17665/The More They Hurt Us, The Harder We Strike Back

The More They Hurt Us, The Harder We Strike Back
Date of Scene:	16 April 2024
Location:	Mystique's Quarters
Synopsis:	A sleepless night and a bottle of vodka on Asteroid M leaves Polaris and Mystique contemplating whether or not the road to tomorrow must be paved in blood.
Cast of Characters:	Lorna Dane, Raven Darkholme

---

Lorna Dane has posed:
Days and nights are a little more arbitrary in geosynchronous orbit. For example:

When Raven's current computing binge is abruptly interrupted while she's several hours deep--

When it's the far side of another spell spent ensconced in bleeding-edge security--

When shadow swaths half of the blue pearl below them and sunlight the other--

-- did Lorna come knocking on Raven's door too early in the day, or too late at night?

Is the bottle of vodka distilled from 100% Genoshan grains dangling between her first and second fingers a nightcap, or a social faux pas?

Are the dark circles hugging her eyes a sign of poor sleep, or exhaustion?

Either way: the Queen of Genosha's wearing weathered, distressed jeans that cling tighter than they might have a year ago, black combat boots, and a deep violet Social Distortion shirt on the other sid eof the door.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Sleep was as a difficult prospect for Raven. In the past she could rest her head and sleep deeply, dreaming of better times in her life, but lately there had been no better times. Sleep evaded her like a game of cat and mouse, and she was both the cat and the mouse.

Dressed comfortably in a white cotton shirt, and loose fitting cotton pants, her feet were bare. The alert of a new arrival sounded first through her comm, then the report of who it was followed. Neither thing was enough to pull her away from her current search, there was information hiding in the files she was looking through and she was determined to find it.

The search ended from the chime at her door however, her head turning as one brow lifted. Standing, she walked to the door to unlock it and let it slide open.

There was no way for her to predict that Lorna would be at her door, not enough information, impossible calculations to make, yet there she was... and she looked like death. Without a word she stepped to the side and gestured into her room, the non-verbal invite to enter.

Once Lorna had in fact stepped into the room, Raven let the door slide closed and only then asked calmly, "Having troubles sleeping?" She was anything but calm. Something had to be wrong for Lorna to be here, with alcohol, in the middle of the night.

Lorna Dane has posed:
The answer reverberates through metal walls and floors one heavy, tromping step at a time.

The answer hangs heavy in the air for a beat when the heavy glass bottom of that bottle decisively meets the mahogany table; it is underscored by the soft, slow twinkling of two tumblers carefully levitating towards that table, scraping against one another as minimally as focused attention will allow.

Punctuating the brisk notes of her answer sloshing its way up the sides of each glass briefly only to settle in place is a low, succinct addendum:

"I haven't slept properly in forever," comes with a fleeting, sidelong look towards the shapeshifting mutant. "I'm used to it; perks of the position."

And with that, she falls heavily into one of those high backed chairs, sinking deeply into its leather embrace and letting out a long, low sigh before finally bending forward to scoop up her glass. For as long as she needs to, she'll keep her eyes trained on Raven, inviting her to follow suit.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Raven Darkholme has posed:
With the Queen of Genosha in her room, the task that had consumed her time was cast aside. Raven follows toward the chairs, watching for a moment as the glasses float through the air, then her full attention is back on Lorna.

Collecting the glass poured for her, a slight shake of her head is offered in response to the question as she settles herself into the other high back chair.

"I have almost forgotten what sleep is like," she offers once she is comfortable, folding her legs up into the chair with the rest of her body. "I am usually awake around this time, either at the computer," she gestures toward the device as she says the word. "or in the training room working on my unique combat skills."

A small sip is taken, savoring the taste of Genoshian Vodka before she continues, and even offers a very slight chuckle. "That is just a nice way of saying working out until I am exhausted enough to manage a couple of hours of sleep."

She tilts her head slightly, studying the woman in the other chair before asking, "Have you tried all the conventional and herbal methods of obtaining sleep? So you perhaps need a massage." This last part of the question is accompanied by a coy smile.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Rounded and reserved, this particular bottle is from the distillery's specialty line, subtly accentuated with a touch of smoke to give it a complex finish. Lorna doesn't seem all that concerned with hers beyond the mere fact of holding it close in her hands, though.

"Working on nothing but the most wholesome of projects, I'm sure," comes with what might have been fleeting mirth if not for Raven's follow-up. Green eyebrows bounce upwards for a beat, then, and bare lips press into a small smile.

"Maybe," she offers in reply, momentarily lightened, "but where would I find the right pair of hands? I can't trust just anyone to take care of me."

It's probably to Raven's credit - as a friend, a confidant, a source of strength and support - that the smile actually lingers on for a couple moments after before slipping away, falling into the blank, weary void.

"... I can sleep," she then says, softly.

"It's just-- every night, I look in their eyes-- I tell them I love them, that I'll protect them... and then I close my eyes, in my bed, and the next thing I know, it's--"

The hitch comes with a grimace, which is in turn banished by a small sip.

"-- I'm there again, Raven.

"On G-Day."

The day that Genosha died.

"I'm there, and I can smell it, I can hear it-- I can feel it-- do you know what 150 micrograms of iron times millions feels like when it's spilling across your brain, Raven...?" the Queen whispers, her eyes by now having fallen entirely into the glass and the floor beneath it.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
G-Day.

There was no way in the world that Raven could forget that day. For as long as she would live, and that had already been quite a long time, she would remember the events of that day as clearly as if it were the present day. There were still so many unanswered questions, questions that likely would never have answers, and that thought added more pain and frustration to what was already a tornado of both.

She had intended to continue to game, to make some comment about her skilled hands. She was going to offer a joking snark about 'wholesome projects', but those thoughts flittered away like a butterfly in the wind.

G-Day.

"That pain lingers in my soul," she breaths out softly, the drink in her hand swirled as she watches the liquid a moment. Lifting her yellow eyes to look to the Queen, she could see the pain written all over the woman's face..

"I cannot know the pain you experienced, Lorna, but if I could take it from you I would. If I could take it from all our brothers and sisters I would." Another small sip, this one in hopes of washing away the bad taste the topic left in her mouth. Her eyes narrow slightly to match the dark thoughts dancing around in her head, but shortly return to a more neutral expression.

"So many were lost, even more scarred for life, and yet we promise... we day we will protect, and time and again, we fail." There is a bitter note to her tone, the darkness in her mind and heart creeping out into her expression again.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"It's not for you to take."

Lorna's voice is a small thing, in the way that months of nacre layered around and around and around a speck of debris for months makes a small, glittering pearl.

The way that the adamantium bearings bracing a sprawling dimensional collider's internal mechanics are small.

The way that a breath from the right set of vocal cords can reduce a city to dust, those six small syllables only just slip into the air with their fierce resonance.

"It isn't for anyone to take," follows closely as the Queen leans across the table. Somewhere along the way, the glass is abandoned; capturing Raven's hand between both of hers is more important.

Twinned, smoldering green flames homing in on their golden opposites is more important.

"None of what any of us experienced," she swears, soft and low and adamant, "is for anyone but us, Raven. What we saw, what we survived-- what it taught us about this world, and the people in it-- that's ours, forever. It has to be-- that is the only way we have a chance of making sure we're the last ones to carry it--"

Inches separate them by now; even a whisper can land like a shout at this distance, so it's a good thing her volume's not fluctuating. Lorna takes a deep, quivering breath; her eyes skate from Raven's for a brief moment before fixing back on them.

"Do we really have to accept failing?" she wonders, as small as a penny from a skyscraper. "Time and again?"

Raven Darkholme has posed:
The darkness that plays through Raven's heart and soul is the self same darkness that has, in the past, taken her down paths that lead to even more pain. It was also the darkness that has fueled her actions for mutants. They were her people, the reason that day after day she fought to gain an inch and not be knocked back a foot.

As Lorna leans in, and takes her hand, her eyes move to focus on the green orbs looking at her. "Anger, pain, frustration, the things that fuel the fire inside our souls and push us ever forward," she replies softly, a heat to her tone even though she is nearly whispering. "The more they hurt us, the harder we strike back."

She remains still, her hand in Lorna's shifting only to interlace her own fingers with hers. "We do not accept failing, Lorna," comes then, fire rising in her quiet voice. "We learn from each one, never give up, and keep fighting for what should be. We /are/ better than humans. Evolution has seen to it that we are, and in time they will come to realize that they never had a chance."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Fire roils on the tip of Lorna's tongue as their fingers lace. It seethes behind her eyes, shedding dim light on Raven's face; it arcs invisibly across her skin, standing tiny hairs on end and casting warm tremors from palm to palm.

It dances between sections of lighting, flickering intermittently.

"... we can't keep making the same promises," she finally whispers after a few seconds of taut silence, "and failing the same dwindling pool of people. There are half a million on Genosha alone depending on us, and millions more who we--"

Just after the word leaves her lips, a cold shiver prompts her to squeeze the shapeshifter's hand and swallow, hard. There's one crown-- one throne, and millions of lives weighing ever heavier, the further she gets from having that crown, that throne thrust upon her.

"-- I am responsible for protecting," is where she pivots, softly.

"Looking at the girl who spent half of her life stumbling through playing superhero to save them from ever being hunted, murdered, threatened for existing again..."

With one hand caught up with Raven's, Lorna reaches for the glass in Raven's hand and tilts it towards her so she can steady her nerves with a sip.

A long sip, with lidding eyes.

-- A sip that just about kills the glass--

"... hh-- I'm tired of them thinking that they can fuck with us, Raven-- that they're allowed to build their weapons, and make their plans, and build their empires on our bodies until it's time to wipe us out," sears the air, soft and resolute as her gaze meets Raven's again.

Despite the fire, the tears building in the corners of her eyes just thrum there, suspended rather than steaming away.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Although the fire flickers across Lorna's skin, it also moves into Raven's soul, and reflects back in her eyes. In the cobalt mutants life there had only been two other people who stoked that kind of fire within her. The first had been Irene, now gone, leaving Raven alone in the world. The second was Magneto, which promises and schemes that had mostly failed, but it had brought to her the ideal of what could be.

In any other situation this is a moment this would have drawn her into kissing Lorna in an attempt to share that passion, to /feel/ something as pure as the conviction she heard. This was not a time for such things, but there was a singular moment where it might have looked like she was going to kiss the Queen.

As the glass is taken, she freely releases it, watching as it is emptied. Wonderfully flavored liquid courage. She squeezes Lorna's hand, offering the reminder that she is right there, that she will always be in arms reach.

"You wear the crown," she says with a nod. "That's true, and it belongs on your head more so than anyone else in the world, but you are /not/ alone. You will /never/ be alone. So long as I draw breath Lorna, I will stand at your side and do as you command to rid our people from the plague that hangs over all our heads... the plague that is humankind."

Without fear, she reaches with her now free hand to whisk away the tear as if it were never there. Could it hurt? Possibility, but she didn't care.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna never had the chance to meet Destiny, despite studying files on her as part of her freshman year with the X-Men. Magneto, of course--

Him, she knows. The way that his words stir the deepest parts of oneself-- the parts that would otherwise stay hidden away out of cynicism and shame. The dizzying heights he inspires one to strive for; the raw, silver fire he could set blazing in one's heart, compelling them to leap into the abyss behind him.

And the disappointment that's left behind when those words fall silent, tainting secret hopes and desperate dreams.

And the crushing lows that come with being reminded that Magneto's priorities begin with Magneto.

And the crumbling embers of faith blown away by the storm winds of his mercurial patronage.

More than anything else - than even the tutelage he gave her in the powers they share - he's taught her who she can't be, if she's to wear the mantle he's left her with.

And that's why, when Raven tells her that they are in this together-- that Mystique will be by her side, ready to mete out vengeance on her command--

-- she hesitates.

Long enough to breathe, and to study the other woman's face-- the fire glaring back at her in stereo.

Long enough for the weight of millions to bear down on her shoulders, until the only thing she can do--

"I've asked the Blob to start putting out feelers."

-- is be honest.

"I've informed the Juggernaut that his services are going to be needed, soon."

Dangerously, decisively honest.

"The world needs the Brotherhood again-- the Brotherhood," the emphasis is a notch lower, and exponentially heavier.

"The one that reminds the world that its only two choices when it comes to how they treat us are 'change' or 'die'. I'm happy to share with them... but that doesn't mean being their VICTIMS anymore."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
This time Lorna's words give Raven a moment of pause. Long enough to take a deep breath, though on her face no emotion beyond that devotion shows. The actress has slipped into a mask to give herself that tiny moment to consider, to think, to weigh all the information and make a decision.

The experiment had failed, just as so many of Magneto's past concepts and ideas had. Raven had chosen to walk the path, to change the direction, to see if just once in this world humans could be something more than the enemy. She had learned that there are some out there, too few really, who could be trusted and would stand shoulder to shoulder with mutants against the enemy, but that is all the experiment had given her.

What it had taken from her was far more. It had taken her pride, her conviction, her reason and her fire. It was a lapse in her thinking, an attempt to look beyond the moment and into the future, but for mutants like Mystique, there was only the moments. The future had always been out of reach, and it would remain out of reach unless action was taken, and that lead back to the moments.

Lifting Lorna's held hand, she turns it over to kiss the back of it lightly. It was the most tender of kisses, an acceptance, a realization, and an indication of the possibility of so much more.

"Then my queen, the world will have the Brotherhood once more. Human kind, no matter where they may be, will either learn or be destroyed," she replies as she lowers their hands back down and looks into Lorna's eyes. "I will walk through fire to achieve our goals, and I have you to thank for reminding me what really matters."

Lorna Dane has posed:
A tender show of acceptance leaves Lorna catching up with a big, long breath. She mirrors the gesture as she exhales, grazing blue skin with a featherlight touch of her lips to seal their shared understanding.

At no point does she break eye contact.

She welcomed the experiment as eagerly as anyone, at first. Then, she was still the Queen of Mutant Town, a pretty face to inspire the exiles of Paradise lost; of course she was happy to put on her big girl pants and most serious of faces to fight for safety as diplomatically as the dream she still clung to demanded. That Raven was able to preside over such an audacious thing as a Brotherhood of Mutants that fought for Earth as much as it did mutantkind, after a lifetime of violence directed at the cold, gnawing gears of the system told her that it was the way-- that the answer to a better tomorrow might just lie in firm, but fair compromise after all.

Now, she spends every night surrounded by the ghosts of millions executed by homo sapiens' collective fear writ large and terrible, looming over Genosha with its three heartless faces.

She spends her days planning to rebuild the world's only sanctuary for people like herself, hoping that it won't wind up a mass grave once again.

"Let 'em burn in the fires they've spent all this time building, or stand aside and let their replacements thrive," the Queen of Genosha whispers, tilting close enough to touch her forehead to Mystique's.

"We will keep our people safe until they don't have to wake up in a world that hates them anymore."