2353/Interview With a Weretiger

Interview With a Weretiger
Date of Scene:	06 September 2017
Location:	Xavier's School, Westchester, New York
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Phoenix, Okhotnik

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Phoenix has posed:
Several days after learning of her existence, Vice Principal Grey invites the Xavier School's newest guest to her office by way of a gentle telepathic summons:

{{We need to talk,}} insinuates itself into her thoughts, combined with directions to a room filled with whatever Jean could find on a weekend at a flea market.

Should she accept the invitation, she'll find the door - still with a picture of her doing battle with a paperwork monster - slightly ajar and the telepath seated behind her desk, eyes locked onto a row of screens as her fingers glide across holographic keys.

Okhotnik has posed:
Unable to help herself, Diya hunches her shoulders when that voice, those thoughts that are not her own, sound within her skull. She is not at all used to this, and it still creeps her out. Not fair, perhaps, but true and honest just the same. Nevertheless, she has rather expected that those in charge would want to speak with her again, so she obeys the request.

Diya comes in from outside, and takes a few moments to clean her boots and check herself in the mirror. She even washes her hands. Then she starts following those directions that were delivered into her mind; she can see how that is very useful, but it only adds to the creep out factor for her, and the tension. She stretches and rolls her shoulders, trying to unknot as much of that as possible, so as not to show up ... like a war veteran with PTSD. Which is what she is.

OK, OK. It is part of what she is.

Diya arrives at the door and knocks softly, glancing around the door. "Pardon, Miss?" she offers, in that sharp Russian accent of hers. "It was your thoughts, yes?" she inquires, before then stepping around the door and inside. She does not close the door, but leaves it exactly the way she found it, as she stands in front of the desk and waits to be acknowledged. She's nervous. The image in her mind is of being called to the cammandant's office to answer for a mission that went poorly.

Phoenix has posed:
Regardless, the door closes.

"That's right," Jean says, sitting up in her seat with a smile as the keyboard vanishes. With her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, she's dressed to impress in a black tee emblazoned with the cover of the Bardos Island Emperors' 'Escape From Bardos Island!' and moderately distressed jeans.

"Go ahead and have a seat," she says while gesturing to one of three chairs opposite her desk, none of which match. "How have you been? Sorry I haven't been able to check in with you sooner; things have been crazy around here, what with the school year starting! I've been wanting to get an idea of how we could best help you, though, and I think that the path there starts with you and I having a little conversation; would that be alright?"

Okhotnik has posed:
By comparison, Diya is dressed in very, very well-worn US Army surplus clothing. But unlike the last time, she is freshly laundered, very clean, and visibly better fed. Also, not furry.

Right now.

Diya startles when the door closes behind her, and she hunches her shoulders again as she stands there, trying and failing not to look trapped. But when directed to sit, she takes two long, deep breaths and then settles down on the very edge of one of the chairs facing Jean across her desk, and tries to keep herself in the moment.

"You have fed me, and well. You have given me a space to be my own, and the chance to be clean, and groomed. You have put yourself and others at risk to try giving me safety. If you wish to speak, we will speak." Diya's response sounds terribly formal; she is not relaxed. But she is being very purposeful about being open and honest.

Phoenix has posed:
"What happened in Mutant Town? How'd you get there-- how'd you get from there to here?"

As far as cutting straight to the heart of things goes, Jean still finds a way to start off light-- or, so she hopes. Behind the smile, she's studying the Russian in body and mind, consciousness skimming the choppy surface of a distressed psyche while green eyes scan across a tense, readied posture. As she waits - listens - those eyes gradually drift to meet the Russian's while her consciousness briefly shifts to dip beneath the waves long enough to gently deposit a message that's more felt than heard, more impressions than words:

you are safe.
you are not alone.

Okhotnik has posed:
"Many things happened in Mutant Town." Diya answers, an honest truth. She was apparently there for months, at least, and there are a lot of memories there. But, admittedly, there is one set that stands out.

Oh boy, does it.

"I ran, when they came for me. When my team turned their backs on me to give me to the men in armor." Diya answers, explaining how she got to Mutant Town. "I assumed they must be some intelligence agency I do not know. So I leave Russia, to get away. I think safest place to hide is United States. And best place in United States is biggest city there is, where I can blend into background and be ignored."

Diya pauses, ordering her thoughts before she continues. She is noticeably still translating Russian words to English; she may know it well, speak it well, but she does not think in English. "I see other veterans on the streets, I realize such things are accepted here, as at home. So, I buy things like their army, and get rid of most of mine. Then I look for place where being different is less noticed. I find Mutant Town."

Explaining the rest takes a while. Most noticeably for Jean, there are lots of things Diya is playing down, as she speaks. She does not lie, but she does not paint the full picture of it all. "One day, I meet girl on streets. She bring kolaches, she give to me, to give to others. I accept, share. Then, men come, changed men. Mutants, yes? They come, they talk mean to girl. Threaten her. I back away, do not want trouble. But then they grab her. I see it; I know they mean no good. She help me. I help her, stop them." The images that flash through her mind display swift, brutal lethality; inborn instincts told her these men were deadly, and that trying to protect Lex would cause a fight that would have deadly consequences. So she beat them do it.

She is a soldier. And Diya used a soldier's knowledge, skills, instincts and tools, paired with reflexes, speed and strength beyond mortal ken. And she ended the threat. Just as she was trained to do.

Okhotnik has posed:
"Girl tell me these are gang. Dangerous friends. I tell her go home to her safety. Could tell she was clean, had home. She refuse to go, want to show me safe places in tunnels. So we go. After, she leave." The memories show that when they emerged from the tunnels, they found Yana dealing with one of those dangerous compatriots. Diya saw that the two knew each other, and send Lex home with Yana, to be sure she would be safe. And knowing that the blue-haired girl was a Bratva princess, delivering a message to the Evos.

"Girl came back. I tell her go home, stay away from gang. But gang get much worse. Attack other homeless, looking for answers. Then find they are taking other girls. Enslaving them. She want help them. So ... I help." The memories would turn the stomachs of most; it was an utter bloodbath. Diya killed - no, butchered - nearly two dozen, including doing battle with powered mutants, to protect Lex and help free the girls that had been enslaved. "I tell her go home. Stay home. But I know she will not. So I follow."

"I follow, and I keep watch, keep girl inside this place. This safe place." And so began weeks of Diya running from the city as darkness approached, up to the woodlands surrounding the Mansion. Then patrolling outside, making sure Lex did not leave. Then running back in the first lights of day to return to the streets of Mutant Town. She apparently spotted most of the security systems, recognized how good they were, and stayed well clear of them, yet was sure she was seen, witnessed. But all she tried to do was catch Lex any time she tried to leave, and make her go back inside.

There are lots of gaps in memory, here. Blackout states. What Jean can find that Diya cannot are the links that lead to other memories, altered states of consciousness. The tiger. Her body, so ravenous from all the effort she was putting out with the running, demanded more fuel than she, a homeless woman, could provide it. So it took matters into its own paws; she would fall asleep, and then she would transform. Patrol, hunt, and eat. Dear. Boar. Rabbit. Whatever it could find. What could stand against a ginormous Siberian tigress, after all?

"That where you found the tiger, that night." Diya finishes, as honestly as she can.

Phoenix has posed:
Of everything that Diya tells her - verbally or otherwise - it is Yana's family background that widens Jean's eyes, stiffens her shoulders, and briefly sucks the breath from her lungs.

By all appearances, of course, it's the mutant gang's escalating violence that shocks her. A beat after remembering to breath, she gives a slow, encouraging nod while filing the sight and wafting aroma of roughly two tons of ruined humanity away in her subconscious for later processing. Her hands are folded atop the desk through much of the story, but if the Russian's are within reach, she'll reach to touch them briefly once she moves on from the violence.

"Thank you for sharing that," she quietly says once Diya finishes, nodding once more. "And thank you for protecting our students, who've apparently been playing vigilante during the break."

A soft, conflicted sigh.

"Okay... so, now that we've done the end, we kinda need to go back to the beginning. Or, maybe the middle; guess it's all kinda relative." The last is said a bit quieter than the rest and followed by a fleeting moment of consideration before her eyes fully refocus on Diya. "You don't know anything about the armored men, right? So-- " Another slight delay, perhaps to give Diya a chance to steel herself for the next question: "-- who were you before Mutant Town? Who was your team-- was it a military thing-- spec ops, maybe? Intelligence?" Another brief pause to think.

"A cape thing?" she then hazards.

Okhotnik has posed:
Diya's hands are in her lap, not on the desk, otherwise they might have been in range. Nevertheless, she tenses up when Jean startles; she's concerned. What did she say or do to set off the mighty telepath? And she cannot help worrying what repercussions there may be for Lex, or Yana.

Diya speaks up when spoken to. "I am soldier. I serve to protect those who cannot. This, I do. I kill, or die, to protect." There is no hesitation. Her dedication to this principle is absolute, a razor's edge.

"I thought you knew?" Diya answers, honestly, a tad non-plussed when Jean questions her origin. Still, she considers this only a moment, and nods. "Russian army. Spetznaz. What your army calls 'special forces', like your Rangers. I was Captain, sniper. They called me Okhotnik - Hunter, in English, closest translation." So there were likely missions with Intelligence connections, to be sure. But she herself was not an Intelligence operative.

"I am no 'cape', Mizz Grey."

Phoenix has posed:
"Just what you've told me," Jean replies with a shake of the head, weighing the words a bit heavily and letting them linger out there for a moment. She's picked up quite a bit more than what the Hunter has actually said, of course, but since she hasn't seen fit to pry, the woman's origins remain locked away in her memories until she chooses to share them.

"So-- do you know why your team might've sold you out?" she tentatively wonders. "Do you know who it might've been to, or do we only have 'some intelligence agency', there? I apologize; I'm know it's, ah, not pleasant, reliving these memories, but I'd like to do everything in my power to make sure that the armored men can't come for you."

Okhotnik has posed:
"They followed orders." Diya answers at the snap. "All I know is that they had Russian flag patches on their shoulders, and Russian orders. They did not say to me who they were, or what they wanted of me. But my instincts screamed at me that they were no good. That they meant me ill." It is possible they weren't official Russian government. But she believes they were. Somehow. Some way. But not who they were. "I am sorry. But there is no way I know of that we can prevent them from coming for me, if they learn that I am alive, and where to find me."

Phoenix has posed:
"Well," Jean matter-of-factly replies while knitting her fingers, "I could come for them before they ever get a chance to try anything; that'd do the trick, I think."

The Vice Principal takes a moment to observe the other woman's response before continuing:

"How long had you been with your crew before they turned on you? They're the only solid link we have to any of this, right? Assuming that they're still alive, obviously, which-- I suppose is really not the best bet to lean on, when you think about it." She clucks her tongue softly while frowning.

"I'm not a soldier, but I've made it my life's mission to protect those who can't protect themselves-- or die trying. You may not be helpless - clearly, you are not helpless - but I'm still not gonna let you pass through these grounds without trying to do something about the sword hovering over your head."

Okhotnik has posed:
Diya's green eyes do go just a little wide for a moment as Jean talks about going after dangerous, potentially lethal operatives in armor. She's aware the woman must be capable; she heard aout 'going into Hell' recently, if not a lot of details. But still.

"I had been with my unit for almost five years. I had been back with them, after recovering from my attack, for about six weeks when they arrived." Diya answers, honestly. There are names, faces, plenty of personal details on each and every one of those soldiers - two more women, with seven men - swimming through the Russian woman's mind.

"I ... respect your intent." Diya should; it's not far different from her own, after all. "But if these men can order Spetznaz to surrender their own, I would not want to see what they could do to a school of children like yours." And she would fight to the death to prevent it.

Phoenix has posed:
Now - as Diya's betrayers glow brightly in her psyche - Jean draws in a breath before delving a little deeper into the Russian woman's mind to draw that vital information into her own memories for safe keeping.

It may seem for a moment that she's suddenly disengaged: her eyes grow briefly glassy, staring through the soldier rather than at her; a second or two after Diya offers her misgivings, however, Jean's eyes just as abruptly snap to refocus on Diya's as she firmly replies, "Neither do I, and I don't intend to find out."

After that, though, she falls silent for another, thoughtful beat, studying Diya once more. As it ends, she fills her lungs again--

-- and before the weretigress' eyes, every piece of furniture but the chairs they're seated on begins a trip to the ceiling, boiling pink coronas flickering in and out of being around the larger items.

Unblinking, she continues, "A secret - something of an open one among some of the students and most of the faculty: I've faced men who could order entire countries to their knees, and I'm still here-- assuring you that if they did come, they'd be lucky to leave."

Okhotnik has posed:
Diya watches the display, her eyes not quite widening as much this time as before; she has had some warning, seen a bit of what Jean could do. But she frowns for a bit, the somewhat angry thought passing through her mind at Jean's unfocused state that she has probably rifled through her mind indiscriminately, likely the purpose of the questioning, to bring those memories closer to the fore.

Of course, all that's in Russian. But Jean probably understands anyway.

"If they come for the children, they will never leave alive." Diya answers, boldly, honestly. It's there in her mind: dead, they will just disappear, with no proof for anyone of what happened, how or why. If they are allowed to live and return home, they will come again, better armed, better equipped, better prepared, representing a far greater threat.

A threat to those Diya has claimed as her own, even if she would never say the words. The tiger knows. And the tiger can be at least as merciless as the soldier.

Phoenix has posed:
"So," Jean replies after managing to suppress the instinctive wince that tries to sneak out when Diya gets pragmatic, "there are maybe two ways to keep it from coming to that, the way I see it, and which one we go with is ultimately up to you." With no desk, the redhead's hands have come to rest over her chest, still knit with the index fingers extended. "The first is, you leave, ASAP; we get you set up in an apartment, or give you some cash to run with, and you live your life, secure in the knowledge that the kids will be safe. The second, which I'd personally prefer: we locate your former teammates and see if they can give us any leads on who ordered them to give you up, then roll that up into shutting them down, guaranteeing that the kids will be safe. I understand if you feel the need to go this alone-- if you feel like you can't trust anyone to have your back, or not to die in your wake. But I hope you'll at least consider letting me help."

Okhotnik has posed:
Diya considers Jean carefully, and waits for the furniture to settle again. She can be patient like that.

"The pragmatic says to take the money and run." One thing Diya has been with Jean: absolutely, unflinchingly honest. She doesn't bother with mincing words; it helps that it's hard enough to figure out the English for what she needs to say, without trying to figure out how to hint at it but never actually say it.

"But I believe if I go, Lex will become unsafe again. She will start wandering, again. She will find trouble, again." And that bothers Diya. It upsets her, in fact. "And if I am not here, I cannot stop her."

There is a part of Diya that has clearly identified with Lex; with her fear; with the part of her, at her core, that still considers herself an outcast, abandoned and lost. Equally so, a part of her responds to Lex's need to identify with Diya, and especially with the tiger. Because the mauve mutant girl has never truly known a mother's love. And the tiger, far more than Diya, can freely give affection. The tiger is not afraid to touch. The tiger just does what her instincts tell her to do. But those instincts are informed by Diya herself.

"Finding my former teammates will not be easy." Diya admits, honestly. "But if you are sure you want to do this, I will offer what help I can, and accept what help you can offer, whatever we may find."

Phoenix has posed:
It's only when Jean determines that Diya's waiting that the furniture comes down, chair sliding in behind the desk as it settles into position.

Unpainted lips purse sympathetically as the Russian weighs her options, while her eyes remain locked on the other woman's, unwavering as she takes her turn in waiting through the out-loud reasoning and the conflicted affection within. By the time the answer comes, Jean's had a few moments to prepare the relieved sigh and dropping shoulders that come when Diya makes the only choice she can.

"Deal," she says, hand twitching forward before drawing back to balance on the desk as her eyes twitch away briefly. When they return, she cants her head a little while adding, "So, let's go ahead and work up some dossiers, and then you can get back to your day. Look around, a little, maybe; enjoy the grounds! You're here for as long as you need to be," with a smile. "And thank you, by the way, for choosing to stay."

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey says, "I gotta talk to one of the kids about not passing on Xavier-taught combat tactics to the Russian mob, little distracted"

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey says, "Are they making any more of those? It's kind of in the same boat as RE for me"

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey says, "Where at this point, I may as well just wait"