i need a resurrection

[violenthearted]

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr and Ned
WHAT: I CAN'T STOP WANTING TO CALL THIS "Total Power Exchange" but really they're just going to show off their respective mutations to one another
WHEN: Day 72, evening
WHERE: The edge of a convenient patch of woods
NOTES: Warnings for small dead animals :(

Prior to recent events, Erik would have elected to send Ned a commanding single sentence in order to meet his purposes for the evening; he's an arrogant jerk efficient that way. Judging, however, were he in Ned's shoes (and frankly he doesn't often feel as though he can fit in those of anyone else, let alone walk a mile in them), he would meet cryptic summons with a well-placed epithet if not a pre-emptive attack, he appears on the man's doorstep instead.

Of course, in this case it's with no prior arrangement, so while in some respects this option is the more courteous, in others ...Erik will never really trouble himself to meet societal standards of politeness even when he's adopting the baseline of civility. He looks faintly irritated by something, as he almost always does; in this case it's no more than the usual and unfortunate state of his tailoring--he tells himself should he be appropriated again by scientists in the sky, if they're going to poke and prod they could at least have the decency to afterwards provide a shirt that fits.

So this is the image that will greet Ned when he answers the door, Erik's tall, dark and disgruntled self, still looking a little pale, dark circles more prominent than usual, but visibly on the mend. For once, in what is probably the exception that proves the rule, Erik does not intend to instantly draw him into a conversation that weighs approximately as much as an elephant wearing an anvil.

Comments

[violenthearted]

In another first Erik - as he rarely allows himself to display vulnerability even as innocuous as surprise - startles quite visibly when the carcass he's holding--lights up, for lack of a better word (he certainly doesn't have one for it), floods with the unique kind of heat that signifies healthy life. His shoulders go up and his eyes widen in just two quick rapid blinks, a shade greener than they were before.

As driven as he is to pull apart everything and understand it from the inside he doesn't check his impulse to touch the deer in a more active way, laying a hand on the side of its neck and confirming there is a pulse thudding determinedly away. It jerks out once and he's obliged to hold it still more forcefully, although not enough to engender real panic, at least not yet. He can't seem to decide where he wants to look, at the deer or at Ned, taking in the taller man's expression and watching his hands as if they might start glowing at any second. "I don't--God," he ....blasphemes, abruptly, a little hoarse. Such is the impressiveness of the situation.

The irony in that he has just witnessed genuine resurrection (if only for sixty seconds) will have to be absorbed on a religious level later, and then he'll probably make a terrible joke about it. "I didn't know it would be like this, to see."

He laughs in low baritone that rumbles through his chest (and further startles the deer, so it's probably best that it's been nearly a minute) a note in it like a shout for joy. "Ned. You truly are extraordinary."

Erik recognizes the power of saying another person's own name in their presence--it denotes a desire for attention, but more than that it conjures up importance. Purpose. It makes a person real. His look now is all expectation; as fascinated as he is by the still living (....reliving) deer, having seen this he's as eager to witness the process in reverse.

[nedofpies]

That laugh startles Ned; firstly, because it seems such a strange response, to him. He'd imagined any number of responses but that kind of rich, surprised laughter certainly wasn't one of them. Secondly, it surprises him because he realizes, right then, that he's never heard Erik laugh before. At least, not like this. That laugh, and the way Erik says his name (he isn't aware of the power it has, but that doesn't reduce its impact in the least) both contribute to inspire a strange, budding feeling in his chest. A tentative, tiny burst of happiness, even pride.

He doesn't want that happiness, doesn't want that pride. It's dangerous to feel those things. Because the numbers are getting lower and Ned knows what needs to come next. He's had too many moments of false hope in his life to welcome it. By now he's familiar with the pattern: break his own rules, do something risky in the hopes of making things better, feel hope, end up making things worse, feel disappointment. As often as he can he tries to stamp out those little sprouts of hope in himself, before they take root. That way it will hurt less, when the consequences come, as they always do.

Ned can't wait any longer. Erik's eyes are heavy on him as he comes forward again, touches the deer with the same finger he'd used the last time, in the same place. The minimal amount of contact. It is more than enough. There is another electric sound, noticeably different than the first. The deer glows once more, a pale blue, and goes instantly stiff and motionless again. It feels even colder to the touch, now, by contrast.

This has always been more difficult for Ned. He doesn't particularly enjoy the first touch, but the second touch is... awful. Seeing and feeling the way that a tiny amount of contact with him can kill, instantly and irreversibly. The sound of it, the look of it, inescapably recalls to him the first time it had happened. He has gotten better at keeping the memory at arm's length, not letting it creep up and swallow him whole, but the presence of it is there at the corner of his mind.

Most of the time, when he uses his powers, it is merely on fruit. He never touches that fruit a second time. When he'd brought back Laura, he had avoided this half of things. Ned of course, hates it when something or someone else dies in exchange, but it is distinctly easier than feeling something die under his own hand.

He knows he's been crouching there for some time without saying anything. Erik is looking at him; he can feel the weight of his eyes, but he can't look up at them. Instead he continues to look at the deer, resting his whole hand on it, now, smoothing down the short hair over its ribs. There is a tenderness in that touch, and a regret.

"It only works once," he says, voice gone a shade hollow.

[violenthearted]

It takes Erik some time to look up from the deer once Ned's touch has gone into it; he's felt life leave enough bodies to know that that is authentic, rather than the way he had to touch to confirm before. Ned's somberness doesn't tamp down his fascination much - it would someone like Charles, he knows, Charles would be sensitive, would say the right thing - which is just one of those things he comes by honestly. He understands the weight of life and death, but while his relationship to those ideas (especially the latter) is certainly unique, he doesn't feel it the way Ned does.

"If it worked more than once it would be trivial."

Mostly this is thinking aloud, Erik obviously turning the words over in his mind and mouth as he forms them. By this point though, he is considering Ned with much the same affect. "You do realize by now I don't often bother with politeness? By the same token it follows I don't make threats."

...it seems fairly likely Ned has gathered that, yes. Just scary, scary promises. He lowers the now cold body of the deer back to its position on the tarp and brushes off his hands; he's not markedly perfunctory, but there's no ceremony in it either. "When I said I was interested in a demonstration that was exactly what I meant. Not 'demonstrate or face the consequences.'"

His eyes flicker back down, black lashes covering them as he marks the outline on the tarp, the subtle ways it changed in that brief moment of life. "You have an extraordinary gift."

Speaking of just saying what he means; the repetition is obviously deliberate. "But it's not one I would have forced you to use."

[nedofpies]

Odd, that puzzlement would be the feeling to rattle Ned out of his momentary gloom, give him the impetus to look up at Erik with a small crease of confusion between his brows. Why is he talking about politeness and threats, at a time like this? What do they have to do with anything?

Gradually, awareness and understanding creep up on him. Erik is a keen observer, and some of his own distaste for what he's just done must have showed. There is a context for that sadness but, of course, Erik does not know it. So, once he'd picked up on it, Erik had started to worry (or perhaps that is too strong a word - consider) that he'd pressured Ned, coerced him into something he wasn't comfortable with. Which is funny, really, considering that, of the people he has met in this place, Erik has been in many ways the most respectful of his wishes.

"You didn't force me," Ned reassures, standing up as well. His voice is normal again now. He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching, defensively. Not defending himself from Erik, though. "I'm the one that offered. I didn't have to. It's just, I'm not used to people seeing." Even that, though, doesn't quite encapsulate what he wants to say. He adds, "Nothing about it is trivial. To me."

How can Erik still say that? How can he still call it extraordinary, in that exact same tone of voice, after seeing both sides? Ned shifts his weight from foot to foot restlessly. Perhaps he ought to take advantage to Erik's professed (and demonstrated, in times past) rejection of politeness and just ask.

"You don't find it... disgusting?" To say that Ned is insecure would be a vast understatement. But extraordinary and disgusting are not mutually exclusive. It could be that Erik has a kind of respect for the potential of Ned's powers, but still finds them repugnant.

[violenthearted]

Continuing with vast understatements, to say that Erik is surprised would be one of those. He understands that Ned distances himself from his ability (or tries too, for as impossible as that is) but that he would be so sure that even Erik would look on this display and experience nothing but revulsion--

Well. At least his confusion is too genuine to be anything else, although after a second it skews charred with the blackening of experience. "'Disgusting.' No."

If there's one thing a person can always count on from Erik, it's honesty and concision in tandem. "I've been witness to every kind of atrocity mankind has invented." His smile is sharp again, eyes glittering like a spill of broken glass. "And they are endlessly inventive even in their banality. I know disgusting when I see it."

He might have had to make his voice soften to go on, but he's managed it, so at least his words don't have the quality of a thresher on high after that point. "What you do--what you are--it isn't that. Far from it. All your life you've been taught you have no choice but to hide, when that's the last thing you should have to do. You wield a power that would destroy a lesser man, and you have more strength in you than you know. More than I think you could ever have imagined."

[nedofpies]

Ned hears that changed note in Erik's voice immediately, the darkness in it. It makes him look up at him as he answers, make eye contact. That smile is nothing like the one from earlier - there is nothing joyful or pleasant about it. It makes something in Ned's stomach twist painfully, but at the same time serves as punctuation and contrast. He might not know the details, but he doesn't doubt Erik for a second, and it helps provide a perspective that is difficult - if not impossible - for him to provide himself. He trusts Erik's opinion, values it.

(Some part of him wonders quietly just what the hell happened to Erik, what can have possibly made him into the kind of person he is)

There is a certain quality to the way Erik speaks to him sometimes that Ned cannot think of a word for. Idealistic, but without the usual implication of optimism or naivety. Inspirational, but without the commercial or sentimental connotations. Whatever the name for it, it's powerful and unprecedented. Ned hasn't wasted his time on this particular kind of what if in years. He's had plenty of regrets and imagined scenarios: what if he'd lived a normal life without his powers, what if he lived in a world where everyone was like him, what if he had experimented with his powers before trying to use them on any humans, etcetera. But he hasn't conjured up a world where he didn't have to hide.

And it's important to him, the way Erik phrases it. Not that Ned shouldn't have hidden - Erik, Ned knows, understands the reasons for his hiding. What he says, though, is that he should have had to hide. The shift in emphasis makes a huge difference. It implies that he isn't wrong, but that the world is.

He doesn't know how to respond, brings a hand up to rub over his mouth. Ned knows all too well the destructive impact his power can have on others, but Erik is drawing his attention to the destructive power it has had on him. His power has corroded him from the inside, yes. Left him a rusted, tangled snarl of anxiety and neuroses and sensitivity and self-loathing. But it could have done worse. He has, at least, survived it, sometimes with effort. Is that enough make him strong? Can someone as strong as Erik really see strength in someone like him?

"I don't feel very strong," he says, hesitantly. Much as he might have wanted to, he didn't say I am not strong. It's thus not an argument, as such - merely a confirmation Erik's assertion that he can't imagine it. Ned cannot make that mental leap just yet, to figure himself as anything but weak, acted-upon rather than acting. "I never have. I'm not sure I even know how to."

[violenthearted]

Erik raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest and looking perfectly at ease with nothing real to lean on. "You've survived."

That's enough, to him. He doesn't know the places Ned's mutation has taken him, and unless he sees specific conversational directions for them won't ask. It's the same kind of strength he sees in River, or Raven, or any of the small family he'd had a chance with in the world he and Charles left behind. Mutants are people whose mere existence means they bear up under a weight the humans who surround them can never understand. Ned has, he can see, been marked by that weight; it's nearly visible sometimes, in the hunch of his shoulders and his easy retreat into reticence. Where Erik wears his height and breadth in a way that eats space, Ned pulls in on himself, compacts what he has left to keep it holding him up. The kind of toll it takes is terrible, but sometimes that's the cost of continuing to move in a world which delights in othering what it can't understand, where the semiotic dichotomy of 'us' and 'them' is the simple fix. Acceptance is harder. Charles believes humans to be capable of it, but Erik--he didn't even believe that when he thought he was human. Ned is right in his perception; it's not mutants who should have to change, it's the world.

"At great price, I think." That's quiet, made with Erik's usual intense eye contact, but he doesn't hold Ned's gaze or demand confirmation. Mercy and pity are in short supply with Erik, but he can be gentle when he wants to be.

After that there's a moment where Ned might feel obligated to fill the silence, since that's often what he does - Erik has noticed - but then he looks back, considering. "I can't change the way you see yourself. That's your power to take, if you want it. But I have picked up a trick or two over the years."

Let him gently understate. "Knowing you can defend yourself as needed--it helps." He shrugs, a faint trace of bitter smile on his mouth. "It's either that or hope the world becomes an easier place to live in, and if you're looking for that you'd be better off asking Charles."

[nedofpies]

What has been the price of his survival, Ned wonders. There are all kinds of costs. Costs for others - the lives of the people and the animals and even the plants that he'd killed over the years - and costs for himself. All those measures, for all those years, keeping himself anonymous, keeping himself going, even at the bleakest times. Erik makes all that sound noble, instead of pathetic. As if there were something real and tangible he was struggling against, something valid and comprehensible and recognized.

He can't meet Erik's eyes for more than a few seconds, but Ned acknowledges his words with an almost imperceptible shrug. It's easier than nodding, easier than an explicit indication of his agreement.

Then Erik is making his offer - obliquely, but unmistakably. At another point in his life, Ned would have refused outright, without even considering. He has already hurt too many people; he doesn't need to learn how to do it in a new way. Sure, he'd spent most of his early years at boarding school getting his ass kicked, but that had stopped once he was suddenly a foot taller than all the other boys.

Since he's arrived here, though, he's been in more than one situation when, as Erik puts it, 'a trick or two' might have been useful. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea, to learn. Not that he ever intended to use the skills he might pick up. He trusts Erik when he says that just knowing he knows them would be helpful. It also occurs to him that it would be good to know how to fight, now that he has people he'd be willing to fight for, if they couldn't fight for themselves. Friends. Loved ones.

"Thanks. Um, I'll... let me think about it?"