nasser jalili is not aladdin (arabianknight) wrote in superbabies, @ 2013-02-25 23:38:00 |
|
|||
Not knowing quite how this all worked, Nass was a little hesitant to leave the safe confines of his room and meet up with Kinah. Who, it seemed, had a protective brother, which made him a little uneasy. In fact, truth be told, the school made him uneasy. There were too many unknowns roaming around for him to settle, though he assumed he would eventually; time would happen and things would change.
For the time being, however, he was still on edge. The news of being discharged still didn’t sit well, he felt like he could be called back at any moment, told that it was all a joke, he could come back and continue to serve in the only life he really was accustomed to. That civilian life would end. He wasn’t cut out for being a civilian. Nasser had no idea what was in fashion or what shows to watch. The first thing he had had to do when he was released was buy clothing, and nothing confused him more. It was the reason why he wore a black shirt with dark jeans---these things didn’t go out of style, and the three-pack of black and white shirts were cheap---and old tennis shoes, the same ones he’s had for years, because being overseas didn’t really elicit a need for multiple types of clothing.
And Kinah was right, he realized, standing in front of the common room DVD shelf. It needed organizing, but what was worse was that he also noted he hadn’t seen a lot of these. The big name blockbusters always found their way over, or he watched them between tours, but the littler named things, the non explosion or sexual content movies, those he hadn’t. He perused with one hand on the titles, touching them as he read their spines, the other tucked naturally behind his back, loose fist resting and facing out. These things came natural to him, and would, even though he was already letting his guard down by not watching his back while leaning over, reading the second to last shelf.
“Extended copies of Lord of the Rings? Really?”
“Really,” came a voice from behind him. A woman was standing by the couch, dressed in loose khakis, a flowing blouse, a navy blue blazer, and a mint-colored hijab. She had her head tipped to one side and arms folded like she’d been enjoying the view of Nasser bent over and reading the DVDs, but after making her presence known she stepped forward with a small wave.
“As-salamu alaykum. Nasser? I’m Kinah. Hi.”
With a little jump, Nasser corrected himself upright and twisted around, surveying Kinah from toe to head before smiling a greeting, "Salām, Kinah." He had a hard time with the more formal, but albeit just as natural, form; in the towns he had tried to stay neutral and friendly with locals. Whatever put them at ease was what he adopted.
Taking a few steps closer, yet maintaining a still safe distance, he stuck out his hand to shake hers with, then thought that, quite possibly, that she might not be Westernized (though she sounded it, as did he) and pulled it back. Awkwardly he looked down and for a place to put his hands before settling on his pants pockets. "Sorry. I'm not good at this. I haven't really been around women in awhile." Rangers were men, their contact to women were restricted to base and rarely then.
Kinah’s eyes flickered briefly to Nasser’s hand. There was an awkward pause where she considered taking it, just so he didn’t feel bad about offering, but when she jerked her hand to take it he was already pulling away. She blushed and shoved her hands into her pockets as well.
“Oh. It’s fine, it’s really okay.” She had a genuinely unusual accent: American, slightly softened by a Kentucky drawl that she was starting to lose, coupled with traditional inflections of Persian and Arabic. “We’ve barely said hello, it’s not as if there’s anything to be good at.” She chuckled, her smile softening. “Welcome to Xavier’s, friend.” Was she staring? No. She was not staring.
He felt spastic, looking down at their feet, to the side, anywhere that wasn't at her. Eye contact. He was failing at trying to not make it. It wasn't working, Nasser failed and brought his eyes up to see her face.
This time, it was his turn to blush after taking in her features, then looking back down. It really had been awhile since he had been around women that weren’t for working purposes and she was pretty. “You and Rogers keep saying that, and don’t get me wrong, I am grateful I was able to stay here,” saying and thinking that seemed to ground him, enough that he felt a little more somber, “He spoke about this place? but never really in detail, or never enough that I paid attention.”
Kinah shrugged a shoulder. “It’s … a different kind of place, for someone who isn’t used to it,” she admitted. “And it has gotten bigger over the years. The original mansion that stood here was destroyed years ago and has since been replaced, rebuilt … It does feel like a small city sometimes, and good for you to get a tour.” When she smiled, her teeth snagged against her bottom lip.
Taking a deep breath that seemed to say hold it together, Kinah, she gestured toward the door. “Walk with me? I only arrived here in January but I spent my high school years here, and have been to many a family gathering. I think I’m qualified to show you around.”
“It---wow, that’s... actually very sad,” the school had stood it’s ground well. “I’m aware of your more recent fight, I was given some insight. Not a lot, but enough.” Even though he grew up watching heroes like Captain America and the Hulk duke it out on television, read the comics and even saw some of the lesser-known mutants fight and damage Los Angeles, it still baffled him that they were Americans, fighting on home soil, for the exact thing he fought for and with overseas: freedom.
Coming up to her side, Nass followed through, keeping his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I see. You have brothers here, I learned, but there are more of you? Did they go here as well?”
Kinah grinned at his question, trying not to laugh. “Oh, ya Allah, yes. Yassir and Hakeem are my youngest siblings. I have an older sister, Sadira, who is here as well, but then I have more brothers and sisters scattered around, some of them back on our farm in Kentucky. The Guthrie family is … large, to say the least. I have----Twyla, Lynette, Jon, Warren, Sheri----five? Five cousins here now, and that isn’t mentioning the others who are not here. Almost all of us are mutants, almost all of us have passed through here at one time or another.”
“Holy.” That was a lot of family to take in. While large Persian families weren’t unusual, throwing Kentucky in, and Guthrie, let him in that they were more than that. He knew people from Kentucky. They had large families too. “That’s a lot. I don’t think any of my family carry the mutant gene, at least not that we’re aware of, not to... not to the extent of yours.” Frankly, it terrified him, and he paled a little. He barely knew her and one of her brother’s was already on the warzone.
“My father is on the younger side of ten siblings, and … yes, it is a lot to keep track of, and with all of the powers...” Kinah shook her head, lifting her eyes to the ceiling and letting her chuckle die off.
When she glanced at Nasser again, she tipped her head to one side and squinted, like she wanted to size him up. “So you’re not a mutant, and you have no connection to this place … you are a friend of James, and you need sanctuary of some kind, but what brings you here?”
Grinning, Nasser shook his head, chin length hair bouncing around. That was still a weird sensation he was getting used to. Hair. “You got to that subject really quick. I was expecting to see the library and at least a statue before.” Sighing, he turned enough to talk more directly, “You would know the story, I’m assuming, so: Arabian Knight, the hero that ran around with the scimitar and magic carpet, yeah? That’s me, now, as of recently. And I have no idea what I’m doing with it.”
Kinah listened with a vague half smile, somewhere between amazed and overwhelmed. “Oh,” she said, taking a moment to adjust her hijab and make sure it was on straight. “Well. Mashallah.”
What? That sounded stupid. Kinah winced. “I mean, if you’re happy about it. If not, then … either way, Nasser, this is the place for you to be. To learn how to use whatever abilities you have now and find yourself. This was all passed down to you?” Her walking had slowed and they were now in a wide hallway, people walking by without paying much attention.
Glancing away, he shook his head again. “Not exactly.” The mantle was something he hadn’t been even near ready for, nor did he feel like he was now. It was bigger than he ever thought he could be.
“In a way, yes. I suppose that’s why I called Rogers in the first place: I knew I could learn here without fear of something happening, but also so I didn’t have to go home and explain to my family why their son was back six months early.” He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and rubbed at his neck, trying to figure out how to best phrase everything. Make it easier. “This wasn’t a lift I expected, I’m a group player, I don’t do being a lone wolf well.”
“Maybe that is why Allah has led you here,” said Kinah with a smile. “Many of the others try to claim they work alone, but here? We are all a team, no matter what anyone says. We are a family, and when one of us is in trouble or needs guidance, we assist. This can be your home. We may be nepotistic, and we can have a hard time warming up to strangers, but you’re one of us now.”
“I don’t think Allah has led me anywhere,” Nass admitted quietly. “And I’m not sure if I could make this my home. It feels the same as being in the army, but a lot less stringent. You’ve been attacked, on your territory, by enemies. You’ve gone to war here. How did I go from one war into another?”
Kinah’s smile faltered. She didn’t really have a good answer for that. “I struggle with that myself,” she said, casting her eyes downward. “This is both the safest and the most dangerous place to be. Teenagers are trained like soldiers because it’s inevitable that trouble will come to them. We will all fight, one way or another. But we choose to, because this is our home, our family----and if you don’t see it as yours, then I can see why you would not want to stay.”
She turned a corner and stepped through a pair of large double doors. “This is the library you said you wanted to see.”
Nasser didn’t respond until he had stepped into the library, looking around with curiosity. He hadn’t been a studious child, but he liked books. They smelled good and took you places safely. “It’s bigger than the one my high school had. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
He took the opportunity of silence, and few prying ears, to speak a little more candidly. “I’ve seen teenagers, and even kids younger, hold guns. Shoot people because their brothers and uncles taught them to. I understand that it happens to mutants, I watched the television programs when they were on growing up, I saw people barely older than my brothers out fighting a war I didn’t understand. I went off to one they didn’t understand. But, at least they have a safer place to learn.” It felt like he was admitting a truth. Maybe. “Not all go that route, yeah?”
Kinah’s mouth twitched. “You mean, are we training an anti-human army made up of children?”
“No.” Nass held both hands up, shaking his head fiercly. “No, not at all. I know that’s not what’s going on here, but I’m also an outsider looking in on a situation. I know this is a school, education happens here, boys and girls have choices they can make regarding their future here.”
“And do all of us choose to fight, is that what you’re asking?”
“Mmm, yes. I suppose it is.”
Kinah smiled. “I have two degrees from Harvard and I make my living as a teacher,” she said gently. “No, we don’t all choose to fight. Most of us don’t, and most of us can’t. We all learn to defend ourselves, and some of us join the X-Men to become active … soldiers, I guess you could say, but most of the children here are just children who want a safe place to go to school, where they won’t be bullied or tormented for being different. And when they graduate, most of them will go on to lead nonviolent, normal lives.”
“Oh,” two degrees? Nasser was impressed. He looked impressed. “But, can they? Can they all lead normal lives? I’ve seen some of them, there are blue ones and ones with tails... how can they go live a normal life when they’re still not accepted? Where do they go, how do they live? Or are they the ones who end up fighting, because the world still doesn’t accept them?”
“Some of them will stay here.” Kinah left the doors to the empty library open, but she led him to a more private area. She sat down in an armchair and rested her elbows on her knees, hands clasped. “Some of them have been shut away most of their lives. Billy Sinclair, for example, is seventeen years old; for most of his life he stayed at home, never went to school, because he looked more animal than human. He shapeshifts now, he has freedom to move around, but … some don’t. Some are able to hide mutations under clothes, with makeup, or with an image inducer that projects an illusion of normalcy.”
Kinah fidgeted a little, watching her hands. “Others, they don’t want to hide. And sometimes, they … resent the world that becomes uninhabitable. Some live underground, create their own societies, and wish to be left alone. Some choose to fight in a war for dominance, where the oppressed then become oppressors. Not always, but the ones who stay and fight are often the ones who aren’t going to pass for nor----for non-mutant.”
Following suit, he pulled a chair around to face her, taking a moment to himself to get situated, trying a leg over a knee and the other before just finally sitting. Normally. Sitting and listening intently.
What he was thinking thankfully was not what came out. “So, this place is giving some of them a life when they had none? Or a future when they wouldn’t have one?” If blue kids and dog children were stuck hiding, then this place was offering something that they wouldn’t have had elsewhere. “But you still train them to fight, to defend themselves. In fifty, sixty years, let’s assume the mutant population is about equal to the human one. Would they still be trained then?”
“Of course,” Kinah said without hesitating. “We don’t defend ourselves from humans only, yeah? There are a lot of … factions, groups, et cetera, within the mutant population. You may know of Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants from years ago, or other organizations that seek mutant supremacy or have their own agendas. Infighting is common, the school is a target from many sides. If the school is attacked, we have shelter for those who can’t fight, but when that shelter can’t be found I wish for every one of us to be able to fight back.”
She laced her fingers together, rubbing one thumb over the other. “I’d say we don’t want a war, but some of us do. We’re all people, opinions are all different and emotions run high. Some of us have been hurt. Some of us have been treated so poorly that it makes sense to hide here, or to want to protect our own above others.”
“I have. He got a couple newspaper titles. But, to put this in my terms, you’re a bunch of liberals up against conservative right-wing groups who believe their land should belong to their specific group. That’s what mutants are up against in today’s world.” It was a story as old as time.
“The ones who want war, not the ones who are fighting to stop it. They’re the ones you’ll need to watch out for. They’ll turn against their own people, they’ll destroy everything in their wake for their cause. Look at Darfur,” he was a little less settled, leaning forward. “And your shelter, is that the Danger Room? Can you really hide everyone in there when the time, if the time, comes?”
Kinah nodded. “Mm. It runs well underneath the school, heavily fortified, almost impossible to get to from the surface, and large enough to house all of us. There is a program built in----the----” She paused a moment to gather her thoughts and then explain: “The Danger Room has hyper-realistic programming technology that allows the room to transform into whatever it needs to be for training exercises. We do have a shelter program that allows everyone to have a bed to sleep on, if necessary, and there are underground food stores as well. We’ve … had a lot of time to build this, and a lot of wealthy benefactors. It makes us look paranoid, but the precautions are necessary.”
“Wait, hold on. You have an entire city, at the most part, underneath the school? Who built this? When? How---no, no, don’t tell me how, I don’t do technology well. It’s a training room and a bomb shelter in one.” Stunned, he rubbed his eyes, trying to imagine all this. Wealthy benefactors barely scratched the surface on funding a project like that. “And all the military got were helicarriers. This place is a fortress. I’m sure you realize that, right? You’re living in a fortress.”
Kinah smirked. “Oh, I’m aware,” she said. “The building on the surface is impressive, but the basements and sub-basements … ya Allah, it’s another world. The size of it... you have no idea. I believe the primary structure for it was built in the late fifties, early sixties, by Magneto himself.”
“...By the same man who pulled all that stuff, years ago? He went here?” Nass pointed at their feet and then found himself laughing. “Of course he did. Dictators always start somewhere, and usually it’s on the side of good. Then they go rogue, then evil, and eventually dead or in jail. Or running North Korea.”
Kinah laughed quietly, but it was in that painful kind of way where things were just a little too true. “Went here? He helped found this place. Some people will tell different stories on the details, but Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr were close friends. They both wanted to create a safe haven for mutants where they could learn to use their powers and be safe from the outside world.”
She spoke with a certain reverence. This was a story she’d told a hundred times, usually to younger siblings or cousins. Every mutant who went through these walls knew what happened. There were different versions, of course, some more exaggerated than others. “This was before the days of superheroes,” she said. “Before they were common, before they were celebrities. The idea of ‘mutants’ was a new one, and it was a dangerous time for anyone who was different. Xavier and Lehnsherr had met in Israel. Lehnsherr had survived Auschwitz, and knew what could happen when people who were different were rounded up by those in power.
“So they used Xavier’s money and his home, and the sub-structures were built by Lehnsherr. They could never have been built by conventional means; Lehnsherr had the power to manipulate metal and magnetic fields, and … well, you will have to see to believe. I will take you down there later.”
Curiously, Nass listened, holding himself completely still. It was an interesting tale: the man mutants had come to hate had built the very school that saved them and educated them. It was always interesting how dictators worked out that way---even if Magneto wasn’t exactly a dictator, he seemed to behave that way. They always mean well, but it becomes twisted and turned and then they’re fighting good versus evil.
“And everyone is fine with this? Everyone is fine knowing that he built the foundation and was credited for the technology, helped with... everything, I guess? No one has wanted to overwrite this history or erase what he did?” Nass asked, watching Kinah’s face for reaction. She was very intelligent, absolutely bright, and he understood why she taught the classes she did now.
“He is one of us,” Kinah said, almost sounding guilty. “And he did good things for us, while he was here. Ultimately, he and Charles Xavier both wanted safety for mutants; they just wanted it in different ways. Xavier chose to work with humans and advocate for peace in a time when peace seemed like an unreachable, unattainable goal. It seemed idealistic, yeah? Impossible. Lehnsherr wanted supremacy, and … they parted ways. I think there is a part of me, though, that can respect the man. He lost his way, but he was highly intelligent and cared for mutants more than most.”
“You’ve just described every war to happen between most countries, people who start out with good intentions for their people but grow significantly out of hand. What I’m getting is that mutants are pretty much the same, then? You can’t unify among yourselves to create something better?” Nasser questioned, narrowly avoided mentioning Iran’s revolution; that could be touchy, and he wasn’t looking for a fight. “What if he didn’t lose his way, though? What if his way was right?”
Kinah raised her eyebrows. “Do you think he’s right?”
“No, but I’m not a mutant. I’m---no, I was a soldier---sent into keep peace. My job was to restore balance and keep people from blowing each other up because of a difference in religion and social beliefs by knocking out the bad guy. I saw the middle ground, the area no one really looks at during this,” throughout, he gestured to the air, mind’s eye looking back at what he’d done. “Your X-Men and Avengers fight war against their own type, but so do my humans.”
“We aren’t so different, after all,” Kinah said, her voice quiet. “No one can really agree, no one ever will, but … if we were all the same, we would never progress. We need different ideas, and arguments, and in the end, maybe we do need people like Magneto---at least to show us the alternative to peaceful resolution. I prefer to live a nonviolent life, but … forgive me, I’m an academic, not a soldier, and while I’ve lived here and seen violence, I haven’t been where you’ve been or stood in your shoes. It’s all easy to look at in the abstract.”
“I don’t think you have a choice when it comes to everyone being the same or different, either. I think that’s inevitable. People will always impress their ideas on nations that don’t want them or half do and the other half revolts,” Nasser grew quiet, contemplative. It was a moment before he spoke again, looking down and absently chewing a nail. “Maybe this is why this happened, so I can bring what I know and lived for in and become better at it.”
Kinah smiled, leaning back in her chair. “I think Allah has plans for you, brother.” Of course Nasser was Muslim. Perhaps it was a rude assumption.
An assumption he was about to shatter. “I hate to destroy your faith, but mine was lost in him some time ago.” Not so much lost as... left behind, or forgotten.
Oh. Oh. Kinah’s cheeks flushed and she glanced away. “I---no, that is my mistake, I’m sorry. I assumed.” She glanced back at Nasser, lifting her chin. “But ‘destroy my faith’? My faith is worthless if you say you lost yours and I immediately doubt my own.”
Nasser grinned, it was a little lopsided and showed tooth, but it was real. “No, it’s fine, please. My mother would have a cow if she heard me say that, but. If I can, you’re new coming back to Islam, yeah?” He noticed she was cautious with her hijab, still making sure it was tucked right and nothing showed. “You play with the edges to make sure they’re secure, but a woman who has worn one all her life usually doesn’t. At least, that I've noticed.”
Kinah bit her lip, her smile faltering a little. “You are getting rather personal,” she said, but there was a teasing lilt to it that suggested she really didn’t mind all that much. It wasn’t an offensive observation, it was just … far more astute than she’d expected. People here didn’t notice things like that.
Ducking his head down, Nasser swallowed his smile back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he faltered, confused. They had been so candid talking about the school, but of course. It had gone personal. “Like I said, it’s been awhile since I’ve been around women. The only ones we had were either villagers, in which it was old women screaming at us or crying in mourning, or on base, and they were their own variety of fierce.”
“It’s … fine,” Kinah said after a moment of hesitation. “I’m just so used to people being ignorant or just curious that I didn’t expect you to say something like that.” She looked down at her hands, picking a little bit of dirt from under her thumbnail. “I started wearing the hijab when I was thirteen, and I wore it until I was eighteen. Things changed when I was in college. I stopped wearing it, I … I wouldn’t say that I lost my faith, Nasser, but I will say that I hid it. I was embarrassed by it, concerned about what others would say. You’re right, though. I started to wear it again last year.”
“It happens to all of us, at one point or another, I think. Though I have siblings who are much more steadfast and some who aren’t,” though he took the cake on being the worst to follow his faith. “I’ve had to lie about being Persian most of my adult life, so believe me when I say I understand. People didn’t even know I spoke Farsi until a good few years after my enlistment. I... I told them my last name was Filipino, and it worked for awhile until the truth comes out and our... I don’t know what to call it, but it comes back eventually.”
Kinah listened, intent and quiet. “I can’t imagine being a soldier in the American military,” she admitted. “It’s hard enough going day to day on the street, talking with waitresses and clerks, being looked at, judged. But the military? My mother is from Afghanistan, she has a few choice words.”
“It’s not easy,” he smiled rather wistfully, not wanting to dive into this quite yet. “But then again, I can’t imagine being an obvious mutant. People fear the unknown.”
“It’s not easy,” Kinah echoed. Sensing that they’d hit something of a brick wall in the conversation, she glanced away toward the doors. “Ya Allah, I am so sorry, I am the worst tour guide ever, here we are sitting in the library----”
“---Talking politics and beliefs?” Nass finished, but didn’t rise. Truth was he enjoyed this. It was a better conversation than he’d had in years. “No, don’t be sorry, it’s fine. You’re a much better conversationalist than my buddies were. There’s only so many times you can discuss J.Lo’s backside before you just want to send them out into a sandstorm.”
Kinah laughed quietly, her smile broad. Her reactions were generally small and private. “If you ever need a sandstorm, my brother Hakeem becomes one,” she teased.
Another quick glance at the door. “Did you want to stay here?” she asked. “There isn’t any rush, the school will still be standing when we are done, inshallah.” The door was open, they weren’t technically alone, and this was far from a date. It had been a long time since she’d talked to anyone like this and she needed it.
Following her glances, he found himself wondering nearly the same. This wasn’t a date, and he wasn’t a relative---but her brothers, at least Hakeem, knew they were on a tour. “If you feel comfortable, I’d like to.”
Kinah chuckled, glancing down at her fingertips; they dissolved into mist for a brief moment before reforming. “It isn’t exactly as if we are locked in my bedroom.”
“Exactly, and now would probably be a bad time to ask if you wanted a magic carpet ride,” he said before he realized it, inhaled and clamped his mouth shut. “...Did your fingers just... vanish?” Nasser scrambled for a topic change, and they had. He saw it.
Kinah giggled (like an idiot, how mortifying) and took the opportunity to glance at her fingers. “My powers,” she said. “Sometimes I don’t … control them as well as I should. If I’m nervous, or off guard.”
Suddenly, Kinah seemed to burst into a billion glittering pieces, a fine mist catching the light like something between dust and water vapor. The mist rose up to the ceiling, spreading out over most of the library’s area before gathering back down in front of Nasser.
Droplets gathered together again, forming the shape of Kinah and everything she wore, before she solidified again. “See?”
Nasser did see, having sat back in his chair with mouth agape, watching Kinah transform into something even more lovely than she already was. He wasn’t sure what to say, barely nodding his head to acknowledge. His eyes were a little wider and he was still a little shocked.
“That may have been the first usage of a mutant power I’ve ever seen in reality.” Sure, he saw it on television, but that was different. This was more real than he could have ever imagined, and less terrifying. It was beautiful, really. “You glitter. Are you dust? or glass? Sand?”
The idea that Nasser had never seen a mutant use their powers seemed to baffle Kinah. She’d grown up in a mutant family; everyone had powers. They were all different, but powers were so commonplace in her world that growing up without them seemed very strange and … sad, perhaps.
“I’m …” Kinah looked back down at her fingers, letting them dissolve so she could observe the mist. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “My mother and Hakeem are sand. I am... something else. The mist is harmless, mostly intangible. I haven’t been tested to know what I’m made up of.” And the idea bothered her; she didn’t really want to know.
“Well, it’s beautiful, whatever it is,” he found himself blushing and quickly looked away, not wanting to make her nervous or, well. It was a little impudent for him to think that he made her nervous.
“Do you do that often? Become the mist?”
“If I need to,” said Kinah. “Or if I want to. It can be helpful, travel-wise. I used to live in New York City for a while and it was cheaper than taking a taxi.” She grinned, tucking her hands into her pockets. “That isn’t all I can do, but the rest … is less nice.”
“That would be useful, but. What’s the other half, if you don’t mind indulging my curiosity?”
Kinah fidgeted. “Do you want to see, or should I tell you?”
“... See, if that’s all right?” Suddenly he felt unsure. “You can say no. I’d understand.”
“No, no, I’ll show you.” Kinah lowered her head and took a moment to center herself. At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, that Kinah was gearing up for nothing at all.
Then, it started. The temperature of the room seemed to drop a couple of degrees, and Kinah’s beautiful, shimmering mist was replaced with a dark fog curling around her boots. The fog crept low across the floor, spreading out and curling upward like stormclouds rolling in. The lights overhead flickered and died. The windows were covered, casting Nasser into total darkness.
The library doors slammed shut.
It was not what he expected. Nasser froze in his chair, and as the darkness overcame, resisted the urge to crawl up into it and become on edge. As it was, he felt his heart quicken and his stomach tightened.
He didn’t do so well in darkness. He feared it. The unknown came out in the dark, they snuck up on you and did terrible things. People died when it was dark, when lights were out. Nasser had done that to people. He feared it happening to himself, even if logic argued that he was safe, completely safe, right where he was.
“Okay, that’s scary,” he whispered, biting back a whimper, trying not to sound like he was afraid. Strong, brave. That’s what he was supposed to be. “I think I like your mist better.”
The fog immediately dispersed; the lights flickered back to life and light filtered in through the windows again. Kinah was no longer standing in front of him, but was rather over by the library doors, opening them up. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she said, her voice barely audible at a distance. She never raised her voice.
“You didn’t,” he lied, nervously licking his lips and willing his blood to stop racing. Nasser unlocked his fingers from the chair’s armrests and wiped the sweat that had quickly covered his palms off on his thighs.
Standing, Nass took a few deep breaths to calm himself more before walking to the doors she had opened. Suddenly it felt like the library was too small. He needed out. Space. “I thought I saw a sunroom, or greenhouse, off the backside. Solarium, maybe? Do you mind showing me that?”
“That room is actually the cafeteria,” said Kinah, “the one at the back. There’s the Atrium as well, which is up on the top floor.” And a good place for snipers, she thought, but she left that out. “Come on, I will show you both.”