(no subject)
In her quarters, Ellen kneels in silence in a half-circle of candles, on the floor in front of her neatly made bed. They are all short, white candles, balanced in delicate, shallow cups. Her breathing is even, measured, serene.
When Creed summons her, she extinguishes each candle one by one and retrieves the labcoat from the back of her door without even a change of expression. Between her quarters in the dorms and Mystique's in the refinery, she acquires bottled water. In the end, she arrives, with crisp tripled knocks.
Mystique's gaze remains fixed on Bahir for a long moment, locked there as she steps forward to skirt around him to the door. A quick check ascertains Ellen's presence, and she swings the door open in silent invitation.
Bahir flinches at the rap of knuckles on the door, irritation doubling in the knit of his scowl. He jams his hands in his pockets and resumes glaring at the floor.
Ellen steps inside. Wordless, she holds out water with both hands. She glances sidelong at the unfamiliar figure glaring at the floor, and turns a puzzled look upon Mystique.
Mystique takes the water with the grasp of a single hand and turns her gaze quietly toward Bahir. She is silent for a moment as she studies him, and when she speaks her voice is dropped low, hollow tones echoing in the late hour. "I suggest you make your decision now, before I send Ellen away."
"Decide /what/?" Bahir asks in an irritated rasp.
"If you would like to retain your injuries or have them seen to." Mystique's voice is mild and remarkably patient.
Ellen turns a sharper look upon the newcomer, some of the abstracted blankness leaving her expression. "Mystique," she says. "Are you familiar with the nature of these injuries?"
An Arabic mutter punctuates in a peevish, "--want a shower." Bahir's battle with the floor continues.
"Your options," Mystique answers, voice tightening a touch, "are to have Ellen see to you now, or not at all." Her gaze shifts toward Ellen, acknowledgment of her question, if not yet answer.
Arabic receives more blankness. Ellen looks at him for a longer moment. She squints, narrowing her gaze upon his face, taking in signs of old blood and, urgh, younger vomit -- as none of them are really that difficult to find. "Mystique," she says. "Is this man suffering from a concussion?"
The floor seems marvelously resistant to the force of the glare leveled at it. "Is this like my options being 'cooperate, or--'? I didn't like those options. Who the fuck is Ellen?" Bahir finally narrows a (slightly fuzzy!) look in the newest arrival's direction, gaze wavering.
"I expect so," Mystique murmurs, moving around him to offer up the bottle of water with extended hands. "Among other things. Victor was not as gentle as I'd hoped." Her head tips between the two of them. "Bahir al Razi. Valkyrie. She is quite capable of mending most of your injuries."
"He is in no condition to make any kind of decision whatsoever. We are lucky these -- sentences--" Ellen awards the label kindly, with a sidelong flicker of her eyes to the rather damaged person. "Are coherent. With your permission I will commence immediately before something moves too quickly for him and he vomits whatever is left inside him upon us both."
"/Valkyrie/?" Bahir repeats incredulously. Then he mouths, 'Mystique' and 'Magneto'. Magneto gets repeated twice. He does not take the water, but rather eyes it, as if not certain what it is, while he resettles his weight in another shift. He transfers his annoyance to Ellen. Very clearly he enunciates a coherent, "Fuck you."
Mystique lifts her gaze to Ellen, and her gaze has grown distinctly tired in the span of that single explanation. "I would prefer not to do anything he does not consent to," she murmurs, and draws her chin up reluctantly with a voice gone firm and decisive. "Very well. If you would. The concussion only, please."
"Very well," Ellen clips briskly to Mystique, with a slight inclination of her head. She turns to Bahir, tapping fingertips lightly together once. "No, thank you," she says politely. She runs her gaze over him, searching for a patch of bare skin that does not appear to be visibly contaminated with something disgusting. Lifting a hand, she softens her voice to a gentle coolness rather than a sharp and directs, "Please hold still."
A bubbling hiccup of laughter dissolves into a weaving snigger as Bahir leans against Mystique's bookshelf -- and then sliiides down to curl into a seat on the floor. He mutters something under his breath, soft and throaty. There might be a spot on his forehead where there isn't dried blood! Maybe!
Mystique remains still and silent, waiting as she watches Bahir's progress to the ground and then shifts her gaze to Ellen.
Ellen kneels at his side without comment, curving her hand over his forehead. The touch is light, so as to avoid exerting pressure on visible portions of bruising. Her eyes half-closed, she expands her cellular consciousness to include his. Restricting herself to the region of the brain, she breathes in once, breathes out, and sets to work. She starts slow, creeping through relatively unfamiliar pathways, but the process for repairing a concussion is familiar enough that soon she is racing along the healing process with confident competence.
Bahir starts to flinch from Ellen's touch -- but then remembers the presence of heavy, hard thing behinds him; he stills, but not without a creeping shiver. "What--?"
Mystique steps forward to extend the bottle of water toward him in silence.
"Shh," Ellen says, her eyes opening further, though her gaze remains abstracted, focused upon the minutiae of his brain. Her voice is soft: "You will come to no harm at my hand."
Bahir still does not take the water. Even as his focus clears, the petulant whine remains in his voice: "What are you /doing/?"
"You are suffering the effects of a concussion." Ellen closes her eyes, visual input too much to take in in addition to auditory and cellular stimuli. "You will find your perceptions restoring themselves to whatever is normal to you as I speak. It will be as though it never was in just a moment."
Bahir falls silent, brain all a-buzz as cells spark and glimmer in a nervous rush of tension. He draws his legs to his chest, trying to keep his torso and head quite still.
Ellen opens her eyes. "There," she says, without withdrawing her hand from this patch of skin as she runs a last check over brain cells. There is other damage, which after all this time as healer she itches to restore, but she holds steady and does not, as ordered.
Mystique remains standing quite still behind Ellen, water in hand. She directs her gaze downward and blinks evenly. "Mr. al Razi?"
In the return of clarity, Bahir watches Ellen solemnly. There is still worry in his expression -- and a whole lot of general resentment and irritability, still. If he had a tail, it would puff at the sound of his name. "What?" he growls.
Ellen waits for Mystique to ask, because the patient is cranky and she suspects that her bedside manner lacks for something.
"Do you wish for Ellen to tend to the rest of your injuries before we provide you with a shower?"
Bahir touches his throat and shoulders, marked by bruises and claw marks. "No, thank you," he says icily, still studying Ellen.
Mystique straightens, and there is something like irritation in her expression as she turns her gaze toward Ellen and nods tightly.
"I would heal--" Ellen begins to protest, but when Mystique nods, she sighs and bows her head. She withdraws her hand from his forehead. "If he changes his mind I am as ever accessible," she says, and rises from her kneel at the patient's side to offer him a hand up.
Bahir does not take Ellen's hand. He watches her a moment, mouth working, but swallows on silence. He scrambles up using Mystique's bookshelf as support, spine sliding up the side. Confusion cleared and given half a moment to gather himself, questions start pouring out: "Where is this? What do you want? Why are you all wearing those things? What the /fuck/ do you want?"
"Thank you, Ellen." Mystique's gaze lingers on the other woman for a moment longer than my be typical before she turns back to Bahir to answer, simply, "Your assistance. I'm sorry that Victor felt it necessary to hit you in the head."
Ellen ducks her head again. Taking thanks for dismissal, she frowns with curiosity at the younger mutant, and steps backwards towards the door rather than turn around.
Bahir's gaze follows Ellen's knees, rising no higher. He then transfers his attention to the door, giving Mystique no answer.
"I have no intention of hurting you," Mystique continues, and then her voice falls silent in pause until Ellen disappears through the door.
Disappear she does. Discretion the servant's watchword, her heels click quietly away down the hall and she is gone.
Concussion repair time.
The Hellfire Ballroom: capable of accommodating upwards of a hundred and fifty people comfortably. Currently accommodating: one. It is three in the morning, and Erik leans heavily into a banister that overlooks the empty dance floor as he seeks through his cell phone for a familiar string of letters. He is tired, and it is harder to see than it should be. Eventually he finds it, and taps 'send'.
It is three in the morning, and Ellen is not long asleep. She is primed to wake to the phone's chime, in case it means a medical emergency. She sits up swiftly, fumbles a bit in the dark, retrieves the phone. "Yes?"
"Ellen." Erik's voice is warm across the frigid distance between here and there, but too rough around the edges to be particularly well-rested. He pulls in a deep breath and leans more of his weight onto the banister.
Ellen closes her eyes and does not answer for a moment, counting the beats of her rapid pulse. On a long exhalation, she says, "--Yes. Sir."
"I am sorry to -- do this, but," he pauses to close his eyes, and the vacant space of the dance floor is something of a relief around him, "It has come to my attention that a young man of some importance to me was taken by Victor earlier today."
"The young Arab mutant," Ellen identifies quietly. She draws her legs beneath her to sit perched upon their cross over her rumpled sheets. "Mr. al Razi."
"Yes." Erik works his jaw and forces his eyes back open, and to reasonable alertness, voice echoing quiet and low across the ballroom. "What is his status?"
"I repaired his concussion," is Ellen's response. "He chose to keep his other injuries. Bruising of the face. Bruising on the throat from strangulation. Claw gouges in his shoulder. I believe Creed is guarding him."
The banister creaks against the press of Erik's weight, and he dips his chin into a half nod despite the fact that Ellen cannot see it. "Do you know why he is there?"
"No," Ellen says, the shake of her head as unseen as his nod. "I believe Mystique required him for some reason. When she dismissed me tonight she was apologizing for Creed hitting him in the head."
"Apologizing," echoes Erik a little incredulously. His left hand pushes him off the banister, which has creaked again (/wood/) and guides him gently upright to glower far across empty space to the opposite wall. "Do you know anything else?"
Ellen considers for the span of a breath, and then another. "I know nothing at all."
There is a pause on Erik's end of the line, and then a huff of breath that may or may not be a weak chuckle. "I suspect that is an exaggeration. How are you?"
Ellen shifts and draws her knees up to her chest, lowering her chin towards the loose curl of her free arm. Thus curled, she frowns in the dark and says, "I don't know, sir."
"Well, then," says Erik, who sounds less than reassured despite his best efforts. Awkward pauses are gaining a sturdy foothold in this conversation. "That is something we have in common." Beat. Beat. Beat. Erik knits his brows and feels compelled to look at his watch, regardless of the fact that it has not functioned for several months, now. "I am grateful for the information."
"You're welcome," Ellen says, in a distant sort of tone, reflecting some mild puzzlement. "I hope you are well. You are missed."
"I am." This directly contradicts what he just said, but he does not seem to notice. His attention has dropped to the checkered floor below. "It has only been a few days. The situation will improve." There is yet another pause. "If anyone should ask whether or not I have contacted you, I want you to be honest with them."
"All right," Ellen says. She lays down again, head against her pillow and gaze abstracted towards the ceiling of her dorm room. "I am not an effective liar."
"No," agrees Erik, "you are not. But you have other talents. I will allow you to go back about your business, now."
A moment's silence passes, and then Ellen says, "Good night, sir."
"Good night, Ellen," is muttered in return, and Erik hangs up - knuckles going white in their clench around his cell phone while he resists the urge to crush it more effectively. Wonderful.
Magneto wakes Ellen up in the middle of the night.
After a fitful night's sleep, Ellen obtained a light breakfast and bathed only to return to her quarters and the floor before her bed. Now there are no candles, and she kneels there in silence with her head slightly bowed. Silent communion with the gods is not hampered by the telepathic dampener at her ear.
It is not early when Mystique approaches Ellen's room. The sun has quite risen, and most of the compound is stirring. Still, it is well before lunch time, and Mystique has slept somewhat. Her fist rises for a light rap of knuckles against the other woman's door.
Ellen rises from her kneel upon the floor and sits down on the edge of the bed. "Enter," she says, without much in the way of vocal inflection.
Mystique does, slipping into Ellen's room with neither word nor glance as she turns to press the door quietly closed behind her.
Ellen looks at her in silence with her hands clasped loosely in her lap.
Mystique turns to face her, posture carefully held and expression even. "Thank you for your assistance last night."
There is a flicker of something in Ellen's eyes. She inclines her head slightly.
Silence draws out between them, and for some time Mystique simply watches Ellen.
After awhile, Ellen tips her head slightly to one side, and raises her eyebrows.
Eventually, Mystique voices a simple question. "How are you?"
At this, Ellen must smile, all be it fleetingly, and not due to anything like happiness. She shakes her head. "I don't know."
An allowing smile flickers to match. "Indeed."
Ellen's hands, in her lap, uncurl from their loose twine to turn over, palms empty.
Another moment's silence, and then Mystique tilts her head slightly. "I do not wish to take away your time to decide. But if you're willing, there are several favors I would ask of you."
Ellen lifts her head slightly, her gaze curious. She repeats, "Favors?"
"Favors," Mystique repeats a third time, and there is something firm in her voice.
"Of what nature?"
"You recall when I asked that you search to see whether there was anything out of order with me. Physically."
Ellen nods in a single slow inclination of her head, paired with a blink of similar deliberacy.
"I believe that the difficulty may be mental."
Ellen's regard is unwavering. Without speaking she lifts two fingertips to touch lightly against the telepathic dampener at her ear.
"I had a slight mishap some time ago. I believe the trouble began then."
"I see," Ellen says.
"Bahir al Razi is a telepath."
"I noticed some extremely complicated formations within his neural tissue," Ellen acknowledges mildly, with a certain light of comprehension. She glances over her shoulder towards the endtable beside her bed, and then returns her full attention to Mystique. "Similar to Jason's, and yet different."
"Indeed." Mystique pauses, and there is real hesitation in the silence this time. Eventually she continues, voice dropped quiet. "If I am to lead the Brotherhood, I must be functioning properly. It was important before. Now it is vital."
"That is certain," Ellen says, after a pause of her own wherein she mostly looks a little on the puzzled side of blank.
Mystique's shoulders roll back slightly, posture pulling up straight. "We will require your prescence while he works. His mutation requires glucose. In addition--" There is a brief pause. "He will do the work on the condition that you repair his brother's knees."
Ellen looks blank. She tackles matters first things first. "Glucose. It would likely be more energy efficient merely to provide him with orange juice. My presence is yet yours, if you require it."
"I intend to," Mystique answers. "Still, I would prefer it if you were there in case something unexpected happens. I do not relish the thought of a fatigued telepath in my head."
"That seems wise." Ellen ducks her head with a slight frown. "His brother's knees?"
"Some time ago, Erik damaged them. I'm not sure of the extent, but it must be sizable, for him to ask."
Ellen widens her eyes slightly, and lifts her head.
Mystique remains silent, gaze steady on Ellen.
"Would Erik want them repaired?"
"Erik has left us for the Hellfire Club. The al Razis are two of their telepaths."
Ellen falls silent again. Her brow knits and she tips the faint frown down at the floor.
Silence stretches, and then Mystique answers honestly, "I do not know." Her gaze finds a point on the wall, behind Ellen's shoulder.
"I will do this," Ellen says eventually. "The journey to the city will give me time to think."
"Thank you," Mystique answers, and there is clear relief evident in her voice when she says it. Her gaze shifts back to Ellen. "If you are willing, I would appreciate it if you took him some things, in the meantime. I would rather not inflict Victor on him any more than is strictly necessary. Perhaps you can travel with him when we return him tomorrow," she suggests.
"What do you need me to bring?" Ellen asks, rising from her perch on the end of the bed. "I can do that, but we will need a more competent driver than myself behind the wheel."
"Who would you like?"
Ellen looks blank and lifts a shoulder in a shrug.
"Ellen."
"Mr. Ryabov is unintrusive," says Ellen.
"Then I will ask him to drive you to the city."
"Thank you," Ellen says, with another inclination of her head. "What do I need to bring to Mr. al Razi?"
"Fresh clothing. Some reading materials. Likely lunch."
Ellen tilts her head, puzzling over these requirements. "I will find some things."
"Ellen." Mystique speaks her name again, two simple syllables as she watches the other woman.
"Mystique?"
"If you need anything." Mystique stops there, unable quite to voice whatever offerings of consolation or sympathy, whatever comraderie, may exist. Instead she straightens a touch further and clears her throat, turning stiffly toward the door. "Thank you."
"You are welcome," Ellen says quietly, and turns to peruse the small collection of reading material she has accumulated in her quarters.
Mystique disappears from Ellen's room in silence.
Mystique has a few favors to ask.