3684/Mouthless in Manhattan

Mouthless in Manhattan
Date of Scene:	05 October 2020
Location:	The Dakota
Synopsis:	Kurt wakes up from his Avatar coma to discover a mouthless Amanda. Nevertheless, they communicate well enough to compare notes and form a plan of action. Step one? Get Amanda's mouth back.
Cast of Characters:	Amanda Sefton, Kurt Wagner
Tinyplot:	Zodiac Rising

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Amanda Sefton has posed:
The wee hours of the morning. Twenty-four hours after the deadly encounter with the Avatars of the Zodiac at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. Not so long after the nearly as deadly, but twice as frustrating encounter at the Metropolis Museum of Natural History. A wavering portal opens at the foot of the bed in Amanda's bedroom in the Upper West Side appartment she and Pepper call home. In full Daytripper regalia, the sorceress stumbles through.

To one who knows her magic well, the portal is obviously unstable. And her body language is angry, upset, and frustrated. The portal stutters out bearly half a moment after she's past its event horizon. She pitches forward, catching herself on the dresser with a heavy thump. She has not fallen down. Not really. She's just leaned heavily forward, stiff-armed, head hung, keeping herself upright through sheer force of will. She looks up into the mirror in front of her. It gives her a clear view of the bed, where her oldest friend has been tucked in for hours...

And a very clear look at the now featureless bottom half of her face. Two eyes. A nose. No mouth. And almost no magical energy left to speak of. (No pun intended.) She's going to need help.

But that can wait. There are other things she needs to attend, first. Checking on Kurt's well-being being chief among them.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
As a general rule Kurt Wagner is a fairly light sleeper. It is just an old habit -- or perhaps a survival instinct. But for the past twenty-hours hours it is entirely possible that a parade could have marched through Amanda and Pepper's apartment and the fuzzy blue elf would not have so much as shifted a muscle. He has been -- figuratively speaking -- dead to the world. Perhaps understandably. The magic that has been infecting him for quite some time now has been abruptly purged. But that purge naturally involved more then a little trauma. Both from that dark magic loosing it's grasp on him and the rush of memories of just what he has beeen up to during those lost time episodes when he was little more then a puppet. If a really big, nasty one.

But mutants do tend to be pretty hardy and it has been a good, long time since Kurt has spent a whole day in bed. Perhaps it is the slamming of hands against the dresser across the room. Perhaps it is just a sense that he is no longer alone. Maybe he's just ready to wake up but those brilliant golden eyes crack open at last as his senses return to the world.

For a moment he has no real idea of where he is, or what is going on. His gaze unwavers, the pit of his stomache hollows out, an ominous sinking feeling very much adjacent to fear sending a wash of cold through his otherwise warm body. Blurred eyes try to focus, to settle and he fixes on the sight of the woman across the room.

It's enough to bring some sort of awareness back to him. And despite that awareness flooding back to him that hollow pit only grows. Perhaps fairly. Afterall, one of the last things he recalls, even if the image of it is wrapped in shadows, is blasting bolts of lighting at Amanda. Sitting up shakily, Kurt starts to rise, a wave of dizziness keeping him bed-bound a moment longer. "Amanda, you're okay. I..." he starts, relief filling his voice for just a moment. But then he catches sight of her reflection in the mirror. "Mein Gott..."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Kurt moves in the mirror. Amanda's eyes widen. Warring emotions run through her eyes: relief, frustration, joy, concern. She spins towards him and ends up on her knees beside the bed. Despite the deformity of her face, her hands are cupping his face and she's searching his eyes and looking him over to see if he truly is back with her. That no sign of Leo remains. When it becomes clear to her that it's her very own 'Elf' that stares back, she wraps her arms about him and holds him tight.

Her body shudders with emotion... but no tears dampen his fur as they might otherwise. No mouth to breath through... she can't afford a plugged nose.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is all a hazy nightmare still, his time as Leo, but it is increasingly coming back without the suppressing magic that blocked out his memories of just what he was up to when the magic of the Torc took hold and he transformed. He doesn't remember everything, especially when it comes to details around who was responsible and what their goals might have been. But he can see images of himself holding that copper spear and shield, on a hilltop and in a museum. He remembers hurling lightning. He remembers being a huge cat. He remembers blazing away in that museum, setting fires, potentially destroying prieless artifacts. He fortunately does not remember anyone dead at his feet, any blood on his hands. But he does remember those bolts of lightning fired at her. That would be guilt enough.

A day unconscious has apparently been enough to allow Kurt to process what he's gone through, what he might be responsible for, enough at least to face up to it. Under other circumstances he might feel the need to indulge that guilt a little more, especially with her. He is unsteady, limbs still shakey as if getting used to his own form again and while he can't quite stand there is no need to, especially when she collapses to her knees. Reaching out, he wraps arms about her, eyes filling with unshed tears for a moment as he clings to her for a moment. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs. It is the only indulgance of that guilt that he allows himself, at least for the moment.

Leaning back a little, glistening eyes take in her own circumstances, one hand tentatively reaching out towards her transformed features as if those glistening eyes of his are not to be trusted, not under these circumstance. "Mein Gott, Amanda. Are you okay? How can I help?" Focus on what's important right now. He can feel sorry for himself later.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda shakes her head against Kurt's shoulder as he whispers his apology. She accepts it, yes. But she doesn't know if it's necessary. Not yet.

She has so many questions she wants to ask... and no easy way to do so. When he leans back, she straightens some. He reaches to touch her face. She closes her eyes, brows creased in pain, though it's not physical. She opens her eyes again when he speaks. The tension around them suggests she *wants* to allow herself the indulgeance of tears. But she dare not. Instead, she takes in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and pushes away to climb unsteadily to her feet. She moves to the nightstand and pulls a drawer open. Roughly, her hand flips through its contents until she grasps a pen and a blank pad of paper.

She sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip -- partly because of the space by the table. And partly to feel him solid beside her.

Then, she begins to write in her quick, precise hand. "I'm okay. For now." She lets him read that. Then adds, "Do you know anyone who can reshape flesh? Otherwise, I'll find another mage to fix this."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is not always fair, but falling apart is not always a luxury that they have the time for. That sort of comes with the territory of having to deal with crises that are so far out of the ordinary that only a gifted few can possibly comprehend let alone manage them. Kury knows, probably as well as anyone, just how tempting it might be to just let the tears flow and let the present circumstances simply overwhelm, at least for a few minutes. And likewise knows why that just is not on the table. Not right now at least.

When she settles in next to him, Kurt is just as quick to lean in against her -- in part because he still feels less then steady after the events of yesterday and the toll it's take on his body -- and in part just because at moments like this sometimes the best comfort is the presence of another person, an anchor to both make it all more real and to banish the worst of it with simple, human warmth and companionship. He glances towards the notepad, understanding both the need for it and the intent behind it.

More then most he understands magic. Which only makes sense. He grew up alongside her and her mother. But he's no practioner and he suspects that, for all his familiarity that he does not know half of what the Winding Way and other magical paths truly entail. "There is a student at the school, he has the potential to be the most powerful healer I've ever seen. But he's still just a student and I do not know that he is on site right now," he admits. In fairness, he doesn't know much of the status of just about anything right at the moment. Things change fast in their worlds and he doesn't even know how long he's been unconscious. "Another mage might be your best bet," he admits.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda nods in response to Kurt's words. She lets her brows rise and fall in bit of a shrug, which would be a wry smile had she lips to do so. Her cheek muscles twitch with the impulse, nonetheless. And she nods.

Then, her expression grows serious. "How much do you remember?" she writes, showing him the words again. Her eyes are full of concern. Even with her pen tucked between her fingers, she reaches out to push hair back from his eyes. She can't help but fuss just a little.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Under the circumstances, a little beit of fussing is probably called for. On both their parts. As she fiddles with his hair, Kurt smiles. But just for a moment. It is, understandably, a little difficult to find very much mirth in anything right at the moment. Still, one arm slips around her, gently squeezing her against his side in gratitude.

"Some," he admits, that simple word escaping him with a heavy sigh that seems to give it the appropriate weight. "It's like a nightmare you have just woken up from. It's not all there and you don't really want to look too closely anyway," he offers up, words slow as if trying to explain as vividly as possible. "I remember standing on a hill, throwing lightning towards ruins down below. Somewhere in Europe I think. And I remember being in a museum," he continues, words getting just a little more shakey. "I remember... throwing lightning at you. Then all around an exhibit room. If I hurt anyone... if I... I didn't, didn't have anything to do with this, did I?" he asks, voice crackling just a little as he reaches out, gently touching a finger to where her mouth should be.

He doesn't remember anything like that. But maybe that's what his mind is shying away from.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda grimaces faintly as Kurt begins his recitation. She scratches lightly on her pad. "Uncle Radu's abbey," the words say. "Romania." The hilltop in Europe. She looks at him. Leo helped cause all that damage to their old family friend? Then she writes, "The Met Museum."

He touches her smooth face and she winces. Again, it's not pain, but a grimace that cannot go lower than her cheekbones. She leans her forehead against his for a long moment, breathing deeply to control her frustration at being muted like this.

Finally, she pulls back and writes again. "You were transformed by magic. The torc." She looks up at him again, brows creased, questions in her eyes. "How did you get it? Who gave it to you?"

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It might be an indulgance, but it is one that Kurt allows himself for the moment, letting his forehead rest against her own. The mention of Uncle Radu makes him grimace, the expression exposing those fangs for just an instant, and another heavy sigh escapes him. It would not have been any more acceptable if it had been a perfect stranger of course, but it somehow bites just a little bit harder that it was someone that he knows. And the Met. He can remember shattered glass, can remember fires. Waking from a nightmare is indeed an appropriate analogy.

The only thing that offers any solace at all is the fact that he does not remember any sort of body count -- at least not at his hands. It is a small thing -- especially since there may indeed still have been one at the hands of those he was working with, victims that he could not protect and did not even make an effort. But he doesn't ask the obvious question, not at the moment. He will, eventually, or at least will find the answer himself. Right now though? He doesn't want to know.

"There was... a red-headed man. Small. On the street," he says, eyes narrowing as if trying to picture him, trying to remember. "Homeless, or so I thought. I gave him some money. I remember..." he pauses once more, those gleaming yellow eyes going distant for a moment. "I remember, he head a copper necklace. A cross. He insisted on pushing it into my hands. I refused, insisted he should keep it but once it was in my palm..." he pauses again with a frown. "Once it was in my palm I stopped refusing. I didn't even think about it, I just put it on. I don't remember thinking about it again until now, or about him," he confesses. He can barely remember the cross at all, kept out of sight, tucked away against his flesh. He can't even remember the feel of it against his fur, his flesh, as if he was just numb wherever it touched.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda considers that, again a deep breath in and out as she thinks. It's not unusual for her to use a hint of meditative breathing when working through a problem. It's just more obvious, at the moment. She jostles him just a little, slipping her arm around him briefly in comfort.

She balances her pad on her knee so she can write one handed and keep her arm around his waist. "I saved the museum," she writes to reassure him. She doesn't mention the three who died. They weren't at his hands. She also doesn't tell him just how much magic it pulled out of her to do so. He knows her well enough; he can tell she's running on fumes, anyway.

Then, she writes. "This is not your fault. It's his." She underlines 'not'. She underlines 'his'. A beat. She scratches quickly. "His MASTER'S." A double underline beneath the all-caps. Then: "A dark mage. Wants to rule the world." She gives him a hint of a smile with her eyes and a twitch of her cheekbones. "The usual shiesse."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Ahhh, magic. If there is anything that can make him feel good about being a faintly demonic looking mutant in a world that tends to hate and fear his kind, it might be that he doesn't have to deal with megalomaniacal sorcerers and-or sorceress on the regular. Though it would appear that he hasn't escaped involvement in this particular case.

Kurt does indeed know her very well, as well as anyone. He can tell that there is not a whole lot left in the tank. And he can also tell that she is not exactly telling him everything. At another time, on another occasion he might insist that she doesn't have to protect him. Right now though? He doesn't want to know. He's a good Catholic -- all in all. He's quite good at guilt. But he is already feeling enough right at the moment without layering on anymore. Whether or not this is his fault.

"There are times that I do not envy you at all," the fuzzy blue elf says gently, lifting his head and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Give me power hungry mutants or alien invasions anyday. You keep the mystical madmen," he offers up with a bit of forced levity before his features go serious once more. "How can I help?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda actually makes a soft noise. She still has vocal chords. She still has the cavities for sound. And not every sound is made with lips, teeth, and tongue. It's a brief, thoughtful hum. She closes her eyes when he kisses her and would smile at him if she could. Instead, she twists the pad around slightly to accommodate further writing. "Do you remember what you were hunting at the Met?" If she had some clue about that, she would know just how much of a threat is left.

She pauses, thinking further. "Do you remember where you went?"

Kurt Wagner has posed:
People can be surprisingly adaptable, even when something that they are used to, that they take for granted -- like say the ability to speak -- is taken away from them. Kurt would probably miss the sound of his own voice though. He does like a well-timed quip. It might not be a mutant power per se, but he likes to think it is one of the better weapons in his arsenal.

"Mmmmm," he says, brow furrowing for a moment in thought, his eyes closing once more, little lines marking them -- a big change from year's past, but he's been through a lot. "Not really. I think... I think we were hunting pieces of a... crown?" he offers up hesitatnly, straining to try and recall. Looking at his nightmare to see what he can find, no matter how little he might want to right at this moment. "Yes, definitely a crown. One that had been broken. Maybe... deliberately divided?" he suggests before shaking his head. "I don't remember more then that, not right now."

"As to where, I can picture the features of some of the other underlings. We were gathered, receiving our instructions. I can't quite make out the words or see the face of the one giving them though. And nothing but shadows for where," he finally says, shaking his head once more. "I'm sorry, I'll keep trying," he promises.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
The chuff of air Amanda lets out speaks volumes. A crown. So, her guesses are right. That's good to know. She actually seems at least a little satisfied by that. Her hand about her waist flexes, giving him a squeeze. Her head touches his shoulder for a minute. Then, she's back to scribbling, penmanship worsening slightly for the speed with which she tries to capture her thoughts for him.

"Uncle Radu was guarding part of a map to locked hellmouth in Romania. I think the crown is the key to open it." She looks at him. Then writes again. "Help me stop it. Please?"

Kurt Wagner has posed:
That is at least a little reassuring. He recognizes the sound coming from her for what it is -- mouth or not. Clearly she has some idea of what's going on, no matter how limited the intel he can provide her might be. Good. That's a starting point. That suggests that he will have the opportunity to do more then mope.

As she starts to scribble, his gaze drops intently to the pad of paper she balances on her knee -- familiarity helping here too as he can actually read her writing, no matter how shakey it might get. "A hellmouth, hmmm? Sounds ominious," he says before smiling once more. "Of course I'll help," he says without hesitation. "Even if it wasn't you I'd help," he adds. Earnest, perhaps. But entirely truthful as well. He can be flippant and he adores playing the rake when he gets the change. But he is always there when it counts.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda looks at Kurt, and there's actually a hint of a twinkle in her tired eyes. "I love you," she writes shortly, glancing back to him again. She knows he'd help anyone who asked -- especially against a threat like this.

Another faint chuff of air, this one mildly annoyed. She flips the page and adds, "I really want another round with the Crab. I owe her." Guess who took her lips? There's a scowl on her forehead. She has to work hard to remember... Cancer is likely a victim as much as Kurt is.

But, remember she does. "We rescued another Avatar victim, tonight." And she puts a little smilely face beside the remark, glancing to him as she does.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is enough to bring a genuine, if tired, smile to his face and he leans into her side once more . "I should certainly hope so. I am extremely loveable," he agrees, sounding a little more like himself. Clearly the ordeal took a little out of him though if he can still sound tired after a full day in bed. But then not all exhaution is necessary physical. "I love you too," he says, eyes dancing impishly for just a moment. "My hero."

It takes him a moment of searching his hazy recollections to remember what some of his former counterparts can do, the features of Cancer swimming in front of his mind's eye for just an instant before receeding into those nightmarish memories and Kurt gives the faintest shudder, though impossible miss with them leaning against one another. "I know," he says quietly. "I think... I think most if not all of them are not willing collaborators. No more then I was. If you freed another of them hopefully the rest of them can be saved as well. You said that I had a torc? I imagine that means each of them has some sort of totem too that is letting them be controlled," he muses quietly, glancing her way once more. It is unspoken, but then some things do not need words. They have to be saved. No matter what they might have done under the influence of those dark magics, they are victims too.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda nods to his conclusion, firmly enough that it's obvious she's confirming his speculation. Or at least that she believes as he does. "One for each sign," she writes. "I did research." She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Hard to find. Too much to find. Really old stuff." Which means it requires a lot more digging than she's been able to do.

She taps the end of the pen on the pad for a moment or two, thinking. Finally, she adds. "Met a monk in Egypt. Said the totems were made by ancient gods. Indestructible."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Twelve then. Makes sense. For a brief moment the different underlings flash before his eyes in turn and he tries to focus on them, trying to concentrate, to remember if he knew what each of their totems might be Unfortunately Leo did not exactly hold his peers in too high a regard, nor had much interest in the source of their inferior power. "Of course you did," he replies wryly, but fondly. He's not exactly incapable of it himself, when called for. He'd just rather curl up with a good adventure story. Or better yet, watch one on the big screen.

"Mmmm. I suppose that makes things a little more difficult. But I'm not much of one for smashing anyway. Pretty good at snatching things away though, in a pinch. So long as I know what it is I have to grab," Kurt says. "We'll find a way. We always do."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda nods to that. She sets her pad aside so she can hug him more fully again. It's a gentle embrace than it was when she first returned, but strong nonetheless. Her relief is palpable at having him returning to normal. She's no fool. She knows the grief and guilt he'll carry. And, on some level, she shares it. Or, rather, she has enough of her own from all of this to make it an equal load. But there's nothing she can't face with an 'anyfriend' like him by her side.

When she finally lets go, it's to add another line to that pad. "They'll strike again, soon." It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. "I need to find someone to fix me before then." Because she can't go into battle like this. She's already down too low in her magical reserves, not to have her incantations available to her, as well. Furious magic blasts have somewhat limited utility.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Really, it helps a lot. Waking up and having her being the first person he sees. It probably would regardless, but of course even more so since among the last things he remembers is trying to blast her with lightning. Not having to worry about that alone is likely a huge weight off of his shoulders. He knows well that there will still be emotional turmoil to work through, but for now at least he can focus on her, on the problem confronting them instead of all that and arms gladly go around her, chin nestled on her shoulder for the moment.

"Stands to reason. I'm almost sure there were still at least a few pieces of the crown to retrieve," he agrees, leaning back, sitting up a little better now, some of that strength seemingly coming back to him. A purpose -- and need -- tends to help that sort of thing along even when it is questionable if it should or not. "Then lets get you help," he says decisively. He might not be able to magic things better. But he makes for a pretty good taxi service.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda's eyes smile at Kurt. Her nostrils flare as she inhales a deep breath. Yes, she's still exhausted. Yes, she's got nearly no power reserves left -- and she can't even take a stim potion to get her through the short term. But she's got her best friend at her side and a plan to move forward with. For now, that's enough.

Thus, she nods at him, pushes herself to her feet, and pulls out a half-mask to disguise her lower face. She then fishes out her phone from a pocket and thumbs through it. Finally, she comes up with a streetview map that shows a swank club that's not so far from the apartment. Just downtown. Lux. She points to the image of the front and taps the side of her temple. She's knows a guy. And that's where they'll probably find him.

Reaching out her hand, she takes his. Time to go.