closed

[exothermia]

Who: Erik, Kitty, and Kurt
Broadcast: none
Action: the Iskaulit
When: September 3rd

[There was an impulse, however fleeting, to delay this conversation. It came and went like a flicker of lightning. No, Erik knew there was no delaying this, and it would be better for all concerned if it was taken care of immediately. He had felt little trepidation when he sent the messages to Kurt and Kitty last night: I need to speak with you tomorrow. The Iskaulit. The responses had come back with differing times, and maybe that was for the best. It could be easier. (It would not be easier.)

A slight measure of foreboding sets in when Erik arrives in the library, enough to keep him on his feet instead of waiting for them in a chair. He knows what will happen; what needs to happen. Everything that happens after is a mystery that he'll accept as it comes.]

Comments

[ecclesiophobic]

[Kurt stops after that single step, shifting his weight to one leg as though he's going to start circling Erik. He doesn't, his attention caught briefly by the rings glinting on the other man's hand. For a moment he wonders if Xavier--but that's ridiculous, what kind of world would tolerate something like that?

('Wrath's would,' his mind whispers before Kurt forces himself away from that quagmire of emotion.)] And how--are the others? ['Is my mother,' is what he wanted to ask, but she'll never be his mother and he's kept his distance for a reason.] Were the years kinder to them?

[exothermia]

For the most part. The last couple of months have been-- ... they were all right. They're managing right now. [It's the most he can say for all of them. They all claim they're okay, but all know that's a soft lie.]

[After a silent moment, Erik says what he has to, knowing Kurt will understand the meaning behind it.] He rose.

[ecclesiophobic]

[Erik's 'all right' weighs on him as though he were from Kurt's world, and a half-flippant 'who died' is on the tip of his tongue--and then those two words kill all levity from his mood and face.

His lips thin as they press together, and his tail curls up his spine, an aborted reflex to reach for swords he hasn't had for months.] How many died?

[exothermia]

Thousands. But so did he. [And that's the important part. That he's dead, or as dead as they can be certain of.]

It's over.

[ecclesiophobic]

[In comparison to his world, that's an amazingly light death toll. The thought of that many deaths, thousands of graves and grieving families, still hangs like lead in his stomach.] Are you absolutely certain? We thought the first war was the end of it, too.

[exothermia]

[Erik shuts his eyes, not expecting the question at first. It's hard to dredge up the memory of their conversation, now that it feels like it happened ten years ago. Sometimes it does, at least. His memory is a mess right now.]

As certain as I can be. [Which he knows is not very, given what Kurt explained before.] I believe he's destroyed.

[ecclesiophobic]

[Kurt nods, drawing in a slow breath. It isn't a guarantee, but it's the closest either world managed. If things unfold as they did in his world, Apocalypse is dead; it's his creators that aren't. They'll need to discuss that, the sooner the better.

He's quiet for a moment, looking at the lines in Erik's face. He's older now, wrinkles and grey hair make sense even if the man still doesn't look his age (his Erik never did either.) To Kurt's eyes, he looks more worn down than older; too much like what he sees in a mirror. His voice is softer, when he speaks.] You lost someone in those thousands, didn't you?

[exothermia]

[The comment hits home. Erik's expression flickers and he doesn't want to do this again, doesn't want to explain what happened to his family when ultimately it wasn't En Sabah Nur's doing. He hadn't wanted to tell Kitty, but she demanded explanations... ones he now has to give Kurt.]

They weren't part of it. [His voice only wavers a bit. It hardens again as he pushes on.] Kurt, before I go any further, there's something you need to know.

[Because it will change everything. He can't go through the details of what happened and still avoid it, collect sympathy that isn't his due. He doesn't want to.]

I was one of his followers.

[ecclesiophobic]

[Every part of Kurt, from his featureless eyes to the expressive tip of his tail, freezes when Erik drops that bombshell. His chest doesn't even move for a few seconds, arrested in the middle of drawing a breath to attempt consoling Erik.

A muscle in his tail twitches, his chest slowly expands, and Kurt begins to slowly shake his head, like a statue creaking to life.] Nein. You're not funny, Erik! [Ill-hidden under the anger is the tension of a quiet plea; be lying. Please, please be making a horrible joke. Lie, just don't say it's true.]

[exothermia]

[Strangely, this smooths the path for Erik. He can't deny what's been said. He can't soften this blow, or pretend it isn't the truth. It doesn't lessen the twist in his stomach when Kurt freezes or when he tries to find away around what Erik's revealed. It only strengthens that sober certainty that there's no going back from here.

He keeps his voice calm, though he can't strike the resignation from his face.]

I would never joke about this.