You have three missed messages

Posted on Tue Mar 14th, 2023 @ 9:53 by Mhairi McIntyre & Cameron Johnston
Edited on on Tue Mar 14th, 2023 @ 9:58

Chapter: Prologue: Dawn of Avalon
Location: Mechanical Workshop, Avalon Institute
Timeline: Tuesday, September 29th, 1992
4551 words - 9.1 OF Standard Post Measure

The mechanical click indicated that the answering machine started the replay of the recorded message. "Oh. Ehm. Hi. This is Mhairi McIntyre, of Greame's Garage. I uh. Well the part's not in yet, but I saw the stuff on the news and... you know. The wreckage in the station. Just wondering if you were alright I guess. Anyways. Let me know. This is Mhairi." There were some unintelligible words in the background that showed a bit of a displeasure of the person on the other end before the message completely cut out.

The answering machine continued spooling and another audible mechanical click preceded the next message; "Hello again. Me again. Mhairi. Didn't hear back from you, hope everything is alright. Is there anything we can do to help out over there? Let us know. You can reach me on the shop's number. You probably know it... or own a phonebook. Ok then. Bye." a loud sigh this time before the receiver hit the base of the phone on the other end.

For a third time the answering machine indicated a new message with a click, "I know it's none of my business, but dad's worried about you. I promised I'd check up on you. So this is me. Checking up. Talking to myself again. Call back. This is Mhairi by the way." This time the connection immediately cut out.

Cameron had stood for a moment, his palm rubbing in agitation against the back of his neck, staring down at the answering machine as if it was somehow responsible for the current sensation of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. It had been a ridiculous day or two, three or five, he'd lost count if he was honest, and though there had been a lot of intent from the faculty to settle the students into routines and provide a sense of business-as-usual, the truth was that nothing had been normal and anything that would have typically lead to a series of predictable events involving Cam's ability to remember he had an answer machine had been a struggle to instigate. He'd only noticed the flashing light because he'd stepped over the spare parts littering his office floor to find what he'd done with keys to the student toilet block adjacent to the workshop. Listening through the messages had baffled him a little at first but increasingly endeared him to the caller's obvious struggles, not to mention left him somewhat flabbergasted that concern for his well-being had warranted such persistence. They were good people. In a world full of those actively identifying themselves as anything but, it was a nice reminder.

And his discovery was a nice excuse to pull Lulu out from under her covers to make the most of some personal time that was well and truly overdue. Both Phoebe and Claire had been harping on at them all to recuperate as necessary, to find a balance between being there for the students and taking care of themselves, but Cameron hadn't listened because looking after others was taking care of himself as far as he was concerned. The physical injuries he'd sustained were healed enough to ensure the ride into town wasn't overly painful, and there was something about the brisk breeze against his face that the mutant hadn't counted on to be quite so vital. There was no way to make the motorcycle go as fast as he could manage alone, but she gifted him speed enough without removing him entirely from the normal pace of things and it helped. Retracing the steps he'd fled down in a frantic attempt to reach home before it was too late helped.

Pulling up outside a place full of uncomplicated and unconditional support also helped.

A little awkwardly, though more as a result of feeling sheepish than because he still needed to walk weirdly, Cameron entered the workshop with his hands shoved into his back pockets. "Anyone in?"

The call for contact was met with the clattering of metal on the stone floor. The clattering immediately followed by a string of cuss words in a low baritone Scottish accent. The older man, owner of the garage, stepped out from behind a car currently with the hood popped. "The metal man cut yer phone line, lad?!" He stomped towards the man that had just dismounted the motorcycle in front of his garage. "Mhaire, bhobain! Yer sheòid is 'ere!" He slapped Cameron on the shoulder and smiled, "dinnae know what ya were haverin about when you were here last, but ya made an impression on the lass. Had 'er worried sick fightin' above your weight class."

At a loss to know what to do with that, forced to stack it onto the pile with three-messages-in-a-row, Cameron lingered awkwardly, elbows stuck out like chicken wings, in his very best attempt to avoid scuffing his shoe against the cement. The man didn't blush easily but there was a certain amount of fluster to the way his jaw worked over several times before he found his voice. "Just talked shop, no different to when her old man's here chewing my ear off." A glance over Graeme's shoulder into the space beyond didn't yield any immediate sign of additional company, though Cam did an absolutely woeful job of pretending he wasn't checking. "I forgot the number I gave her was my direct line, haven't been down in the workshop as much and didn't even step into the office until this morning." For a man renown for his acceleration, it took a moment for Cameron to catch up with the implication of the remark. Hastily, he added, "Left her looking for some parts, didn't really expect an entire shop's supply of them to land on my head." He rolled his shoulder, fidgeting under the old man's scrutiny. "Damn near literally."

"Mhaire!" Graeme shouted in the direction of the residence again. He then turned back to face Cameron and smiled a bit deviously. "Well, I'm sure she'd be 'appy te 'ear that you're up and about. I fer one am glad, the pacin' was startin' to wear out the floorboards."

"Your jaw's moving, might want to check that, dad." Mhaire had come down from the stairs leading up to the house that was built atop the garage. She shot her father a venomous look before turning to Cameron and blushing. "You seem pretty spry." The assessment of his current state was frontloaded with the suggestion that he seemed a bit too fit to not be answering her calls. A perfect way to deflect the attention away from the fact that she had been blabbing to a machine three days in a row for someone she barely knew.

When he'd first made the decision to head down and address his poor manners directly, Cameron had expected a degree of awkwardness. He was, after all, about to have to confess to forgetting he owned a private phone line. But, in his usual fashion, Graeme was stirring the pot and not being the kind of guy to make assumptions of such magnitude, Cameron hadn't been prepared for the possibility of fretfulness on his part. Not to this degree. Not to the point of patricide. Shuffling his weight somewhat, his hands still firmly wedged into his pockets where they couldn't fidget, the mutant grinned sheepishly and just dealt with the blows he was owed. "Getting there. I, uh, crashed for a bit." Sleeping as solidly as he had, after such a fractious time trying to regulate, at least accounted for some of the time he'd spent ignoring her. "Forgot to check the phone though, so I didn't notice the messages until this morning." His eyes darted towards Graeme, who had surreptitiously taken himself back to his work in an effort to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping. "I didn't mean to make you guys worry."

"Worry?" Mhairi knew the implications of that were all too obvious, she quickly glanced over to her father. "It was my dad who was worried, spouting nonsense about how you were a better mechanic than me. How it would've been a shame to lose you." She quickly glanced away towards her father, almost as if to dare him to go against that version of events.

Graeme looked up and shrugged before shooting a wink towards Cam when Mhaire was no longer looking at him.

"So. You know." Mhairi now mimicked Cam and shoved her hands into her pockets. "Glad to see you're okay. Wouldn't know who to sell expensive American parts to otherwise."

For a moment, Cam didn't know where to put his eyes. The flick back and forth between father and daughter didn't do much to elucidate what exactly was happening within the subtext of the conversation, which seemed to be Graeme's domain and something the older man very much expected the mutant to pick up on. One thing became abundantly clear the more he observed the exchange, however, and that was Mhairi's discomfort. With what exactly, Cameron was admittedly being uncharacteristically slow about decoding, but it rallied his natural tendency to forge allegiances with the underdog. Hunching his shoulders for a minute, he stretched out his arms, hands slipping from his pockets, and then folded them across his chest.

"So what you're saying is we have a case of a serial worrywart on our hands." Cameron's features affected a look of inquisitive consideration. "He struggled to stop fretting about your trip around Africa too, I seem to remember. Having a lot more problem recalling him expressing any concerns about your skills under the hood though." Phrasing Cameron. He leaned to the side to try and peer at the mechanic, who had ducked conveniently out of view. "There was a lot more assurance around the security of eventual inheritance." Cam glanced at Mhairi, eyes twinkling. "I think the statement was, 'She'll have this place sorted well after I'm gone.' Aye, Graeme?"

There was just a bit of a grumble coming from the man trying to stay out of the conversation unfolding in the middle of his repair bay. Mhairi looked over and blushed again, then back at Cam. "He's not so great with compliments." For one, he'd never admit to her face that he'd trust her to run the business after he was retired. "Besides, he'll be here for a long time still, so no need to worry about legacies or inheritance." She stood there, as if waiting for something. Had she been in this position before leaving for Africa she'd probably be rocking back and forth on her feet, but a quiet self assuredness had taken over her body language.

And as the silence stretched on, waiting for Cameron to realise it was his responsibility to fill it with something given his part in elongating it over so many days, the mutant's appraisal of the pair veered sharply into the realm of fond affection. He was close to his own family and had continued to forge a similar connectedness to the extended circle of people he considered to be his most trusted allies. There was devotion between the bickering here that Cameron had come to realise was mostly a local custom and pretty much expected behaviour for these parts. It felt familiar, and comfortable, and safe. That was saying a lot right now.

Reflecting on that, particularly in regards to the amount of time spent talking with Graeme, drew the mutant towards a resolution of sorts. He should have let them know he was fine, shouldn't have taken the old man's friendship for granted in such a way as to shut him out entirely, and by proxy Mhairi was now included in a similar courtesy. It was odd to reflect how much he felt like he knew the woman despite having met her only once, but if the problem was a disparity between his amount of awareness and his amount of experience, then only one thing was going to address that.

He smiled at her, tired and apologetic. "You think he'd stop sulking if we took a walk? I should have come down sooner," he added, tone suddenly betraying the layers of regret that seemed embedded in the past few days. "Which means there's probably a few more familiar faces I should poke my head in to say hi to. If you're free..." He left the invitation hanging, the pendulum swung towards hopeful without being overly expectant.

Mhaire looked back over her shoulder and then towards Cameron, she knew she had to react swiftly before her father would bud in again. "Sure, I could go for lunch. So long as you're paying." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, "I don't get paid here." Another look towards her father, "Modern slavery." slightly louder so that he definitely heard it. "That is, unless you don't eat. I don't know."

The snort from the rear of the workshop could have been aimed at either remark but Cameron took it in his stride and claimed responsibility. "Nope, definitely eat. Might almost be considered a secondary power, actually." Leaning to the side, Cameron called towards the back, "That okay with you then, Graeme? Do I have permission to take your daughter to lunch?" The mutant may have been a little slow on the uptake but he'd never let oblivious ignorance keep him from being accidentally astute in the past.

"I widnae dare to say nae, I've told ye how she is." Graeme called from behind the car he was using to stay out of the proceedings.

Mhairi smirked a bit at that, "So you did talk about me while I was away." She knew this from their previous interaction as well as the comments Cameron had made today. And she also knew exactly why her father had spoken about her to this stranger. "You'll have to tell me all about yourself, then." She stepped towards the exit and hesitated a moment when Cameron wasn't immediately stepping into action.

It was a strange dichotomy, the odd vagueness that consumed Cameron at times and the root cause of it. The outward manifestation lent him the impression of falling behind, whilst the actual mechanism at play was more a case of his mind leaving the rest of the world in the dust. He was still regulating. Mostly recovered, very circumspect about just how much of Reagan's power he needed to absorb under pressure, but not completely restored. For a moment, he had been transported down the rabbit hole of trying to recall every single reference to Mhairi in all the conversations he'd ever had with her father whilst she was away. Several seconds later, as he realised she was staring at him, he snapped back.

His hands went immediately back into his pockets as he loped several strides to fall in step with her.

"Seems a bit imbalanced," he pointed out, having taken a moment to process what she'd said. "I mean, I only have your father's interpretation of your worth, maybe we should make him sum me up." Glancing over his shoulder at the garage, Cameron grinned. "If I had to guess, it'd be something something gobshite."

"There's been plenty of that in the past few days." Mhairi extended a hand waiting for him to offer his arm to her so they could walk into town together. "Better not to make him feel more important, already has such a big 'ead." She called back over loud enough to make sure her father could hear. "Up for some pub grub?"

For a man who grappled just fine on a normal basis, there was a degree of awkwardness to the extension of Cam's elbow as a response to her unspoken request, a twitch of a smile that some might have interpreted as almost bashful except for the fact that the man didn't seem capable of it. Without a glance backwards to see if Graeme had responded to the parting blow, Cam stepped them towards the curb, checked the street, and then measured his gait as they crossed the road so that he didn't end up dragging her behind. It was something ridiculously simple but he'd not tried to move in unison with someone attached to him for longer than he recall, at least not whilst they were still under their own momentum. A momentary vision of Otis dangling upside down over his shoulder reminded Cameron he really needed to apologise to the guy.

"Always," he answered truthfully, smiling at a pair that passed. Cameron had made a decent effort to be known around town, a covert advocacy that saw him act as diplomat just by the very nature of being himself. There were stares now, which he had anticipated, but had no plan beyond simply trying to show that he was still the same guy he'd always been. "And I'll do you a deal," he harked back to her previous question, "You ask, I'll answer. As long as I'm able."

Mhairi's stare had wandered down at the pavement. Her feet stepping nicely onto the stones, avoiding the cracks between them. It was just something to try and keep her mind off of all the thoughts and ideas going through her head, most of them focused on how to get back at her father for making this whole ordeal a whole lot more awkward than was absolutely necessary. There was also the consideration of what she had to do to try and avoid having to tell him that he might've been right in his assessment. When she heard the offer her gaze slowly came up and she looked at Cameron. "Well, well. That does sound enticing. First things first then. You work up at the castle, right? So are you a mutant yourself or do you consider yourself more of an ally?"

That, admittedly, took him by surprise but also gave Cameron pause to consider Graeme with a degree of bemused gratitude. The pair of them never spoke much about the whole mutant thing, Cam had always sensed the old man was enough of an ally that he was at least willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. But it was hard, and he understood that, and in much the same way that Cameron tended to just blend in when he went home to spend time with his family, he'd never seen a need to flaunt his powers whilst spending time amongst the townfolk. It was a luxury he tried not to take for granted.

"Uh, mutant." He stopped himself just shy of pointing out that there weren't really many non-mutants up there currently since that took away potential anonymity from the others. "Your dad didn't mention that bit?"

"My dad always said 'nobody asked me if I was a redhead'." Mhairi wanted to make sure that Cameron knew that to them it didn't matter and it just seemed like a natural thing that occurred. Graeme was a bald as a snooker ball, and about as pale as one as well. Then there was a little twinkle in her eyes, as if she was about to ask something a bit naughty. "So..." The glitter suddenly disappeared and replaced by blushing and a sheepish smile. "If you want to talk about it that is. If not. That's ok. Of course. No problem."

Somewhere, far away up the road, in a castle by a loch, several hands were poised to slap Cameron across the face, or at least shake him by the shoulders. It took a moment for his mind to do a lap of available possibilities before it arrived at an actual understanding of what she meant. "Oh. Oh! Oh, yeah." It had been, Cameron realised, a while since he'd explained his mutation to a non-mutant. Oddly enough, it was usually those outside the community that wanted to examine the science that sat behind his abilities and Cameron was honestly still coming to terms with that himself. "It's okay, it's not a secret." Having recouped some composure, he smiled reassuringly. "Even if it would be kind of easy to keep it one. I, uh..."

Here, the mutant took a deep breath. All through his teenage years, he had worked around mutants with similar abilities to his to garner an understanding of the control needed, and methods for mitigating the side-effects. Coming to the Institute, however, and purposefully tailoring his powers to meet a defensive need, along with meeting Reagan and the consequences of her powers upon his limitations, had thrown his previous training out the door almost. Cameron balked at considering it an evolution; more that his body was capable of absorbing and harnessing power that wasn't easily reproduced outside exceptional circumstances. "In a nutshell, I move fast. Not all the time, obviously," he joked, looking down as if to check his current speed. "My body processes electrical charges and converts them into enhanced acceleration."

It took Mhairi a moment to decypher exactly what he was explaining to her. "So." She took a moment to consider whether it would be offensive but decided it was the best way for her to visualise the whole thing. "Like Speedy Gonzales?"

The look he gave her was not unlikely the look he constantly gave Jonathan, who had an over fondness for speculating about all the activities that Cameron performed really quickly. Or Reagan, who was far too enamoured with her entire twinkle toes spiel. The jostle sideways as he bumped into her playfully was actually exactly like the way he responded to his friends' teasing. "Or the Road Runner, yes."

"Meep meep." Mhairi responded as if by reflex. "Sorry. I'm sorry. This isn't the appropriate response when someone shares something so personal." She felt her shoulders tense up and realised that most of her thoughts were coming out without much filter. She gave a meek smile at Cameron, "I hope you can forgive me." They crossed the street and one of the local residents looked at them with a bit of disdain. It was a boy she went to school with, one or two years her senior she couldn't quite remember.

With a small shake of the head he passed them by and when they had taken a couple more steps he was hear letting out a sharp hiss of disapproval through his teeth.

"Oi! Shut yer pus and go back to yer sheep, ye fecker." Mhairi had suddenly and sharply come to a halt and turned around to face off with the guy that had seemingly disrespected them.

It was a sad reflection of the state of things that Cameron had barely noticed the man's disapproval, a likely contender for one of the locals who had always taken issue with the proximity of the Institute to the town. He stopped, momentarily perplexed by the change in topic, and followed the turn of his head to bring himself around to stand just behind her. A quick evaluation of the exchange brought a hand to bear on her shoulder, a single reassuring squeeze to match his lowered tone. "Fighting with him won't change his mind." There was weariness too, an acceptance that was far from capitulation; there were just some battles you fought differently.

Mhairi clenched her fist, had Cameron not been there, putting a hand on her shoulder, holding her back, the man would've probably learnt a thing or two about how feisty the McIntyre women could get. "You cannae let them walk all over ye like that." She slipped back into a thicker Scottish accent as she was getting wound up over how this guy so casually disrespected them. "Is that why you needed dewormer? So you could go back to feckin' yer sheep!" She called after him, but it drew no response. "Yeah. Better keep walkin'." She took in an uneven breath, she wasn't sure she wanted to calm down. There was just a whole lot of adrenaline surging through her body right now and Cameron not willing to engage and the dude that continued his walk, slightly picking up his pace, was also not giving her an outlet. "That's the thing with bullies. I don't want te change their minds, I want to make sure they know they can't mess with me." Her eyes met Cameron and immediately she felt like stupid for overreacting the way that she did. The look in his eyes deflated her. He clearly didn't want to go to lunch with a woman like her. He had been dealing with this his whole life, she was only just strolling back into this small town and immediately she wanted to make herself known and heard. It probably wasn't the kind of attention he was willing to attract.

Meanwhile, in Cam's mind, a reverse psychology was underway. There was no doubt that having allies amongst the non-mutant population was going to be vital moving forward, and he couldn't fault Mhairi's willingness to step up and make her support known. For that, he was grateful, and impressed, and partially intimidated. It was his presence by her side that complicated matters, and became the most prominent reason for the slightly rueful undertones of his smile.

"We, unfortunately, get stuck between a rock and a hard place with this kind of thing. They expect us to be violent, especially after this recent attack. The media feeds the frenzy and suddenly every mutant is strong enough to throw a car at your head before setting it alight with the laser beams they shoot out their armpits." The attempt at levity was more for her benefit than his and, this time, the warmth of his humour did manage to budge the sadness in his eyes. "The trick comes from knowing when to stand your ground and knowing when to seek some higher up."

"For what it's worth, I can take 'im." Mhairi couldn't stay in her high alert state when he was talking to her in those soothing tones and acting all morally superior. "And to be fair, it's armpit lasers or bust, as far as I'm concerned." She raised her hands and pretended to shoot lasers at the man that just rounded a corner and out of vision for them. A sigh. She'd probably have to get some of that under control. For the sake of Cam, and her father. He had a business that depended on the townsfolk still wanting to request his services after all. "He was probably just jealous at what a catch I am and that I shot him down in high school." She turned and continued her walk towards the pub that would serve them lunch.

Cameron considered that, deciding that a willingness to change topic was probably the best way to deal with it. He didn't want her to apologise, not when he felt like he needed to thank her. It just wasn't an easy dynamic to try and navigate. Hands finding his pockets again, he glanced sideways at her as if trying to decide if she was being serious, and then nodded slowly as his features melted into an easy grin. "Definitely the reason."