who: Warren; narrative when: Sunday afternoon where: Manhatten Municipal Building what: Beastly narrative! Warren has fled the bird cage of Xavier's to return home to New York City, too. He stumbles upon a mutant rights protest, taking a stand that will change his life forever.
Regan wasn't picking up her phone. Ugh. When the blonde girl had left for home for the weekend, Warren thought it was just what the doctor had ordered and followed suit. As a pseduo-bird, he hated being all cooped up and loved the freedom of his home city. It was nice to be at his father's penthouse again, even if his father was too busy for him as always. It was often the case, even on vacation it seemed like his parents were a million miles away. Hell, he hadn't gotten them to go to Parent Week at Xavier's save for his first year, and that was only his mother showing up for five minutes. He hadn't even gotten the chance to out himself to them. Still hand't to this day. His parents were blissfully unaware of his mutantcy. His powers manifested in boarding school and he immediately went to Xavier's. Every time he tried to tell them, they were distracted or the situation changed. He was going to do it on their cruise in January when the situation in Haiti happened. He was going to tell them at Parent Week but they never showed up.
Frustrated by that and by the fact Regan wasn't picking up her phone, Warren decided to take a stroll out in the city. He was bandaged up a little still, not yet having Josh heal his scrapes yet, so hiding behind his usual trenchcoat didn't seem all that bad an idea. A walk would help clear his head and help him process the fact that he didn't have to worry about mutant hunting soldiers coming out of every corner.
Approaching 1 Centre Street on his walk, Warren noticed a larger than normal crowd gathered outside the Manhatten Municipal Building. Feeling curious, he pressed on and found several members of the crowd with signs and posters, flannked by camera crews and security. Protesters! To keep himself safe after his recent injuries, the thought of walking past came to Warren's mind. But he wanted to make sure no violence broke out as a super-hero in training. It also helped when he finally saw one of the posters, his keen eye sight spotting the word mutant. It was a mutant rights protest. He could spot a girl in the crowd with blue hair which might not be natural and someone else was covered in tattoos. Were these really mutants, or people wanting to be? Willing to take the scrutiny to pretend to be one to fight for Warren's people?
Oh, God. Talk about your signs. Warren pushed through some bystanders to get closer to the outside of the protest bubble, which was unfortunately where the news crews were. Since theey were hassling the protesters so much, Warren felt it only fair to return the favor. "Excuse me! What exactly is going on here?" He lowered his sunglasses so he could speak respectfully to the frantic reporter.
"Excuse you," the woman shrugged away, though appeared far more cooperative when she saw the stranger who had touched her had a handsome face. "Ah, well, these people appear to be protesting in favor of mutant rights. The mayor is meeting today in Washington with officials who are considering a Mutant Registration Act. New York has one of the largest known mutant populations," Warren's face grew pale at the news. She suddenly stuck a microphone in front of him, asking. "Any comments? Your name, sir?"
Warren stumbled, glancing about. He wasn't sure what to say. He was still trying to absorb the fact that they were talking about passing a bill that made mutants sound like firearms that needed to be controlled. That was so horribly backwards. "Mutants...mutants are people. What do you mean, a registration act? As if they need to be registered or detained? Like they're weapons or traitors?" Warren was asking rhetorically and for reassurance, but suddenly felt a rant taking over. "Haven't we as Americans learned anything from our moments of shame in the past? Our treatment of the Japanese in the 40s? Our treatment of blacks during the Civil Rights movement? Just because someone looks a little different or can do something a little different doesn't make them any less a living, breathing person with the same wants and desires and basic rights that anyone else has."
"Hey!" Another random reporter shouted, noticing Warren. "Trish, are you blind?" The other reporter asked the female with black hair that Warren had been speaking to. "That's Warren Worthington's kid! The rich playboy!"
"...weren't you dating Paris Hilton? Nikki Hilton?" "...is it true your father's company lost over $5 billion in the last quarter?" "...what's with the trenchcoat? It's nearly summer."
Warren was reeling from all the questions, angered and embarrassed that everyone suddenly found Warren more interesting because of his celebrity status than the mutant rights issues at hand. Hell, they weren't even prodding him about what he had just said. This was disgusting. Warren was more mutant than playboy. The Hiltons? Gross. They were ancient. And his father's business? The thing he never kept Warren in the loop about despite talk of him taking over one day? The same father that worried about something that was failing and might not be recoverable than something like family that was eternal in the religious Warren's mind? No. No more. These people needed to focus. And these poor mutants out there. No one paid them any attention. Not like a celebrity.
Hesitating, Warren started to undo his trenchcoat. He always knew he would do this one day, but now he felt forced into it. Was he ready? It didn't matter. He'd have to be. Warren always knew mutants needed a public figure to speak out for them. One who wasn't abusing their powers or in the middle of a hostage situation. "It doesn't matter, don't any of you see? None of those trivial details should matter when we're in the middle of a situation where a people is being treated with disrespect and even bigotry. You're practically doing it yourself now, thinking the story that matters more isn't a people suffering but who the spoiled rich kid is wearing and what he's doing with his day. No, I'm not going to let you ignore those people over there. I'm not going to let anyone else have to suffer for something they can't control, because of how they were born.
Warren Worthington III always knew he'd be in a leadership position before, but he thought it in business. Never before had politics crossed his mind before, but after the recent assault on his school Warren felt suddenly civicly minded. Without thinking on it further, Warren stepped back. He dropped his trench coat and his white wings unfurled out to the gasping crowd. Local news picked up on it live. State and national would get it within a minute. World news would have it within the hour.
"Yes, I'm Warren Worthington III. And I'm a mutant."
Xavier was going to kill him. His father was going to kill him.