9131/Solemn Musings

Solemn Musings
Date of Scene:	09 September 2019
Location:	Frontyard - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Shannon and Steve talk about the burdens of standing up against bullies.
Cast of Characters:	Nightingale, Captain America

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Nightingale has posed:
     A hellish week had drawn to a close, and a new week was just beginning. The hot, humid days of summer began to give way to early autumn, with the air no longer feeling like a sauna going full blast during mid-afternoon. While still green, the leaves on the trees were no longer quite the vibrant, verdant hues of spring and summer, their brilliance just starting to fade and prepare the canvas for Nature to paint bright splashes of dazzling color in just a few more weeks. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker might be heard tap-tap-tapping away on the trunk of some tree. It's fairly quiet outside, with more seeking the company of others and recreation either in the backyard, by the lake, or exploring nearby towns with friends.

     One student, though, was taking advantage of a quiet moment, perched on the front step with a notebook and pencil in her lap. She's not bothered hiding her wings, either. Her expression is lacking in her usual smile, at least for the moment. Every once in a while, she glances down at her phone, wings drooping when it is silent. Resolutely, she tucks it away in her pocket once more, focusing instead on the notebook in her lap. Surely there were better things to do than worry.

Captain America has posed:
Beyond nature, the distant and approaching sound of a motorcycle wending its way up Greymalkin Lane can be heard. Belatedly, a message reaches her phone:

<<Have some time today, will stop by.>> It must have been a quirk of a dropped signal, possible in pockets of his travel up north from the sprawl of New York City proper. Admitted to the grounds by proxy of recognition on sight, Steve Rogers slows the bike's travel as he goes up the drive. Killing the engine means a silent glide for the last dozen feet or so before he brings it to a full stop, straddling it before he kicks up the rest-stand. No helmet means the sun gleams from his hair and on the brass buttons of his leather jacket. Beneath it, a simple white t-shirt. Jeans and combat boots puts the Captain firmly in 'civilian' territory today.

The wings are recognizable, to say the least, and he lifts a hand as he approaches the young woman sitting on the front steps. "Got your text," says the man by way of initial greeting.

Nightingale has posed:
     Initially, Shannon tenses as she hears the motorcycle coming up the drive, as if she might wing her way into the air at any moment. She remembered too well her first day here, and how caution around visitors to the grounds had been impressed upon her with her own arrival at the school. Had it really only been a month and some days past? Her own attire is surprisingly similar, with jeans, a well-worn but sensible pair of white sneakers, and her favorite cream cotton poet's blouse. The worn brown leather bag that she's kept with her in previous meetings is still there, hanging from her belt. Her eyebrows raise, and she nods slightly, not the shy thing he'd met at the music store, with wings all a-ruffle and that sweet smile on her face. This is the look of someone who has seen first blood and tasted failure. "I thought you might... but it wasn't urgent. Please tell me that's not why you're here?" She quirks a very faint smile and gets to her feet in respect. "Even though it's good to see you."

Captain America has posed:
With good-natured nonchalance, the Captain shrugs his broad shoulders as to her question. He takes a moment to look around the grounds, his polite smile fading to something more akin to thinned concern. To at least a first glance, the school appears calm, secure, and protected.

"That, and I figured I'd make sure nobody was giving the school trouble," he finally says, looking back to Shannon. The faint smile appears again and he nods towards the stoop of the front porch. "Mind if I sit?" Never one to assume unless in the heat of conflict, Steve waits for her answer patiently. Standing wouldn't go amiss; the long ride on the motorcycle means stretching his legs is a natural delight.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods, moving over to make room, easing herself down onto the steps with the rough, yet soft, scraping whisper of denim on stone. On the page in the notebook in front of her is what looks like the beginnings of a melody, the notebook being the one she had purchased at the music store that day in Salem Center. There's a treble clef, key signature with two flats, and a common meter symbol. And not much else. If there had been notes on the staff before, it looks as if they've been erased several times, starting to wear away the lines on the page. "Guess it's like Jello, always room for one more."

Captain America has posed:
The adage brings him to laugh quietly in the back of his throat, almost more of a quick sigh than outright amusement. It seems too quiet and pensive for such an expression anyways. "Never been a fan of Jello. Too much of it in the medbay rooms," Steve admits as he walks over and sits down. For his build, he still manages to remain more of a standard presence than someone augmented just as much as any mutant here, though in a far different manner so many decades back. He eyes the blank music sheet, its thoughts only just begun in assignment of key and clef, and then looks out across the lawn.

"One of the most difficult things about the world itself is 'why'. Big point of philosophical discussion, 'why', both sober and drunk alike." His voice is quiet, even. "Guess 'm wondering what part of 'why' you're turning over like a stone in your mind."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon closes her eyes tightly for a moment, drawing a slightly shuddering breath, her wings ruffling as if in echo. "The same 'why' I've been trying to make sense of since the attack. And then the memorial on top of that. The same 'why' that, no matter how much I think about it, no matter who I've talked to, still just does not make any sense at all." There is grief and anger lurking at the edges of her voice, belied by a certain tension that had been much less present in previous encounters.

"Even with my eyes closed, I can't shake it. I see the Sentinel firing, I hear the call to go tend to the wounded. And then when I get there, it's already too late. Daniel... that's what his name was... he had burns all over the middle of his back, some went clear through to the spine and ribs. It was probably very quick. But it still feels like failure."

Shannon opens her eyes, and while there is still a great deal of hurt, there is also a certain steely quality there. "And yet I still have to ask 'why'. Why must there be so much hate, so much senseless violence just because we're different from others?" There's a slight pause, and she bites her lower lip. "And even with that.. I can't just stand by. How have you dealt with it for so long?"

Captain America has posed:
A furrowed brow of understanding brings Steve's face from its solemn consideration of the far edges of the grounds, where the trees are thinking of changing colors and the lake glitters. He drops his chin and counts the eyelets of his left boot for a second, eyes lifted beneath his lashes and looking into nothing at the middle distance. He thinks, and then he speaks.

"Saw a lot of this during the War -- the second World War," the Captain amends. "Hate can be a driver, but not alone. Fear. Maybe not of people, but of the loss of something important. Pride." His brows flick and then resume their wrinkled knit. "Doesn't excuse it, never will. Is it failure?" Sunlight glints off his blond hair as he shakes his head. "No. Because when you stand up against tyranny, you save as many people as you can. You can't save 'em all. But if you can't find a way to keep going, how many other people are going to die instead?"

The bottom of his boot scuffs on the pavement as he shifts in place, realigning his back. "It's not stopping. It's not backing down even if your back's to the wall. It's getting up to your feet 'nd gritting your teeth 'nd making them realize that they're going to get more than they bargained for." A wry little scoff of a laugh. "If you win, you're brave. If you lose, then you're a fool. But I figure, you go down swinging because the world needs to see that somebody's gonna stand up to those abusing power."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon lets out a sigh deeper than a girl her age should, her brows knitting together, lines that should not be there etched onto her youthful features. She glances down at her hands, curling her fingers into a loose fist, then extending them again. "It sounds a little like one of my teachers. Logan. I don't know if you know him. Said something like, for every one you save, there'll be five you can't. Just don't focus on the five. Sam's said something similar." A light snort escapes her, the youth hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them. "Easier said than done when you can take on others' injuries with a touch. It's hard to not be able to help them all. Or sometimes, even just one."

Her gaze focuses on the lake off in the distance, the gleam of the afternoon sun on the mirror-like surface turning the water into a pool of pale, liquid gold. "Even harder is just sometimes not knowing completely what I'm capable of, not knowing a lot of things... but it doesn't stop wanting to stand up against the hate and fear. It's being the little guy going up against Goliath." Her voice falls silent for the space of several heartbeats, a bit of wind ruffling her hair and brushing stray wisps of pale gold across her eyes. "When my mutations manifested, I felt incredibly alone. My family loved and supported me, but in their own way they could never really fully understand. Thinking of how alone you must have felt, when you woke up after all that time... how you somehow picked yourself up and got through it... it helped." Her brows furrow as she turns her gaze towards Captain Rogers, and she seems to be choosing her words carefully. "When you were starting... when you were the little guy... was it anything like this?"

Captain America has posed:
"Logan's not wrong...neither is Sam," the Captain agrees quietly. His gaze remains outwards as well, marking the glitter of the wind on the lake's surface from afar. Hearing of how he apparently inspired strength in a time of trouble is enough to make him tuck his chin again and smile to himself. It barely display one dimple. Eyebrows flick high and drop again.

"When I was the little guy? Before the serum? Anybody in my neighborhood, if you asked 'em, would've told you that I was a bag of bird bones who didn't know when to stand down. Lots of bullies back then. I was an easy mark, but running only made 'em chase me down. Had to stand my ground. Same premise applied in the Army 'nd in the War. Becoming Captain America gave me a compass point -- something to do. I had to do something, couldn't sit around. Did it make things easier? Nope." He pops the consonant and smirks at the middle distance towards his motorcycle. "The serum just made it easier to make an impact. Never went into frays without back-up though -- had the Commandos with me at all times. Sure, I could've gotten clandestine things done, but a machine gun strafing hurts just as much now as it would've before I took up the shield. You've got good folks here who want to look out for you. You wanna make a stand?"

Steve glances over at her. "Make a stand, but do it with the school. Make sure you're not alone."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon cracks a small smile, and actually laughs a little. "It's hard to imagine you now as 'a bag of bird bones'." Okay, maybe not a little laugh. Maybe more like outright giggling. "But you already had that compass point. You just got a whole lot harder to knock down, that's all." She sighs a little bit, but this time there is something of a wry smile rather than the sobering expression no youth ought to have. "Some might say to find my own answers. And I guess in a way that's true. But it's pretty stupid to not ask questions, because with very rare exceptions, most of us don't live long enough to make our own mistakes, so it's smart to learn from others when you can."

Her sigh is perhaps a little less heavy than before, more resignation and acceptance than grief and anger as it had been previously. "The hardest part is going to be learning to work with others. But... I'll try to remember what you said. Even if I foul up sometimes."

Captain America has posed:
"Mistakes are things you learn from. Sure, we're in a time where a mistake can be bigger than tripping over your feet on the sidewalk, but your teammates 'nd teachers here at the school can pick you up under your armpits 'nd get you on your feet again. Best part about Xavier's?" Steve lets a pause linger to see if he can't get the young woman's mind to thinking of possible answers; some might even be more thought-provoking than his own to follow.

"There's no place in this world like it, with the collection of minds 'nd abilities on display. You get all your ducks lined up, the people responsible for heckling you 'nd your teammates are going to be backpedaling before you know it. Now, the question is not who can throw the bigger punch, who has the bigger stick, not in this age. Too big of a chance for innocent casualties. It's how to keep people safe while shutting down the Sentinels. You hear in the news about the factory in Connecticut?"

Steve flicks his eyebrows up once as if to imply he miiiiight have had a hand in it -- just maybe. "Don't think we're sitting 'nd doing nothing. Tide's turning against those who support the Sentinels. Get enough people riled 'nd that's how you get a revolution."

His phone goes off in his pocket and he sighs. "'nd that'll be work."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon frowns very deeply at the mention of the factory in Connecticut, her smile wiped away in an instant. "I almost wish you hadn't mentioned that," she murmured. "My family's still -in- Connecticut. And that part of the state isn't very mutant-friendly to begin with. The newscast didn't say too much. It sounded kind of hush-hush." It was one worry she'd been able to put out of her mind for just a little while, but now it was back full force. Still, it hadn't been a bad day, not entirely. "There's a good chance I might be able to check, with help from a teammate... but if you happen to hear anything about Paul and Terry Lance, those are my folks. Just want to make sure they're okay, and I haven't had any luck contacting them." She tries to smile a little bit. "Hey... in a way, we're on the same side here, right? Different teams, same side."

Her nose wrinkles a little bit, and she nods. "Duty calls, huh? Be safe, if you can. I worry about my friends."