ArchivedLogs:Making Heroes

Making Heroes
The most adorable (and awkward) superhero.
Dramatis Personae Nox, Claire, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-03-18 Lucien and Claire plot to make a hero out of Nox.
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
It is in Nox's nature to be a little early for everything. Tardiness is /unforgivable/. Being early also helps with making certain of seating ahead of time, especially crucial when the post-work rush begins. In this case, she's claimed a corner table which will allow for relatively private conversation. She has yet to order anything--possibly because /nervous/, possibly due to lack of funds--and that's earning her some sharp looks from the barista, but these are ignored in favor of looking intently at the door through a pair of Jackie O sunglasses. Being out in public has required clothing, and she's produced a khaki a-line skirt and a fuzzy blue sweater to serve that purpose; a Members Only jacket that looks as if it's been through the wars hangs from the back of her chair. Another chair has been pulled over directly beside hers. Lucien is perhaps not as prompt, but his /time/ instruction was a little vague. And so he shows up /vaguely/ at around-the-same-time-he-talked-to-Nox-yesterday. Being out in public for him always requires clothing, alas. Also winter. He shows up in a suit, crisp and tailored in dark grey with very faint pink pinstripes. A black peacoat over top. Today he is not rumpled. He glances around the shop, eyes skimming the people there absently before he does not so much beeline as drift through the room towards Nox. "Do you drink coffee?" he asks, by way of hello. He is eying the coffee menu like maybe it has offended him? Claire Basil arrives shortly thereafter; in her favorite green wool coat, matching flower hat (broad-brimmed), pink-and-white striped scarf, and black lacquered cane -- fuzzy little curls of hair exploding out from beneath. The hat is removed the moment she steps into the coffee shop; brows crinkle as she surveys the premises, eyes sweeping over the assorted occupants in search for one in particular who -- ah! Yes. There. With the handsome gentleman who -- now, hm. Does she /know/ him? She puts on a pleasant smile and makes her way over with a steady series of taps, thrusting the majority of her weight down on the cane. "Ms. Nox -- Hello!" A glance to Lucien, then: "Claire Basil -- beg your pardon, young man." A slight French accent; a quick, skeptical eye that swings over him. Up and down. Ms. Basil is /instinctively/ suspicious of handsome, well-dressed men. "Beggars cannot be choosers," Nox answers, in lieu of a more traditional greeting. Lucien set the trend. Her hand draws the chair back, provided he remains and doesn't head off for the counter, then attempts to sneak in to lightly touch the man's fingers--but then Claire arrives and she snatches her hand back as if she'd been caught groping cookies. Her slate grey cheeks darken to charcoal. "Ms. Basil," she says as she rises. "Thank you...thank you for coming. This is Mr. Tessier. He's...ah. He is a...a friend of mine. Is it all right if he sits in?" "You needn't beg. I am getting tea. I could get you a tea." /This/ Lucien says without the same note of wariness he showed to coffee. His fingers uncurl towards Nox's, absently reaching to meet that touch until she snatches her hand back. His lips curl up into a very slight smile, and his head inclines, politely, a (neatly-manicured!) hand extending in offering of handshake. "Ms. Basil," he greets, his own soft voice softly francophone-tinged as well. Though the other side of the pond. "Forgive my intrusion. I am only here to -- support." The moment that Lucien is introduced as a /friend/, all suspicions are forgotten, all sins forgiven; Claire smiles, bright and earnest and cheery. "Oh, of course, of course! Pardon my rudeness. I did not know you knew him, I thought perhaps --" The thought goes unfinished. She accepts Lucien's hand. "There is nothing to forgive," she tells him. "I am glad she brought a friend. It demonstrates great prudence. Shall we sit?" That brief contact with her skin demonstrates a mental landscape that is positively /buzzing/ with order, structure, and clarity; there is almost something crystalline about the state of her neurochemistry -- a faint trace of constant, chronic pain flares from her left leg, however. A dull and steady ache. Lucien might also be able to determine that there is a flush of relief in her -- perhaps at the notion that Nox has a friend who is clearly well-off. Or, at least, capable of /looking/ well-off. Unless otherwise prevented, she sits at once -- and promptly looks to Nox: "Before we begin, I wish to ask your permission to do something." "Tea would be lovely, thank you, Lucien," Nox murmurs, reaching out again and this time actually taking his hand. It's held for a moment before she returns hers to her lap. The other lifts to adjust her sunglasses while she refocuses on Claire. The smile she'd adopted wavers slightly, uncertain. "To do something? One supposes that would depend on...on what you mean to do, Ms. Basil." The brief contact with her skin puts a slightly wider smile on Lucien's face. It's almost instinctive, the reflex to reach out, quietly dampening that ache with a light and practiced touch. "Concern is hardly rude," he says, quietly, and does not sit, glancing towards the counter when Nox accepts his offer of tea. He squeezes her hand lightly back; by now the soft-cool comfort that comes with it is a familiar thing. But the wavering of her smile means he doesn't /leave/ for the counter yet, either. He stays standing, one hand resting on the back of his chair, to listen for a moment. A look to Lucien, now, as he lingers. Back to Nox. Then: "In the park, I did something to you. Very briefly, very quickly. Without asking. I apologize for that; I was concerned, and thought it important to secure your safety. I would like to do it again. More gently. With your permission," she adds, before saying: "If you would rather me not, I understand. There are no genuine risks -- and it gives me neither knowledge nor power over you. But if you say no, I shall leave the matter be and we will speak no more of it." Lucien is likely to be... /dreadfully/ confused. Unless Nox mentioned to her what Claire did in the park. "That was you..." Nox lifts her fingers to her throat, then her temple. Her relief is palpable. Relief and a wistful sort of craving. "Oh, please, Ms. Basil. I would...that would no doubt help the conversation greatly," she murmurs. Her head turns, lenses shifting briefly towards the growing crowd--and the growing crowd /noise/ which threatens to easily drown out her voice. And then, to avoid that very confusion for Lucien's sake, she lifts her eyes to him and offers up a smile meant to reassure. "When I met Ms. Basil, I found I was...able to speak, with a proper voice. And think as well. Clearly, without the...the shadows. Over things. And it means..." She doesn't /say/ it but the implication is also a relief--she's one of them. Lucien /has/ been confused, at first, but this resolves into a quiet relaxation, visible just slightly in the shifting ease of his posture as Nox explains. "Ah." Just ah, with a thoughtful look at Claire and a slight nod. His head tilts, listening to the jumble of voices in the coffeeshop. "I can see how that would be useful, yes." Only now does he shed his coat, draping it on the back of the chair. "Can I get you something, Ms. Basil?" He gestures to the counter again. And, whether she wants something or whether she declines, he slips off towards the front to procure the Refreshments. "No, I... actually, water would be fine, if they have it," Claire replies. And as Lucien leaves -- she turns to Nox -- raising an eyebrow. "He is /very/ handsome," she informs the woman. "Also, that accent -- mmn." A sly smile. "I hope you have a bit of fun with him..." And then, without another word... Her brow rumples in concentration. Before, Claire had launched her power with great force upon Nox -- but now, she allows it to swell out slowly. A steady, rhythmatic pulse that laps at the corners of the mind; like the incremental flow of the tides. And as the warmth of those waters creep over Nox's mind, the parts of her psyche that are summarily submerged grow structured -- ordered -- /clear/. Hazy memories grow sharp; shifting narratives become linear. In some sense, it is like a fog lifting from the mind -- but slower, and with nothing lost. "I find it... helps," Claire explains, her voice now ever so soft, slightly strained. "...but some do not like it. I can understand. In a way, it is, perhaps, cheating? And it will not last beyond our conversation. But," she soon adds, "nothing I am doing is something /you/ cannot do yourself. I cannot give you that which you yourself are incapable of. I can only show you what you are capable of with time, effort, and love." "Thank you, Lucien," Nox murmurs before the man has stepped away. Perhaps she's anticipating the remarks that follow, because that darker grey in her cheeks is already spreading before she's even turned back to the other woman. She makes a soft sound but no other reply--perhaps grateful for /more/ reason now, when the effect of Claire's abilities wash over her. While she had been solid before, there's a certain extra definition that comes to her features. Her hair stops its restless coiling and smooths down over her shoulders, taking on a more realistic appearance--still black, but no longer inclined towards fogginess or movement on its own. And, when she gingerly removes her sunglasses, she's able to open her eyes under the lights shining down on them. This is possibly the most drastic chance, one that leaves her blinking upwards for a moment. They remain black on black, but without the expected pain. "Cheating? No. This is encouragement. To know I won't always be broken...thank you, Ms. Basil," she says, voice still soft but no longer whispering. Her smile is bright. Lucien is off at the counter. For a time, at least. He returns, carefully balancing a teapot in one hand, a pair of cups and saucers in the other. A water bottle tucked in the crook of his arm. He sets all these things down, one by one, sliding the water to Claire before taking his seat again. He is quiet, as he pours two cups of tea from the pot. But his eyes are focused on Nox, looking -- different than she usually looks! And for a very long moment his eyes just fix on her, tracing over her features. Her /smile/. And ending on her eyes. He pulls his gaze away abruptly, cheeks tinting faintly as he fills one cup too full, spilling a trickle of tea down onto its saucer. He takes that one. Slides the clean unspilled one to Nox. And is quiet. "Oh, dear, never think of yourself as broken. You are..." The words trail off. Lucien returns. Claire observes, silent -- watching the two of them. She particularly lingers on that faint hint of color that touches Lucien's cheeks. /Goodness/. She smiles, then, and folds her hands in front of herself. "So," she says, "let us start from here. Fresh. From the beginning -- I presume that would be the hospital incident, yes? When you delivered the young Hernandez girl to Mt. Sinai. Was that where this all began...? Or should you start further back then that?" It's impossible not to--Nox reaches out to reclaim Lucien's hand once he's settled. Her other curls around the teacup, briefly distracted by its warmth. It takes Claire's prompt to get her to look up again. "Oh...oh, yes. I think...perhaps it is best to begin at the beginning. There are potential complications." She draws a breath--and somehow manages to not grow distracted by being /able/ to--and then plunges into the story, courtesy of a revitalized memory. She speaks quietly but briskly. "When I was seventeen, I met a couple who told me that they knew people who could help me. They convinced me to go with them. It turned out that they worked for an organization that runs laboratories throughout the country, in which experiments are conducted on mutants. I was taken to a lab in Pennsylvania. When I was...mm, twenty-two...yes, twenty-two, I am twenty-six now, others helped me to escape and I came to New York where I took up residence within the sewer system and I have been there since. That brings us to the girl." Lucien's hand slips back into Nox's. In mirror, his other curls around the tea, as well, pulling it close. His eyes flick, now, between Nox and Claire -- watching the older woman with steady thoughtfulness through Nox's story. His own expression is neutral-calm, but there is the slightest tightening of his fingers around the cup as Nox speaks. His hand squeezes hers, gently. Surprisingly -- or perhaps not! -- the mention of labs performing experiments on mutants does not phase Claire. At the mention of one in Pennsylvania, she only produces a quiet 'mmn'; her folded hands become folded arms. "Yes... That is /quite/ the complication, dear. You do understand -- your face has been in the papers. I do not wish to alarm you -- but it is possible you have been recognized." Then, a deeper sigh: "I cannot give you /details/, you understand, but I am in the process of helping others who are in a similar situation to yours. They are currently under -- there is no other word for it -- they are under /assault/ by the Powers That Be. The government is pursuing every legal means at their disposal to ruin their lives. Trumped up drug charges. Deportation. Children being taken from their parents." She reaches, finally, for the water. Swallowing a greedy gulp. "It is therefore even /more/ imperative that you do not go to -- or even speak with -- the police. Do you understand, dear? The people I am helping -- they are 'on the grid'. They have jobs, families, ties to communities. And yet they are not beyond these people's reach. You are--" she searches a moment for the right word. Clearly, she does not wish to make /offense/, but: "--/vulnerable/." Nox brushes her thumb over Lucien's knuckles, distracted again and looking towards their joined hands before summoned back to conversation. The squeeze earns a smile, a look that lingers, and then she's looking back to Claire. "I understand. In many ways I am vulnerable. Lucien...Mr. Tessier...has already pointed out that visibility helps, in these cases. That's one reason I decided to call you. I have no doubt they've recognized me and if I am to be in the newspapers, better it be for...saving children." Her smile thins. "Though it does sound as if they're somewhat distracted at the moment. Of course they would go after those conducting the raids." Oh yes, she knows whom Claire is referring to and it brings a sigh. "I believe that the creature in the sewers was another of their prisoners. An experiment gone wrong. When I saw that a child had disappeared, I went looking and I found it, with the girl. I was able to get her away from it, I took her to the hospital and then went to Lucien..." Here she breaks off and looks at the man again, her eyebrows lifting in silent question. The calm of Lucien's expression shifts into a small frown, as Claire speaks, the mention of children being taken from their parents drawing it deeper still. "The government runs these places," is his pensive comment. Mild. His frown is smoothing out, though his grip on his mug is not lessening. "The papers /should/ be lauding you as a hero." His voice is quiet, not raising from its usual gentle cadence, but there is a slight edge to the words. To the lift of eyebrows he simply nods once, uncurling fingers from his mug to flick them towards Claire: go ahead. "Hnh. There's a thought," Claire says aloud, suddenly amused. "Stay visible by fighting monsters. Make it a weekly occurence. Like -- those green tortoises? The ones named after Italians," she adds, waving her hand toward Lucien and Nox, as if they /both/ know of what she's speaking. "But yes, please, Nox -- continue." "I only found the girl. It was...a friend of mine, she fought it. I was able to help the others it took while she put it down. Then she called in the police while I..." Nox hesitates, lip caught between her teeth and eyes stealing towards Lucien again. "I thought it was better I not be there when they came in. So here I am. Do you think if I were to go in to speak with them now, they would hand me over to the doctors again?" She manages to maintain some calm while asking this question, in spite of a spike of anxiety at the thought. "-- Italian tortoises?" Lucien just looks utterly puzzled, at this. He takes a sip of tea to /regroup/ from the shock of pop culture references. Or possibly just because tea, delicious. It is a good thing he has the tea to fortify himself because his own spike of anxiety at this question, while /perhaps/ visible in his faint clench of jaw, his slightly tighter grip on his poor teacup, does not leak through to Nox. Instead it's just a return of the faint soothing-calm of before; subtle, gentle, not enough to smother her feelings but a soft bolstering to take the edge off. "Could they risk that, if you did not go alone?" "It has been done before," Claire Basil replies, "but there would be risks -- so much publicity, so soon. No. I doubt they would do it. Rather, should it be their desire -- they would find a reason to detain you. Find -- or fabricate -- a crime you had committed. Or worse, call your mental status into question -- make you a ward of the state. Lock you away somewhere out of sight. And when enough time has passed -- when they suspect all those around you have forgotten you exist -- only /then/ would you vanish. Your powers would make it easy to claim you had escaped their custody. It would raise no eyebrows." There is a cold, clinical simplicity to the way Claire Basil lays out this scenario; as she describes it, her tone begs no sentimentality. But when she has finished, warmth immediately floods into her voice, filling the void: "But this will not happen if we are careful, dear. If you have friends--" A pointed look to Lucien, then. "--who refuse to allow you to vanish without a word. I believe the proper course of action is thus: I shall speak to the police on your behalf. See what it is they desire. I will /not/ know where you are, or how to get in contact with you. This is for your protection," she adds, "because I cannot be made to surrender information I do not even /know/. Instead, you will contact me, and I will update you to the situation. We'll do this in slow steps..." It is somehow worse to hear the way it could be done described so...clinically--and it is fortunate, as a result, that Lucien is there to blunt the edges of Nox's reaction. Even so, a ripple of paler grey goes through her, like interference in a TV signal. She's there, she's flickering out, she's there again. Her hand tightens enough on Lucien's hand that her knuckles show white. "They would have to fabricate something, I've done nothing. I don't even jaywalk," she says with a faint attempt at humor. All of the lawyer's precautions are listened to and earn a nod. Her brow has rumpled. "Would it...help if I were to make an effort to be more visible? I'm not sure /how/ I could but..." Lucien tips his head downward. Thoughtful. He takes a slow sip of tea, and despite the tension in his posture his lips twitch slightly at Claire's look. "More visible," he echoes, quietly thoughtful. "-- I might be able to help. Moreso than just -- caring about you myself. I only have one pair of eyes, but -- there are parts of society with many." Claire looks to Lucien curiously, now. It occurs to her: She doesn't even know what this young man does. And then, it /also/ occurs to her -- she has allowed him to know she is a mutant. Her nose /scrunches/. She is no longer living abroad, now; she must learn to be a little more careful. But still... "...can you?" she asks, prompting for more. But also: "There are things... it comes with risks of its own, but I think it would be to your benefit, Nox. Acquiring your birth certificate -- your social security card. Perhaps, in time, gainful employment. Are these things you -- do you /want/ to be more visible?" she asks, finally. "Would you desire it if invisibility were not a risk?" Nox's eyes close and her head lowers. It's a thoughtful pose, brow creased as she considers. Of course, those thoughts aren't necessarily pleasant--the very thought of going public makes her want to stand up and walk out. "There are parts of society that would make it difficult," she agrees. "I have all of those things. I've...it would be an immense complication. I have responsibilities below. People..." When she tilts a look at Lucien, it's apologetic. There's something held back, when she echoes Claire's question. "What would you suggest?" "There is a -- soiree," Lucien says, and here his lips press together rather distastefully. "That Norman Osborn is putting on, at the Hellfire Club. I admit that I cannot recommend the man. Or his business. Or, well, anything to do with the event. But it is visible. And he has specifically asked for some mutant attendees. It would be harder to -- disappear someone who is, at least tangentially, connected to society. You would not have to stay aboveground. The benefit is there already, in people knowing you exist." Claire frowns, her tone suddenly apologetic: "I'm sorry. I'm making assumptions about your situation -- I don't /know/ your circumstances. But, I think visibility would be to your ultimate benefit." A flash of something as Lucien mentions Norman Osborn. The soiree. Claire's mood darkens; her fingers withdraw to grip her cane, as if defensively. But then, after another moment, she has relaxed. "I am attending that /particular/ party myself," she tells Lucien, "despite my considerable apprehensions. I suspect -- yes, as I recall, he is particularly looking for 'heroic' members of the mutant community. Nox would... fit that purpose. It would be a way to paint her as a hero, wouldn't it? 'Heroic Mutants Attend Gala' /does/ have a certain ring to it. But..." She scowls, then. "Norman Osborn is a very dangerous man." "He /wants/ mutants to attend? Heroic mutants..." Nox doesn't know what to make of that, looking back and forth between the two of them with eyebrows raised. She might not be up to date with aboveground politics but "dangerous man" doesn't exactly jive with "desires mutant company". "Would it lead to more questions about me, though? I would rather the interest in /me/ doesn't lead back to...the people I currently reside with. Or...if...if it is in their interest that I sever ties..." It makes her wince, to imagine that, but... "They are all vulnerable. Or most are." "You are hard to trace," Lucien says, thoughtfully, "and we can give you a story. It does not have to lead underground." He glances to Claire, ooking over her thoughtfully -- with a slight narrowing of eyes, a slight furrow of brow, perhaps somewhat wary despite the fact /he/ just /also/ said he was attending the party. But it smoothes out, soon. "Painting her as a hero would be good," he says. "But yes. The man seems -- dangerous, to say the least. The event will be public, though. I doubt even he would risk doing anyone any /harm/ right in front of all those eyes and cameras." "No... no, you are right. He wouldn't. He is dangerous, but not /foolish/," Claire states. Then, to Nox: "He is the CEO of Oscorp. Mutant countermeasures. He wishes to distinguish himself by working /with/ mutants, rather than against them. The party is to build 'trust' with the mutant community. {And, no doubt, to note their names and powers for later use.}" The last bit is spoken in French instinctively, laced with vinegar. "But, Lucien is right. The story of a homeless woman -- using her powers to save children -- that is the sort of story editors would murder their firstborn for. It would make you visible. And very hard to forget. And, perhaps, if you are... valuable to Osborn--" A grimace of that phrase. "--his own agenda would play in our favor. If you are announced as an attendant, it would look very bad for him if you were to be troubled over some frivolous, fabricated crime." "A story." Oh, relief. Nox is not adverse to stories, and gives Lucien's hand a grateful squeeze for thinking up /lying/. "I suppose that does have a poignant ring to it," she says slowly, her eyes having narrowed to a wince after Claire's remark in French. "All right. If visibility is the best option and it meant I needn't worry about causing problems for my. Friends. And we can hope that they lose interest, move onto detaining someone less problematic for them." That had been intended as a joke but its flat delivery fails the humor requirement. She ducks her head, lifts the tea that has already cooled and takes a sip. Lucien's eyebrows raise, perhaps at Claire's words or perhaps at the vinegar in them. "I wonder if it will work," he murmurs, "I know of few who would /trust/ the man. But he needs to look good. And that, at least, is to our advantage." His hand squeezes Nox's back. "Your story is made for reporting. It just needs the correct spin. And if you are simply too /difficult/ to bother coming after --" He shrugs one shoulder. He /frowns/ at his tea before sipping at it. "It is not /riskless/. There are ways that this could go wrong. But... yes. I think that this could, indeed, work. You will be there," she says, nodding to Lucien, "and so will I. And another I believe I can trust. It would also be..." She searches for the right word. "...positive, I think. For mutants in the city. But you should not do it for their sake," she adds. "I will still speak to the police on your behalf -- and--" She looks to Lucien. "Would you be comfortable making the arrangements for her coming to the party?" Nox's eyes rest on Lucien, noting his posture, the shifts of his expression. She nods as Claire speaks but she doesn't look away from him. "There are equally just as many ways it could go wrong if I were to remain in hiding. Lucien..." She pauses, then says again (just to say it aloud in a proper voice), "Lucien, would it cause problems for /you/, for me to attend?" "There are many ways everything could go wrong. But having people to look out for you --" Lucien ends this sentence with another sip of /tea/. Priorities. "It may be positive for the city's mutants," he allows, although he does not sound particularly convinced of this. "But it will also likely be positive for /you/ -- or your safety, at least, and so." And so. /This/, at least, he is unhesitant about. "I will be fine," he dismisses these concerns with a shake of his head. "/My/ place in all this is -- well. The reputation I have to keep will hardly be damaged by helping fill out the guest list of this event." "Then it is settled," Claire states, and she gulps down a bit more water -- and then: "Contact me in a day or two and I will tell you what has come from speaking with the police. In the meanwhile, Lucien will see what can be done to make you into a hero." A slim, compact little smile. And then... A card! In case Nox might have lost track of the previous one. "One last thing. My status is not... /known/. I am coming to the party as a lawyer who often defends mutants. Nothing more. I wish to keep it that way." And then... her power is beginning to draw back. Claire is visibly strained by maintaining it for so long, and with such force; she does not, however, seem to have difficulty standing. "Be safe, Nox." And then, to Lucien: "I will likely see you again at this soiree. {Treat her tenderly, please.} Bless you both." And then, if there is nothing more, her cane is soon tapping on the floor -- heading out to the exit. To leave them behind. The effect of her power, bit by bit, retreats with her.