Out of time

Posted on Sun Aug 18th, 2024 @ 10:23 by Claire Cavendish & Cynhelm Warden

Chapter: Besieged
Location: The lookout point, Avalon Institute
Timeline: Thursday, 28th of January, 1993
2380 words - 4.8 OF Standard Post Measure

There was a spot at the far side of the institute that overlooked the Loch. A wide panorama of dark water against the dull greys of the winter highlands. Claire liked the lookout spot, had thought about putting a bench there but had decided against it for fear of attracting other people to peruse it. So she stood, long black winter coat wrapped around her, cold wind whipping loose strands of hair from her top-bun. This place always remained serene and only shifted when looked at over centuries, not the few years she'd had to be familiar with it. The world around it, though, it moved and changed faster than she could imagine, some nights it moved quicker than she could catch up. A week from now, it would change beyond the point of no return, if Phoebe's visions were to be believed they had already reached that point.

Something shifted in the air, a by now familiar ripple through the air. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, I know you must be busy."

He moves as if dragging the darkness with him.

Such had been the observations once of a journalist permitted to cast aspersions in the name of freedom of press. More likely it had been a publicity stunt, a show of dominance by those with fabricated power to demonstrate their control over mutant-kind's most lethal. It had been a week Warden never cared to recollect and yet, under the current circumstances, was likely to be one of many reports scrutinised through a different lens. Prisoner exchange, they had been very careful to call it back then, weaponising the once-considered exceedingly rare genetic advantage to benefit national interests. It was preferable to having those same powers turned against them, in any case, and for a brief flash-in-the-pan moment, it had felt as if the entire world's focus was turned to the small, elite taskforce brought to heel by sovereign chains. There had been less unity amongst mutants back then, it had been easier for them to believe they still had control.

He moves as if dragging the darkness with him. To see him is to witness redemption's limits; once a murderer, always a murderer. He's on our side, or so they say. The look in his eyes makes me unwilling to question where his true allegiance lies.

As his boots made only the lightest squelch in the residual mud underfoot, there wasn't anything particularly demonic about Cynhelm Warden, for all he was dressed to match the gloom and wore glasses that served no purpose if you assumed they were only a shield from the glare of the sun. Their tactical merit made it easier to move swiftly, however, and gave him just enough awareness beyond the scope of normal night-vision for him to join the solitary figure huddled against the wind without looking over his shoulder too many times. Something about the way he carried himself betrayed a harried tension Warden often managed to disguise but that was probably to be expected; the world had finally embraced its madness, after all.

"Whole unit is on standby, they're not keen to remind anyone that they've been perfectly willing to capitalise on the genetic lottery when it suits them." With a slight hunch of his shoulder, Warden added, "Not as busy as you'd think."

"I'm planning on doing something stupid." Claire didn't shift her gaze from the view across the lake. She wasn't sure if she'd want to see what Warden's response would be. He'd always been more proactive in his disdain for the ruling class, so perhaps he'd understand. But she was planning to play by their rules, in a bid to legitimise her stance. The Warden she knew didn't mind the occasional bending or breaking of rules if it suited his agenda.

"Didn't realise we'd stopped."

It was, by his standards at least, an attempt at humour. It was also a gentle correction ahead of time, a nudging out of the solitary loneliness of 'I' to evoke the implied willingness of a strategic 'we'. By now, it was understood without any formal arrangement that if Claire deemed it necessary to call personal favours, the situation warranted at least the assumption of agreement from the onset. She hadn't hit anything yet that had provoked an outright refusal.

"Since we cannot rely on politicians to do anything other than line their own pockets, we need to force the judiciary to declare the new law.. unlawful." Claire hoped that once she got a proper solicitor they'd be more eloquent in their wording. "In order to force that, however, they need to see someone before the courts." This was the first time she broke her thousand yard stare and met Warden's eyes. "I plan on denying the G.O.U. access to Avalon, and will refuse to comply with registration. Both of which will probably result in a warrant for my arrest." That in and of itself didn't seem too bad. "and I plan to turn myself in."

Having settled into a position that directly mimicked the headmistress' , Warden sank his hands deep into his pockets and stared out at the loch for a long while. Unhurried silences were expected, so much so that one might suspect he maintained them for appearances sake alone at times, the closest thing to playfulness he could ever be accused of. Unlike the others she surrounded herself with, who justly voiced concern when it was warranted and tried to at least moderate Claire's occasional flare of reactionary zeal, Cynhelm lacked the temptation of rose-coloured hope and dealt only in pragmatism and carefully weighed odds. This kind of fight was Claire's preference, the clean and well-dressed variety that flipped the book in her favour and forced a cerebral challenge that still played to her strengths, if arguably not those augmented by genetic advantage. Given that it was not a battlefield he could enter himself, Warden saw little point in objecting. Of more interest was her need for his involvement, though there was at least one matter that rendered her notification purely polite, in a change-of-plans-required kind of way.

"And the Institute?"

"I plan on barring them entry onto Institute grounds. I suspect that in my absence they'll try to undermine that." Warden was one of the only people outside of Avalon that knew about the underground facilities. "I've given Phoebe a master key to the Knight's facilities." There was a moment of pause, "Liana has gotten a notarised transfer of leadership over the academic side." Another look cast towards the man at her side, "the Institute will continue on in my absence."

The curl of wisp-cold vapor from Warden's nostrils was the only reply at first. Beyond the wealth of reasons to be concerned about Avalon's future, there was no disguising the need for him to focus on the high-priority covert operation he was trying to pull off using the school as a deception. It was hardly ideal to have the nation's focus training on the Institute whilst trying to hide a Cat 1 within its halls but he had moved the 'asset' in the first place because the world was slowly running out of hidey-holes. As had already been proven once, personal security wasn't so much an issue, it was more the measures multiple groups would take to either secure the girl's powers for themselves or neutralise them entirely. A couple of hundred students and teachers would be considered permissible collateral damage.

"What do you need from me?"

It was easier just to ask lest she arrive at a request that surprised him. Claire Cavendish was one of the few still capable of it and, under the circumstances, Warden afforded her the credit even if he did suspect what was coming next.

"Aside from a good lawyer?" Claire joked a bit, even though there was more concern behind the joke than she had intended to give away. Her normal contacts had been willing to look into everything and provide her with legal jurisprudence, but they had all, each and every one of them, bowed out when it had come to actually defending her in court. Their reputations and livelihoods were too important for them to risk on this monumental case. "I think it might be time to consider a new safe harbour for my ward." She wasn't a paranoid person per se, but when it came to Ji-an she had been very careful, and it just felt wrong to even mention her when they were so out in the open.

"Easier said that done," Warden cautioned, though as with most things he chose to communicate, it was more a statement of fact than outright refusal. On the face of things, there wasn't a lot to disagree with. Avalon could hardly be expected to harbour a high-security risk whilst intentionally turning the spotlight on itself but the timeframe meant that extracting the child under such conditions was just as risky. Finding a suitable place was half the battle, securing a departure that didn't draw the attention of those already searching was another layer of difficulty altogether. "What's our timeline?"

Claire shook her head slightly, "It all depends on how fast the government moves, and they seem pretty intend on moving rapidly. What do you know about this new Genetic Oversight Unit?" The Mutant Registration was put into law, and not two weeks later they announced an entirely new section of the NHS concerned with this Registration. The pieces were being put in place way too fast. She knew governments could move fast if they wanted, in the face of a big enough threat, but public sentiment around mutant was only starting to shift for a few months. There was no way they would've had this up and running so fast had they not been preparing this for a much longer time. "I thought we'd have more time, but as things stand, I'm not even sure Avalon will be able to keep them at bay after the first of February."

A large hand lifted to rub its palm against slightly chapped lips. As far as tells went, it was a significant one for Warden, a display of tension he wouldn't normally have permitted. "There's nothing new about mutant compliance initiatives," he replied, the deep rumble of a gravely baritone letting slip just a glimmer of disdain. "In the past, it's been contained to national services, governments have always buried their trial programs in the military. Starts out a prisoner exchange, a tiny bite-size morsel of oppression that doesn't reek quite so much because you're not dealing with people anymore, just ghosts who don't know how to stay dead."

They'd plucked him right out of a jail cell, from the obscurity of a life sentence without parole, and offered purpose in exchange for control. His own family believed him dead, who was going to fight for the rights of the blighted resurrection?

"Gave them time to build the infrastructure. Software, hardware, tidy up all the legal loopholes. Drip-feed it all so it remains palatable and just wait. Eventually the public starts screaming for action and, low and behold, the wheel pick up speed. It's been turning a long time though, Claire." He didn't often use her name. "Rehearsal time's over."

Claire nodded, she knew that much was true. There was no more time for dress rehearsals, the house lights were going to be dimmed, all eyes on them. "I don't know if we're ready." She was talking frankly, to what was likely the only person in the world that wouldn't judge her for it. "I don't know if I'm ready."

"War's never about being ready," Warden reminded her. "You beat your opponent on the day, with the tools in your possession. Preparation improves your odds but it never guarantees them." Reaching up, he rubbed his index finger against the tip of his nose. "I can get you some contacts that might be willing to help. In their usual style, the powers-that-be have underestimated some of the credentials being swept up in this attempt to throw a leash on an unknown quantity. We have some big-hitters on our side, hopefully this will be enough to bring them out of hiding."

The issue with some of the big hitters was that they wanted to remain in the big leagues and coming out as mutant stifled quite a few job prospects still. Then again, at some point one would assume they'd gotten big enough for it not to matter any longer. "That would be very helpful, thank you."

"No promises," he reminded her before shoving his hands deep into his pockets again. "Give me some time on the other problem. Extraction's not going to be easy, you might need to word her up on what's coming. She's been trained to avoid detection, don't underestimate what she's capable of. Tell it like it is, define her boundaries and she'll do the rest. I'll be back to move her when I have a secure alternative."

"I will. I'll make sure to have that conversation with her." Claire stepped towards Warden and put a hand on his shoulder, "Take care of yourself, alright? I don't trust them to leave you guys alone. Things have changed. Shifted." Her father and his ilk were growing more bold by the day. So much that they had to crawl around in the dark to do they could now strut out in broad daylight.

In the years since his resurrection, Warden had met very few who coaxed from him the kind of connection humanity craved. For a fleeting moment, the graze of chipped fingernails were a rough contrast to the smooth skin of Claire's cheeks as he rubbed the backs of his fingers affectionately along the contour of her jaw. He retreated quickly enough, tucked back away in the self-imposed prison of his own mortal form, and offered only a grim half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've been fighting this war for years," he reminded her. "More fool them for not checking over my notes."

He left without about as little pomp and ceremony as he'd arrived, a lone figure trudging into the darkness until he simply wasn't visible anymore.