<<< One Last Chance, Archangel

[Chrysalis]

Date: January 15th
Time: 10:30

---

A quiet Saturday morning rain pattered gently onto the face of New York City, chiding anyone unfortunate to have business about town that morning with a light drenching. These poor souls hurried along their paths, heads down, shoulders raised, and (for those more gifted with foresight) shielded by umbrellas. Lucan, however, was doing none of these.

He did have business out in the streets of New York City that rainy Saturday morning, but he was hardly hurrying about it. In fact, he was standing still, staring upwards at the mammoth construction that was the Worthington Complex, looking down every now and then to check, double-check, and triple-check the scrap of paper on which the sympathetic construction worker had written the building’s address. The paper was not changing, except to become less and less legible as the running ink transformed the note into splatter art. He released the ruined paper and watched numbly as it floated away on a light breeze.

Outwardly, his body was calm and cold, his body showing no intention, his face no emotion; however, it was a facade, a natural protection he had developed over the years and now applied without thought. In truth his heart was racing and his thoughts in turmoil. He had been gone for what, five years? Would Mr. Worthington remember him, that quiet, unassuming student of sixteen years? Would he remember how he left in the middle of the night while ShadowX ran free? Would he be angry? Would he help Lucan find the X-men? Were there even any X-men left to join? Lucan started to breathe more quickly. He hadn’t thought about the last one before, or at least had tried not to. He couldn’t be disappointed now, not after getting his hopes up; heck, on the bus ride back to New York City he had been almost happy. When was the last time he was happy?

He drew a deep breath, halting his racing thoughts and calming his frazzled nerves. Now was no time to develop hyperventilation. Whatever the result, he simply had to talk to Archangel. Whatever happened next would have to remain a mystery for now. He shook his sopping hair and peered up at the grey sky, having forgotten it was raining at all. Absently brushing his equally saturated leather jacket in a vain attempt to dry it off, he shivered (not on account of the cold alone) stepped forward and approached the door. He had just began to reach for the ornate door handle when a loud “hem” sounded from his right. Lucan started, and found the source of the noise standing under a canopy near the door, somewhat hidden from view. The doorman (for so he was) had been watching Lucan for quite a while, and had decided that he did not like the scruffy youth who apparently enjoyed standing in freezing rain for extended periods of time.

“May I help you?” Inquired the man, in a gruff and somewhat unfriendly tone.

Lucan swallowed nervously; he hadn’t been expecting a doorman. “Y-yes,” he replied, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. “I need... would like to visit Mr. Warren Worthington III. My name is Lucan Voss.” He added the last bit after a brief pause, figuring a name might add credibility to his cause.

The doorman almost turned him away, but was caught by something in the the young man’s expression. Although Lucan’s mouth remained straight, his expression communicated desperation, as a man at the end of his ropes. The man’s frown softened a bit, and with a gruff “follow me” he opened the doors and led Lucan into the ritzy reception area. After seeing Lucan seated, dripping and shivering from trepidation in one of the room’s expensive chairs, he approached the desk and picked up the phone, briefly glancing at the grandfather clock.

“Well, if the young master ain’t up by ten thirty, the worse for him.” He muttered to himself. Dialing the number for the top floor, he let it ring and spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Mr. Worthington? A young man here to see you, by the name of Lucan Voss.”

[Archangel]

Warren came in for a cross, catching his opponent's blade as he brought it down at the winged mutant; pivoting away from the pressed attack, the billionaire immediately brought his own blade around for an attack on his fencing partner's flank, only to be parried by the opposing blade. The clang of metal on metal... was repeated as Warren went for a traditional follow-up attack and then moved to make a third. However, at the last possible second, he went into a feint, changing directions and coming at his opponent from the other side. The flat of his sword caught the man on the ribs, bringing a smile to Warren's lips.

“You didn't let me win, did you Samantha?”

His opponent reached up and pulled the mask off her face, a thick mane of glossy blond hair cascading over the shoulder of her white uniform as she flashed a brilliant smile at her client. “Of course not, Warren... I would be a poor instructor if I were to go easy on you.”

Smirking, Warren tossed aside his sword and turned, white feathered wings draped nearly to the ground as he walked toward a cabinet that held several tumblers and a bottle of scotch. Ten thirty in the morning it may be... but it was happy hour somewhere in the world. He could sense Samantha a bit closer than where he'd left her.

“We've been fencing for months now, Warren. If you don't mind me asking... where did you study? You might be one of the best I've gone up against.” He turned to see her a handful of feet from him, her dark brown eyes trailing over the edge of one of his wings as he held out a tumbler half-full of scotch. She glanced at it with an eyebrow raised and then took the glass with a smile of gratitude.

“I don't mind you asking,” Warren said with an amused smile as he took a sip of his drink while keeping his eyes on her. He could tell that over the course of several months she'd grown more and more curious about his anatomy... the wings of course. “I had a teacher,” Warren finally admitted with a shrug as he set the empty tumbler on the bar. “He died a few years ago, I'm afraid.”

Before she could ask another question, Warren's phone lit up from its position on the bar's surface, and he lazily reached for it. His brow furrowed as he was told someone was there for him... Archangel definitely didn't have a meeting and hadn't recognized the name. “Very well. Send him up to my office.” Hanging up, Warren reached for a towel hanging on a rack next to the bar and wiped the sweat from his face an apologetic look on it, “I'm afraid I might have to cut our session short. How about if I send you up to my suite and I'll be up there as soon as possible.”

---

Fifteen minutes later

Having changed out of the A-shirt and gym pants, Warren now wore a simple T-shirt and a pair of jeans as he approached his office. There had been no appointment, so whoever this person was would simply have to deal with a dressed-down Warren Worthington. Opening his office, he strode in to see Emerson already in the room with a young man seated across his desk.

“Mr... Voss, was it?” he said as he approached the young man, his brow creased slightly as he tried to gauge what this kid was doing here. Had Hart sent him and he'd just not gotten the memo? A glance toward Linus told him nothing. He held out his hand to Voss for a shake, “What can I do for you? Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”

[Chrysalis]

Had Lucan been more aware at the moment, he would likely have been embarrassed about his scruffy appearance among the opulent decoration of the room. However, his thoughts were turned inward, busy dreading the confrontation to come. He was actually considering getting up and walking out the door when the doorman ended his brief conversation with Archangel and directed the reticent mutant up to Warren Worthington III's very own private suite. Now visibly shaking, Lucan slowly extracted himself from his seat and made his way to the elevator.

Relieved to see the small chamber void of attendants, Lucan slipped in and punched the button with the highest number, hoping that it wouldn't take him the roof. As the door shut and the elevator began its ascent with a soft lurch, he absently began to rub the stump on his left hand that was all that was left his pinky finger. Severed during one of Apocalypse's many assaults, he was extremely self-conscious about it and wore gloves almost continually, as he did now. He considered creating a pseudo-finger from Parlite to make the facade of wholeness complete, but he decided against it; he would doubtless need all of his focus for the trial ahead.

The trial ahead. Lucan shivered, as much from apprehension as from the mixture cold sweat and rain that soaked his clothes inside and out. Bar a fortuitous disaster, he would be face to face with the X-man in a matter of minutes. He desperately tried to form some plan of action, some eloquent speech to convince Warren of his repentance and desire to help the X-men; he soon gave up, knowing that Archangel was much too smart and schooled in the art of rhetoric to be affected by anything Lucan said. I'd probably forget it all anyways, he thought bitterly. How am I supposed to convince him of my sincerity when I can't convince myself?

The all too short journey ended with another soft lurch, and Lucan stepped out into the penthouse. He was met by a man who introduced himself as Linus Emerson and led him through the flat into Warren's private office. Here the attendant (butler? servant?) told him that Mr. Worthington would see him shortly and that he should make himself at home. After a few awkward minutes of waiting, sweating, and thumb-twaddling, Lucan heard the door creak open and looked up to see Archangel himself enter the room.

Unsure of the proper procedure in such formal matters, Lucan rose stiffly and took the proffered hand, grateful that Warren was left-handed. After a brief shake and nod, he resumed his seat, slightly disappointed that Warren hadn't recognized him, but not really surprised. Although he had met the winged mutant before, Mr. Worthington was always sort of touch-and-go at the institute, and Lucan hadn’t really made a point of making himself known to anybody, let alone the billionaire playboy of Worthington Industries fame.

He shook his head in response to Archangel’s offer. “No, thank you. And please... call me Lucan.” He hoped the last bit wasn’t too presumptuous; being called “Mr. Voss” by anyone, let alone a former instructor, sounded strange and foreign to him.

“I...well...”He paused briefly, preparing to lay all of his cards on the table. “Mr. Worth... Archangel, I need your help. I’m Lucan Voss, codenamed Chrysalis. I was a student at Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters for most of my childhood. I was smuggled out by Havok during Scott and Jean’s...” Here he paused uncomfortably, unsure of the right word. “...takeover of the school. I... ran away and lived by the coast but then Apocalypse attacked and everything was destroyed and I tried to help rebuild but no one wanted a mutant and then I wandered some but got tired of it and I came back to the Institute but it was gone just a heap of rubble but a man there gave me this address so I’m here.” He let out a shaky breath and inhaled deeply. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he had never said so many words without stopping in his entire life.

He refocused his gaze on Archangel. “So now I’m here. What... what happened?” He paused briefly, then added, as much to himself as the man in front of him. “And what in the world am I going to do?”

Looking up, he noticed Linus with a start. He had completely forgotten about Warren’s attendant. “Is he... well... um...” He trailed off miserably, hoping he hadn’t ruined some well-kept secret.

[Archangel]

“He's fine,” Warren said in reference to Emerson. Linus gave a wry chuckle as he excused himself to grab a cup of coffee.

“I'm sorry Lucan. I lot has happened since Shadow X.” As if a shadow of weariness had suddenly overcome him, he pressed fingers to his eyes to give them a brief massage as if he had a headache. This kid wanted the whole story of what happened? Where to begin?

Warren turned off his image inducer now that he knew who he was dealing with, displaying his indigo skin to the young man as he pulled out a chair and had a seat at the conference table's head. Linus took a seat on the opposite side of Lucan. “Shadow X messed with my head, as did Apocalypse, so I've blacked out on a few things.”

“I suppose you haven't heard of the Purifiers,” Warren continued, “It was a relatively localized confrontation. Perhaps you heard about the Sentinel attack on New York a few months back? Or Havok's trial? You see,” he said as he leaned forward with elbows on the table, “There was a religious fundamental group who saw us as creatures of the devil and wanted to kill us because they thought it was God's will. Their first attack was on X-Corps.” He halted, not sure if Lucan knew what that was... he and Jean had started it after Shadow X.

“X-Corp is a non-profit organization that deals in helping humans and mutants alike with. Relief... medical issues... etc. Anyway, the Purifiers targeted and destroyed their location and kidnapped one of our students who had been there – Jay Guthrie?”

“Roughly a month later,” Warren continued with a note of sadness in his voice, “They attacked the school. I don't know if you remember Nate Rivette or not – he was a cook at the school. It turned out he had been manipulated into believing he was an abomination and joined the school with the intent of eventually sabotaging us. He's what happened to the school. Blew it up with a backpack full of symtec and C-4. An army of Purifiers showed up to clean up what he hadn't killed, but the Hellfire Club and the Brotherhood showed up just then to back us up. Both of them took us by total surprise... apparently they'd attempted something similar in Sanctuary. With their help, we managed to stop them and save most of our people. Still... a lot of souls died that day.”

[Chrysalis]

The young mutant relaxed slightly as Warren launched into his retelling of the events of the past few years. If Lucan’s sudden revelation had fazed him at all, he hadn’t shown it. Then again, what ever could faze Archangel?

Lucan got his answer. Warren suddenly seemed tired, pausing and rubbing his eyes in a somewhat unprofessional manner. However, he recovered quickly, sitting down opposite Lucan and pressing a small a small button on what looked like a wristwatch; instantly, his tan skin changed to a bright indigo. Lucan started, nearly falling off his chair backwards. “I... wha...?” He looked away briefly before refocusing on Archangel, trying to not stare but not entirely succeeding. It wasn’t that having blue skin was in itself particularly strange; Lucan had seen stranger mutations. It was just that Mr. Worthington having blue skin was not right; it just seemed so wrong.

Regardless, Archangel continued his narrative, and all such petty thoughts fled the young mutant's mind as he heard of the travesties committed in the name of God. He heard two names-Jay Guthrie and Nathaniel Rivette, but neither rung a bell. “No, this is all new to me. I...I guess I tried to... to not...” He trailed off to a mumble, so overcome by the monstrosities that he forgot Warren entirely. He bent over and placed his head in his hands, shaking and trying desperately not to cry as he thought about what had happened to his home. His friends. His family.

He failed.

After a few minutes, he regained his composure and resumed his former position, face red, eyes watering, hands still shaking. He tried to speak, but succeeded in producing no more than a gasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. “S...Sorry.” He offered weakly. “For...for losing it. For what happened. And for not being there.” He added the last sentence quietly and indistinctly, more to himself than the man in front of him.

He straightened his drooping back and succeeded in removing the last hint of a sob from his voice. “The Brotherhood and Hellfire Club helped? That’s good. Good to have some friends in the world.” His gaze started to drift away, but he forced it back onto Archangel. “Which kinda brings me to my point. What happened to the X-men? And...” He took a deep breath. “How can I find them?”

[Archangel]

Warren raised an eyebrow at the mention of friends. Friends? The Brotherhood? Hardly. Yes... they had come to the aid of Xavier's during a moment of crisis, but Angel had a suspicion that a large part of the reason was for the chance for Magneto to rub this situation in the X-Men's collective noses and possibly get a couple of recruits out of the chaos. It had worked to a certain degree. Make no mistake... he'd been grateful that the Brotherhood had been there when he himself had not been able to make it until the relief, but that aside, it was always best to second guess Lehnsherr's motives.

The Hellfire Club? That was a different matter. There was Max, who Warren trusted as much as he trusted a rabid badger. The man was capable, and had a certain honor to him, but he was far more pragmatic than Angel could ever be comfortable with. So was Betsy, something that came up less in his mind when he was looking into those eyes of hers... not that it really mattered anymore. All the effort he's put into trying to atone for what he'd done to her brother Jamie had been stolen away by the Black Queen wannabe.

They were far from friends with either faction despite the fact that the opposing groups had come to the aid of the school, but Warren bit his tongue to keep from correcting the kid... there was a lot to process and definition of exactly what the Brotherhood or Hellfire Club was at this very moment seemed more like semantics than anything.

“They're in Utopia,” Warren finally said with a glance toward Linus. Emerson took the hint and turned toward the door taking a sip of his coffee before exiting. As much as the right hand man of Warren Worthington knew, there were some things even he wasn't privy to, and the details of Utopia were included in that group of need-to-know.

“It's in a place called the Savage Lands. Scott and Jean discovered it, and we've made a few expeditions there since. The only access to it is through the X-Men, and we've set our school up there for the time being while we decide whether it's going to be a permanent thing or temporary. It's out of reach of the Brotherhood, the Purifiers, and everyone else.”

[Chrysalis]

He cringed slightly as he noticed Warren's raised eyebrow. Though he was a hopeless wallflower, Lucan did watch and listen enough to know how to read people. Somehow, for some reason, Archangel had taken objection to something Lucan had said. Evidently he didn't want to press the matter, but Lucan figured it had to do with his use of the word friends. Okay, maybe friends of convenience.

Archangel excused his manservant and Lucan tensed in anticipation. What was he about to say that was more secret than the details of the purifier attack or his superhero identity? Where exactly was this new base? Alaska? China? Guam?

However, the names he received meant nothing to him. Utopia? The Savage Land? To Lucan they sounded more like storybook locales than actual locations. Warren's choice of words seemed equally cryptic. Only access? Out of reach? Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but he hasn't really given me any info yet. Then again, he hasn't said anything negative either. Should I just ask?

He cleared his throat nervously. "So, uh, where is this Utopia?"
You can't just ask him that; he doesn't even know if your legitimate. For all he knows, you're just looking to blow up the place again. "Or how would one get there?" He added quickly.

[Archangel]

“Like I said,” Warren replied as he took a sip of his own drink and took a seat, “It's in the Savage Land.”

He watched the boy for a full three seconds before smiling in sympathy, “Look... I can't tell you exactly where it is or much more about it. I'm sure you'll understand when I say that we're pretty cautious about who we let come and go or know too much about it. It's kind of our last resort... our rock. No one can really touch us there and I'd kind of like to keep it that way. I'm sure you understand.”

“However,” he continued before the kid had a chance to respond, “I will be retrieving your files from your time at Xavier's and looking over them. You'll also need to undergo a medical examination to determine that you're who you really say you are. Foley makes trips over here with supply runs a bit, and Hank has once or twice. I'll see if they can spare either of them for a check-up. If it all pans out right and Scott gives the go-ahead, you'll be able to return with the supply run.”

“Until then, you're welcome to stay here. I have several rooms set aside for people like you, and we have several X-Men and a few students still around. There's no rush and you can stay as long as you need. Be aware that security will be alert to you for the time being, so if you're out of your room, you'll likely be monitored.” He gave Lucan an apologetic smile, “A sign of the times, I'm afraid, but one we feel is necessary.”

“That's all I can do for you.”

[Chrysalis]

Lucan wriggled uncomfortable under Warren's gaze as the winged mutant gave him "that" smile. The one that adults you don't really know give you when they are about to tell you they can't help you; sympathetic, with a dash of patronization. He couldn't say no... could he? He has every right too, but he wouldn't. Would he?

Thankfully, he didn't. Lucan listened as Warren outlined a plan that basically said "I don't trust you at all, but I'll help anyways." Lucan bit his lip, trying to suppress the slight feeling of disappointment welling up inside him; Archangel was totally in the right. Considering the circumstances, the meeting couldn't have played out much better.

He planted his hands on the chair arms and brought himself to a standing position. "I completely understand." he said, speaking slowly and deliberately so as to not confuse his words. "Thank you for your offer; I would like a place to stay. If it helps with your... filing, My full name is Lucan Orion Voss, my codename was Chrysalis, my birthday is March 6, 1992, I was at the Institute from 7 to 15 years old, and I... well, I can do this." Removing the glove from his right hand, he raised it to eye level and closed his eyes, concentrating. In a few moments, dull purple specks began to appear on the bare flesh, clotting together to form a light film. Soon a thick gauntlet covered his forearm.

Then, with a quick flick of his arm, the crystals glowed slightly, swirled around his arm for a few moments, and gradually vanished back into his arm, leaving his skin once again exposed to the air. He allowed himself a brief half-smile; it had been a little while since he had powered up, let alone shown off. Lowering his arm once again, he began to replace the synthetic glove, but checked himself. Turning his attention back to Archangel, he extended his bared hand for a closing shake, looking the man in the eyes and giving his best attempt at a professional half-smile.