cheek as she shakes her head, unable to find words at first.

"I'm going to tell you everything," she admits softly. "At least, everything I know. Most of it doesn't make very much sense. I don't have very many answers... mostly just a lot of questions, still. But I'd like to tell someone... everything. All of it. And I'd very much like that person to be you."

She swallows gently, stretching up through her toes as she presses her lips softly to his for a brief kiss.

She looks so tired. She sounds so tired.

"But right now, if it's okay... I'd very much like to take you up on that offer, and maybe tell you everything in the morning."

A small, playful little smile just tugs at the corners of her lips as her eyes try to shine with that mirth once more.

"...If you don't mind sharing your bed."