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wwiiiWarren frowned as he made his way into the condo that he used to call home. It was exactly how he remembered it- a little too clean, a little too unlived in. Even his room hadn't changed since the last time he'd been here with Karla. There were only a few things missing, which Karla had vanished and taken with her before they'd gone tearing off to the other side of the country to save his father's life.
It was almost easy, walking through here, to get caught up in that feeling all over again. Almost. Looking out over the New York skyline conjured that feeling he remembered from doing so as a little boy, complete with the urge to spread his wings, and even a tinge of shame to go with it. He bit it back, spread his wings a little (so surreal, to be able to do that without a harness holding them down), and turned to face his father, who was lingering almost awkwardly in the doorway.
"It's more imposing than I remember. It feels... heavier."
"Well... a lot has happened since the Battle of Alcatraz, son."
Warren could practically hear 'official' all over that phrase. Like that night of hell with cure darts and angry psionics had taken on its own meaning, a life of its own beyond the terror and the murder and everything that had gone with it. He frowned, gesturing with one hand for his father to continue.
Junior hesitated, looked as though he'd like to talk about anything but this, and then finally relented, gesturing toward a sofa that Warren remembered being frowned at for ever using.
You knew it was bad when Junior pointed him to the sofa.
"Perhaps, son, we had better sit down for this."
----
Over the next hour, Warren wound up sending a few somewhat perturbed texts Karla's way. They didn't get into the full horror of what his father was telling him about the state of the world these days. With him gone for a few weeks by Glacia's reckoning, the last thing he wanted was to give her cause to come storming to New York herself to drag him back to Kaeleer by the ear. But a few texts did still get through, whenever something his father said caught him enough that he couldn't just pretend it wasn't there.
They built a wall at the Mexican border. To keep out 'illegal immigrants.'
To keep out undesirable mutants, more like.
... And the school is closed. I'll be happy to get home to Glacia. Talking to Dad's lawyers tonight.
He was leaving a few things out, though those were the things that were gnawing at him the hardest. The fact that the Xavier School had been acquired by Trask Industries and was now being used as a research facility, for example. The fact that there was a mutant detention center, Camp X-Ray, in Guantanamo Bay, and that a string of escapes from it had prompted Trask Industries to develop a power inhibitor collar, for another.
Love you. Miss you. Be home again as soon as I can.
On the television in the kitchen, Warren could barely make out the daily news, talking about a planned protest, a march which was to start at the former Xavier Mansion, and then make its way to Zuccotti Park. He frowned to himself as he waited for his father's lawyers to show up.
They'd go over the paperwork tonight, he'd sign what needed to be signed tomorrow, and then he'd head the Hell home.
[OOC: NFB for distance and establishy, with canon bits and snippets taken from http://www.25moments.com/ with blatant disregard for dates because otherwise I'd be all kinds of Jossed by that DoFP thing that happened. Open for texts, bearing in mind that time moves much more slowly in Warren's home reality, so ICly your characters could be waiting for hours for texts back.]
It was almost easy, walking through here, to get caught up in that feeling all over again. Almost. Looking out over the New York skyline conjured that feeling he remembered from doing so as a little boy, complete with the urge to spread his wings, and even a tinge of shame to go with it. He bit it back, spread his wings a little (so surreal, to be able to do that without a harness holding them down), and turned to face his father, who was lingering almost awkwardly in the doorway.
"It's more imposing than I remember. It feels... heavier."
"Well... a lot has happened since the Battle of Alcatraz, son."
Warren could practically hear 'official' all over that phrase. Like that night of hell with cure darts and angry psionics had taken on its own meaning, a life of its own beyond the terror and the murder and everything that had gone with it. He frowned, gesturing with one hand for his father to continue.
Junior hesitated, looked as though he'd like to talk about anything but this, and then finally relented, gesturing toward a sofa that Warren remembered being frowned at for ever using.
You knew it was bad when Junior pointed him to the sofa.
"Perhaps, son, we had better sit down for this."
----
Over the next hour, Warren wound up sending a few somewhat perturbed texts Karla's way. They didn't get into the full horror of what his father was telling him about the state of the world these days. With him gone for a few weeks by Glacia's reckoning, the last thing he wanted was to give her cause to come storming to New York herself to drag him back to Kaeleer by the ear. But a few texts did still get through, whenever something his father said caught him enough that he couldn't just pretend it wasn't there.
They built a wall at the Mexican border. To keep out 'illegal immigrants.'
To keep out undesirable mutants, more like.
... And the school is closed. I'll be happy to get home to Glacia. Talking to Dad's lawyers tonight.
He was leaving a few things out, though those were the things that were gnawing at him the hardest. The fact that the Xavier School had been acquired by Trask Industries and was now being used as a research facility, for example. The fact that there was a mutant detention center, Camp X-Ray, in Guantanamo Bay, and that a string of escapes from it had prompted Trask Industries to develop a power inhibitor collar, for another.
Love you. Miss you. Be home again as soon as I can.
On the television in the kitchen, Warren could barely make out the daily news, talking about a planned protest, a march which was to start at the former Xavier Mansion, and then make its way to Zuccotti Park. He frowned to himself as he waited for his father's lawyers to show up.
They'd go over the paperwork tonight, he'd sign what needed to be signed tomorrow, and then he'd head the Hell home.
[OOC: NFB for distance and establishy, with canon bits and snippets taken from http://www.25moments.com/ with blatant disregard for dates because otherwise I'd be all kinds of Jossed by that DoFP thing that happened. Open for texts, bearing in mind that time moves much more slowly in Warren's home reality, so ICly your characters could be waiting for hours for texts back.]
