Morlock Saga pt ?
May. 5th, 2018 03:06 pmHe is having to shout over the chopper blades. I make out him telling me to rest. It is probably a good idea. He will care though. Despite what he says. The Thieves Guild is an unproven legend. I don't have to tell him about that, but they're taking me to hospital. I was in one when I younger, after Etienne, he's not stupid, at the very least, he'll work out the Roxxon industrial espionage was really me.
Cole looks almost like stone when I look over at him, trying not to suffocate on the alien item in my nose. He then almost falls over jumping out of the chair, muttering about pins and needles before he shouts towards the door and then shouts back at me to leave things alone. My mouth feels like a nest of ants and my skin not much better, but as I try and move, stiffness and agony reminds me that I went twenty rounds with the brick semi truck that is Graydon "Sabretooth" Asshat Creed. I lower myself back, awkwardly, not able to find any sort of relatively pain free way to do so.
"Take it easy," he says, coming back to by the bed.
The door opens and a nurse type comes in. Hushing me but thankfully taking the thing out of my nose, which turns out to be some stupid plastic tubes.
"I realize dat now," I retort, "Ever't'ing hurt."
"No shit," he replies, "You survived fighting a freight train."
The nurse looks at him quizzically, "It looked more like a wild beast. Those lacerations--"
"Dat too."
Her face when she turns back to me is full of pity. I don't like it at all. Have I lost a limb or something? I stretch my legs experimentally. Unless I'm hallucinating both of those are still there, and one is slightly less painful than the other." I was basically hobbling the last part of the trip, and stupid Creed crushed my one arm cause he didn't want me charging his head again. I can see my hands. I didn't lose the arm though. That's very good. My face hurts quite a bit. I recall he bashed my head against his fist, and I think the wall, quite painfully.
"Have I lost an eye or som't'in'?"
"No," she says, "your skull wa-is a bit cracked, but your eye's intact by some miracle. I--the--one of our doctor's is going to want to come in and tell you the--I shouldn't."
"Cherie, please, if somet'in' is goin' on. I'd rather know now." My pleasantries, apparently, aren't quite up to snuff right now, but then I am a mess of bruises and bandages, and who knows how much of my insides she's seen. She shakes her head, offers to get me something to eat and a drink, and disappears after checking my temperature and various other things like pulse and such.
"It's not like I'm your next of kin," he points out, "I'm not even an emergency contact."
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Is Jean-Luc LeBeau actually going to show up at this place? Is he even on anything papers wise? I was 14 the last time something -- well, no 16, and that last one was barely a scratch by comparison and it practically happened on the front lawn and was treated at the house by some visiting medic. And 14 I, well, myself and Etienne's ... body, were found out at sea, still it was off the Louisiana coast and brought to a hospital there. This is New York. Are we still in New York? I voice that out loud.
"Not the city," he says, "So far upstate we're practically in Vermont," then a weird grin crosses his face, "or Canada, but I didn't think you had your passport on you."
God, not Canada again.
"You've been to Canada before?"
"Year or so ago now."
"You lead a much more exciting life than me."
I snort. It makes things twinge in places that are very aggravated with me, "I dunno. You a cop in New York."
"You've sent me pictures from Barbados or somewhere. You seem to trip and land on your feet. Fired from Roxxon and get work in the tropics."
Oh, right. That was my story. The usual half truths. Lapin's right. This guy is making me stupid and sappy. It's dangerous.
"Is that look about the last name thing? I told you I don't care. If I was a mutant I might lie about my last name too. I know it can be hard for you guys. I help out. That's how I know the guys that helped--that got the chopper. My ex military friends. I was part of a unit of "normies" that was supposed to watch the "mutant freak" unit. Me and several of the other more sane humans helped the mutants get rid of the actual freaks who wanted to abuse the mutants for existing. I knew those guys would be willing to help get you out of there to safety rather than the regular hospital where who knows what would happen."
"Oh, good for you, chere. You not a mutant hater." I know how bitter it sounds, "You better dan de 40 per cent dat do, and the 30 per cent dat jus' don' care one way or de odder."
"I didn't say it to get praise." He says, curtly, "I said it because I was trying to prove a point. That I'm not going to turn on you because your eyes are actually a different color and you might have some sort of abilities that others don't."
I stop myself from snorting again. I settle for a "tss" noise.
"You're trying to push me away, aren't you? There's something else you think is worse. You forget I was listening in to a lot of that conversation while you were in the tunnels, you know. That guy Creed and the others they called you several different names, LeBeau, Roux."
"Tsch. You t'ink I would nickname myself after flour-oil sauce? But LeBeau dat is my proper last name. LaCoeur was my brudder idea of a joke, because it mean "the heart." it bad enough our last name mean handsome anyways. I half time t'ink Pa change it 'cause he full of ego."
"LeBeau," he muses, "So what was not Roux."
I hedge for a moment, "Ruse."
"Ruse?"
"Pssh, those guys call themselves Black Feather and Sabretooth. You think I was going to give them my real name? How the fuck Creed got it I do not know. Throwing it around all over the place..."
"That's when you started name dropping him I noticed." Cole points out.
"Two can play dat game." I try to sit up again. It doesn't work well with one hand. I have to accept his help, which is frustrating and nice at the same time. Emotions are also frustrating and more than a little confusing.
"Do you want me to call your family?" he says, knocking me almost as hard as Creed has. He adjusts the pillows behind me, "I said the wrong thing."
"I haven't seen them in a long time."
"You talk about your brother a lot."
"Lapin is amie-frere, friend who is brother. We phone, FaceTime. He is in Louisiana still, but helps me get work."