19237/I Just Want To Be Wanted

I Just Want To Be Wanted
Date of Scene:	07 October 2024
Location:	Wellness Office
Synopsis:	An impromptu visit to the Xavier Institute's Wellness Office leads to a wholly unexpected meeting between Aisling, the school's sweet new nurse with a troubled past and yearning to belong; and Lorna, the school's tempestuous alumni with-- okay, also with a troubled past, but a different kind of troubled past.
Cast of Characters:	Aisling Caroll, Lorna Dane

---

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    The new Nurse, is, well, where she should be during the working day. That is, she's in the welness center speaking with the other nurses. Doing paperwork. Stocking medical supplies. The whole nine all things considered.

    Right at this very moment however, she's sitting at her desk looking over student medical records to help familiarize herself with the needs of the students she's going to be taking care of.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna's been on-premises far more than what her norm might be these days. For the past couple years, with Genosha's recovery having progressed to the point of the island being habitable once again, she simply hasn't had the time for regular visits: as it is, she cycles nigh-weekly between residing primarily in the island nation she rules and its Brooklyn-based Embassy in the heart of Bushwick-- AKA 'Mutant Town'.

Lately, however, she's been in planning mode for an offensive against enemies of all Mutantkind: a sect of virulent Purifiers utilizing a mixture of esoteric arts and propaganda aimed at sucking confused young Mutants into a murderous web of self-loathing, turning them into ammunition for weapons forged against their own kind. Mostly, this has entailed late night meetings in the hidden, restricted areas of the premises where rooms for War and Danger reside; today, however, she's not only here in daytime hours, but strolling through the halls of the Institute itself in a swishy black skater skirt, green and purple leggings; and a black camisole with a deep purple and green orchid printed over the upper middle. Soon enough, there's a knock at the Wellness Office's door--

And not so long after that, the Queen of Genosha and former student of Xavier pokes a headful of thick, bouncy green curls and waves into the Office, looks around, then locks onto Aisling with rising brows. "Hey--!" she chimes, trying to study her up and down without doing it too obviously. "I-- am pretty sure I haven't met you before. New nurse?"

Stepping further inside, she approaches the desk with an outstretched hand.

"Lorna-- AKA Polaris," she tells her, smiling gently.

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    Aisling was in the foster care system, and only 17 when Genosha was formed. She was on the streets in 2020, alone, when the day happened. The attack that murdered millions like her and all but anihilated a place she had dreamed of calling home. The news articles she'd read when she had newspapers, net access, or a chance to watch the TV had all but destroyed her own mental health.

    Years later, and she's here, in this place and in walks the woman that took over and lead the rebuilding. By allrights, a Queen. In all manner that it matters. So when that woman walks in to the nursing office, Aisling is all but star struck as she snaps upright like a board and stares for a few fleeting moments. "Mah..." cough, "Majesty!" she blurts out like a doofus before bowing like a knight of eld. She does choose the Moniker Paladin for a reason. With her gaze squarely at the ground, "How may I assist you Majesty?"

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna starts slightly at the sputtering, eyes wide and brows at full arch. A low, breathy sound somewhere between a- and bemusement slips involuntarily from her lips. Firmly planted on her back foot, she doesn't move until Aisling has completed her greetings-- not out of fealty to any particular custom, or rule of etiquette--

"... well," comes with fingers poised beneath the Paladin's chin with a Faberge touch, not so much guiding as encouraging her to stand, "You can start by calling me 'Lorna'..."

-- but because she is, at heart, a girl from California who wound up burdened with a crown by sheer, terrible happenstance: the father she'd only just come to start knowing - complicated, brooding, and phenomenally dangerous in his Mastery of Magnetism - was initially numbered among the dead, leaving his chosen heir to pick up the pieces.

"... and telling me your name back," she adds with a broader smile, flashing a hint of pearl. As soon as eye contact is achieved - or, alternatively, as soon as it is clear that Aisling is just too committed to bowing - Lorna drops her hand to offer it for shaking. "You're very sweet, though," she notes, leaning in so the dramatically hushed tones are legible and the wink feels that much more personal.

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    As her gaze is lifted by the incredibly delecate touch, Aisling shivers from head to toe and returns to standing. She meets Lorna's eyes with her own and they are the single most striking thing about her. At least, that's what everyone has told her. That impossibly sapphire blue eye and its sibling impossibly emerald green one.

    The stammering returns for a brief moment, "Luh..." yet another cough, "Apologies." She inhales and exhales taking a moment to stele her nerves. "Lorna" she adds nodding in understanding.

    She'd read ALL of the public facing information there was to read about Lorna, about Magneto, about Genosha. Everything she could get easy access to, she had read it. She was, a voracious reader. Something that happens when you are utterly alone no doubt.

    "I'm uh, umm," her cheeks warm with a blush, "Aisling, Aisling Caroll." When she says her name, her accent flushes out in to the air between them. She tries to hide it, but now it's there. Irish. Not, American-Irish Irish, but as in, She's from Ireland.

    "A, pleasure to meet you Maj..." nope, don't do that, "Lorna." She pauses again, "What, what can I do for you?"

Lorna Dane has posed:
Air rushes into Lorna's nostrils, knife-like.

Her own vibrant green eyes often gleam, spark, or shine with electromagnetic energies-- the same natural gift that invests her touch with a steady and pleasant warmth that lets her wear camisoles and skater skirts and whatever else she likes at any time of year, even well into Autumn.

Which is how she knows that eyes that green border on the impossible: absent any genetically-fueled radiance, her own look downright dim by comparison, or so her estimation goes. So, between it and its blue twin:

... it's Lorna's turn to be struck speechless, if only long enough to give Aisling ample time for working her way through nerves and deferential instincts at her own pace.

"Your eyes are gorgeous, Aisling," pops right out as soon as she gets the name, causing Lorna's own to widen slightly. The smile's crooked and self-aware when it returns, quietly apologetic for tangent.

"... uh, yeah," puffs out once it is-- actually-- her turn to speak, and leads to a quick throat-clearing. "Well, I wanted," comes out far more steadily, "to drop by and have a chat with the nursing staff, to beg a sensitive favor, but seeing as you're new..."

The Queen breathes out slowly and recovers the casual warmth in her smile, the rich and confident smokiness underlying her voice:

"... why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

A beat passes. It's long enough for Lorna to say she thought about it before adding:

"Love the accent, by the way," in a quieter voice.

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    "I... Ummm... I..." Diaster Lesbian. That's the term that best describes Aisling, something else about her she keeps quiet and to herself for various reasons. It comes out though, and it's out right now. Awestuck isn't quite the word to describe what the mid twenties mutant is feeling right now. "I... thank you..." she manages to finally stammer out, blushing bright red as she absently starts playing with her hair and biting her lower lip. To those that know the signs, this one really has been utterly alone, for a very long time.

    A favor? Aisling blinks a few times, her right hand index finger still wrapping her auburn hair around it in circles. She skips past the request to speak about herself, blushes again, good gods she's doing a lot of that, and smiles at the accent comment. Then, right, to it, "What do you need Majesty? Name it, and I will do it." Yeah, okay, slow down there kiddo.

Lorna Dane has posed:
... the stammering.

... ... nervous fingers playing through auburn...

... ... ... red cheeks and a captured lip... ...

Lorna's adept at reading certain signs, so when this all leads to Aisling just.

Complying - immediately and without sight - with her favor, it occurs to her that she ought to be a little more careful.

"Hey--" comes with hands gently clasping shoulders and eyes flitting upwards to disappear in sapphire and emerald--

-- --

-- shit--

"... uh," she huffs a beat later, "you're okay, I'm not gonna bite or anything, promise." With that reassurance given, Lorna carefully withdraws her hands and folds her arms across her ribs. "Business first is fine by me: myself, as well as some associates of mine - some of whom are affiliated with the Institute, including the Professor himself - are going to be engaging a lot of dangerous people, very soon. They're-- have you heard of the Purifier movement? Or the 'Pure Faith Network'? William Stryker's gang of racist dickheads--"

Another brief pause, long enough for the apology she doesn't actually voice.

"... well. Some of them have gone completely off the deep end, and-- I mean, honestly, the details are horrific-- I won't burden you. The POINT is... ... I was hoping to arrange for more hands to help us out on the other side-- just in case, you know? I'm not sure what we'll be walking into, but I know it'll probably hurt, and I know that we might just end up needing triage," she explains, taking her time-- grimacing, more than once, at memories of past encounters with Stryker's ilk and contemporary meetings with the poisoned fruits of his teachings.

"If that's something that you think you'd be willing to contribute to," she gently adds. "With any luck, we won't be all that far from the Institute, which -- might? Help?"

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    That, /Hey/, the hands on her shoulders. That's, actually, not helping. Not one bit.

    To say that Aisling's attention is well and truly locked on Lorna is a complete understatement. "I, well, I mean" pause, beat, "Don't... Don't people normally hate the whole... umm" off to la la land for a moment, finger still playing with hair. "Here's my trauma dump, life story, thing?" she adds. "I mean, I uh, I can tell you about me if you want to know..."

    Just, gonna let that one hang out there.

    She Continues to listen intently. Nodding several times. "Yes" the yes she gives, is a yes that screams more than just simple understanding. Or even basic public knowledge.

    Aisling's eyes narrow, "I /know/ who they are" she adds, with a level of rage and fury crawling over her face as this group is spoken about. A level of rage and fury that might speak more than the words being said.

Lorna Dane has posed:
To her credit, Lorna was in the process of at least attempting to actually help - by withdrawing to hop onto the exam table for a seat - when her idle clarifying question gets a distinctly not-idle reaction.

And while she manages most of the rest of her explanation, that flare of rage is spotted in an instant and echoed, complete with the brief crackle of emerald sparks as Lorna draws right back into Ms. Caroll's proximity.

"Did they hurt you?"

And in a heartbeat, the warmth in her voice, the inviting and friendly undertones to her smoky alto-- all of it's been consumed by fiery, protective wrath.

"Your story isn't a burden," follows, in the momentary eye of the storm.

"... and all of us have been traumatized somehow or another," then burns from her lips. "Surviving it is to be celebrated, and the perpetrators of it punished."

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    Aisling inhales and exhales, she's trying to fight another slip up. She can't let Hank down. But, it comes out, as she grits her teeth and clenches her fists. She radiates a dizzying array of emotions, anger, sadness, fear, all of it. It just, escapes out in to the aether.

    It says to the world, as she lights up like a beacon, Telepath, Empath.

    She looks to Lorna as she stands there and nods, "Yes." It's just as simple as the last yes. Just as straight forward and to the point.

    She closes her eyes a moment and fights to contain her powers. Control them. Hank said not to let it slip.

    Once she's had a few moments she opens her eyes and looks to Lorna, "More than once." With that out there she goes about her life story.

    "The TL:DR? Immigrant. Parents and Younger Sister died in a crash, I didn't. Foster system after that. More abuse and more /homes/ than I can count or remember. I somehow still managed to graduate high school, not sure how." She gives herself a break to catch her breath, "Homeless since 2016, well..." and she motions around her in wide arcs with her arms before placing them back at her sides. "Now."

    "I, don't just want to punish them Lorna..." she pauses and it's there, all the fire and rage again, "I want to /HURT/ them."

'Lorna Dane has posed:
"Aht--!"

Anger.
Sadness.
Fear.

All the constituent threads of psychic violence inflicted upon innocent Mutant souls by cruel, hate-poisoned Humans explode through Lorna Dane like a pipe bomb. Clutching her forehead, buckling at the knees, she seizes Aisling's shoulder again, this time hanging on for dear life--

Hanging on while the composite resonance of blood and bile ignites her psyche and draws her that much closer to this surprising stranger, tight enough to squeeze the color from her knuckles--

Hanging on to deny either of them the an opportunity to suffer alone through the destructive aftershocks of a brush - no, brushes - with William Stryker's death cult, while every metallic object in the office rattles and rings.

And she doesn't let go until Aisling's eyes are on her again.

By then, her breathing is heavy, rapid, labored beneath the weight of unexpected Astral contact and the sheer strain of keeping the green fire in her eyes from searing through the rest of her. The magnetic disturbances die down as Aisling actually tells her story, but the fire doesn't, really: of the many things the last four years have taught Lorna, the foster system's inability to adequately handle Mutant children is among the most upsetting.

The world can be so, so brutal to anyone who commits the grave sin of being born with the wrong chromosomal structure.

Now.

I, don't just want to punish them Lorna...

During that pause, the woman who declared - quite publicly - the inherent citizenship of all Mutants in the nation of Genosha seizes Aisling, reaching right through fire and rage to haul the fortuitously Found Mutant into a fierce, protective embrace, unafraid of burning while the healer declares her desire to punish.

"I--..." she murmurs, fingers digging into the other woman's back.

"... I didn't come here for..."

She takes a breath, a moment's worth of thought upon trailing--

"... but," she whispers in Aisling's ear, "so you know: there are people dedicated to protecting us from the people who want to exploit us, and punishing them when they try."

They call themselves the Brotherhood of Mutants, and while their reputation has wavered wildly over the past few years - from terrorists to prosocial guardians of Mutantkind to something... else, of late, something floating between those poles - their infamy has not. Especially at the Xavier Institute.

"... and there is always room for more likeminded individuals in our ranks."

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    Oh gods. Oh no. Oh no no no. All the words that are being said, they don't reach home. They don't connect. All of what is said, just, flows in one ear and out the other. Why? Because that reaction, the thought that she just slipped up badly and this time it might have hurt someone she respects, admires, looks up to. No, Lorna's words don't find purchase. They instead find Aisling utterly falling apart in violent, heaving, incredibly loud sobs. "Oh gods, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I... Please... I didn't mean... I'm sorry!" the number of I'm sorries becomes uncountable as she just blurts them out over and over and over again.

Lorna Dane has posed:
This isn't USUALLY where that particular pitch ends up.

Lorna's full of contrasts: fiery rage and deep compassion; regal airs and a mundane bearing.

Titanium hardness and warm, enveloping softness. Aisling's drawn ever deeper into the latter, the Queen's arms tightening into a vice grip meant to guard her against the world and trap her in assurance. Motherhood - a detail typically kept private, but impossible for a head of state to keep entirely hidden - left its mark by layering a wealth of gentle new curves over superheroically-honed athletic tone and kicking her inborne protective instincts into overdrive. For a while, she doesn't say anything at all: letting Aisling get the worst of it out and rubbing her back through it is the priority. Maybe she'll sob herself out, or maybe she won't; what matters is the reinforcing that she isn't alone in this low moment.

That Lorna's okay, despite the turbulence.

And most importantly:

"... it wasn't your fault," she eventually whispers. Promises, in a string of firmly enunciated syllables, "and you don't need to beat yourself up over it: the Red Triangle," the psychic defense protocol commonly taught to Xavier's attendees, "filtered the worst of it-- and more importantly... you didn't MEAN it."

When she steps back and edges Aisling out of her embrace, it's solely to meet her eyes with a look that leaves no room for argument as she declares, "You made a mistake-- you lost control of yourself in a sensitive moment." Lorna breathes, slowly, as lingering remnants of freshly shared trauma threaten to slither from the back of her consciousness; she pushes them back with a soft sigh and grips the other woman's biceps tightly.

"... and - however it happened - you shared a piece of yourself," she murmurs. "A sensitive piece-- an important piece; a fuckin' messy one...

"... and I appreciate that, even if it gave me a little headache," comes with a small smile.

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    She does manage to finally sob herself out, sniffling, and wiping her bloodshot eyes. "I let Hank down..." she replies at first, "I let it happen again." She's going to beat herself up regardless. She shakes her head a few times, "and no, I didn't mean it."

    She gives herself a few faint moments to collect her thoughts and stabalize, "Thank you" in response to everything else, though the headache comments causes her to wince a little. "I uh" she thumbs at a cabnet, "Some excedrin might help with that?" Was that.. a joke? Maybe, maybe not. "So, you said, you didn't come here for.. and then, I, cut you off. Let's, start this over yeah?" she asks. "Tell me about the favor, about what you need and what you came here for. About, everything you think I should know about."

    "Before that...though, I have a favor to ask in return..." she adds, taking a moment to get it out. "Can I see Genosha?"

Lorna Dane has posed:
A reckless soul at heart, Lorna goes right on ahead and takes a wild risk:

She wipes some of those tears from Aisling's face with a gentle swipe of her thumbs while the healer stabilizes herself.

"You're wel-- hh--!"

Threaded green brows bounce along with the trickle of mirth Aisling's comment evokes.

"... welcome-- you're welcome," she tells the other mutant, grinning for a beat.

"Okay..."

Just a beat, though.

"The Purifiers operate in cells," she softly tells Aisling, "and one of them..."

She keeps her hands on Aisling's arms as she retells the story of Purifiers gone esoteric, re-asks the newly minted nurse to do her the favor of assisting with triage after the campaign against them...

"... They've sucked-- I don't know HOW many young Mutants in," she reveals, "by convincing them that there's something wrong with them, all to use them as fodder for some-- some fucking SACRIFICE, for power--"

The lights flicker once.

A chorus of metallic ringing begins rolling through the room.

Lorna takes a deep breath before either gets any worse.

"... and almost got one of the students here before he managed to snap out of it and run." Nelson Bower, a junior with a set of arthropodic adaptations who Lorna filed an official report about a few months back.

"... so. When you told me about your anger-- when I felt it, and everything else you've been afflicted with at these people's hands; that thing that I said I didn't come for...?" she continues, dropping her tone fractionally and speaking each work deliberately, so there can be no mistake as to what she's saying, asking--

"It was offering you a place with people just as eager to see the people who prey on us punished as you are, if you ever should want it: the Brotherhood of Mutants."

She takes a beat to let it sink in. Aisling's new, so it's possible that she has yet to experience the dangerous weight that name and the assemblage it represents carries in Xavier's corridors. She's had so much more to consume her time than the ideological struggles of Mutantkind; there's no way of knowing just how such an invitation might be received, regardless of her rage at the injustice of Man.

"... and regardless of whether you do or not," she then notes, "you are always welcome in Genosha. Every Mutant is welcome in Genosha, whether to visit or to stay."

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    "The, the Brotherhood?" The stammering reply that she gives says that she's heard things. She takes a moment and then looks to Lorna, "Everyone calls them terrorists" she adds. She's, conflicted, there's a whole internal hurricane of emotions that shows on her face, thankfully though, this time she keeps it all inside.
    "I, I don't know Lorna" pause, "I don't, know. These, people gave me my first real home and job. If, if I join that group, all of that ends and I start over again." She isn't yelling, or angry, or doing much of anything other than just looking incredibly conflicted and incredibly upset. "I, don't know, what to do."

Lorna Dane has posed:
... Everyone calls them terrorists.

And not without cause: their introduction to the world stage involved the 1988 hijacking of a plane bound to Kuwait, during which Magneto and his allies at the time declared the beginning of the Homo Superior Era and demanded the release of Mutant prisoners worldwide. Magneto has - personally, and with the Brotherhood - been responsible for attempting to capture nuclear weapons, topple small countries to set up Mutant free states, and threatened world security with the sheer force of Omega-grade power on numerous occasions. However:

In the years since Genosha, the Brotherhood has also served as the sworn protectors of Mutant Town, the last great enclave of Mutantkind after the destruction of their homeland. Genosha itself - once a dumping ground for the rest of the world's genetic detritus, subsequently allowed to metastasize into an apartheid state under the cruel Genegineer regime - was the last small country Magneto threatened-- and he succeeded, freeing millions of Mutants from state-enforced slavery and beginning the hard work of transforming Genosha into a safe haven. Ties between the two organizations - the Brotherhood and Xavier's idealogues - grew hopelessly complicated in the post G-Day years, thanks to the former's new prosocial footing and the cross-pollination that followed. And lately...?

Even with Brotherhood members like the Blob and Pyro committing crimes against civilian-facing structures of Mutant exploitation in the name of protection without compromise... well.

Lorna's still here, still coordinating with Xavier and his X-Men when it counts, even as these past six months have seen the Brotherhood regain some of its infamy.

"... I understand," Lorna offers, softly, squeezing Aisling's arms to make sure she knows Lorna understands. "It's..."

Her eyes lid and a long breath escapes her nostrils.

"It's complicated, Aisling:"

Emerald eyes sparkle with the conflict between holding back, letting Aisling enjoy her new life-- and letting her indulge her impulses.

Inviting her into the movement to pave the way for impossible dreams of peace and progress, even if the road must be mortared in blood and fire.

"... but what I can tell you is: I'm not my father, looking to crush Humanity beneath my heel, or rule the world. I'm not Stryfe," the enigmatic leader of the reckless terror squad known as the Mutant Liberation Front, "looking to brainwash anyone into serving me-- I don't want anyone to serve me." Lorna chews at her lower lip for a moment, swallowing as she tries to hold the other woman's gaze through half-lowered lids. "... unless they want to, anyway; that's different," she tosses in with a wan smile and fleeting wink, trying her best to lighten things a little in this grave moment.

"My Brotherhood is the sword that keeps Humanity's worst impulses curbed, even if it has to burn them to the ground to do it-- we stand for Mutantkind's right to live in a world that won't try to murder them, simply for being... not because we're better, or Humans are worse, but because we're all, fundamentally, just people-- branches off the same tree," Lorna tells the nurse, choosing her words carefully-- trying to thread the needle between explaining and selling. "And that tree can't grow," she whispers as she leans fractionally closer, "as long as hate's allowed to gnaw at the roots."

Her hands slide down Aisling's arms, all the way to the end of either limb so she can take the nurse's hands, if allowed.

"I don't want to fuck your life up, Aisling-- not at all, but certainly not out of the blue," she offers.

"And whether these people would really turn you out onto the streets for making a choice they didn't like or not - whatever comes of any of this - you will always have a place on Genosha, if you should ever need it-- or WANT it," she swears.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"... so don't choose now-- not unless you're SURE. Take all the time you want; really think about it. Visit Genosha; talk with some of my people, see how you feel. Remember that anyone who dares to raise arms against their oppressors is bound to be labeled a 'terrorist' by those same oppressors, regardless of their methods, their motives...

"... and when - if - you decide you'd still like to join us, I'll gladly welcome you," she concludes while stroking thumbs across her fellow Mutant's knuckles and squeezing tight.

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    This, is, a lot. Almost too much. In fact, maybe it is too much. To go from homeless, alone, unwanted, and affraid to having the prospect of real home with not one, but two, only to be right back in the prsopect of being forced to choose.

    Everything Lorna says, strikes home with Aisling, every last word of it. It shows in how quiet she goes. it shows in how soft and small she seems to become. How standing right there infront of the Mistress of Magnetism, despite her age, is the same scared little orphan girl.

    "I just, want, to be, wanted..." her voice cracks as she lays out her dreams. The damns of her eyes welling up with yet more silver pools of pain. "I want, a family..." Aisling adds. She inhales and exhales deeply. There is, an incredibly deep well of pain there. "I want, a home..." and finally, the damns burst and little silver rivers run down flushed cheeks, glinting from the light in the room.

    "I'd like to visit Genosha."

    "Oh well, just the dreams of a stupid girl" and there it is, the self doubting destruction that Lorna's probably seen many times over. "I'll, think the offer over."

Lorna Dane has posed:
The crack runs all the way from Aisling's lips up through Lorna's heart, so when the dam breaks--

"... u-uuuuh, of course--"

-- Lorna has to bury her face in the taller woman's shoulder the moment she pulls Aisling into another, powerful hug. Only one of them gets to cry, and it can't be the one with the crown.

Of course: this close, it's hard to hide the wealth of little shivers and tremors that slip through her best efforts at holding it all in-- nevermind the minute swipes of her head, scrubbing tears into fabric.

"... you are not stupid, to want to belong-- to want to be wanted somewhere, Aisling."

Not to mention the subtle tremolo of her ironclad reassurance.

"... when I was a child, I--... I lost my parents. I was little-- too young to remember. My aunt took me in..." she softly relates, stroking the nurse's back with one hand and her hair with the other, drawing her down to rest against the royal shoulder as best as she can.

"... she made me dye my hair black, or brown, and told me how pretty it looked; the green wasn't 'normal', to her, even though it was NATURAL. She only told me I looked pretty if it was dyed-- she'd barely look at me if the roots were showing. When my powers..."

A fresh round of shivers rolls through Lorna.

The embrace instinctively tightens.

"... when they manifested, she'd give me the dirtiest looks if she ever caught me using them-- even without meaning to. She'd go on, and on, and on about how terrible 'Those People'," their people, "were, the ones who wouldn't just shut up and keep their heads down and act normal, and-- ... christ, I just-- I just wanted to feel like I wasn't a fucking freak, you know...?"

Lorna gives herself a few moments - and deep, steadying breaths, which help settle the tremors - before pulling back just far enough to catch Aisling's eyes again.

"So when Professor Xavier took me in, it was... I loved it here. I BELONGED here... and even after I moved to Genosha, to be closer to my father, I never stopped loving it here. Even now - even though there are people who'd call me 'terrorist' for standing up for Us without compromising - I STILL love here. I love these people," comes with thumbs briefly brushing across, then down Aisling's cheeks to clear some of the tears away before she wraps the nurse up again.

"You are wanted, Aisling.

"And whether you're here or not... that won't change."

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    This really all has just been a day. What, a, day, indeed.

    To be held, and embraced like this, is, more than she's ever wanted. Someone, more than one person, actually seems to want her around. To care about her. That's, not, normal, and it's incredibly scary. There HAS to be another shoe that's dropping sooner or later? Right? People don't just, meet you, and instantly care about you like this do they? Do they?

    "I like your hair..." and yeah, disaster lesbian is back. Just another thing to hide from the world for different reasons. To be a Mutant, and in to girls, mostly, well that's just doubly not okay.

    "I am, sorry, for everything, you've been through, Lorna..." she adds.

    Then come the thumbs burshing away tears, and Ais;ing's smile could light up the night sky brighter than Polaris. She nods, happily, for the first time in ages. "Okay."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Don't be," Lorna replies with a small, warm smile.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't get through there."

She takes her time doing it, but-- eventually, Lorna lets go and steps back from Aisling, letting her fingers drag down the other woman's arms the whole way, disaster be damned.

"For now," she murmurs with a quick headturn and a swipe of her palm across her right eye, "I'm gonna get your number, and we're gonna be in touch-- and hopefully, the next time you see me, there won't be TOO much blood in the picture. We'll get you to Genosha soon-- and until then... enjoy it here; give them a chance to love you."

Aisling Caroll has posed:
    Aisling was, happy. Happier than she could ever remember being. Then Lorna Dane of all people was asking for her number, and to keep in touch, and to take her to Genosha. With the number given, and Lorna talking about giving the people here a chance to love her, her life seemed to be all the brigter. Things, were finally, going to be better.