WHO: Elijah Whitson (Psion - NPC) & Miguela Gonsalves. WHAT: Oh hey didn't see you there. Totally wasn't following you... WHEN: Backdated, Thursday 7/14. WHERE: Comic book shop in Houston. WARNINGS: Vague HDP talk.
Psion thumbed through one of the comic books perched in the small Loyalist section of the store. They sported some of the more famous and fabulous members of the Loyalist parties, like Spark. By now, she had an endless line of series and Psion couldn’t possibly follow them all, but some of them included team ups here and there. It was strange to be reading stories about someone you knew personally; fame never sat with him right, which was fine, since any spotlight on him usually told a different story due to his appearance.
The reading was idle. He wasn’t there to browse comics, he was there to contact Miguela. But he didn’t know how, so instead he hid his face behind the book, hoodie pulled close to shadow his face, occasionally glancing up at the girl browsing around the shop. He wondered a lot of things over the past few weeks of watching her; what kind of comics she liked (he never got close enough to see what she bought), if they were for her or someone else. How she felt about comics given the fact she was now one of those forced super powered beings. Did she feel the same way as him?
None of that mattered right now, though, because he knew if he didn’t make his move now, he might not ever. Those questions could wait, Psion had more important business to handle.
Cautiously, he worked his way around the shop until he was able to walk up beside Miguela in a more isolated part of the building. For a moment, he simply followed her gaze toward the shelves lining the wall, but then he found the courage to speak. “Miguela. I’ve… I have something important to tell you.”
Miguela jerked forward, startled. Her brain first registering the surprise of an unexpected voice materializing behind her in a mainly secluded part of the store; and then, processing, soon after, whose voice it was. The back of her wrist slammed against the comic stand as she was caught between returning a graphic novel back to it’s place and catching her balance.
She bit back a curse and tried to hide both her rapid dis-ease as well her irritated mortification.
A smile plastered itself across her face as she turned around to greet him, “Psi - Elijah.” Miguela stated, daringly, pleasantly. Even though her heart was still beating rapidly, even though she felt uncomfortable in his presence. Even though her voice lowered an octave as she said his name. She didn’t know the protocol. What did you call a traitor Titan favorite who used to live in a cell a few blocks away from yours while you were both mutually tortured and fucked over by power-hungry scientists? She certainly wasn’t going to call him Psion. Yet as pointed as she may have been about that, she didn’t want the Titan favorite telekinetic angry at her.
The Elijah she knew could barely muster the guts to sneeze at a feather.
Known. The Elijah she’d known.
Flirty dance at a gala aside, she had no idea how to deal with what was in front of her. Other than warily. Which is why she bit back her typical biting response.
Her heart was pounding, that much he was certain of. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it; all the motion that the rhythmic succession of pulsing and the subsequent increase in speed as he surprised her. Psion -- no, Elijah, as she’d called him (it had been so long since he’d heard that name… but he’d accept it now if it meant he could get her help) -- was no idiot. He knew why she jumped, beyond the fact that he might’ve startled her. He knew why her heartbeat sped up; it was fear, panic.
The typical Loyalist might not have recognized her because she wasn’t flagged, but he wasn’t the typical Loyalist, and to him she was definitely flagged. It occurred to him a few times that maybe he could follow her all the way to her base, but he wasn’t here for that, nor was he ever. Elijah was never much interested in a war, just something to cling to in the aftermath of his own trauma. The hand reaching for him at the edge of a mental cliff had been Marquesa’s, and so here he stood, a high ranking Loyalist, looking a known Resistance member straight in the eye and saying: “I need your help.”
Miguela didn’t answer immediately. She weighed a number of things in her mind as she stared at him; her eyes momentarily moving away to see if anyone else was near them. Of course not. Maybe if she just slowly went about her with purchases, she could make sure he caught someone’s attention and then make a leg for it.
She turned back towards the graphic novels, as casually as she could. “My help?” Her incredulity wasn’t entirely forced but she made certain to exaggerate it. “You sure you don’t have the wrong Miguela? Or the wrong dashingly attractive black girl? This is where I’d make a race joke but I don’t think you’d find it funny. But either way,” She waved her hand dismissively, her eyes still cruising the novels. Although she did peek him a glance from the corner of her eye. She wanted to gauge his reaction and his awareness of what she was trying to do. “In case that hasn’t clued you in. Me? Not particularly helpful. But maybe you’ll have luck with someone else.”
Someone else away from Houston. Away from the state. Someone in India would be acceptable. Maybe New Zealand.
Elijah watched all her motions as she tried to deflect his statement, but he looked more patient than he felt. In reality, he wanted to yell. Tell her to stop being so passive and flippant, but he didn’t know her and she didn’t know him. And she didn’t know, yet, what information he had. At the moment, Miguela was his best lead for help on this revenge quest he’d started. So he let her do her thing and waited it out, not quite listening to her words as she dipped from excuse to deflect and back again.
“How many Miguelas do you think were on the HDP registry?” Elijah didn’t give her time to open her mouth and give a stupid, evasive answer. “I have the right dashingly attractive black girl.”
It was as if someone had immediately hit a pause button.
Her eyes narrowed, a few moments later, before she breathed again. What was he saying?
“I don’t care.” She stated. As if she could put a wall between whatever he felt he needed from her and this actual moment. And herself. Even as she said this, her mind continued to work. Did this have to do with Dondalski? Or someone else? What did he know? Were they in Houston? What if it was Khan!? Miguela’s skin seemed to prickle painfully at the thought. She firmly squashed the impulse to look over her shoulder; as if suddenly as if those sympathetic eyes were on her. Yet Miguela knew she was being irrational. Saad Khan didn’t need to be anywhere near to make his presence known. He could pull her apart at a distance. Strangely, that brought a comfort, even if as the hairs on her skin continued to stand uncomfortably on end.
Then there was the most important question, a more serious reiteration of her first: Why her?
Unless it was Saad or Cyril. And even if it was. Why her? She hadn’t exactly been their biggest success story. Minusing the fact that she hadn’t died under Cyril’s “care”. She wasn’t ‘battle ready’.
Relief came all the more because he hadn’t made her due to the media coverage of the last mission. Yet not relieved enough to become further involved with HDP related business.
Besides, stretching her neck out for Luce, for Lux (in truth, really for Hero and for what they had gone through as a group) was one thing. Miguela wasn’t certain she even owed him a hear out.
Still, she hesitated. Because if he had made different choices she might have been standing here willing to give his words of trouble a chance.. And because Miguela was quite aware that it was stupid to shoot any potential avenue Psion could bring in the foot. She didn’t appreciate being cornered; nevertheless, she forced out a breath and a smile. “Look. I don’t know what help I could give you. I’m just a student. I barely have time to shit, let alone … whatever it is you want. I’m sorry.”
“Delilah Moore,” even now, as he spoke her name, it was with gritted disdain and a pressed control to keep himself together. Elijah was determined not to fall to pieces like the scared, caged boy he'd been when under Moore's “care”. He was a weapon now. An achievement. The least she deserved was to see what she truly made. Elijah completely ignored Miguela’s denials. He didn't come all the way back to Houston just to be turned away so easily.
Still, the knot in his chest formed as he inevitably went wrong back to that training room at just the vocalization of her name. “She's been very active recently. I want to know why. I don't know any other HDP members anymore, but ….. I just felt like --” He paused, thinking. “Look, this isn't a Loyalist problem. Or a Resistance problem. She's up to something and is our problem.”
Elijah reached up, pushing back the hood to reveal his face even though he knew Miguela was already aware of what he looked like now. “She did this to all of us, not just me. My scars are just visible.”
Miguela gritted her teeth and sighed. She was more exasperated than fully annoyed when he didn’t budge. If he wouldn’t leave, than she would gladly. “I’m walking away now.” Yet she had barely put the thought of slipping away into motion when he said a name that made her heart drop into her stomach. Suddenly it felt as if the room titled and her breath was stolen from the shock of it.
“Active?! Ho -” She couldn’t do this. This couldn’t be happening. She should have expected where one came trickling out more would follow. It felt as if everything kept stacking - haphazardly, painfully, quicker than she could even process - up and no matter how she tried to plug her ears against it, it was forced back into her focus. And even when other things happened - the missions, that stupid and ridiculously embarrassing dream, the physical reminder of her disastrous lack of success in KL - the HDP managed to come out on top. Never letting her catch her breath. Even after all these years.
Miguela held her tongue. She refused to crumble in front of Elijah and in public. Her fingers gently biting into her palm as she resisted hugging herself and physically keeping her frayed edges together.
She couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to do this.
But the sick feeling in her stomach couldn’t, wouldn’t, be pushed away. The gentle reminder of how she used to cry in her cell because of that woman. Over what she did to Raf, and god, Daiana. What she had done to her. For a moment she was twelve again and pressing her head against the concrete wall, fighting against tears.
Miguela could kill him for this reminder. She could do to him the things she had fantasized -- No. No. She didn’t want, well, no, that was a lie. The thing is Miguela had never quite forgotten how dead she wanted every single HDP scientist -- a few in particular. Yet she had rebuilt her life and moved on. She hadn’t quite managed to let go of her anger as Cajo had tried to advise her once but she managed to find a normal existence. Everything she had dreamed about in there. Mostly. And here he was threatening it.
Cajo would tell her that finding Delilah wouldn’t serve either Raphael or Dai. It wouldn’t help her. Or Leo. Or Hero.
“It’s our problem now?” She asked scathingly. Her voice trembled and her throat felt too dry to swallow against it. How was it her problem and fault that he didn’t know any other HDP members.
Miguela squashed the voice that reminded her how many times and how hard she had run. How, if it hadn’t been for Houston and her siblings, she wouldn’t know more than three other - four tops - HDP “members”.
Yet she didn’t ignore the desire to calm down and breathe. Just as she had learned as a child.
“Anyone ever tell you that you should try writing for Hallmark?” Miguela turned away from him and grabbed a couple of books. Her focus did not actually process what she was taking. But with Psion’s sudden reveal and their lurking about for more than a few moments - even if they were toward the shadows - would eventually draw attention. She would be damned if she went anywhere with him. And she would also rather not be seen with him. However, if she couldn’t avoid the first, coming off casual not to draw too much while simultaneously making sure people could place her here worked just as well for her. Although, with her luck, if she did end up missing because of whatever crazed sentimentality he brought to her door, people would likely dismiss it since he was a loyalist favorite. Ugh. “What do you want from me?” She asked levelly. It wasn’t a yes.
But she was no longer denying that she could contribute something to help. Maybe she wouldn’t kill her. Delilah. Maybe she could just help him find her. Maybe she could find out what she wanted and find out if the others were near. Maybe was a hell of a lot better than a door shut in your face.
Elijah didn’t give two fucks about subtlety or pretending to be normal or making things look casual, but he watched Miguela sharply and more or less followed her lead on this. If that’s what it took to make her feel better about the situation -- not good, just better -- he was fine with it. For his part, Elijah didn’t want her to feel better about it, because he’d had to stab into a nerve to get the response he wanted in the first place. The moment Miguela felt comfortable and unexposed again was the moment she’d try to shut him out again. He would not allow this door to close.
To go along with her play, he pulled his hoodie back up, casting a cold look at the only patron of the shop that had seemed to notice him so far. The guy looked terrified and turned around quickly, and Elijah could felt the slightest tremble coming from his body as he clutched the comics he was holding close to his chest and forcibly didn’t glance back at them.
“I want to go head hunting,” he answered honestly. “They’re up to something -- She’s up to something.”
Miguela let out a sigh. Really? She resisted her own glare at Elijah’s direction. When did he become so difficult? She supposed having one’s personal nightmare becoming active again did that to a person. It certainly didn’t do her or her nebulous plans any favors. First, he’d made sure to avoid cameras. Now, he’d as good as scared an alibi.
She weighed the benefits of using her powers on him and then bucking.
An incredulous laugh burst out but she cut it short abruptly. “Sorry.” And she sort of was. Laughing at his plans certainly wouldn’t convince him to relax his guard enough for her to slip away. “I’m sorry. Again. Where do I come in? I’m pretty sure you’ve been ignoring everything I’ve been saying the last few minutes, and that’s fine, but …. Me? Not the head hunting type. Unless you want me for, what? Back up? A distraction? To flirt with her?” To kill her dead in the ground. There wasn’t a lot of middle ground in Miguela’s ability. In fact, some might say - with the distinctive tendency to court the ‘removal of self-will’ side of things - that they swung full throttle always. No matter how subtle the momentary manifestation.
“Back up,” he answered simply. Almost mockingly so. “I don’t just want you. I think we should all…” There was hesitation now, and he paused, shrugging. For a moment, he didn’t seem to have the resolve to finish his sentence, but then he pressed on. “I think we should all have the chance to make them pay. And Delilah was too much of a busy-body not to be doing something. Where she is, we’ll find others. I’m sure of it.” Sure as he’d ever been of anything. As sure as the sinking pulse of nausea that had hit him the day all his tracking of her proved to be effective. Elijah had put feelers out worldwide to find Delilah, but there was always the unspoken hope that he never would. And now that he had?
Well. He’d almost given himself no choice but to act on it, what with all the effort he’d put into tracking her down.
“What about your siblings, Miguela?” Elijah actually looked confused. “You don’t want to give them the same opportunity?”
Miguela cut him a look. One that grew even more sardonic at his hesitation. It masked her defensiveness. He should have been clearer. And he should have started with someone else in that case. Miguela might have been more “receptive” to his suggestion if someone she cared about was the one bringing it to her. However, in a way, she was glad he hadn’t. The bleeding heart, tilt at windmills, ‘good will prevail’ types that she loved wouldn’t be able to shut him down or send him packing.
She could. And she would.
“No!” She stated sharply. Almost too sharply. She turned away and walked toward the counter. It was mostly to hide her hesitation. And to move her feet closer to getting away from him. “This isn’t an opportunity!” She turned around and hissed. She could feel the eyes of the clerk boring at the back of her head. Miguela lowered her voice as she dared to step closer into Psion’s space; against her better judgment. “This is -- what you’re proposing is murder. And they would never go for it. So, don’t even think -- don’t even consider bringing this up to them. Or Hero either.” Miguela ordered with her eyes narrowed.
She raked him with a cold look; at first intending that to be her last words as she turned back round. Before she hesitated. “Or Will. Or even fucking Lux. Or any of the others. God, just leave us -- let us try to find some kind of break, Elijah.” She sounded sad suddenly. That was much easier when she wasn’t looking at one. Her tone gentled, more tired than any sweet emotion.“And catch one for yourself too.”
She could kill them. Miguela knew it. The feeling raised goosebumps and set her teeth on edge. She could and she wanted to.
But more than that, that desperate feeling of wanting to be away from it all -- the Titans, the HDP - and have her loved ones safe, that feeling won out. At least for the moment.
They had taken so much from her! Cajo would say that killing them would be giving them something; and she would be damned if she did that. No matter how good it might feel. And she sure as hell wouldn’t put that question up to her siblings or Hero. Or even fucking Lux.
Elijah wasn’t a Loyalist in this moment, or that’s what he had told himself. He was just a science experiment gone wrong trying to barter with another science experiment gone wrong. But he wouldn’t beg, and he wouldn’t force. Despite everything he told himself, however, he couldn’t help but take note of the names she’d given up; her siblings made sense. Hero. Will. Lux. Fucking Lux. The irritation there -- it was still a personal connection. They’d all been near each other in the block, sure, but Elijah thought this was something different…
“Fine,” he grumbled. He wasn’t going to push the issues anymore. Not right now. Miguela needed incentive on her own, but he thought he could help with that too. Elijah pulled a small file from inside his hoodie and slammed it down on the counter in front of Miguela. The cashier’s eyes widened, clearly having enough sense to know whatever was going on here was far more than some casual disagreement. Elijah silenced the building protest with a glare; the cashier shut his mouth, eyes diverted. “I snuck that all the way here. Might as well give it to you.”
He was done. He turned away, hands digging into his pockets and unwilling to hear anything else. The door was forced open for him, and slammed behind him.