2014-11-13 Flight of the Sparrow
This scene is rated Everybody
Warning: N/A
Players: Kurt, Drake, Sparrow
GMed by Sparrow
Title: Flight of the Sparrow

Kurt and Drake are dispatched, incognito, to fetch a mutant from the psychiatric ward at Bellvue hospital. But when are things ever that simple?

Welcome to Bellvue Hospital, home of lunatics and their keepers since 1736. Several weeks ago, Professor Xavier detected a strong mutant signature in the vicinity of the (in)famous facility, and has slowly — with a combination of telepathy and professional contacts — narrowed down the suspects to one: Jane Doe, housed in psychiatric isolation on the sixth floor. A mysterious benefactor has arranged for the girl to be transferred to a private hospital upstate, and all the relevant paperwork has cleared. Now, all that remains is a daring rescue.

Or, as it happens, a fairly mundane one. Today finds Kurt Wagner with his holographic projector accompanied by a friend from the school. They do have to learn sometime — the professor will always send them on various errands. It's just part of being a trusted student of the school. It's not so much that they're pretending to be something they're not…Kurt has medical training, and he's been authorized by the Professor. It doesn't hurt that people often find him charming. So now that they arrive on the floor, he checks the papers. "It says that she should be waiting for us on the sixth floor, right here…I suppose she might be in that patient area?"

Drake has done all manner of crazy heroics, especially lately. He's been worried the upper-echelon might rule that it's too much and suspend his New Mutant-hood, but instead, he's been tasked with helping on a daring rescue mission!

…Okay, so the 'daring rescue mission' was simply what he read into it. And maybe, just maybe he was stoked at the notion of wearing disguises. Big, poofy moustaches, the works. But no. It's just a nice, modest suit and tie affair. And the 'rescue' involves less Errol Flynn-ing than he might have hoped. But if nothing, it's reminiscent of his older days; more about subtlety and not raising any alarms. And that brings us to the present…

"May as well check," he posits. His hands fold behind his back in a completely unassuming way as a nurse passes by.

"She's in isolation," says Dr. Roberts, Jane Doe's attending. He frowns. "You should have been informed of that. She's highly unpredictable — and drug resistant. Which indicates to me she's been in treatment before." He tips his head, indicating that the other men should follow him, and starts off down one of the many, brightly lit halls. "I have her on haldol, seroquel, effexor, aripiprazole — all higher than the standard dosage, especially for someone her age and size. We thought her behavior was under control and had her in the general population… Until she broke another patient's finger." He sighs and ruffles a hand through his hair. "Admittedly, that particular patient has a history of inappropriate touching, so she might have been… let's say 'justified.' But no one saw anything. So." He shrugs.

They stop before a featureless door with a small, reinforced window set high. Through said window, a small figure can be seen curled in a corner. It's a proverbial padded cell. And the girl, half hidden in a tangle of long hair, appears to be in a strait jacket. "You'll probably want to let the orderlies in first," he continues, glancing back at the two, burly men in scrubs who've followed up the rear, one with a wheelchair. "Just to make sure she's behaving."

"Not necessarily," Kurt points out. "She may have an uncommon resistance to drugs. I remember one case of an extremely active system that took two or three times the dose of an average person for the same effect…but I'd imagine you also tried that." His accent is still distinct, but not so heavy he can't be understood. And the way he says things, and the way he smiles and seems to give deference even so, is all part of his careful approach. When he hears the medicine she's on, though, his brows raise. "Ah, yes, you have thought of it. It's a miracle if she can walk, much less break fingers."

Clearing his throat, Kurt accompanies the doctor and glances back to make sure Drake's at his side. Mustn't lose the New Mutant. They have that tendency to make a situation even more chaotic if something goes wrong. "Ah," he answers, returning his attention to their potential new friend. "Ja. Yes. I, er, think that would be wise. Has she been sedated for the transportation, or should we administer one ourselves?"

Drake strolls along in his unassuming way, his quiet presence easily fading into the background - not quite a technique, but a natural knack for making himself innocuous. It's a trait most street successful street people pick up, as even in plain sight, they tend to be overlooked by making their presence minimal.

And to that end, while Kurt talks shop with the officials, those vibrant emerald eyes are locked on the girl in question. She's definitely not a physically imposing creature, but so many mutants are a clear examples of dynamite and their small packages. He's not quite familiar with straightjackets from personal experience, but what details he can gleam via quick assessment from a 'safe' distance, he does - from the apparent security of the bindings to where her limbs likely are under that padding.

"I think I'll allow you to assess her, Dr. Wagner, and we can proceed depending on your comfort level." Dr. Roberts leans against the wall, watching somewhat uneasily as the orderlies lumber inside. "I hate to give any of my patients more than is absolutely necessary, despite what the polypharmacy of her standard order might indicate. If you decide it's wise, however, we can give her a few extra cc's of haldol for transport."

"Yeah, Doc, I think she's pretty good," calls one of the orderlies. They're both so imposing yet nondescript, they might as well be Orderlies A and B. "But you're not gonna believe what she got her hands on." Inside the room, from a small tear in the fabric of the wall, Orderly B pulls out a spoon. "She was probably just waitin' to gouge someone's eyes out with this."

"Ah, danke." Kurt clears his throat and pats himself down, extracting some spectacles from his coat pocket and looking the papers over again. They're completely cosmetic glasses, of course, but they make him look (and feel) more professional. He may have a basic medical training, but there's a certain thrill of being called 'Dr. Wagner'. Perhaps he can make his idol proud of him, even if he's not swashbuckling. He's acting! If only they could see his tail. If only he could afford having it out. He'd probably be whipping it back and forth giddily. "Ah, er, yes. Perhaps…perhaps the extra sedative would be good for this situation. As I understand, she hasn't known a new environment before here, at least from what you were able to determine. I'd rather be a little overcautious than to risk ruining what progress you've made."

Drake does what a good 'intern' does (to his knowledge) and remains out of the way, but attentive and ready to be useful. When the spoon is drawn out, he casts the girl a wary look. "Planning some enucleation?"

What? He can know a couple completely random fifty dollar words here and there!

His gaze turns to Kurt when the medication is recommended, gives a concurrent nod, and adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket.

"All right, then," Dr. Roberts agrees, easily enough. He goes to the med cart in the hallway, an assembly with multiple drawers and a computer terminal on a mobile stand. Out pops a vial of clear liquid, a syringe, and an alcohol swab. He swabs the top of the vial, draws the dosage and carefully taps out the bubbles. "We'll be right out with her," he says, setting aside the syringe to don gloves. Drake is given a look that's at once mirthful and grim. "Good word. I don't know what she was planning, to be honest. Never do."

The doctor enters the padded room and and the girl is removed from the jacket, both orderlies holding her arms, despite the fact that she seems quite unconscious, head lolled to the side. The drug is administered, and good as the doctor's word, the frail young woman is carried out by one of the orderlies. She's carefully strapped into the chair so she doesn't slide right out of it like a rag doll.

Dr. Roberts gestures back down the hall. "All the paperwork was processed on the way in, Dr. Wagner, so she's all yours. I'm glad she's going somewhere she can receive more intensive and individual treatment than we can provide, here." He smiles, but… that smile is almost too gracious. Too brimming with bon homie. It might, conceivably, make one uneasy.

Kurt is experienced enough to be able to smile it away himself, as if batting away the consideration. But at the back of his mind, he's pretty sure he doesn't like where this is going. He'll have to bring up his concerns with the Professor later, but until then he'll keep them to himself. This may be a very bad idea. He's not about to be inhospitable to the young woman that Xavier has chosen and gone to such trouble to transfer to his care…but his kindness isn't the sort that comes without caution. In his experience, in his history, naivete can be a devastating trap.

"In cases like this, round the clock intensive care and treatment is necessary," chimes a solemn Drake. "We appreciate the cooperation and assistance, gentlemen."

On the inside, Drake gags. The taste of his own words are so bland, he's going to need to drink a Jolt cola with a scoop of rainbow sherbert just to get back to normal. But for all intents and purposes, it looks like everything is basically taken care of here. He takes his cue to take over her wheelchair duties and begin rolling her down the hallway.

The doc's smile was telling, but he hopes he's reading too much into it. They're practically home free now. On the other hand, if they did try to pull something, this situation could turn a lot more interesting.

Suspicious smiles are certainly a cause for little red flags, but they manage to get down to the nurse's station with their unconscious charge, where Dr. Roberts bids them farewell and begins a quiet conversation with the charge nurse. There are double doors between the ward and the hospital's main hall. They're locked, of course, but all that remains is for the nurse to buzz them out.

Dr. Roberts looks up suddenly, a deep frown on his face. He mutters something, which — to excellent ears — might sound something like, "Anonymous benefactor, my ass." Then, with a voice raised to carry, moving to follow them, "Excuse me! Dr. Wagner. I'm afraid there's been some kind of mistake. We checked with the State Board of Professions and your license doesn't seem to be valid…"

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there's no click and buzz. The doors remain locked.

"Oh, that's happened once before!" Kurt doesn't miss a beat, chuckling softly. "They misspelled my middle name — you *did* remember to include that, didn't you?" He gives a patient smile. Why on earth would they have even checked with the state board for his license in the first place? He still doesn't know why Xavier decided to pretend he was a doctor, but whatever. He'll take that up with him later.

Speaking quietly, something no one but Drake and he could hear, he continues, turning slightly. His lips don't really move. Nice trick, possibly enhanced with the projector. "Drake. The doors should be activated by electricity. If necessary, 'buzz' us through. If I have to, I can teleport us away…" But he'd rather not. It's always so unpleasant for passengers.

"Well, then, I'm sure we can clear this up in no time at all," says Dr. Roberts, once again with that too-reasonable smile. If you gentlemen wouldn't mind coming back to the nurses' station." Orderly A and Orderly B are back there, standing like sentinels on either side.

Aaand there's the hitch. That smile, though… Drake isn't convinced this is the full extent of problems they could be facing. It could be an overactive sense of paranoia, or it could be street intuition. Either way, the gears were already turning by the time he realizes they're not being buzzed through.

With a subtle turn of his body for discretion's sake, Drake murmurs, "Way ahead of you." An electronic mechanism like this would be overcome simply by shorting it out. Child's play.

Another glance is cast back to the actual for-reals doctor and the orderlies. Going back to them wouldn't solve their problems - the time to doctor up credentials is past. He tugs the wheelchair a little to the side and clicks his tongue in a tsking way. A meaningful look is cast towards Kurt, hoping to signal that he should get ready. "Our office will take care of all that. We…" He reaches over his shoulder to tap the very tip of his pinkie finger to the door's swipe mechanism, followed by a sharp electrical *SNAP*. The doors yield open. "…have to get rolling!"

And without further delay, Drake rushes out the door with the wheelchair.

"Yes, I'm afraid we can't delay!" Kurt offers a wink to this Dr. Roberts. Insufferable swine, he thinks — but maybe he'll leave a good impression anyway. If it were a different world, he'd do something exciting, or romantic, or outrageous. But unfortunately it's not. It's this world, and this was supposed to have been a smooth procedure. The fact that there were problems in the first place speaks of some greater problem behind the scenes, and it makes him suspicious. Why would this doctor have even gone to that trouble? It sticks in his craw, so to speak.

But one the doors are open for them, he continues on, turning his back and moving with the wheelchair and Drake. When they're far enough away — and he's certainly not convinced either that it's going to be quite that easy — he speaks again to his New Mutant companion. "We must not endanger the lives or safety of anyone else here. But if necessary, do you have the control to stun a person, or perhaps to take out the lights without affecting the rest of the electrical systems?" He hopes the Danger Room sessions have taught good lessons.

"STOP THEM!" shouts Dr. Roberts, but it's too late. Drake and Kurt are through the now-unlocked doors with the package. Still fritzing with that rogue electrical charge, when the doors swing shut they lock again — this time beyond the control of the button at the desk. Meanwhile, Dr. Roberts — trapped on his own ward — is paging the whole building. "CODE GREEN. CODE GREEN. Sixth floor elopement! All available security personnel lock down the building!"

This, of course, means there are five floors below them soon to be swarming with security officers and burly orderlies. They are, however, on the sixth and top floor of the venerable institution. It may indeed be time for some outrageous swashbuckling.

"In here? Too risky," chats Drake as they run down the hall. "Everything's connected to the same generators, and unless I'm tapped into the right stream, I could cut someone's life-support." Look at that, exercising some caution. "But there ain't a one of those security guards can take a zap like I can dish out!" He flashes a bright, confident smile to Kurt, then looks ahead again. The wheelchair whirls a corner. "And don't you worry - they'll be down'n out, but fine again in time for dinner! Only question is, d'you wanna bounce her down the stairs, or do we take the elevator? I'd vote elevator. I've kind'a got an idea on that."

"Then elevator," Kurt glances back, a bit breathily. "There, we're there." He ushers Drake and their new friend in, pressing the button for the lobby. "Tell me your idea, and I'll do whatever I can." If things go the worst possibly way…well, they have their car close enough, and he's familiar enough with the area, knows the place, so that he could get them out in a bamf if he has to. It's not going to be the best case scenario, though, and it will definitely leave him taxed.

Drake scoots the chair into the elevator and glances about - particularly to the maintenance hatch on the ceiling. Standard issue for all elevators. With a satisfied smile, he crouches quickly to unfasten the chair-restraints. "Take our new gal-pal topside. I'll be up right behind ya, bud'." The tactically-inclined might pick up that Drake here is setting a trap.

There is, indeed, a security hatch up there — and it's an idea struck in the nick of time, because Drake's barely elucidated his plan before the smooth hum of the conveyance stops with a lurch. The lights flicker out. Someone's cut power to the elevators.

Kurt isn't really sure he likes the plan. In fact, he's almost entirely certain he doesn't like it. "I…think perhaps it would be better if I were to try adjusting my image projector…we could slip out by stealth, and then they wouldn't even know we'd left until we are gone. That way, they won't pursue us on the road or think of it until it's too late, ja?" He doesn't want to be unfair to Drake's idea…but frankly speaking, he also isn't sure he's ready to be by himself in a lift shaft with this potentially violent woman. And then the power goes. And there's some quiet German cursing.

"I don't want to leave either of us alone with her, because it may not be safe for us or for her. But we've hesitated too long. I can probably get us to the parking, can you drive? I need to adjust the image inducer." Kurt has his hand on it, but he doesn't dare fiddle with it at this point. He could blend into the shadows…but that would leave Drake in the lurch, to say nothing of the girl.

The elevator shudders, and Drake wobbles to a knee. "Did they just cut the power? These people and their shenanigans." It's a humored grouse, not at all sincere. He doesn't even seem bothered by their situation. The reason for this is immediately revealed as, "I can get this baby moving again without a problem. Loads different feeding power to something than trying to sap specific parts of a network. So we're not licked yet, mein fuhrer."

With their current state, the personnel likely expect to keep them trapped until authorities arrive. That gives them enough time to properly work something out.

"But let's make this your call."

"If you take her out the hatch, I'll come with you. That leaves the wheelchair - or what I like to refer to as 'bait'. The orderlies come in to check it out, I blanket the cab with electricity, bing-bang-boom, we roll out. On the other hand, you fiddle with that doodad projector dealie, mock up a disguise, and wheel her on out. Can you disguise more than one person?"

Kurt clears his throat rather significantly at the title, joking though it is. A bit of a sensitive spot, perhaps, considering his background. But that conversation can wait for later. "Perhaps we could find a way to blend our plans; you restore the power so that we can get to…say, the second floor. I will work on the image inducer…it can affect multiple people, but we must be very close in together, and only will work for perhaps the amount of time it will take us to get out of the building."

Drake offers only an amiable little smile at the clearing of his throat. No offense intended, just pallin' around! "Sure, okay. People /probably/ won't be waiting for us on the second floor, so we should be alright. Though if anyone's monitoring the elevator, they'll notice it kick on again and stop on that floor. So I hope your gadget's convincing."

Drake's gaze returns to the girl in their custody, still crouched before her. "Sorry, sweetness. Gotta strap ya back in." And he proceeds to do so.

Then, abruptly, violently, the unconscious girl in the wheelchair sits bolt upright. "No!" She looks around wildly. "No. Nono. They're watching. They're always watching." She reaches out to grab Drake's hands. "You'll turn their eyes back on," she babbles. Then, twisting to fix wide blue eyes on Kurt, "They'll see us."

That…is really unsettling. Seriously unsettling. "Do you mean…cameras?" And Kurt's not quite convinced that she does. That's probably a part of it…but it just doesn't strike him that it's the full story, not by any stretch of the imagination. "She's probably right. Perhaps I should try to get us to the car. It would be simpler than all these elaborate plans, after all, and they surely won't be expecting it. She has a point that they're watching us…so if the power is restored, they'll only be able to see what we're planning. They already distrusted us as strangers, despite our credentials. I can't guarantee that a change of appearance would slow them down."

Drake is startled right to his rear in front of her, his efforts to restrain her back down going down the drain. "Whoa, easy!" He glances to his hands linked with the girl's, then to Kurt, then back to the girl's panicked eyes. "Yeah, do you mean cameras? Cameras ain't no thing, I could cover that. Even if they're built in, I could probably pump enough juice through the walls to fry'em."

Another look is cast to Kurt. "You've got the rank on this one, though. Whatever you decide, we'll go with." And back to the girl, he shifts onto his knees before her again and attempts to meet her gaze. "You know we're here to help you outt'a this joint, right? Think you can stay calm for us?" The hands are given the tiniest of reassuring squeezes.

She launches herself out of the chair onto wobbly legs. She staggers and catches herself against the doors. "You can blind them? Good. Yes, do that." She looks at Kurt, but seems to be speaking to Drake. It's not entirely clear she knows there are two of them. "Yes. The man in my head told me. We're going to escape. We're going to fly. Let's fly now."

Kurt looks to Drake, as if to confirm their plan. Such as it has been confirmed with this young woman. Maybe. "You will both need to be touching me," he explains, "and you will feel some discomfort." Probably more than 'a little' but not 'Exorcist'-level nausea and exhaustion. At the very least, the patient seems to be very quick on the recovery. And Drake's young. He'll probably be fine. "Perhaps…you may wish to close your eyes. When you open them again, we will be at the car. But Drake…if you can drive, you may need to."

The girl springs out and Drake is bowled over again, perhaps comically. "Lively lil' thing, isn't she?" The teen twists over and lifts to his feet again, abandoning any notions of subtlety at this point. He steps in behind Kurt and plops a hand unceremoniously to his shoulder. "Drive, huh? Eeyeah.. uh.. I can drive…" Eyeshift. Read: no formal training to speak of. Those lessons haven't started for him at the institute quite yet, but he has… 'experience', as he'd put it. "Got a key for me?"

"Of course I'll have to touch you," says the girl, blinking incredulously at Kurt. "I can't fly." With that, the girl throws her slender arms around Kurt and closes her eyes. Ready for lift off.

"In my right coat pocket." Kurt answers Drake. Just in case he's unable to get it in time, when they arrive. At least the girl seems more approachable than he had initially feared. Perhaps his worries were unfounded, but he can't shake them nonetheless. This whole situation just doesn't seem right, somehow. But it's something he'll have to figure out later. He takes a deep breath and concentrates on where he needs to go, and then — BAMF!

It is exactly as uncomfortable as he had indicated. It's not terrible, but not something most have a craving to repeat anytime soon after they have their first taste of it. When they appear at the car, he leans heavily against the side of it, slipping a hand into that pocket and holding out the key. "Bitte…if you would, Drake…just until I can get my energy back."

The girl releases Kurt immediately and steadies herself on the car — then doubles over to vomit. It's mostly bile. She doesn't seem to have eaten anything solid in a while. When she's through, she coughs and puts her hand to the back of her mouth, looking apologetic and embarrassed. "The swallow things and the poke things are sick making." She seems to be trying to absolve Kurt's 'flying' of any blame.

Drake didn't shut his eyes. It's like a rollercoaster. You don't /shut your eyes/ for the ride of a lifetime. That's just crazy talk.



"Ohgod," gurgles Drake before flumping against the side of the car, wildly disoriented. There's a certain queasy feeling that accompanies it, but he's fighting that down. When the keys are offered, Drake has to paw at the air a time or two before he finds them, then wobble his way around to the driver's seat. Fortunately, the uneasy feeling and dizziness are passing fast enough. So by the time he's sitting down, he's good to go. The lock release button is hit, a key is in the ignition, and, "Purr for me, baby," the car is started.

He only needs wait for the others to get in.

Kurt gradually finds himself warming to the poor girl. He certainly doesn't envy her the experience of a first-time bamf-ing when in a particularly fragile condition. "I'm very sorry," he softly offers to both her and Drake. Later, some time in future, he reminds himself: Danger Room session to help Drake become used to the teleportation method. Because this is certainly going to come up again at some point. First he helps her into the car, very gently, and only then does he climb in himself and pull the door closed. And for a moment, it seems he passes out, though he stirs only a short time later.

Once every door is shut, Drake starts moving the car.


… Lurch!

"Just.. clutch.. and the.. y'know..," mumbles Drake. With a third lurch, the car finally stays in motion, rolling over a parking block, and they're on their way! But they likely have to pass by the security checkpoint before they're on the road proper…

No, no, no — lurching won't do at all. The girl grabs the shoulder of each front seat and leans forward. "Make. It go. Fast." Sheesh. Back seat drivers.

Then, casting a worried look back at Kurt, just before he stirs, she climbs over to the still-disguised elf and takes his head in her hands. "Feel better. Please feel better."

Strangely enough, he does. Rather suddenly. The nausea and exhaustion pass. His head clears. And as it does, she breathes out a long sigh, shutting her eyes and sitting back, her hands slipping into her lap.

Kurt's eyes widen as suddenly…he does feel exactly that! It's as if all the exhaustion clears completely out. "I…my…I thank you." Perhaps this is what the Professor had seen. It's possible that in fact this girl had been exploited for her healing ability by those same people who stood in the way of their exit, isn't it? Perhaps that explains their paranoia. It seems to satisfy him, for the moment at least. His attention then turns to Drake. "Ah…yes, well, once we are on the road and a safe distance from here, I believe I can take over driving duties." This may lead to a smoother trip.

"Psh, nah, I got it~!," soothes Drake. The nicest part about the ride so far is when his feet aren't pressing any pedals and they're coasting. They do a lot of wobbling between over-acceleration and sudden slow-downs. "You good, guys?"

But there's the security checkpoint; the last obstacle before freedom. As they roll up, Drake immediately takes note of the camera placement and tilts his head low, denying them any kind of appreciable angle - another throwback to his street days.

The car jerks to a stop in front of the lowered bar. Rather than wait for the attendant to demand questions, Drake takes the initiative.

"Now, when I pull out of here, which way is it to the highway? Do I go that way," with a point to the right, "or that way?," and a point to the left, incidentally at the attendant. A stream of electricity flies from the fingertip to strike the guard, the current potent, but intended only to stun. "Oop! Geeze, sorry about that, fella', the darn thing has a hair trigger." Eyes flit to the interior of the security hut. "Ooh, those are the controls for the arm thingie, aren't they?" Electricity flies, briefly cascading along the panels to create a short. Ideally, that should disengage the system. And if it does, off they go!

That does it! The arm that blocks their egress lifts (albeit slowly — one never notices how slow these things go until one is attempting to flee the scene of a crime.) Fortunately, there are signs aplenty just outside the parking garage, helpfully directing our heroes to the highway. With a little more lurching, they're home free.

"No, I mean…I…I'm not sure about this." Kurt clears his throat and watches the situation unfold. He's pretty sure that they could have simply talked through the whole interaction, but once they're out and on the road, he's a tad more confident. He glances back into the back seat, then points ahead. "Once you are on the highway, it should be a fairly smooth trip back home. But once we're about half an hour down the road, pull over and I'll drive." Even if he's reasonably confident Drake won't crash them into a building somewhere, it'll just look better if Kurt drives them up to the house.

Drake casts a quick sidelong glance towards Kurt. "There's no chance he wasn't alerted to the situation going down in the main building. Our advantage was that he couldn't immediately know we were the ones causin' it. But if he got the chance to call it in, he'd be able to tell'em the make and model of the car, then we might have a police chase on our hands. Gotta trust a brother sometimes." The explanation is concluded with a cheerful wink. "But if it makes ya feel better, I'll pull over after a while and let'cha take the wheel." As if it were more a placation than good idea.

He steals a peek to the rearview window to take a look at their unknown passenger. "How're we doing back there, princess? How's the fresh air?"

The girl, meanwhile, pokes her head up front again, examining them both. "You're feeling better," she observes of Drake. "Driving fast is good for you." Well. Maybe not GOOD. Considering how high speed collisions are often fatal. But perhaps its the adrenaline, sharpening the senses and clearing the head, the buzz, she's… observing. Or whatever she does. As for fresh air, she leans into the space Drake and Kurt, the better to drink in the wind coming through the window. "It's better."

Kurt waves a hand to Drake, grinning at his confidence and coolness about the whole matter. He could argue, but he doesn't feel like it; the New Mutant is all right by him anyway, or else he wouldn't have agreed to do this touchy mission with him in the first place. "Just let me drive the car up to the mansion, ja? I believe we could all do without the questions otherwise." When Sparrow speaks and seems to have recovered admirably, he turns to her and immediately gives her a look-over for illness or injury. Satisfied that he finds none and that she doesn't seem nearly as dangerous as claimed, he lowers his window a little more, to give her what seems to please her: the fresh air coming through the window. It's a little chilly out, but she doesn't seem to mind, so… "I am Kurt…this is Drake. I'm sorry we weren't able to have a very good first introduction."

"Psh, you kiddin'? If we met every girl like this, we'd be the coolest people in town," Drake counters with a boyish grin. His eyes return to the street up ahead. "Anyhoo, you're right - I /am/ feeling better. Feel even better than that when I can get outta this tie. Suits aren't a Drake's natural habitat."

After a beat, he glances to Kurt. "How're /you/ holding up, yourself?"

She smiles brilliantly at Kurt as he thoughtfully rolls down his window. It's the little things, sometimes. And indeed, the cold doesn't seem to bother her at all. It was, come to think of it, a little stuffy in the hospital. Probably moreso in a padded room. "I'm…" she hesitates. "I don't think I have a name." She turns her attention to Drake, frowning thoughtfully. "I suppose there are enough flora and microbes on your body that your clothes could be considered a habitat," she agrees.

Kurt loosens his own tie, and turns to his image inducer, but then hesitates, looking back to the other two. "Fraulein, I must confess…my natural appearance is somewhat…striking. One might say, distinctive. I don't wish to frighten you…will you be all right if I turn off this image projector?" Because his tail is screaming right now.

Is she calling him dirty? Is she saying he has moldy patches? While there are a number of responses Drake could give, he goes with, "But not my /natural/ habitat."

"Maybe wait 'til we're at the grounds for that, chief." Drake's eyes flit to Kurt again. "We don't want'er to freak out or anything on the way. Could lead to the wrong kind of attention." The car jitters ironically, and Drake wrangles it under control again. "Y-you get my meaning. As for you…" Another glance is spared, this time to the girl. "No name, huh? What would'ja like to be called? And it can't be Galactic President Mayor McAwesomeville. That's what I use for taxes." This is clearly a joke. Because, you know, he's seventeen.

The girl's eyebrows climb up to confer with her hairline as Kurt speaks of his natural appearance. She looks nothing if not intensely interested. "Yes, please. I promise not to be frightened."

Drake gets a curious look. "It's perfectly normal for the human body to host colonies of flora and microbes. It wouldn't work without them." She draws back a little at his full and official title, tuckng her chin in. Whoa. "May… I simply call you McAwesome?"

"His name is not Galactic President Mayor McAwesomeville, do not be deceived." Kurt gives Drake a *look*. Now the poor girl is going to be deluded. But he's gentle enough as he returns his attention to the girl. "I…am afraid the image inducer does not have enough power for that long of a solid illusion. Rather than it happening abruptly, I thought it might be best if she be gently introduced to it. In any case…please don't be too frightened. I promise you, I am a gentle soul." With only a moment's pause, he takes a finger and switches the projector off, to reveal the blue fuzzy-elf appearance natural to him. He offers a hopeful smile.

"May you? Honey, I insist on it." Drake snickers guiltily when Kurt corrects her. He shakes his head, too amused to be terribly worried. "Alright, alright. She seems into it anyway."

She's certainly not unstartled. The girl quickly tilts her head to the side, like a tiny bird might, eyes huge. Then then's some rapid blinking. She reaches out to touch his cheek — furry — and then goes so far as to inspect the pronounced canines revealed by that hopeful smile. "You're blue!" she exclaims with delight, smiling sudden and wide. She turns excitedly to McAwesome and reports, "He's blue!" As though he hadn't ever noticed.

Kurt tries to remain as still and unthreatening as possible. But he sighs in relief once it's clear she isn't frightened of his appearance. "It is…sometimes hard to tell how people will react. Some find me unsettling. Others find me charming in appearance. I'm glad at least you don't think I'm scary. I promise I don't try to frighten." And discretely he works his tail up over his waistline. It was more or less a waist-wrap up to now. "Whew. That's much better."

"I know! That's what I keep tryin' to tell'em!," replies Drake, as though the notion indeed had never crossed Kurt's mind.

With a bright smile, he flashes a look to the now decidedly-inhuman Kurt. "I like her."

"And he doesn't believe you?" the girl asks McAwesome, gaping. Then, turning to Kurt, she says very solemnly, "I assure you, you are blue." She nods. "And oligodactyl. And you have a significantly enlongated coccyx, which appears to be prehensile. But you mustn't be alarmed. It's all very lovely." She pats Kurt on the shoulder.

Kurt feels almost like he should be the student in this situation. He gathers his tail in his hands and looks a mixture of amused and slightly humbled. "Ah…yes, I am certainly blue!" The spaded tip of his tail flicks back and forth just above his fingers. "And fuzzy-soft."

Drake laughs merrily as they continue along the road. Oh yes, this girl - she's a keeper. But he finally puts his focus on driving right, avoiding any big serves (or sidewalks, or pedestrians). "Switch-off is comin' up," he notes aside.

"Yes!" the girl agrees with happy enthusiasm. "You're quite pleasantly hirsute!" Switch off? She perks up. "Oh! Oh, I want to pilot!" Which is quite clearly the worst idea in the history of ever.

Kurt holds up his hands, laughing pleasantly as his tail springs free and swishes behind him again, thumping against the car door once before it settles. It's almost like the tail has a mind of its own sometimes. "I will drive…you can speak with Drake! That way you can both relax and get to know each other." He's the adult. The almost responsible adult! "I am glad you've joined us. Perhaps the Professor will be able to help you with your memories, and your abilities. They seem extraordinary." He waits, then, for the switch-off, the pull-over…and so he will direct the car the rest of the way home.

"Let's call that Plan B, 'kay, sweetpea?," Drake offers over his shoulder to the girl.

Indeed, the car is pulled over, and the switch occurs. They are homeward bound.

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