nextgenerationmarvel | Some kind of trouble....

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Some kind of trouble....

The new internship was going really well. They were good kids; really good kids. Different conditions: two genetic disorders, two car accidents, and ... Luke ... but they were all responding well to getting their hands around a paintbrush or a pair of safety scissors.

Luke less so, not because his injuries were more severe -- in fact, they were less so than several of the others, but because he couldn't seem to relax. Then.... she could tell by the way he fumbled with the art supplies. The damage that had been healing after his previous accident ... or 'accident' ... was renewed. Kind of subtly, easy to miss if you weren't kind of studying this sort of thing obsessively.
Caroline calmly put in the call to DFYS ... but what about that night? Luke definitely wasn't talking enough to make anyone else take definite action immediately, and law-abiding citizen or not, Caroline wasn't sure she trusted the system to act quickly. Maybe she did have a little of Momma's revolutionary streak in her after all. She managed to keep him late, but eventually, the sun had long set, the center was closing... "Hey, Luke, I'm gonna walk you home, okay?" She didn't really give the kid much choice as she accompanied him. "Maybe have a talk with your Mom about how good your art's coming along."
"Mom'll be at work. And Dad... won't want to talk about art."
"Okay. Well, I'll just walk you home anyway."

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"Who made that call?"

She gives the address of a corner a few blocks from their place. Going straight there seems like a breach of the others' trust.

And in some strange instinct trying to stave off a return to panic, she gives it in the exact same multi-synth voice. Then adds, "Thank you."

"Our master." Ghost Rider said simply.

He noted her mimicry of his voice and wondered what manner of human this one was. She clearly cared for the boy.

They drive to the corner in question, where Ghost Rider looks at her.

"Was the child yours?"

Edited 2012-11-26 02:11 (UTC)

"....that ain't a word I'm too fond of," she observes evenly. Once the m-word comes into play, Windsong's daughter trusts nothing about who deserves what. Still, an operation to free the host isn't going to work with the resources currently available to her, up against this kind of liabilities. And, you know, considering she wouldn't have a clue how t odo it anyway.

"Hmm? No, they're getting his mom to him now. I'm interning at the center where he gets his physical therapy." And Caroline's face actually manages to cloud worse than it had at the monster's using the M word. "I should have made him stay the night somewhere else, somehow."

"Do not worry yourself with 'ifs'. You saved the boy from his poor excuse for a father and that sinner paid for his evil." Ghost Rider said.

"Everyone has a master, whether they know it or not, mortal. You would do well to remember that."

"Oh, I'll believe it; Aunt Lucinda says we all end up serving something or somebody, but mostly, when someone's throwing that word around, I think they could use a change of who."

"Such is not possible, no matter how much one might wish it otherwise." the Spirit of Vengeance said. Did he sound...wistful?

"My time here is done." the Rider said, stepping off of his bike.

Suddenly, the flame on his head vanished and he fell to his knees. Little by little, hair, organs and flesh regrew; as soon as vocal cords were available, the young man began to scream in pain as his eyes regenerated and his nerve endings sang with renewed feeling.

Tommy Templeton lay on the ground before Caroline in short order, exhausted from his transformation. He struggled to catch his breath as he looked up at the woman.

"This...is not usually how I meet women."

There won't be too far up to look, because once he's screaming, she'll drop down by his side despite her horror, trying to think of something she can do and coming up blank.

"Well, I'd hope not. Medical treatment's not going to help, is it?" she asked sadly. Not a scratch on him by the end. "So, um... is it a psychic cuckoo in your head, or dimensional magic, or what? If you don't mind my askin'."

"It's what I deserve." Tommy said simply, trying to roll to his stomach so he can get to his feet. The bike had also changed back to a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy. Tommy felt like hell.

The Rider usually didn't let him go before sunrise. This was new.

"I'm Tommy." he said by way of introduction.

"Oh, don't start talking like the cuckoo now," she said as she grabbed his wrist to try to help him up. "I know you don't really agree with him about stuff. I could tell you two were arguing. You may have saved Luke from brain damage. Thank you. I'm Caroline."

"You don't really argue with the Ghost Rider so much as you stall him before he starts speakin' again." Tommy chuckled.

"Nice to meet you, Caroline. Do you live around here? Or is this where he brought you to talk?" Tommy asked, looking around the area.

"Ghost Rider? That's what he's called? Think I've heard of it, maybe in a story about Wolverine, but I never got any details. Creepy would be an understatement," she understated.

"It's not far. Didn't want him bothering my people."

"Yeah, that was probably a good plan. You want me to take you the rest of the way before I head out?" he asked. "Don't want to leave you here by yourself."

Caroline checks the time. "They won't start panicking just yet... have you eaten?" She has to at least try a little emotional reconnaissance in the hope of helping this guy.

"I had somethin' at the bar...wait, that was tequila. No, I haven't eaten since yesterday." Tommy said, laughing a little.

His stomach rumbled in agreement and he had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Food sounds good right now. Know any good places?" he asked.

"Well, the best place is my cousin's kitchen, but... let's go with the second-best place that'd be open right about now." Because, well, horrifying, possibly-dimensional-magic-oriented psychic cuckoo of fire and sin. Not really wanting to explain that to the gang to the poor guy's face, for one thing. She'll give directions to a good diner.

Tommy nodded and got back on his bike. This time, the only place Caroline could get on was directly behind him. He passed her his helmet.

"You'll want to put that on, just in case." he said, waiting for her to get on.

Caroline knows how these things work, putting on the helmet, climbing on, and grabbing around him.

Tommy takes her to diner in question, which isn't far. They park in the parking lot and he notes the '50's style decor. He likes this place already.

"Shall we?" he asked, dismounting the bike and offering his arm to her.

A familiar old-fashioned gesture is a welcome relief on the brink of the evening catching up and overwhelming her. She'll take his arm and in fact lean on it. A nervous giggle is reflected in her instinctive wind-chime sounds.

Tommy stopped and looked around for a moment, thinking he heard wind-chimes somewhere nearby. His mother used to keep wind-chimes all over the place back home. He loved those old things.

Then he remembered what his mother did to him and pushed the thought down.

They entered the diner and found a table, with Tommy waiting for Caroline to sit down before he did.

"So, Caroline. Where are you from?"

"Kentucky. Cumberland, Kentucky. Oh, and sorry about the sounds. I'm a mutant, and it's just habit." The rather homelike traits are helping with her becoming not as rattled. "And you?"

"Kentucky Caroline. That sounds like a flower." Tommy said, using it to remember her name.

"Hey, it's totally cool that you're a mutant. I'm not one of those people, you know." he said, hoping to keep her at ease.

"I'm from Loving, Missouri. About as far south as you can go before you hit Arkansas." he said.

And there's the wind-chime giggling again.

"I've heard nice things about Missouri." Heard lousy things, too, but nothing that wasn't wrong with other places, nothing that couldn't be fixed.

"You have? Can you tell me a couple because I haven't heard any." Tommy said, laughing just a bit. Honestly, he wanted to hear the wind-chim sound of her laughter again.

"Really, though, Missouri can be nice. It can also be really crappy, like St. Louis." he said.

"How long have you lived in New Jersey?"

"The cake, for instance. Hear the cake's nice. Just a couple of months. Transferred to Rutgers for grad school, moved in with my cousin and his crew. Before that, I was at ESU in New York."

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