6545/Same Planet, Which Worlds

Same Planet, Which Worlds
Date of Scene:	13 June 2021
Location:	Central Park
Synopsis:	Kurt and Nazo each find out a little of the other. Kurt makes an offer that confuses Nazo.
Cast of Characters:	Nazo Sarwani, Kurt Wagner

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Nazo Sarwani has posed:
As the shadows of things approach their height from the ground it becomes time for 'Asr', the afternoon namaz, and while most people who observe will tend at that time to retreat to their homes, or to somewhere private in their office space for those at work, this isn't always an option.

As the black-clad woman with the red sash seems to be facing. Carrying what appears to be a carpetbag slung over her shoulder, she reveals it to be an actual carpet with the straps sewn in loops on each end for ease of transport. The sharp of eye might even spot the orienteering compass painstakingly sewn into one corner before she calls attention to it by adjusting it carefully and then laying the carpet-a surprisingly expensive-looking Afghan-on the great lawn in a direction informed by the compass.

She then proceeds to wash her hands from a bottle of water before starting a well-practiced set of movements, words barely audible from even as close as a metre away, as she rushes through her prayers before attr...

"Hey!"

Too late.

A bunch of shaved-headed teens, led by an early-twenties goon with pseudo-militaristic garb accosts her as she starts to fold up her rug.

"I didn't go to Afghanistan so you effin' towel-heads could come here and infect my country!"

Chances of any of the goons having served in any capacity: under 15.

"Take your Moo-zlim shit back to Iraq!"

Kurt Wagner has posed:
New York.

It is such a vibrant city. At any time full of all sorts of possibilities, all sorts of amusements. It's no wonder so many people are drawn to it, find themselves living there, working there.

Kurt Wagner... does not number himself amongst them. His home is less than an hour away of course -- even less so for him -- and he is a frequent visitor, taking in the sights, exploring all the little points of interest both to the masses and things that appeal more to him. Given how easy a commute it is for him to get into the city he is a regular visitor. And on almost all of those visits a stop by Central Park is usually on the agenda.

In that respect today is no different. The fuzzy blue elf wanders the paths and lawns of the park, not hesitating to get off the beaten trail in his roamings, at times flitting from tree to tree through the more heacily wooded area. But he also does not shy away from the more trod pathways either, unphased by the stares he draws from some.

He does not exactly blend in, afterall.

It is the coarse taunts from nearby that attract his attention first and those golden eyes flit about, looking for the source. And having little difficulty locating it. He gives a small shake of his head, a quiet sigh passing his lips and then he begins to walk over. "This seems rather unnecessary gentlemen. Why not return what is not yours and be on your way to enjoy this lovely day in the park," he suggests, oh so reasonably.

Nazo Sarwani has posed:
"I cannot," the strongly-accented voice from behind the niqab says, "return to Iraq having, after all, never once in my life set foot in it. At best the most I could do to satisfy your command would be to go there for the first time."

The voice is subdued. Quiet. But has behind it a steel that smarter people might find a warning.

"No, for me to return anywhere I would have to go to the country you just said you spent time in killing. And for reasons of your own creation I do not wish to return."

Shots fired. Someone call the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaambulance because that's a burn that's not going to go untreated. Unfortunately the goons are not trained in first aid so they escalate.

Well, they were about to escalate. Kurt's arrival complicates matters. Four big, tough teens and twens are a match for a small, self-effacing woman. Having a furry blue freak in the mix too is making things decidedly nerve-wracking for them.

"They have not stolen anything of mine," Nazo reassures Kurt, "but thank you fo..." That's when her eyes actually take in Kurt. The face is hidden behind her veil, but the eyes are there and expressive. Her eyebrows in particular shoot through to well past the lower edge of her hijab. "Pardon me," she says flustered. "That was rude. Thank you for you..."

That expression seems cursed to never exit her mouth.

"Hey, look!" says one of the younger, dumber kids. "It's one of them freaks! Get 'im!"

It appears that 'towel-heads' are less hated than 'mutant freaks' in the simplistic hierarchical worldview of these children.

The knives come out. Except for the guy who brandishes instead a dented aluminium baseball bat.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
Surprise. Hostility. Neither reaction seems to phase the indigo-furred mutant. At least it is hard to imagine him being anything else, though it a world filled with wonder it is certainly a possibility.

Kurt rather doubts that the group of angry young men particularly care what he really is.

He doesn't really have an abundance of time to offer up any sort of reply to the veiled woman, though he does not seem unduly concerned about the knife-wielding men -- little more then boys, some of them, judging by appearances. As the first one of them reaches him, thrusts that blade his way Kurt simply... sidesteps away from the strike, moving with a practiced easy that leaves the man off balance.

Off balance and an easy target for that oh so agile tail that lashes out and slaps his wrist -- not hard enough to do permanent damage, just enough to try and make him drop his weapon. As another of them rushes him the fuzzy blue elf literally leaps into the air, flipping over him and giving a simple, disapproving smack to the back of his head as he lands upright on the other side of him. "This violence is really unnecessary. And uncalled for," he chides the group of hostile youths.

His gaze then flickers over thowards Nazo, dipping his head, the apology written on his face. "I seem to have made things worse. You have my sincere apologies."

Nazo Sarwani has posed:
Where Nazo stood when Kurt flicks his gaze her way is now a small whirlwind of sand and dust, and as Kurt took out his playmates, so, too, did she take one of her own out. The one with the bat.

A ropy pseudopod of whirling sand had in the interim reached out from her main body of turbulent sand and filled the boy's mouth and nose with sand, cutting off his air supply, causing him to drop his bat in a panic as the choking sensation almost immediately began from the invading, rough particles. Helplessly he tears at his face, trying, and failing, to get the sand out of his breathing aparatus while his body, pumped on adrenaline and burning oxygen at prodigious rates, starts to send signals of alarm-called 'pain'-to his brain for a few agonizing seconds before his shutdown into unconsciousness.

The implacable miniature storm stands a moment before the pseudopod pulls out and rejoins the main body which coalesces into the form of the woman.

The last remaining teen, the youngest, stares at the pair, backing off and babbling something that sounds an awful lot like "no" repeated many times in rapid succession before turning tail and running.

"I could not let them hurt you," Nazo says to Kurt. "And was unaware at your prowess."

She looks down at the one she attacked with cold eyes, her foot appearing just long enough from under her abaya to push the kid over to his side so the blood from his mouth and nose didn't pool and choke him to death.

"You intervened at a moment of perceived need. No apologies are needed. If more were like you..."

Her voice trails off. She crouches down to retrieve her rug, fallen from her non-existent shoulder in the altercation.

"It was kind of you to intervene."

An awkward pause ensues.

"I am called Nazo Sarwani."

Another awkward pause.

"I am new here."

Because that wasn't obvious at all, was it?

Kurt Wagner has posed:
This particular group of young men are having a very unfortunate day.

Of course in fairness, they pretty much brought it all on themselves. Perhaps they will learn something from this experience. It is probably more likely that when they tell this story later to their friends however that there will be many more mutants who accosted them, who began the fight and who no doubt received as much injury as was inflicted on this bunch. Certainly Kurt expects that is the more likely of the two scenarios. More's the pity.

Of the things he expected to see when he turns back to the woman he came to aid, a swirling whirlwind of sand was probably not top of the list. It probably wasn't on the list at all. But the fuzzy blue elf has seen a lot of unusual and unexpected things in his years. What's one more compared to all of that? Certainly she seems to have a rather effective means of dealing with the beligerent young men -- though reassuringly, at least to Kurt -- she does not push overly far in her reprimand, settling for incapacitating the youth instead of doing greater harm.

"I appreciate that. Both your acceptance and looking out for my safety as well," he replies wryly, watching with a certain amount of bemusement as the last of the uninvolved young men scampers away in a panic. He casts an assessing eye at the two that came after him, but they likewise seem to have reconsidered their earlier decision and decided that discretion is the better part of valor afterall.

"It would appear that you do not need anyone coming to your rescue though," he points out, turning his attention back to her, a smile resting on those dark features. "My name is Kurt Wagner and while I am not precisely from here, I know my way around. Welcome Nazo Sarwani."

Nazo Sarwani has posed:
The extremely public nature of her aforementioned reprimand seems to have discomfitted Nazo as she looks around at the staring, widened eyes.

"You did not know that," she says distractedly, looking around at the crowd. "And came. Much as I did not know you needed no help, and..."

Her eyes flick down at the youth bleeding from his mouth and nose.

"...thus that this was unnecessary." She pauses. "He will be OK, but his head will be sore for a week or two." She raises a hand. "It's very abrasive, you understand. Not soft. Even without trying to hurt him it's going to leave many small cuts. He will learn from pain."

Unspoken: like I did.

"I do not wish to be rude, Kurt Wagner, but ..."

There's a helpless lilt in her voice as she gestures at Kurt, top to bottom.

"... what are you? Do you come from another 'planet'? I have never seen one as you before. Are you ... Djinn, perhaps? Ifrit?"

She's trying to classify into apparently quite a limited knowledge pool.

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is true. Pain does tend to be a good teacher. Not one that Kurt himself particularly believes in, but then they did give the young men a chance to walk away. And no matter how alarming the confrontation might have been all of them are walking away. It's a chance to grow and learn. Now it's just contingent on them to take it.

While the issue with the beligerent youths might have been dealt with, it would appear that it is not the only matter where there might still be some questions. Her reaction to him leaves him tilting his head, his own expression showing perhaps a trace of surprise. He is very much used to people automatically assuming that he is a mutant. That, or some might call him a demon. Certainly for those raised in a more western, Judeo Christian tradition his features do have a somewhat demonic caste to them. Perhaps that is part of why he has adopted a very different sort of personality instead.

"No offense given," the fuzzy blue elf assures her at once, offering up another amiably smile, though the hint of fangs is sometimes off putting to some. "I am a mutant. Some refer to us as Homo Superior, though I am not sure that I like the connotations that go along with that," he admits wryly.

Again his head tilts ever so slightly, regarding the veiled woman. "Where is it that you are from Nazo?"

Nazo Sarwani has posed:
Nazo points accusingly at the leader of the group fleeing. "He claims to have served where I come from," she says. "Though he lacks the bearing of an American soldier so I doubt his tale."

How, precisely, she knows the bearing of American soldiers with such confidence is not something she seems ready to explore in this conversation.

"They don't run from danger so easily," she adds. Hammering home the point that she knows a disturbing amount of detail about the behaviour of soldiers.

"I am from Afghanistan," she says proudly. "I am Pashto, born in a village nobody has ever heard of but those who lived there called Kakhar, in the province nobody cares about, Zabul."

Anybody familiar with geopolitics of the region will know: unshakeable stronghold of the Taliban.

And then the prideful bearing collapses back into the more humble form she seems to more habitually wear. "I can't live there any longer. So the Americans were kind enough to let me live here."

Not being able to see her face makes speaking to her somewhat frustrating, with all the usual visual cues westerners are used to being cut away by the slash of black brocade. But there's a certain amount of bitterness in the voice that follows. "It seems my skill with rugs translates to employment well, so at least I am no burden."

Kurt Wagner has posed:
No, none of the young men who confronted them is likely to be a solider. Or have been a soldier. Certainly not a good one at any rate. If they have had any training at all, it is likely to have been of the more unofficial sort. There are no shortage of hate groups out there that would gladly take in such youths and help indoctrinate them afterall.

The X-Men have faced more then their fair share of such. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Kurt is a fairly well travelled individual. And a reasonably educated one, despite his unconventional background. He is a teacher afterall, and while his interest leans more towards history then geography he at least has some notion of where she is talking about. "Ahhh, I see," he offers up, that little piece of information helping to shed a little light on a few things.

"I myself am from overseas originally as well. Europe though," he says, certainly that faint German accent clings to his words afterall these years for those that might recognize it.

The name might help as well.

"I am sorry that you can no longer remain in your home, though I hope you find a good life here Nazo Sarwani. There is much good here," he says brightly, making a dismissive wave of his hand after the fleeing youths. "Along with some bad. If you do not mind me asking, where is it that your abilities come from?" he asks curiously.

Nazo Sarwani has posed:
Deep breath. Long sigh. Brief closing of eyes. It seems Nazo is girding herself up for something.

"Allah," she says simply, then. "They are a gift from Allah. Granted me in his obscure, unfathomable wisdom to do His works upon the world."

That's an explanation.

Not helpful. But an explanation.

"They were granted me to protect myself from a marriage being forced upon me."

Puberty. Check.

"In my fear and despair I called out to Him to give me the strength to survive His test. And He granted it to me."

Sudden outburst. Check.

"And in my fear I ... people were hurt. Because I did not understand my gift."

Outburst under time of emotional duress causing damage as lack of ...

Sounds familiar, doesn't it...

Kurt Wagner has posed:
It is a familiar story indeed, one that Kurt has heard some variation on any number of times. If her interpretation of it is a little different then most, well, it is still fair.

So the fuzzy blue elf listens in silence as she offers up her tale, nodding here or there in understanding, but otherwise not interrupting.

"I can see why you were forced to leave your home. Your story is similar to one that I have heard many times before. Even somewhat similiar to my own," he says with a gentle smile. "But you are not wrong. Your abilities are a gift, even if they have brought you trouble thus far," he agrees. He is a firm believer in that particular fact to be sure.

He pauses for a moment before drawing out a card and offering it up to her. "I work at a school a little ways outside the city. It's a school for people like myself. And yourself," he adds. "I do not know that you need the more conventional education that we offer, but we also help those like ourselves to gain a measure of control over their abilities. So that they can better live in the world," he offers up.

"If that is something that should appeal to you, please let me know. Perhaps it is not just chance that led us both to this park here today," Kurt suggests with a smile.

Nazo Sarwani has posed:
The card is accepted and secreted in her abaya's folds graciously with both hands, and a bowed head. "Thank you for your kindness," she says, almost ritually in tone. "But I do not understand. Control?"

The stirring form of the boy she choked out at her feet almost makes her point for her.

"I have been learning to use my gift since I was fourteen years old."

That's ... a cringe and a half in the works.

"I have had plenty of practice."

That spoken with a slightly straighter stance. Like pride was involved.

Then back to that shrunken-feeling stance. Like someone who has been beaten so much by life that she assumes that's just the way things work.

"I don't know what training I would need to control it." She glances down at the boy. "He's alive, is he not?"