10042/Haunted in broad daylight

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Haunted in broad daylight
Date of Scene: 14 November 2019
Location: Wellness Office - Xavier's School
Synopsis: Triage consoles one student and heals another.
Cast of Characters: Triage, Nightingale, Haunt




Triage has posed:
After the morning's hike and the pleasant surprise of meeting a new possible ally, Chris returned to the school and his routine. In this case, the routine includes unboxing a fresh supply of vitamins and mineral supplements for the kids. He has organized the bottles by type, and he is now stashing them in cabinets while keeping an eye on the door and the telephone in case someone needs immediate help.

Nightingale has posed:
After the morning's encounter, and the late night just before, Shannon decided to indulge in the rare treat of a nap. She was up to date in her studies, and just a little bit of extra sleep couldn't hurt, right? Right!

Wrong!

Almost as soon as she fell asleep, the nightmares finally began. Horrible things from past encounters, the most recent events, all jumble together in one godawful mishmash of horror that belonged in a movie only fit for Halloween--if that at all. She finally wakes up with a bit of a scream, her eyes wide and haunted, her pulse racing. This was not good. Should she seek out something that might let her sleep without dreams? It couldn't hurt to ask and get an opinion.

Padding downstairs in her red tartan sweatpants, her baggy gray tank top, and her sheepdog slippers, she seeks refuge in one place she knows for sure is safe, slipping through the wellness office doors.

Triage has posed:
Chris carefully checks the bottles now sitting on the desk to be sure that they are in proper alphabetical order in a cardboard tray with low sides. Then he lifts the tray and carries the bottles to the counter beneath the cabinet. He quickly transfers the bottles into rows inside the cabinet with cardboard dividers, marking the section where each supplement belongs. When he hears slippers shuffling across the foyer, he stops. He has heard such sounds so often, from many different feet, and can guess who is approaching. He sighs and looks to the coffee pot on the counter. Then he heads for the door, ready to help.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon flops down on one of the visitor chairs, running her fingers through her hair. She's molting again, a flurry of smaller feathers fluttering to the ground, and is white as a sheet. Not one word comes from her, not a single sound. What could have gotten to her so badly? Her hair's a total mess, though, nothing that finger-combing it can help, and she just puts her head in her hands.

Triage has posed:
Chris had left the cabinet open and was already heading for the door when Shannon shambles into the office, looking slightly better than an extra for 'Night of the Living Dead,' but only slightly. When she drops into the chair, the impact loosens more molted feathers that fall to the floor around her. Chris goes to the chair and rests his hand on her slender shoulder. "Hey," he greets her gently. "What happened? You look as if you fought a train and the train won."

Nightingale has posed:
It's not quite clear what won, but the look in Shannon's eyes as she peers up at Chris is an awful one. If she had been stoic and reserved the night before, she was little more than a frightened child now. Her voice is little more than a whisper as she tries to think of the words that can convey the horrors that had been lurking inside her mind.

Triage has posed:
When Shannon raises her head from between her hands and her blue eyes, bleary and bloodshot, struggle to focus, Chris frowns. A tender expression floods his face. He squeezes her shoulder. "I'll be back," he murmurs, squeezing her shoulder again. He goes to the door and flicks the wooden cover to reveal the sign, 'In consultation. Please knock.' He closes the door and returns to kneel beside Shannon. Even though he has closed the door, he speaks in a low, gentle voice. "What happened? Do you want to talk?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon trembles as she hugs her knees to her chest there in the chair, her wings drooping almost as if broken. "Nightmares," she begins. "Some of the worst nightmares I've ever had. All those victories... failures. All of you... dead, because I wasn't good enough to save you. Every last one of you as dead as Daniel, with nobody to care. And that eye... that bloodshot, creepy eye. The screaming, the cackling laughter, taunting me..."

Triage has posed:
Chris looks to Shannon when she withdraws further by pulling her knees to her chest in the chair, instinctively forming a protective ball. He touches her arm. "It wasn't real. We're here," he assures. He squeezes her arm. "Do you feel that? I'm here. The others are here, too, here and safe."

Nightingale has posed:
It's almost as if she doesn't feel that reassuring touch on her arm, her mind scattered, and that world outside her mind--the here and now she exists in--does not exist for her at all. "It's not safe, it never will be. I'll just fail you all. You'll die, I won't be able to help you..."

Triage has posed:
"No, Shannon," Chris insists. "You're fine. We're safe and you're improving daily. You said that the bottle uncorked. Please talk to me. Tell me about it. You might feel better if you talk." His hand does not leave her arm. He lifts his other hand to stroke her hair gently.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon breaks down right there, crying her eyes out. She's shaking hard with terror and fear held back for so long, stuffed inside that bottle and never let out to air. The deadly calm that had sustained her so many times--right up till even just the night before--was gone, evaporated like a phantom in the light of day. "Everything I ever did right... every time I ever survived, every time I helped save a life, or helped you save one... everything went so very, very wrong. Mr. Parker... I couldn't help him, that first day, and he went into a fight injured and was killed... Kitty, caught in the crossfire between those two Sentinels... she was too far gone, and nothing could save her. Andrea... ripped open by that metal creature thing.. neither of us could save her. Logan... he was hurt bad enough to be in the medbay and couldn't heal himself that time, and I couldn't get there in time to help... Lorna, with her head bashed in by a brick during that field trip... Bean, ripped apart when that DR session went horribly wrong..." Good gods, what had been lurking in this girl's mind all that time?!

Triage has posed:
Still kneeling beside her chair, Chris shifts. His hand leaves her arm and he reaches to hold her, to close his arms around her and hug her tightly. He allows her to lean against him and cry as long as necessary. Occasionally, he whipsers, "It's fine now. You're safe. They were only dreams."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon can't stop the sobs wracking her body, awful keening cries piercing the air as terror and grief for what nearly was so very many times finds a voice. "BUT THEY COULD HAVE BEEN REAL! Don't you get it?! THEY COULD HAVE BEEN REAL! One thing wrong, one tiny thing different, and a lot of you could be DEAD!!!"

Triage has posed:
Chris squeezes Shannon's shoulders with his arm. "I know," he assures. "That's often the case. One thing stands between us and death. You knew that, but a part of you didn't want to face it. You didn't want to admit that at times, things are not under our control." While he continues to hug her, with his free hand, he finds that spot between her wings and gently rubs in an attempt to sooth her anxieties.

Nightingale has posed:
About all the backrub does this time is calm the shouting, the howling and screaming dying down into heart-breaking sobs. "So many times all of you could've been dead, and it would've been my fault... not good enough, never will be..." As Chris rubs her back, some of the feathers where her wings meet her body come away with his hand. It's a molt-pocalypse, a perfect storm of seasonal plus stress molting. Without further action, it almost looks as if the winged girl might actually be out of the sky for at least a few days.

Triage has posed:
"That could have been," Chris agrees. "But it's not what happened. Daniel died but the rest of us, even Andrea, Lorna, and Kitty are here. You saw Kitty and Peter last evening, mooning over each other like a good, happy couple. You were good enough, and you're improving." He looks at her back and the molt seeming worse than it was a few days ago. "You need to rest," he suggests.

Nightingale has posed:
"How the hell do they get to be the happy ones?! Or Sam and Alexis?!" Almost immediately, Shannon claps her hand over her mouth, muffling her crying and forestalling anything else from coming out. Though her shoulders continue to shake, she struggles to stuff those demons back inside their bottle, burrowing into the hug.

Triage has posed:
Very gently, Chris reaches to move Shannon's hand from her mouth after the outburst. "Is that bothering you too? Don't be afraid to talk. We're here. You're safe. The door is closed," he coaxes. "You've started to drop that wall. Don't rebuild it."

Triage has posed:
Chris continues to hug Shannon, still rubbing her back between her wings and ignoring the molting feathers that seem to drop with each pass of his hand. "I know. You've been through the wringer. Seeing them, or Sam and Alexis, only means a reminder for you."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods quickly, her tears flowing all over again as she just holds on. "Worst part is I want them to be happy, so I feel awful for being so angry at not being able to share in that like they can... who do the healers go to, when they're the ones that need healing?"

Triage has posed:
"You should be happy for them. That doesn't mean that you can't have your own feelings about things," Chris answers. As for the healing, we lean on each other."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods a little bit, some of the shaking starting to die down. "It's not going to end, though, is it? The nightmares... they'll be back. I... don't know what to do with them. And it scares the crap out of me. This is stuff I don't know anything about, and if I go to anyone else, I'll either be branded crazy, or not good enough to step up ever again."

Triage has posed:
"If you have the nightmares again, find me," Chris insists. "How many times have I told you that? We take care of each other." He squeezes her shoulders. "I'm the one who told you that you needed to let those feelings out of the bottle. Why would I think that you're crazy now that you've done just that?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods, and just doesn't look up. "You might not. But would anyone else? You of all people know what it's like to want... to need... to get out there and do what you can to stand up against the hate. Even and especially if it's not always fighting. To have that taken away..." She shudders.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon frowns a little bit, swiping her hands under her eyes; feathers are pretty much everywhere at this point, and there is no way in heck Shannon's going to be flying for a few days, short of intervention by another healer. "Be careful of what?"

Haunt has posed:
That door is the library. That one is the kitchen. This one, Wellness Office. The previous day, Vi had identified which door was the Wellness Office for the blind boy. He rotates in the foyer, counting to the correct door. This one, if memory serves. He's trying to not rattle anything: it's late. So there's a little bit of fumbling down the wall, and he finds the handle and opens it. He ignores all signs, of course, because he can't see them.

That means the door opens.

Brad isn't entirely invisible: there's a floating sweatshirt, sweatpants, and shoes there. Headless. He kind of lingers in the doorway, pausing. The telekinetic wind in the room is very, very slight, but enough to send things like feathers spinning like dust.

Triage has posed:
Chris crosses the room to grab the trash can. "Be careful about fear. No situation is perfect. Daniel's case was tragic. Now, we move forward. Concentrate on all of the lives that you've saved." He has just answered Shannon's question when the door opens and her copious quantity of molted feathers do indeed loft to flutter around the room, like so many surreal butterflies. Chris simply stops, standing there with the trash can. He glances to the door and sees the suit of clothes. "It's just like a scene from the 1950s adaptation of 'The Invisible Man,' he says. Then he shifts to his sense of life. In a moment, he understands. He nods. "Come in," he invites, waving to a chair with a free hand. "Brad?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon still sniffles a little bit, and her voice comes across as a bit soft, even a little on the thin side instead of its normal strong, silky alto; this is someone who's just been through the wringer and back. All the same, she does do her best to smile, even knowing Brad cannot see it, and tucks her temporarily flightless wings in behind her. "Hi, Brad." She holds still and waits, curious to see how Brad manages to navigate the room without prompting. "How are you?"

Haunt has posed:
"Yeah. Maybe I should get a specific hat," Brad suggests from the doorway. Even if he is invisible, his voice is fairly unique: a lot of emotion comes into his voice, because it's the main way that he can emote himself to others. He wanders in, unaware of any problems: except the feathers. Those flow in the air, and then all float nicely into the trash. Brad can, it seems, clean up after himself.

"I'm okay. I had a question for the health office people. This is it, right?" Brad asks. He comes in, his manner hardly suggesting that he can't see. He comes about halfway through the room, stopping there, hands pulling into the front of the hoodie pocket. He shifts his weight, uncomfortable. "Did I interrupt something? Are one of you hurt?" Brad asks. He pauses. "Shannon?"

Triage has posed:
"This is it, the Wellness Office," Chris confirms. "We're fine," he adds, still looking at the clothes without an apparent body. "A hat might be good, but don't get a Mets baseball cap unless you want Kitty and some others around here to harass you. The harass Mr. Parker about his Mets cap." He glances to Shannon and smiles while he explains, "Both of us are healers." Returning his attention to Brad, he wonders, "Do you need something?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods, her voice still a little on the quiet side, sounding a bit drained herself. "Yes, Brad. Chris is right, we're both healers. Well, I'm working on that, he's helping me out. Our gifts are a little different, but enough similarities where it all works out." She tilts her head slightly, taking a few more breaths to more fully regain her composure. "Are you alright?" She slips her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants, and taps out a couple messages on it, sending them off, and puts her phone away to focus on Brad once more.

Haunt has posed:
When Chris says that they are fine, Brad weighs that a little, as if deciding what he thinks. Hard to tell, because he's invisible. Whatever the problem is, though, he can't perceive it, so he goes along with that they are fine. "Like, mutant healing? Okay." Brad comes over, one sleeve-end moving near one of the beds to find it, maybe to ground himself by touching it with a palm.

"Um, sort of. I'm not dying. So, Dentists and people can't work on me. I'm wondering if I can get help with that here?" Brad asks. "Do you have to see the injury to fix it?"

Triage has posed:
"I see them after a fashion," Chris answers. "If I touch the patient. I can sense where injuries are, if they're not already apparent. With some concentration, I can heal them. There are limits, of course. If the injury is old, I might not succeed." He grabs a stool and wheels it toward the bed that Brad has chosen. "If you can tell me about it, this will go more quickly because I won't need to search for it."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon frowns a little bit as her phone begins its buzzing dance in her pocket. She slips it from her pocket and checks the message, breathing a little sigh of relief. "Gentlemen, I'm awfully sorry but Cannonball's calling me. I'll be okay, it's nothing bad." Getting to her feet, she runs her fingers through her hair once more, trying to look a bit more put together. "Chris... thank you so much. Though... maybe I'll be back in a bit about the wings? I won't be able to fly like this." Sketching a bit of a bow to both, she scurries out the door, heading for the second floor and the dorms.

Haunt has posed:
"Sure, easy. I think I have cavities or something. Can you do anything with those?" Brad asks, his voice rising with his hope. He bounces on his heels a little, concerned that the answer will be no: but allowing himself to hope. "I'm starting to consider trying to blind pull one with pliers, so really," Brad jokes, but then quiets, awaiting the verdict.

When Shannon goes, Brad echoes, "'Cannonball'?" at Triage, fascinated. "That's a killer nickname. Wow. Is he the king of the pool or something?"

Triage has posed:
When Shannon announces her exit, Chris inclines his head. "You're right. Come back when you can, and I'll see about those." Then he turns back to Brad. "Cavities," he echoes. "I can't say that I've handled dentistry, but my gift is more ... restorative - an energy that temporarily accelerates the body's own healing power by magnitudes," he explains. "It works on bones so it should work on teeth. I'll see what I can do. How long have you had them? I'll need to touch you. Usually, I touch the shoulder or forearm. That's more comfortable for most people."

Haunt has posed:
Brad lets the interesting Cannonball question go, in favor of getting his teeth fixed. "I don't know. It's gotten worse lately. I try to just ignore it. A few months, off and on?" Brad guesses. He nods, feeling along the bed with a hand, and moves to hop up to sit on it, and extends an arm - handless - towards where Chris is. Clearly he's okay with touch.

"Was she okay? I feel like I interrupted. I didn't mean to," Brad says, waiting.

Triage has posed:
"She's fine," Chris answers. "She saw Kitty and Peter, two of the staff here, being rather ... friendly. It was nothing inappropriate but ... they're dating. It bothered her. She needed to talk." He takes a breath. "Now, about those cavities ..." He reaches to lay his hand on the sleeve of the sweatshirt. Immediately, he can sense the warmth of the body within it - something that he already sensed as a life-sign. "You'll feel a warm, tingling sensation. It probably will feel pleasant. At least, everyone has told me that it feels like that. I don't know. To me, it's normal." He closes his eyes and his breathing slows. He begins to concentrate, to look for anything that needs healing.

Haunt has posed:
"I'm fine with that, go ahead," Brad says. He's tense, but it's not an anxiety thing: he's hopeful, excited maybe. There's a bunch of pain related to his teeth on the lower left molars. It seems more like he cracked his tooth than actually having a cavity, on that side. There is a cavity as well, on the upper left, but it's minor. Otherwise, Brad's condition is decent. He has some vitamin deficiencies from lack of sunlight, and a collection of cuts and bruises on his lower legs and feet, but he's in good health. With Triage's eyes closed, Brad should seem like any other teenage student, really.

"She likes Peter, huh?" Brad guesses, empathetically. "That's gotta suck. I understand. At my school, I had this major thing for Jenny Lemons, but she was hot for this guy Andrew. I guess she didn't like jocks or something."

Triage has posed:
Chris remains silent for several mintues, simply listening while he concentrates on directing the healing energy to various places. The warmth spreads. Aches begin to diminish and slowly fade to nothing. The energy coaxes new enamel to refill the cavity and the fracture. Slowly but steadily, the cuts and other injuries fade until they, too, are gone. By the end, Chris is sweating. Then the warm tingling begins to fade. Finally, Chris lifts his hand. With a deep sigh, he sinks onto the stool. "You had more than the teeth," he explains. "You should feel better now. You've suffered some deficiencies. You should take some vitamins. I'll give them to you before you leave." He sighs. "Kitty and Pete are an item. He's the one who wears the Mets cap. He's quite a fan and several people tease him about that. Kitty teases him, but I think that it's part of their game." He smiles. He remains still for a moment, resting. Then he adds, "Oh, you asked about Cannonball. That's Mr. Guthrie, another of the teachers and a good friend of Shannon's."

Haunt has posed:
Brad is quiet through the healing: he himself has a lot of inward sense, and he can tell where the aches and things are changing: particularly in his teeth. He manages to just sit there and only fidget a little bit during the healing process. "Yeah, I just meant it must be hard to have a crush on somebody that you can't have: that Pete guy," Brad answers first.

"You really did it. Just by touching me. Wow," Brad says, rubbing invisible hand to invisible jaw, clenching his teeth a few times. His voice is thick with relief. "That really, really was hurting. Your ability is the best. I'm sorry I can't do anything for you, or anyone. Unless you spill your vitamins everywhere."

"I need the teacher named 'Cannonball', stat," Brad adds.

"....Thank you. Really. I thought nobody could fix my teeth, and I was terrified to even get a cut. What if it got infected? Nobody would be able to fix it. So. Really." Brad slides off the bed, happily.

Triage has posed:
Chris smiles, still looking a bit weary. "I'm glad that I could help," he answers. "This is what I do, and I'm glad when I can help others. If you stay here long enough, you'll see that many of us feel that need to help each other, and our community." Slowly, as if hesitant, he slides from the stool to stand. "Shannon isn't interested in Peter," he clarifies with a chuckle. "She was upset because Kitty has a boyfriend and she doesn't. That's understandable. She sees them. They seem happy. She longs for that happiness." Then he gestures to the cabinets. "Speaking of vitamins, I'll get you a bottle of multivitins and another of Vitamin D. If you can, try to get some sun. I know that it might be difficult with winter approaching, but you should try." With that, he goes to the cabinet, finds two bottles, and brings them back to Brad. "When you run out, come back. I should have more."

Haunt has posed:
"Oh. I misunderstood. Well. That's fine too," Brad says, his shoulders of his hoodie shrugging. "I haven't had a girlfriend for like two years. I get it. Sucks." He lets it go, though. "Can you label the bottles in some way? Or like the smaller one is for Vitamin multies? I can't read labels. Or scratch the lids, I can feel those," Brad suggests, coming over to the cabinets. "I have zero ability to get any sun. I'm probably transparent even if I wasn't invisible, by now," Brad jokes. "My spiffy name can be 'Translucent'." He pauses. "Not as cool as Cannonball. Thank you, Chris." Brad remembered that name! With bottles floating in front of him (in his hands), he heads out, enjoying non-cavity life.