<<< Forty Seven, Wolfsbane

[Chrysalis]

Date: April 3rd, 2012
Time: 8:00 pm

---

Henry Madden. Andrea Margulies. Sarah Morgan. Regina Mosby. Charlotte Potts. Kary Sinna. Lenny Smith...

The hand that had been tracing the chiseled names fell to his side. He gazed numbly at the stone memorial commemorating the Purifier attack. Forty-seven. Forty-seven kids, teenagers, and staff members dead, killed by the senseless brutality of one man’s religious regime. He had read and reread the fatal list over and over again for the past forty five minutes, his vision finally blurring so much that he was forced to stop. Not that there was anything to be gained by continuing; by now he could recite the list by heart. A few of the victims he had known. Most he had not. He had shed some tears for the former, and a few more for the latter. None of the casualties had been close friends of his (that being a small list indeed), but the mere fact that he had known them, that they had been under the protection of the X-men, and now lay dead under the earth, disturbed him.

Some part of him told him that he hadn’t earned the right to weep over them, that that privilege was reserved for those who had known them and cared for them. Another part of him found it horribly unfair that these, the faithful of the X-men, had died, while he, the prodigal, had lived. Still another part, darkest of them all, whispered that this was the final destination of all mutants; to die alone, hated by the world, cut off from the land of the living by the ignorance of your fellow man.

Fellow? He thought bitterly. As a child, he had always thought of mutants as humans with super powers. While in hiding, he tried to pretend he was a baseline and forget mutants even existed. Now? He wasn’t sure what to think. If this, an onyx obelisk, black as sin and heavy as death, was all humans had in store for mutants, maybe he didn’t want to be human anymore. Maybe he didn’t even want to deal with them anymore. Maybe he wanted them to all go fall in a hole and let mutants live their lives.

He kicked a rock on the ground. Professor would be disappointed. He reflected, feeling miserable. Do I care? He didn’t know; that made him feel worse.

He fixed his gaze on the memorial once more, heedless of the humid fog that drenched his hair and t-shirt with moisture and sweat and the insects that feasted on his unresisting flesh. Whatever he didn’t know, he did know one thing. Those names on that stone, once flesh and bone, didn’t deserve what they got. He was far too late and far too weak to help the weary souls that now enjoyed their eternal slumber, but he could give them something. Something to honor them in his own, small way.

After a moment of deliberation, Lucan removed his gloves and shoved them into a back pocket. He held his hands in front of him, elbows bent, and concentrated. In a few moments crystals began to appear on his hands; a few more and they peeled away and danced between the two, as Lucan began to mold them into the desired shape.

[Wolfsbane]

Soft, rhythmic footsteps swished through the grass behind Lucan, bare feet brushing past blades of grass with each step. Rahne Sinclair hadn't expected someone to be here already, but that was hardly a problem. This wasn't, after all, her private memorial, her private place of mourning. Though it could hardly be called "mourning" at this point. She'd been through that. She missed those students of hers who died. She'd never forget them, but their loss no longer crippled her, no longer wracked her with doubts and anguish and uncertainty.

In her left hand, a potted plant - Easter Lilies. It was tradition in various Christian churches to honor those who passed away since last Easter with a contribution of the flowers, laid at the altar on Easter Sunday. Rahne chose to be a good bit early on that front, at least with this particular tribute. She'd learned long ago from Scott Summers and Jean Grey and Logan that sometimes, especially when you were an X-Man, life did not allow you to do things on schedule. Sometimes you had to improvise on the fly, and this was not something she would miss.

So she planned ahead. After returning from Nova Roma, she made sure to secure two plants. One to place on the altar at Utopia's chapel on Easter Sunday proper. And one for the memorial, just in case she couldn't make it to the chapel in time. All in all, she was rather impressed with her own foresight, though she never would have admitted as much to others.

"Hullo," she greeted in a soft tone of voice as she approached the memorial, kneeling down and placing the lilies at the foot of the stone monument. She silently pressed her right fingertips to her lips and touched the monument, unceremoniously, but the gesture said what she wanted to say. Those who were lost, she still missed. She still loved. She was sure they would appreciate the gesture.

"Lucas, right?" she asked as she stood back up, looking back to the young man who stood beside her. She wouldn't acknowledge his tears. She knew enough of the male psyche to know that no man wanted his emotions to be noticed and brought up aloud. Especially by someone they hardly knew.

"Name's Rahne Sinclair. I take it ye're the one who just arrived, aye?" she gave a small smile.

[Chrysalis]

The Parlites twirled and spun in Lucan’s hands as he stripped away the excess material, forming a elliptical sphere on a short, thin stick. He was in the process of shaping the stem when Rahne made her quiet approach. Her quiet “Hullo” startled Lucan, who had always been easy to scare and easier to sneak up on, causing him to snap the slender stem clean in two. Thankfully, after a moment of mental fumbling he reunited the two pieces, sealing the break.

That done, he turned to view his companion. For a brief moment he thought she was Theresa, due to the shared red hair and roughly similar body structures. However, the moment passed, and he saw that it was somebody else entirely. She politely ignored him initially, approaching the monument and kneeling in front of it. She laid her flowers at the foot of the obelisk and performed a strange ritual, touching her fingers to her lips, then the pedestal. As she bent over, Lucan noticed a crucifix swinging from her neck; the man was no expert on religion, but even he could tell the woman was at least somewhat religious.

She began to stand back up, and suddenly it occurred to Lucan that he probably shouldn’t be watching. He hurriedly returned to his crystal machinations, somewhat hoping that the barefoot woman would simply leave him to his moody reflections. However, it was not to be, and even as he stared at his work-in-progress his peripheral vision showed her facing towards him. Knowing it would be rude to ignore the gesture (and he didn’t like being rude), he turned his head to the woman and half-met her gaze. Suddenly conscious of the lingering tears that still clung to his face, he swiped a hand across his cheeks, clearing the offending liquid.

"Lucas, right? Name’s Rahne Sinclair. I take it ye’re the one who just arrived, aye?” The woman’s accented (Irish? Scottish? Gaelic?) was friendly and accompanied by a soft smile.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s Lucan. I’m Lucan. Lucan Voss. Yeah, um, I just got here yesterday.” He turned his gaze back to the memorial. He maintained a neutral expression, but on the inside he was kicking himself. Why can I never meet people without getting scared and babbling? I thought that was supposed to end with adolescence.

After a few more moments of self-abuse/pity, he broke the silence, still facing the memorial. “Do you come here often... Rahne?” He dropped his gaze to his craft, hoping he hadn’t touched on a sore spot for her. The tragedy of the attack would be enough to traumatize anyone for life, and it had only been half a year or so. Yet somehow he didn’t think she would mind. She seemed to be at peace about the affair; more than he was, at least.

Crystal shavings peeled off his creation and vanished, disintegrating before they hit the ground.

[Wolfsbane]

"Lucan, sorry," Rahne smiled and shook her head slowly with a sigh. "Terrible with names, I am. But I was close. Just one wee letter off. By my standards, that's nae so terrible. I could a' guessed 'Louie'."

She brought her left index finger to her lip and tapped at it in thought. No, no. Leaving the flower in its pot just wouldn't do. Not at all. She knelt back down, removing the pot from the place she had set it down at and nodded her head sharply, before a change began to take place in her right hand. The fingers tensed, nails thickening, hardening into wicked, curved claws that could easily tear a man's guts out. The palms and fingertips thickened and darkened, replacing human fingerprinting with canine paw pads. Reddish brown fur spread out across the hand and stopped short mid-forearm. She had long been practicing with her mutation. Just because she was teaching, just because she was an X-Man, did not mean that she stopped learning, stopped getting better. That would have been disappointing to herself and to everyone else as well.

Curving her paw-like hand into a crescent shape, she began digging at the ground, easily raking up the dirt and tossing it aside into a relatively neat pile.

"I do. I try to make it every Sunday morning, but I missed last week due to a... erm... bed-wettin' crisis with one o' the wee ones. Never fails to amaze me, we have all of these superhuman powers an' superhuman problems to accompany 'em. An' yet, 'tis the ordinary human problems that stand out sometimes."

She continued digging at the hole until it was roughly the size of the pot, and gently pulled the packed potting soil out from the pot and placed it into the hole, lilies and all.

"I figure I may end up bein' away again soon," she explained as she began packing the dirt back in around the newly planted flowers, securing it in place. "Or I may not. But this is too important to miss either way, so I'd rather be early for no reason than to be late."

She took a moment to observe the flower, gently pushing at it to make sure it was securely in its hole before standing back up and allowing her hand to return to a human shape, albeit now covered with dirt.

"There. I'd say that looks rather nice, right? Easter lilies for remembrance."

[Chrysalis]

The young mutant couldn’t resist a small chuckle as Rahne said she could have called him Louie. “I’m glad you didn’t.” He had met a number of very unpleasant Louies over the years.

The woman turned to her plant again and tapped her lip thoughtfully. Despite his earlier realization, Lucan watched curiously as she knelt over the white lilies. He started slightly as her right arm shifted to fur and claw, but he recovered quickly, a little embarrassed. He was really going to have to get over ordinary people doing weird, creepy things if he wanted to live at the school.

Despite the cruel claws that graced her forearm, the young woman worked with a sort of easy grace that belied her fierce mutation. "I do. I try to make it every Sunday morning, but I missed last week due to a... erm... bed-wettin' crisis with one o' the wee ones. Never fails to amaze me, we have all of these superhuman powers an' superhuman problems to accompany 'em. An' yet, 'tis the ordinary human problems that stand out sometimes."

“Yeah. I now what you mean.” He glanced down at the bunch of Parlites in his hands. “When I was kid, I used to think that every problem an X-men had could be solved with an eyebeam or a super strong right hook. Now I'm one of the grown ups, and punching bad guys upside the head isn't the cure-all I thought it was. Not that I would really know,” he hurriedly added. “About punching people, I mean.”

Her mention of her potential departure, brief as it was, unnerved him. In some ways, the idea of the volatility of the X-men's lives frightened him more than supervillains or Purifiers. He had always been horrible at dealing with change. Cyclops' and Jean's change had driven him from the mansion all those days ago, and the fear of returning to Institute life had kept him on the streets for four years.

"There. I'd say that looks rather nice, right? Easter lilies for remembrance."

Lucan snapped out of his moodiness and observed the feral's final product. The lilies sat securely in the ground, their pure white forming a poetic contrast with the onyx shade of the the memorial. Despite the massive cloud of hatred and bigotry that hung over the world, there would always be those who stood against it, paragons of light amidst the shadows of the world.

Lucan smiled at the flowers. He might not be religious, but he knew what Easter meant; somehow, the flowers of the day seemed appropriate.

“Very nice.” He confirmed. An idea struck him. He turned once more to his craft, shaping and shifting with renewed purpose, glancing at the white flowers every few seconds. The stem thickened, and the terminal orb flattened out, forming a hollow cone shape. The desired shape achieved, Lucan mentally locked the crystals in place, enabling them to leave his hands without disintegration.

He placed the sculpture down in front of the memorial, next to Rahne's flowers. It was near perfect, purple copy of an Easter Lily, with a long, slender stem and gracefully drooping head. “Very nice.” He echoed.

[Wolfsbane]

"Glad to hear it, then," Rahne said with a smile as she idly wiped her hands together, knocking some of the dirt off of the one she'd just finished digging with, also inadvertently transferring some to the other, but it wasn't a major issue. She could just as easily wash the hands off when the time came. At least for now, the thicker clumps were knocked off.

"Most get muh name right after they've heard it aloud, but if they've got to read it... well, let's just say I've been called so many different names, from 'Ronnie' to 'Renee' to 'Ran' to mispronunciations I dinnae think possible that I tend to correct people before they've managed to say it aloud," she shrugged her shoulders idly, then idly looked over to the monument as he spoke.

"Oh, so ye were here before, aye? Well - nae here here, but... ye know - ye're a graduate come back? That's always nice. We've had plenty move on, build careers o' their own, an' whatnot, that it's always nice to have someone return," she nodded her head, and smiled. She knew she'd never met him before. Not because she didn't remember his name well, that was just something she wasn't particularly good at as it was. But his scent - Rahne Sinclair never forgot a scent. And she never ran across his scent before - humanoid, but also almost like rock, or maybe salt...

And there was the reason why - those crystals were of his own making, under his own influence.
"Aye. Quite nice. So... Lucan," she started, canting her head to the left as she observed him. "Ye here to teach?"

[Chrysalis]

Listening to Rahne talking about how much people messed up her own name, Lucan was glad he had heard it first and not read it. He didn’t know how her name was spelled, but given his track record with communication, he probably would have called her something truly horrible, like “Ranneh” or “Ronald.” The feral seemed to be of a good humor, but he doubted that would have made for a good first impression.

“Yeah, I guess." He said, still only half-meeting her inquiring gaze. He didn't like the way she looked at him; she looked... curious. Like she actually wanted to know about him. People knowing things about him made him nervous. "I spent most of my childhood at the old school, but I didn’t really... Aw, never mind.” Apparently, Cyclops hadn’t told the staff of Utopia the inglorious details of his departure or even that he had been a student; for that, Lucan was thankful. He liked the feeling of being able to start afresh, even if deep down he knew (or thought) it was impossible.

“Um, no. I mean, I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t know what I would teach.” Truth be told, the thought had entered Lucan’s a number of times, but he had failed to find a suitable answer to it. When he was a student, it had seemed like all the X-men had taught something. Whether it was a conventional study, like English, or a more unique class, like wilderness survival, everyone had had some skill or knowledge to pass on to the younger generation. What do I have? He wondered, staring straight ahead. He didn’t go to college or even finish high school, he didn’t have any cool skills, and he didn’t know how to teach mutation control; his own powers just kinda worked.

“To be honest, I’m don’t really know what I plan on doing here. Could I teach something? Does the school need more teachers? What do you teach? Uh, you do teach, right?” He clamped his mouth shut, suddenly aware that he had asked four questions in quick succession and had given Rahne no chance to answer any of them, “Uh, you don’t have to answer all of those.” He added, reddening slightly. The delicate social balance of saying just the right amount of words was an art altogether lost on the young mutant.

[Wolfsbane]

"No kiddin'," she shook her head slightly, and shrugged her shoulders. "An' they say that ye can never go home again. Funny thing, it seems to happen all the time."

If Rahne had had a nickel for every time someone had come and left and come back and left again and come back again since she'd first come to the school... well, she'd have a whole lot of money on her hands. Exact amounts, she couldn't be sure of, but there were times when Xavier's Institute seemed like it had a set of revolving doors affixed to the front.

He seemed to be a bit ashamed of whatever reasons he had left for, so Rahne decided not to pursue. Whatever it was, he wasn't comfortable talking about it, and frankly, Rahne wasn't interested in playing therapist. Asking him how certain things made him feel. It wasn't her business, as far as she knew.

"Well, that's just fine, really - honest, not everyone is the educatin' sort," Rahne shrugged her shoulders as she took a seat on one of the stone "benches" set up by the memorial (really just some stone slabs set up in a manner as to be relatively comfortable seating). "There's always other jobs to be done. Maintenance, clerical work, so on an' whatnot. Plenty what needs doin'."

She smiled as he asked what her job was. It always had been and still remained a point of pride for her. She loved her job, despite its difficulties, despite the setbacks she'd experienced and despite the times she'd gotten down on herself. She knew that she offered something of value to those who needed it, and that made her proud.

"Ye just so happen to be speakin' to the head o' the Xavier Institute primary school program. Of course, up until I convinced Miss Falsworth to teach physical education, I was the only member of the primary school program, but that's beside the point, really."

She grinned, having a bit of fun with it. She could have, after all, simply said that she taught the young children, but what was the harm in polishing up her title a bit? It wasn't untrue after all.

[Chrysalis]

“Aye, turns out they’re wrong after all, though I have to admit there were times I wondered.” Since when do I say aye? He pondered. He hadn’t meant to say it, and it had sounded sort of silly. However, as far as people to imitate went, Lucan knew that he could certainly do worse than the irrepressible Scot; he just hoped she didn’t think he was mocking her.

As Rahne spoke, she sat down on a stone bench near the memorial. He almost sat down next to her, but checked himself, feeling it would be too intimate for such a relatively new acquaintance. He briefly considered leaning on the memorial, but recoiled from the sacrilegious image that formed in his mind. For an awkward moment he simply stood and looked desperately around for an escape, which he found when he noticed what looked like another bench (though it was little more than a pile of stone slabs), near, though not too near, Rahne’s, and at enough of an angle to allow for conversation without undue spinal twisting.

For a few moments he was impressed with her job description, until she revealed that she was one of only two employees in charge of “primary school.” Whatever that was. “Well, it’s certainly an honor Ms. Sinclair.” He said, returning her grin with a genuine, albeit somewhat feeble, one of his own. “Though I confess I don’t know what a primary school is.”

A vile insect that resembled a giant mosquito landed on his forearm and dug in, earning itself a free trip to the second dimension via his palm. It thanked him for his gesture with a generous splattering of blood. Grimacing, he wiped his sweaty forehead with a sweaty hand, which he in turn wiped on his sweaty pants. Realizing the fruitlessness of his endeavors, he formed a glove of crystal and applied it to his forehead, sighing with relief as the cool substance made contact with his sweltering brow. As the material gradually warmed, in formed small pores in the glove, absorbing the sweat. That done, he flicked the crystals from his arm, scattering the sweat as the Parlites dissolved.

He turned to Rahne, one eyebrow raised. “You know, when I heard I was coming to live in Utopia, this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. Not that I’m complaining.” He hurried to add, but stopped, thinking for a moment. “Well, yeah, I guess I am. It is hot here.”

[Wolfsbane]

"Heh," Rahne let loose a soft chuckle as Lucan subconsciously started picking up on her own vocal tics. She didn't know what it was about the way she spoke that subconsciously influenced some people to imitate her, but it seemed to happen more often than not.

She frowned slightly as Lucan admitted he didn't know what primary school was. Had she not gotten the American term right? It was of no consequence. A concept like that was easy enough to explain.

"Primary school. I take care o' the wee ones. There's nae nearly so many of 'em since most mutations dinnae kick in until puberty, but every now an' again they get started early, so that's where my educational focus is. I cover a basic curriculum as well as more specific mutation-based training - basically gettin' 'em ready for the big leagues once they get old enough."

She lifted an eyebrow as he complained about the heat. She could understand that. It was rather hot here. Granted, for her part, having been here for the better part of half a year when you factor in missions that took her outside of the Savage Land, she was fairly used to it. But she wasn't a hot weather animal, so certain compensations had to be made. Higher intake of cold water, lighter clothing...

"Well, I rather like it. There's a... a purity here, a cleanliness of a land mostly untouched by human society. The air's clean, the water's clean, there's truly something magic about it. Despite the alien science or whatever it was that built this place - I can see the Hand of God at work."

[Chrysalis]

"Ah, yes. I'm more used to it being called elementary school, but the term sounds familiar." Now that she said it, he could definitely see her working with young children. Her laidback demeanor, her easy smile, her patience; it all added up to being good with kids. "I don't envy you the task; dealing with young children takes a certain type of courage that I don't have." Or so I've heard. He paused, looking thoughtful. He had never really been around kids as an adult; he'd just assumed that since he was bad with people, and kids are people, that he was bad with kids. "Actually, I'm not really sure; I suppose I've never tried." He admitted.

The feral started to talk about her appreciation for the Savage Lands. While she spoke about the "purity" of the place, another giant, bug landed on his arm, resulting in another splattering of blood. The irony was not lost upon him. The humor, however, was. He did not share Rahne's love for the place, and as she waxed eloquent on the God-magic of the place, he slouched forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and staring at the ground. For a short time he did not speak, absorbed in self-meditation. When he spoke, he did so haltingly and unpretentiously, knowing what he said was of a very sensitive nature.

"I'm... I don't know. I haven't been here very long at all, and I haven't even been outside the fence yet, but I don't see it." He paused again, sinking back into his prior moodiness. "It seems... I don't know, Savage. To be honest, I don't see the Hand of God anywhere, including this "Utopia." All I see is that black rock. All I can think of is the people, the little kids, who got sent home in body bags."

He sighed, feeling a heavy, oppressive weight on his chest. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be morbid or belittle what you people have done. This place is amazing, and a real testament to the strength and skill of the X-men. It's just that... I don't know. I never really got religion. My faith has always been placed in mortal idols." And they failed. In truth, he didn't know why he was so upset; his emotions had always been too changeable for his logical mind. The weight increased, threatening to crush him under the burden of it all.

[Wolfsbane]

"Ah. Elementary, primary... right. All the same thing, really," Rahne chuckled, shaking her head. "'Tis hardly so much courage to deal with wee ones as it is patience, understanding, and the like. It has its rewards an' its challenges, just like any job, really. Ye love yuir work an' it loves ye back."

But it was her comment about the Hand of God that seemed to set off something in him.
"I dunno, maybe it just speaks to the wild in muh soul. Nae too many people have it, after all. There's just nowhere like it. Nothin' like takin' a good run through the jungle, pinpointing yuir prey an' takin' it down... 'tis a very select type of joy that I dinnae think too many people are capable of appreciating."

She folded her arms at her chest, her eyes narrowing some and her lips drawing into a thin, straight line. The horrors that brought them here... she'd seen far too many people become mired in them for too long, but even they managed to get over it. It was well over half a year ago at this point, and for most, the anger and mourning had subsided. They were headlong into the rebuilding stage now, they were putting the finishing touches on their fixed lives. It was easy to forget that some people never got to deal with it.

"Well, I learned long ago that people will believe as they will, regardless of what is right or wrong or what have you. I'll not make any attempts to change yuir mind," Rahne shrugged her shoulders. "But here we've been given a chance to rebuild, to regather our strengths and return to the world strong an' resolute and firm in our mission, so that those we did lose we dinnae lose in vain. The worst we can do is to give up hope, to allow despair to be all we see. We do that, an' those Purifier bastards have won, hands down."

[Chrysalis]

“Hm, I’m afraid I’m not one of them.” Said Lucan, responding to Rahne’s mention of the joy of the hunt. He certainly wasn’t a vegetarian or a pacifist, but the thrill the feral spoke of was a concept completely foreign to him. While combat had always given his schoolmates adrenaline rushes, all it gave him was a crippling, paralyzing fear. To not only function in such a situation but actually draw enjoyment from it... Lucan shot Rahne a wary gaze. Just how feral is she?

She narrowed her eyes, her face losing the smile it had previously worn in favor of an expression of contained... something. He didn’t think it was anger, at least not anger alone. Something, whether frustration, pity, or just plain annoyance, accompanied it.

His conjecture was confirmed when Rahne spoke, not with anger or disdain, but resignation and resolution. “Aye.” He said, unconsciously reusing the stolen word. Despair; that was something he knew a thing or two about. Ever since he had left the mansion it had been a constant companion to the prodigal mutant. Friendless, hopeless, lifeless; there were times when he had wondered why he bothered to live at all. Perhaps the only reason he had bothered to stay in this world was his fear of the next (or lack thereof). However it might be, it was not a subject he liked to dwell on.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply several times, forcing himself to concentrate on the present, before he continued speaking. “You are right, of course. After a blow like that,” he threw a glance at the memorial. “I understand why the X-men would need a chance to rest and repair the damage that was done. I just hope we can go back soon.” His subconscious shifting from the third person to the first escaped his notice.

Several minutes of silence followed, during which Lucan went back to reading the names on the memorial. It was only on his third reading that something struck him about one of the names. Nate Rivette. It wasn’t anybody he had known, but it seemed familiar. Then it hit him. “Nate Rivette? Was... Wasn’t he the one who, you know, blew up the school?” He turned a perplexed gaze on the schoolteacher. “Why is his name up there with all the rest?”

[Wolfsbane]

"I'd nae thought so," Rahne said with a light chuckle. "Usually those who are have some sign of it, a scent or a visual cue or somethin'. You've got none of the sort."

She couldn't help but grin as he came to agree with her on her assessment of the X-Men's situation. She knew of it better than most, after all. She was involved every step of the way, proactively making certain that she was as much a boon to the rebuilding process as was humanly possible, providing for the people who were here in the ways that she could best provide. The ways her skills, her temperament, her prowess, were best suited towards.

"Well, I try to be correct before I open muh mouth, lest I leave enough space to shove muh foot in," she said with a light laugh. Things were going well here, and it seemed that the problem areas were cleared up.

And then he brought up Rivette. Rahne's heart sunk in her chest a little. She had felt, on some level, responsible for his actions. She had spoken to him when he was in the depths of despair, she had consoled him and, as she thought at the time, reaffirmed his faith. She had promised him that he was going to be alright. She had promised him that things were going to get better for him.

Her promises turned out to be nothing more than empty words. False hope that served as a prelude to the destruction of their lives.

"... in a manner of speaking, aye," she said in a quiet, subdued tone of voice. "It's... it's complicated, Nate, he... he was programmed, he was manipulated by the Reverend who led the people who assaulted the school - he was reduced to little more than a weapon himself. And as such... he was just as much a victim of those Purifiers as the rest of us were."

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
"Nate's story was a horrid, wretched tragedy and I'd really rather nae speak further on it. He was a good man forced to do a horrible thing an' that's that."

[Chrysalis]

Oh God. That was a mistake. Things had been going pretty well. He had overreacted to Rahne’s Hand of God comment, but she had taken it in stride and allowed him the freedom to disagree without getting worked up about it.

Not so now. The light that had sparkled in her eyes when she laughed only moments earlier died, replaced by a look of deep mourning. His question had been spawned by little more than idle curiosity and a bit of thoughtlessness; now, seeing the lively young woman so subdued, so sorrowful, he cursed himself in his head. How could I be such an idiot? Archangel told me he infiltrated the X-men. Why couldn’t I take the time to figure out that that meant he was one of them? His ire turned on the man in question. How could he do something like that? Rahne said he was made a weapon, but to betray the X-men? How could he do such a thing?

The answer to his unuttered question hit him, in the form of small, reproachful voice inside his head. You found it easy enough.

But... but... but... His excuses toppled before they were even fully formed. The weight returned to his chest, stronger than before. He hadn’t hurt anybody, and miraculously there had been no casualties during the affair. Nevertheless, he was guilty. Rivette had been manipulated by an evil man, while he himself had simply succumbed to his own inner weakness with no outside urging. What makes me different? What makes me more worthy than Nate Rivette, that poor soul who was taken advantage of and now lies six feet under while his friends mourn his life as a “horrid wretched tragedy?”

At the height of his self degradation, another voice, smaller still, spoke reason to him. You have another chance. His body, which had begun to shake, stilled. He was not the boy who ran away five years ago. He was a little stronger, a little faster, a little smarter. Cyclops had forgiven him, said the only one to forgive him was himself. Maybe it was time he took the X-man’s advice to heart.

He turned once again to Rahne, beginning his apology. “Of course. You’ll have to forgive me; unlike you, I’m afraid I find myself with my foot in my mouth very often. I am... deeply sorry, both for the horrible tragedy and my foolish mention of it.”

He breathed deeply, in and out. “You--the X-men--have overcome a lot without giving into the despair you spoke of. I hope to be fortunate enough to count myself among you. Someday.”