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WHO: Illyana Rasputin & Emma Frost
WHEN: Evening of May 11th.
WHERE: Illyana’s room and in her brain also.
WHAT: Memorysharing for the Piotr investigation.
WARNINGS: None I think
“Do not mess around in there,” Illyana warns Emma preemptively as they settle down to make another attempt at exchanging memories of her brother. “I have been practicing on my own, but I cannot guarantee you more than a minute.”
In truth, she thinks she’s got the hang of opening her mind to psychic intrusion. Being interrogated by the telepath at the detention facility had reminded her what it felt like to have her mind open to others, even if she’d been powerless herself at the time. But she still struggles with the idea psychologically if nothing else, and while she does more-or-less trust Emma to do what she says she’ll do, her nerves are getting the better of her.
Emma watches Illyana, and while she doesn't know her that well still, it's clear and understandable that she's a bit concerned. Letting down her own guard never makes her particularly comfortable either, and with how second nature the other young woman's defenses are, it's got to be even harder. But she's not going to coddle her. She waves a hand dismissively at her concern.
"I don't mess around without reason." Which should be reassurance enough. "And a minute should be enough for me to get something useful. To make the most of it I need you to put a memory of him top of mind. One that's important to you, so I get a good sense of him."
Illyana’s happy memories of Piotr are few and far between, but she sighs and rolls her neck, closing her eyes as she tries to summon one to the forefront of her mind. It’s a very rare occasion for her to revisit them, as if they’re delicate crumbling things that will degrade with handling. But it comes to her more easily than she was expecting it to: Illyana is about six here, Piotr nearly sixteen, and Mikhail is home from Moscow for the final time in his life. He’d brought gifts with him. Illyana’s was a grotesque little stuffed toy, perhaps in the shape of a large-eared rat, although it looks more like a monkey to her adult eyes. Piotr’s gift had been watercolor paints, expensive foreign imports in eight ultra-saturated colors, of which Illyana had been bitterly jealous.
She remembers peering over the edge of the table as he’d painted a simple rendition of her plush toy, layering blue and red and yellow together until they’d turned to a rich shade of brown. She remembers how that had seemed like magic to her young mind.
Once she has the image held clearly in her head, she inhales a deep breath and pulls her mind open.
Illyana can very likely feel Emma snake her way into her thoughts - there is no attempt to hide her presence, and she needs to be as aggressively there as possible to make the most of this small window of time. She is focused on this memory, and as she takes it in it may feel a little firmer in the other young woman's mind. A little more saturated. A little sharper and fresh.
As amusing as the toy is, Emma's focus mostly brings Piotr into relief, along with Illyana's thoughts and feelings about him as she tries to tease out a deeper sense of him than just the surface level she gets from this memory. As promised, though, it's clear that she doesn't seek anything beyond information about her brother, even as she presses more into her mind.
«Think about the last time you saw him.»
Hopefully there is enough time for this.
Illyana’s irritation with this request is immediate, and seeps into her memories like a watered-down paint; Emma pays it no heed. Her memories of her brother are all the same to her, equally distant and isolated in her mind, and she doesn’t see the difference between the last time she saw him and any other given one. It’s easy enough for her to recall, though.
The last time she saw her brother was the night before her tenth birthday. Her childhood bedroom had once been a sunny and cozy place, with a low slanting ceiling from being built into the attic of the house. But she’d been having bad nightmares for weeks, and now she remembers it as unsettling and shadowed.
Piotr was tall for his age even when he wasn’t in mutant-form, and he’d had to stoop to stand by her bed. The finer details of what he’d said to her while he was tucking her in that night are lost to her, but his voice is gentle and quiet. She knows he told her she couldn’t have any nightmares on her birthday, and promised her that she’d sleep soundly. This was, of course, the same night that Belasco had abducted her from this very room and trapped her in Limbo, and there’s a bitterness in the way she remembers Piotr’s face disappearing as he pulled her bedroom door nearly shut, leaving only a narrow shaft of light from the hallway to keep the room from total darkness.
All of this is useful to Emma, threads to follow once she's in Cerebro and out searching, and this impression is left in Illyana's thoughts, almost, maybe, a reassurance that any discomfort will be worth it. Still, there's no pity or apology attached to any of it.
Her focus on Piotr drifts, but with purpose, pulling in information from Illyana's surroundings in both memories. More breadcrumbs. Anything she can latch onto for a sense of things and her brother. Details are pushed forcefully to the surface, things that were peripheral but present enough to remain somewhere in Illyana's memory. It is all fast and methodical, possibly making clear how often Emma is in others' minds.
“That feels weird,” Illyana complains aloud, although she manages to keep her concentration regardless.
She prefers to remember Piotr in his human form, but several memories of him transformed surface here. When he’d first manifested his mutant powers, he hadn’t been able to control it and the family had hidden him in their cellar for months. Much later, she remembers him lifting a tractor over his head with ease, as if it weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. She even remembers peering through her bedroom window once to see her father arguing with a neighbor in their gravel driveway, and how Piotr had put himself between the two men when they’d started yelling — a moment she’d forgotten about until just now.
Unbidden, she also remembers visiting her parents for the first time after she’d returned from Limbo, when her father had first told her that Piotr had been taken away by the KGB not long after she’d vanished. He’d been adamant that no resident of Ust-Ordynski would’ve turned Piotr in, but Illyana isn’t so sure. The Rasputins might be respected by the townsfolk, but they were feared by them, too. Illyana still sees it in their eyes every time she returns.
"You haven't had anyone in your mind like this before," Emma replies evenly, the complaint in Illyana's tone completely ignored. Despite herself, she does feel a little bad for the other young woman - she can only imagine losing Christian like this. Because of this she does her best, trying to hold onto what she can, her resolve seeping a little into Illyana's mind in the process. These moments of Piotr using his powers are helpful, another facet of him that she can maybe use to locate him.
"Who do you suspect may know more? Show them to me."
Illyana’s mind finally snaps shut at this request, and she lets out a frustrated huff of air as she opens her eyes and rubs her temples.
“I don’t know. They’re all the same to me now,” she admits with some chagrin. When she was a child she’d known the names of every resident of the town, and had spent nearly as much time in other people’s kitchens as her own mother’s. Now, she couldn’t name more than five, and the few she does recall clearly deeply pain her to imagine being responsible for her brother’s demise. She’d rather it be someone whose name she’s long forgotten. “Besides, it’s been decades. Whoever it was could be dead by now.”
Being ejected from Illyana's mind leaves Emma a little dazed, and it takes her a few moments to refocus on the other young woman. She can feel a headache coming on, and wonders a little if Illyana will get one too. But it doesn't matter.
She sighs, pressing her own fingers to her temples.
"Even if they're dead, there could be leads. I have enough, though, to start looking. I'll find some traces, and then it'll just be a little hunt." This is said casually, as though it isn't the undertaking that it is.
"You did well, by the way."
Illyana only hums in response. She isn’t one to readily accept praise, whether or not she thinks she deserves it. In this instance, she isn’t sure, but there’s no pressing need for her to be any better at letting down her psionic shields than she is, so she feels accomplished enough. Her lips press together in a thin line as she considers Emma.
“What are the next steps?” she asks.
"A visit to your hometown might be useful. Otherwise, simply searching with Cerebro." Emma shrugs, sitting back as she rubs her temples in slow, circular motions.
"And you can tell me everything you were told about what happened to him. The goal here is to narrow down a location to search, for either him or people who may know his fate, and follow whatever we can. It's all very inexact, I'm afraid. But cheer up, darling. I'll get you answers."
One way or another, Illyana thinks in the privacy of her own mind. But it’s been a long time since she’s even had a little hope she might figure out what became of her brother, and that’s good enough for her.
WHEN: Evening of May 11th.
WHERE: Illyana’s room and in her brain also.
WHAT: Memorysharing for the Piotr investigation.
WARNINGS: None I think
“Do not mess around in there,” Illyana warns Emma preemptively as they settle down to make another attempt at exchanging memories of her brother. “I have been practicing on my own, but I cannot guarantee you more than a minute.”
In truth, she thinks she’s got the hang of opening her mind to psychic intrusion. Being interrogated by the telepath at the detention facility had reminded her what it felt like to have her mind open to others, even if she’d been powerless herself at the time. But she still struggles with the idea psychologically if nothing else, and while she does more-or-less trust Emma to do what she says she’ll do, her nerves are getting the better of her.
Emma watches Illyana, and while she doesn't know her that well still, it's clear and understandable that she's a bit concerned. Letting down her own guard never makes her particularly comfortable either, and with how second nature the other young woman's defenses are, it's got to be even harder. But she's not going to coddle her. She waves a hand dismissively at her concern.
"I don't mess around without reason." Which should be reassurance enough. "And a minute should be enough for me to get something useful. To make the most of it I need you to put a memory of him top of mind. One that's important to you, so I get a good sense of him."
Illyana’s happy memories of Piotr are few and far between, but she sighs and rolls her neck, closing her eyes as she tries to summon one to the forefront of her mind. It’s a very rare occasion for her to revisit them, as if they’re delicate crumbling things that will degrade with handling. But it comes to her more easily than she was expecting it to: Illyana is about six here, Piotr nearly sixteen, and Mikhail is home from Moscow for the final time in his life. He’d brought gifts with him. Illyana’s was a grotesque little stuffed toy, perhaps in the shape of a large-eared rat, although it looks more like a monkey to her adult eyes. Piotr’s gift had been watercolor paints, expensive foreign imports in eight ultra-saturated colors, of which Illyana had been bitterly jealous.
She remembers peering over the edge of the table as he’d painted a simple rendition of her plush toy, layering blue and red and yellow together until they’d turned to a rich shade of brown. She remembers how that had seemed like magic to her young mind.
Once she has the image held clearly in her head, she inhales a deep breath and pulls her mind open.
Illyana can very likely feel Emma snake her way into her thoughts - there is no attempt to hide her presence, and she needs to be as aggressively there as possible to make the most of this small window of time. She is focused on this memory, and as she takes it in it may feel a little firmer in the other young woman's mind. A little more saturated. A little sharper and fresh.
As amusing as the toy is, Emma's focus mostly brings Piotr into relief, along with Illyana's thoughts and feelings about him as she tries to tease out a deeper sense of him than just the surface level she gets from this memory. As promised, though, it's clear that she doesn't seek anything beyond information about her brother, even as she presses more into her mind.
«Think about the last time you saw him.»
Hopefully there is enough time for this.
Illyana’s irritation with this request is immediate, and seeps into her memories like a watered-down paint; Emma pays it no heed. Her memories of her brother are all the same to her, equally distant and isolated in her mind, and she doesn’t see the difference between the last time she saw him and any other given one. It’s easy enough for her to recall, though.
The last time she saw her brother was the night before her tenth birthday. Her childhood bedroom had once been a sunny and cozy place, with a low slanting ceiling from being built into the attic of the house. But she’d been having bad nightmares for weeks, and now she remembers it as unsettling and shadowed.
Piotr was tall for his age even when he wasn’t in mutant-form, and he’d had to stoop to stand by her bed. The finer details of what he’d said to her while he was tucking her in that night are lost to her, but his voice is gentle and quiet. She knows he told her she couldn’t have any nightmares on her birthday, and promised her that she’d sleep soundly. This was, of course, the same night that Belasco had abducted her from this very room and trapped her in Limbo, and there’s a bitterness in the way she remembers Piotr’s face disappearing as he pulled her bedroom door nearly shut, leaving only a narrow shaft of light from the hallway to keep the room from total darkness.
All of this is useful to Emma, threads to follow once she's in Cerebro and out searching, and this impression is left in Illyana's thoughts, almost, maybe, a reassurance that any discomfort will be worth it. Still, there's no pity or apology attached to any of it.
Her focus on Piotr drifts, but with purpose, pulling in information from Illyana's surroundings in both memories. More breadcrumbs. Anything she can latch onto for a sense of things and her brother. Details are pushed forcefully to the surface, things that were peripheral but present enough to remain somewhere in Illyana's memory. It is all fast and methodical, possibly making clear how often Emma is in others' minds.
“That feels weird,” Illyana complains aloud, although she manages to keep her concentration regardless.
She prefers to remember Piotr in his human form, but several memories of him transformed surface here. When he’d first manifested his mutant powers, he hadn’t been able to control it and the family had hidden him in their cellar for months. Much later, she remembers him lifting a tractor over his head with ease, as if it weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. She even remembers peering through her bedroom window once to see her father arguing with a neighbor in their gravel driveway, and how Piotr had put himself between the two men when they’d started yelling — a moment she’d forgotten about until just now.
Unbidden, she also remembers visiting her parents for the first time after she’d returned from Limbo, when her father had first told her that Piotr had been taken away by the KGB not long after she’d vanished. He’d been adamant that no resident of Ust-Ordynski would’ve turned Piotr in, but Illyana isn’t so sure. The Rasputins might be respected by the townsfolk, but they were feared by them, too. Illyana still sees it in their eyes every time she returns.
"You haven't had anyone in your mind like this before," Emma replies evenly, the complaint in Illyana's tone completely ignored. Despite herself, she does feel a little bad for the other young woman - she can only imagine losing Christian like this. Because of this she does her best, trying to hold onto what she can, her resolve seeping a little into Illyana's mind in the process. These moments of Piotr using his powers are helpful, another facet of him that she can maybe use to locate him.
"Who do you suspect may know more? Show them to me."
Illyana’s mind finally snaps shut at this request, and she lets out a frustrated huff of air as she opens her eyes and rubs her temples.
“I don’t know. They’re all the same to me now,” she admits with some chagrin. When she was a child she’d known the names of every resident of the town, and had spent nearly as much time in other people’s kitchens as her own mother’s. Now, she couldn’t name more than five, and the few she does recall clearly deeply pain her to imagine being responsible for her brother’s demise. She’d rather it be someone whose name she’s long forgotten. “Besides, it’s been decades. Whoever it was could be dead by now.”
Being ejected from Illyana's mind leaves Emma a little dazed, and it takes her a few moments to refocus on the other young woman. She can feel a headache coming on, and wonders a little if Illyana will get one too. But it doesn't matter.
She sighs, pressing her own fingers to her temples.
"Even if they're dead, there could be leads. I have enough, though, to start looking. I'll find some traces, and then it'll just be a little hunt." This is said casually, as though it isn't the undertaking that it is.
"You did well, by the way."
Illyana only hums in response. She isn’t one to readily accept praise, whether or not she thinks she deserves it. In this instance, she isn’t sure, but there’s no pressing need for her to be any better at letting down her psionic shields than she is, so she feels accomplished enough. Her lips press together in a thin line as she considers Emma.
“What are the next steps?” she asks.
"A visit to your hometown might be useful. Otherwise, simply searching with Cerebro." Emma shrugs, sitting back as she rubs her temples in slow, circular motions.
"And you can tell me everything you were told about what happened to him. The goal here is to narrow down a location to search, for either him or people who may know his fate, and follow whatever we can. It's all very inexact, I'm afraid. But cheer up, darling. I'll get you answers."
One way or another, Illyana thinks in the privacy of her own mind. But it’s been a long time since she’s even had a little hope she might figure out what became of her brother, and that’s good enough for her.