The Trickster's Mess: Recreating a Gift
|The Trickster's Mess: Recreating a Gift|
|Date of Cutscene:||02 October 2019|
|Location:||Westchester, New York|
|Cast of Characters:||Nightingale|
It had been a few days since Shannon turned in the pieces of the angel pendant to Jean and Scott. It had been a beautiful piece, a deep cobalt blue, crystalline material that seemed to shimmer from within as if alive, in the shape of an angel praying. It had been from--of all sources--Loki. The Trickster himself. Just a little less than a week before it came into her keeping, he had come to Xavier's, looking for a healer. But oh no, not as himself. He couldn't be that direct. No, it had been in the guise of a teenage boy named 'Jeremy', and he was hurt pretty badly. She shook her head as she thought about the whole thing, still unable to believe how badly she had been tricked. She and Triage had expressed misgivings about their ability to heal their guest and had elected to wait until the next day. But just a couple hours later, she had let herself be talked into attempting to heal what should have killed a god. It landed her in the medbay, of course; the injuries were not trifling ones, and there had been an odd blue ichor. Where had that come from, anyhow? How had he managed to get hurt so badly?
As Shannon made her way through the Salem Center Mall to a small crafting supplies store, events continued to replay through her mind. She thought of how Rahne had brought the pendant to her, and expressed grave misgivings about it, as she explained it was connected to Loki and could be used to call to him. She thought of how she had told Kitty, Jean, Scott, and even fired off one other message to alert adults who could do something about it to the presence of the pendant. A scowl knitted her brows together as she thought of how, at Kitty's urging, she and Sam had gone to Doctor Strange for advice--and the pendant had been summarily smashed beneath his boot heel. Whatever the source, whatever its function, it had still been a gift in good faith. The memory made her shake with anger. They could have learned so much about it, but instead it was destroyed. She had salvaged what pieces she could from the street, and brought them to Jean and Scott. But would she ever get them back? There was no way to know. There was only one way she could think of to keep the spirit behind the gift alive, and that was to construct a reasonable facsimile on her own. It would have no magic, no connection, but she could always remember the lessons learned from the experience.
The array of fimo clay available at the shop was surprisingly good. She pulled her phone from her pocket, and looked at the photos she had managed to take of the pendant prior to its destruction. A tear of frustration trickled down her face as she looked at it whole once more. Sculpting even a small piece was nothing she had ever attempted before, and it would likely take several failed tries to get it right. But it would take no special tools, she could just fire the piece in the oven in the school's kitchen. And who knows, maybe she just picked up a new hobby from this all. It would take some doing to match the color of the clay to the piece it was meant to represent, and likely no way to capture the inner glow it had. What had it all been for? What had been enough to lay a god low, and seek out the help of mere mortals? How had she managed to survive the healing and still be able to tell the tale? Would these questions ever have any truthful answers? She snorts a little bit, shaking her head with a light laugh. "Bag of cats, indeed." Damn it, why did that Trickster have to be so... so... well, someone she couldn't entirely hate? Whatever answers were there--or not--she had some reading and studying to do, and a pendant to re-create. At least the spirit of the gift would survive. Even if the giver would never know it, she would.