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ororo munroe (windrider) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-01-29 22:18:00

who ororo & t'challa
when during the Dec 28th blizzard
what T'Challa comes to Ororo’s aide during the second Blizzard
where ororo's place
warnings very PG!
status in progress//PART 1 of 2 (to be posted at another time)



T'Challa had rushed to his closet the moment he'd hung up the phone. Storm - that is, Ororo, was the reason the blizzard was currently raging around Orange County. He’d had a feeling the moment he had looked out the window when waking in the middle of the night. All the newscasters had been taken by surprise on every station he flipped through, and that is when he knew for certain it wasn't Orange County itself acting up.

He pulled on the Black Panther habit - a thick, black, skin tight catsuit made of Wakandan fabric with Vibranium woven in. He spared a glance for the swirling white mass outside - whiteout conditions. “Marvelous.” T'Challa muttered aloud to himself as he pulled on his Vibranium boots, and felt all the more frustrated at the task before him. Oh, finding Ororo was the easy part - he would input her address into the suit and the technology in it would keep him on the right track. It was getting there on foot that was going to be the hard part. He dare not drive in this - growing up in the Midwest he’d learned quick what not to do in a snowstorm. Ironically, what he was about to do was also something he shouldn't be doing, but T'Challa was betting on the suit protecting him.

He pulled on the panther shaped mask and headed for the front door. Pulling it open a gust tore the knob from his hands and swung the door wide, slamming against the side of the house loudly. The wind screamed around him and snow drifted into the open doorway. T'Challa shoved the door shut with little effort (enhanced abilities were a trait of the Black Panther) and marched into the storm, the wind stealing the words from his lips “I'm coming, Wind Rider. Just hold on.”

The very nature of Ororo’s dreams kept the weather at a grave imbalance. Every day was a practice in restraint and balance. Wisdom had been there to help her the first time, but the dreams were leading her down a thorny path. From forced homelessness to theft, her dream self had become a hapless orphan on the streets.

It wasn’t safe. Journeying away from Cairo brought her to the second worst experience in her Dreaming, killing a man. The moment it registered, the lifeless body by her hands, she’d awoken completely horrified with herself. The precious control she’d been keeping since the previous blizzard unraveled all at once, a rubber band that fully snapped as soon as her eyes opened and in swept the terrible storm.

Although largely recovered from the physical duress the plane crash had left her in, she was strained and tired from the dream. Curling up in the bed, knees brought up to her chest as Ororo trained her eyes on the snow flurrying outside her window, she tried to focus first on simply breathing. She had to get through this.

Two blizzards in one month would be overkill.

She wasn't completely out of hope, however -- hearing word from T’Challa that he was valiantly on his way to see her gave her a goal, guided her focus for the better. She wouldn't have to go through it alone this time either.

Already several inches had fallen and stuck to the ground, slowing T’Challa’s progress only slightly as he charged through the snow, racing across white, untouched yards and partially plowed intersections. The streets were largely empty, thankfully, save the occasional salting truck - one of which happened to be going his way for a while. He’d hitched a ride, lithely leaping onto the body of the truck and clinging to the roof with his vibranium anti-metal claws, the driver none the wiser with the distraction of the storm around them. T’Challa noted that the wind was picking up and quieting in erratic gusts, and the snowflake sizes kept varying - going from thick fluffy flakes to thin icy ones and then back again. He smiled a little to himself. She was trying, Ororo was fighting the fear and emotions best she could.

He’d lost track of time by the time he’d finally made it to Ororo’s front door. The snow was now nearly eight inches deep, higher in the drifts, which included right in front of her door no less.

T’Challa knocked hard on the door, ready to kick it down if necessary if she were too distressed to answer. “Ororo!” he called above the wind as much as he could, “It’s T’Challa!” And belatedly remembering doorbells existed, he pressed the button once.

Well on the verge of trapping herself in dream-reflection, the knock at the door cut through Ororo’s mind with the sharp intensity of a rubber band snap against skin. She jolted out of place, rushing regrettably up to her feet. She caught her failing balance against the inside of the door, mentally willing the room to stop spinning from the head rush.

When she heard his voice through the winds whistling between the buildings, she urged her feet forward. Ororo would never mark herself as a woman in need of saving, but company--now that she could sorely do with. It had helped the time before when her friend had come to her side, braving the elements of her out-of-control design.

Fumbling with the locks, Ororo inevitably threw open the door to find T’Challa in an unexpected getup. Dazed for a moment, she gingerly reached out to touch her fingertips to the mask that felt like it should have been dearly familiar; she only couldn’t determine why other than that it must have been related to their shared history in the dreams yet to come.

“I am here,” she said quietly, voice tired. “Come in.”

She looked exhausted, almost drained. He knew from his dreams that using her powers too much could do that to Ororo, and considering this was only her second time using them, it didn’t come as a surprise.

What did surprise him was her reaching out to touch his mask. The gesture was at once innocent wonder and - because of his knowledge of their history together - it also felt like the tender expression of love he’d seen countless times, though he knew that wasn’t the case here. As if muscle memory, he reached up and placed his hand upon hers. If Ororo could have seen his eyes behind the whited out panther eyes, she would have seen an expression of compassion and love.

He said nothing and let her retreat from the door so he could step in. He shut the door and tracked in clods of snow a few steps before realizing and stopped short.

“My apologies,” he said, and remembering the mask, touched a button behind his ear. The mask disappeared in rows quickly, retreating into the collar of the suit. Wakandan nanotechnology was a wonder to behold. “For the snow, and this.” meaning the suit. “It was the quickest way to get to you.” He had never really fully had a proper sit down talk with her about his dreams; who he was, who they were to each other. He’d mentioned things when they managed to speak of them, just little hints at their world. “The suit is from the dreams. From our world.” He undid the boots and stepped out of them with black socked feet.

He looked at her with concern. “How are you, Ororo? I saw the snow and winds change on my way here. What is it you have dreamt to cause all this?”

It wouldn’t be long until she dreamed of him, that was what her heart told her. With the brush of his hand on hers, Ororo could almost see the way their lines of fate intertwined. So simple a gesture centered her for a moment, brought about a minutely relieved smile, but then he tracked snow into the apartment and she was reminded of the main reason he’d arrived: she’d done it again.

“It is alright,” she assured, though sounded detached as she withdrew into her thoughts again. Concentrating on his voice, she used it as an anchor in the hopes that it would positively affect the ensuing storm, that it would be a short one and not too harsh. People liked the snow, she recalled dimly.

Seated on the couch, she practically curled into herself. Watching him step out of his boots, she rested her forehead in the palm of her hand uneasily. Fear of wading back into the memory kept her momentarily silent. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to answer him, but that the words seemed to fail her.

“Death,” she offered eventually. Visibly uncomfortable with divulging anything further, she instead shut her eyes and veered down another path in the conversation. One she hoped would help build her resolve in voicing the dream later. “What is it you know of me from our world, T’Challa?”

He chose to stand for now, the suit he knew would dry quickly, but it would take a few minutes at least. Death was an unsurprising answer to give; it most likely would have been her parents, though since Ororo hadn’t divulged to him what she’d dreamt to cause the last storm, it was possible that dream event had caused the previous one. His mind raced to think of what other death could have disturbed her so, while pulled off the clawed gloves, his eyes ever watching her in deep concern. “I’m not entirely certain where to start.” he offered a small smile, trying to gently joke with her to alleviate some tension. He took a step closer, his tone remaining soft. “In the dreams we’ve known each other for a long time. We met when we were young, barely teenagers. I know that where we come from in Africa, you hailed from a line of honored women, priestesses who are born with white hair and blue eyes. You are connected to the earth’s weather and elements. In our world, you are part of a larger race of beings called ‘mutants’; individuals whose genetic material has evolved past the basic human genome to something more fantastic - natural abilities and powers that are as varied and numerous as the stars in the sky.”

It was a whale of a tale, but one she appeared to readily accept. The Dreams had opened her eyes and mind to great new things. Concentrating on his explanation helped Ororo maintain focus, which would benefit the county in the long run. The blizzard wouldn’t stick, although she couldn’t do anything for the already fallen snow by that point. It was imperative the weather moved as naturally as possible, she didn’t want to throw it off balance all over again.

His words made sense. Absently, she drew strands of her whitened hair before her eyes. It had been a surreal experience to wake up with it completely changed, but even more mind boggling to feel so connected to the planet itself. She was a mutant? The revelation didn’t appear to disturb her, rather it helped clarify a few loose ends that the dreams had created.

“I must… be very close to meeting you,” she elaborated, gaze shifting to him again. “I am not a young girl any longer in my dreams. Do you recall what I was like when we first met, T’Challa? Can you tell me the story? The… distraction is helping.”