Unshared Pasts

October 28, 2014: Siblings normally share history, Illyana and Piotr share very little.

#24F New York

If one is going to set up a safe house using money swiped from dead hitmen,
one might as well go all out. The entire apartment has wood panel floor, and
rather sleek looking black, white and chrome furnishings - sleek being a look
that Jericho appreciates. There's the occasional splash of red, blue or green
thrown in for color. The kitchen looks out over the dining area - replete
with a nice glass table and wooden chairs - and a small 'bar' type area in
between. Beyond that is the main area, featuring the couch, coffee table a
few comfy chairs and the TV used both for watching movies and pulling up
technical and tactical schematics. Behind that, a sliding glass door leads to
a wide terrace with another table and a nice view of the Hudson.

On the left side as you enter the main room is a bedroom that the previous
tenant soundproofed and turned into a recording studio. Most of that gear is
gone and it's mostly a bedroom again.

On the other side are two more bedrooms, including the one Jericho habitually
uses. The other two share a bath and the smaller of the two rooms is part
office as well, though the bed in it is, if on the small side, at least



  • <Name of NPC or "None">
  • <Use same pattern for all npcs>

Mood Music:

It's Later. Jericho has left Piotr alone in the apartment while he attends to… well, whatever it is the hacker is up to to day. He gets into a lot of stuff. It's left Piotr time to poke around, shoud he so desire. At the TV and the current news, at the kitchen with its stock of good vodka and ice cream. At the rooms, of which one is clearly Jericho's and one is clearly Illyana's. The blonde has been absent for some time, but makes her appearance in the middle of the living room in a circle of light that leaves her in its passing.

Illyana is dressed in jeans and a death-metal band T-shirt with the heavy boots she favors that come up to her knees with silver skull buckles along the outside of her calves. Her blue eyes are filled with a cold fire and her mouth is set in a grim, unhappy line.

Piotr had stayed put for the better part of half an hour. He had wandered the apartment, snooped in drawers, and then sat on the couch and watched an episode of Star Trek, making Scotty make a lot more sense. And then he'd gotten bored and longed for his paints.

Which is why he'd taken to the streets. He'd searched the couch, the drawers, and pretty much every nook and cranny to find any money he could.

And then he'd left. For a short while to get supplies.

Which is how he's in the living room with a palette of water colours, some paper, and a paintbrush which glides slowly, in very purposeful strokes across the paper. The flurry of colours, of reds, blacks, and purples all form the sentinel permanently seared into Piotr's mind.

But Piotr himself paints in his armoured form. Along the side of his arm, the magnets have been arranged into a small poem. Evidently he's multitasking.

The movement of the door and the sight of his sister prompts the large man to slip back into his usual skin, causing all of the magnets to clatter to the floor. "Yana," he shoots her a half smile before looking about the room. The paintings are many — he's been busy it would seem. Consequently, the room is in a state of disarray and plastered in a world that Piotr remembers.

Illyana knew that Piotr was here, but it's still a surprise. Most of their time together here were stolen moments so that she wasn't pulled into his life with the Brotherhood and so that those affliated with Xavier's didn't doubt her loyalties. "Hey." She replies, a small smile coaxed to life just seeing him, though it doesn't chase the shadows from her blue eyes. Indeed, a moment later the smile falters. "I haven't been able to find out anything about the world you're from. The kids you were with." The tone is… apologetic. Not one that most people hear from the blonde.

Stepping over towards him she pauses to take in the art arrayed around. "Wow." She murmurs softly, not so much in surprise but in admiration. Her Piotr did manage a short career as a professional artist, after all. But it never gets old. Seeing his work.

She pulls her attention back to him. "I tried tracing back on you, I tried locating the Piotr from here to see if maybe you guys got swapped somehow but…" She sighs and shakes her head. "Nothing." There's a bitterness to her words. So much power avalible to her, and she can't find her brother.

Piotr sets the brush on the palette as she enters and his arms comfortably cross over his chest. The frown that traces across Piotr's face almost finishes as a pout playing on his lips. He offers her a small nod, "You tried. It was a long shot anyways," he sighs softly. "If I could get back to them — " what could he even do? Probably nothing.

The frown continues, as she admires some of his work. "They're not great," he states earnestly. "I've been out of practice for awhile. Not a lot of time to paint when the world is falling apart." His lips twist to the side. And then, rather sheepishly, he begins to stack the papers together, with the faintest flush of his cheeks. "Best not to look too carefully," he murmurs, hands quickly retrieving each as he tramples around the room to catch each stray painting.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes as he continues to tuck paper after paper into the pile, blue eyes wide as he does so. A glance is given to the magnets that had fallen to the floor, "I'll pick them up — "

Illyana isn't used to her brother being so… apologetic. She holds out her hands to try to stop him. "No, No, it's OK." She assures him. "And they're wonderful." She gives him one of her small, rueful smiles. "I always wanted to be able to draw like you." She winces a bit as he tramples about and shakes her head. "No, really. It's OK." There's a pause. "How are you doing?" Now that he's had some time to catch up with the world here. Which he might be stuck in.

Even with the assurances, Piotr grasps the papers into a pile, and he manages a dimpled, self-deprecating smile. "Thank you," he exhales in something akin to a sigh. The work serves as a kind of barrier to the question, granting him a small measure of space to let it sit. His fingers shuffle through the papers, presumably putting them in some kind of order. "I…" his eyebrows draw together and he attempts to catch her gaze. Somewhat unconvincingly he shoots her a small smile, "I'm fine." There's a visible heaviness in his shoulders.

Illyana arches a brow at him. "Liar." She chides, coming over to sit near him. Her hands reach out to rest over his larger ones, to still their fidgeting. "What can I do to help?" Unfortunately, the things he'd like most she likely can't give him. Answers about the children. Probably not a ticket 'home' though. Doesn't sound like there was much to go home to.

"I have what I need," Piotr answers truthfully. "Paint. Paper. Brushes." He inhales a long slow breath. "Answers aren't likely to come," he states gently. "I need to let it go." And then, related he lifts the sheets he'd just gathered, "And I have what I need to start doing that." There's another twitch of a smile at that. "Just having you around helps, you know. I know that your relationship with your-Piotr was very different. That he was… not me. Your man-friend," he actually smiles around the word, "explained that much."

"Well, at the least I can get you more of those." Illyana nods to the supplies. His summation of the answers gets a dip of her head. While she plans to keep looking for the Piotr of this world, trying to catch glimpses of the world this Piotr came from would require magics she would rather not delve into. Especially as the answers are likely to be so grim.

The choice of moniker gets a short laugh from Illyana and a duck of her head. Nancy already teases her about the decade she and Jericho have between them. "We didn't get to spend a lot of time together. I was young when he left Russia and then suddenly I'm nearly a decade older and he's sending me away so I don't end up a fourteen year old terrorist. I understood why he did it, but I did miss being able to spend time with him."

"I don't know your Piotr or how he would react to a rather…" he shoots her a touch of a smile, "significant relationship for you, but he seems to understand your value," at least insofar as this Piotr can tell. He nods at the relationship she has with her brother. "Right," he agrees with another flicker of a smile. "I grew up with my sister. And my brother. Under the watchful eyes of Charles Xavier." There's another turn of his lips, a nearly reminiscent smile. "Family is a strange thing. His past isn't mine. But, I'm guessing I need to learn it. At least a little." There's a pause. "Visiting his apartment at some point is probably smart."

Illyana gives a shake ofher head. "I know we have an older brother, but I never met Mikhail. He… died shortly after I was born." Only as she's already started speaking does she realize that it would be another blow to him. Mikhail's death was only words to her, having never known the eldest Rasputin child. She's seen his pictures, but even that was long, long ago.

Illyana gives a nod at his thought. "We can do that, sure." She can look around to see if there are signs of his disappearance there as well. She pauses then, thoughtful. "Where you're from… Did I get kidnapped to another dimension there?" Before she goes hopping him through Limbo, she should know how he'll react.

"Of course he did," Piotr answers as his eyes turn back to his pages, adjusting which one gets to sit on top. The stack is then left on the table and he treads over to the kitchen to retrieve a glass and some water. "The world is different. I need to just know these things," he states softly.

He shakes his head at the question. "If you did, I didn't know about it. So that's not likely." His eyebrows arch a little higher up on his forehead.

Illyana ahs softly, her mouth pressing into a hard line and her brow furrowed a bit. "I went from six to fourteen in the space of minutes. I think you'd have remembered." She says, trying for some levity before she elaborates. "Here, I was kidnapped to another dimension. Time ran differently there. Eight years for me was just a few minutes for everyone else. My—our parents kind of freaked out? So… yeah. Going home wasn't really an option."

"Our parents died when you were a toddler," Piotr states in turn. The water is poured and brought to his lips as he glances towards the paintings. "So. My Illyana wasn't kidnapped to the other dimension then." He sighs softly. "I wish I could help more."

Illyana's brows go up at that. "Help more with what?" She seems genuinely puzzled. She flashes him a smile, but it's strained. "I just wanted to know so I didn't… startle you. Where I grew up… it wasn't a nice place and when I teleport, I move through that dimension."

"With anything, I guess?" he asks instead of states. "You… didn't grow up here," Piotr repeats quietly as things begin to make more sense. He downs the rest of the water and then sets the glass down on the counter again. "So. This is an awful place?" he watches her intently as he strolls over to the table where the stack of papers is and begins to collect the magnets he'd let fall to the floor.

There's a long pause before Illyana answers. Finally, on a soft sigh she answers, "Yes." She doesn't look at him, one fingernail picking at some of the stitching on the sofa and she watches the motion with a bit too much intensity. "Some might go so far as to call it Hell though they'd be wrong." Another pause. "It's more like a minor hell-realm. Lots of demons, but no damned souls."

It's finicky and not exactly an easy task, but Piotr plucks each of the magnetic poetry words from the floor, stacking them in his palm and reviewing each word as he does so. He hmmms. "Well, I've never believed in heaven, hell, or God. So." His lips purse lightly. "But. That's something worth knowing," he virtually whispers.

The shadow of Illyana's smile is gone as she looks back over at his quiet words. With effort, she stops her worrying of the stitching. "If you want, I can take you there now." She says, words soft.

Piotr's chin drops and he sets the magnets down on the table next to the papers. His eyebrows draw together as he looks at the stack, considering something, but he just shakes his head and treads towards Illyana. "I'm ready," he offers her softly.

It is perhaps more silence and awkwardness than either is used to having ever had with each other. Of course, those were very different 'others'. When Piotr steps up next to her, Illyana raises a hand and summongs a stepping disk.

She doesn't linger in Limbo, but she doesn't need to. The blood-red sky, the citadel that rises in the distance, the cracked and broken landscape is all out of Dante's inferno. She could have taken him through the Green that Jericho tends so dilligently for her, but not today. That would be like a false sort of hope.

Another disk rises at their feet, and a moment later they're in Piotr's apartment, spartan thing that it is in Mutant Town. There is a half-finished mural on the walls and art supplies here and there. Empty vodka bottles.

Limbo makes Piotr nauseated. The place itself is enough to make his stomach lurch. But they don't stay long, leaving to the apartment in question.

The smell of vodka and cigarettes prompts Piotr's nose to wrinkle distastefully. It's hard not to judge Piotr from this world. His life is different. His trajectory is different. There's a nearly stale dank quality about the space, prompting the fellow to examine the mural as his eyes train on the painting. "The brush strokes are short," he states as his fingers trail across the unfinished mural. "Painting is like… a fingerprint. But his is so different than mine. Short often is.. angry?" His head cants towards Illyana before drawing his fingers back to his side.

He treads towards the bedroom and notes, "I need clothes. Do you think… do you think he would mind terribly? I'm not exactly easy to outfit…"

Illyana's expression is… closed. Quiet. It gives nothing away. Perhaps Piotr didn't notice before hwo cold her eyes are. How empty. The light missing from within. It's eaiser to notice now, watching him take in the space her brother has… well, 'lived' might not be entirely correct. Occupied, perhaps. She doesn't reply to the question about his anger, perhaps thinking it more rhetorical than question but when he asks about clothing, she gives a faint smile. "Piotr never cared much about… things. I'm sure he won't begrudge you some clothing."

Given the state of the apartment, it perhaps gives insight as to why Illyana had this new Piotr stay with her, instead of leaving him alone here.

Piotr nods as he walks back to the bedroom and grabs a duffle bag he happens to find in the closet. Several changes of clothes are piled into it and he actually notes, "I think I owned this shirt," before packing it away. Evidently they still had some commonalities, even if these are few and far between. Being the same person certainly has its effect. He treads back outside the room and states, "I should like to meet him. Assuming that wouldn't make the entirety of time and space implode on themselves."

He glances at some of the paints and, rather enviously allows his fingers to graze the brushes. "Good taste in tools." He shoots her a flicker of a smile.

"We can hit up an art store." Illyana says with that hint of a smile. Maybe it's just circumstance but he hasn't seen her really smile yet. Just small, subdued things or more often an amused smirk. "I actually have a paying job and aside from paying Jericho rent… I don't spend it on a lot." And 'Berto negotiates some damned good wages for her 'services'.

"Knowing something about Time and Space… I don't think you two meeting would blow up the universe. You're not the same. Not really. If you were this Piotr but from the past or future, there would be an issue. But… you're not."

"No. I'm not from the past or the future. I'm not from here. This history, this life, it's like… filling in blanks I couldn't possibly have," Piotr shoots her a near-smile of his own. "I have these memories of Xavier's that your Piotr just couldn't access. I remember what it was like to bunk with the fellows. To play int he yard. To hold a brush between my fingers. I did an entire exhibit base on my friends. On the beauty of difference." His lips turn downwards, and he whispers, "It was vandalized before it opened."

The Piotr that Illyana knew was never this… sensitive? Or perhaps… heartbroken. There is a flicker of sadness through Illyana's eyes and she steps over to slip her much smaller hand into his. No amount of 'sorry' would ever make it better, no was there anything she could have done. Instead she gives his hand a squeeze. An attempt to be reassuring.

The squeeze is met with a squeeze in turn and a flicker of a smile that doesn't meet his eyes. Piotr shakes his head, "It was terribly difficult to lose… everyone." His eyebrows draw together sharply and he emits a sigh, "But. To never have had them," the smile disappears altogether. "I can't help but feel a void for your Piotr. The life he missed. Those people. The children. Their laughter," his eyes glimmer with accumulating moisture. "To never have that. To never hear that. To never feel what it was to teach Maddie poetry; to teach Lukas to ride a bike… to be in that family." He shakes his head. "I may have lost — " he frowns " — but to never have had it." He sniffs once and clamps his eyes shut.

The depth of emotion shown is… uncomfortable for Illyana. Moreso because he's mourning those joys in life that she can't quite connect with. While she spent her high school years at Xavier's, she was never one of those laughing children. Was never part of thier lives, either.

Much like the Ororo she knew in Limbo was a healer, a nurturer, so to is this Piotr. And Illyana is destruction. Her silence fills the room along with Piotr's mourning for that other him.

And there's a lot of silence int he moment as Piotr mourns the life that this Piotr never had; never could have. They didn't share joys, loves, or trials. Each had his own life. That much is clear. With a sharp breath, the male Rasputin draws his hand back to his side and then states, "If I can help you find him, I will. I can't imagine I'd be very useful at helping negotiate — " his blue eyes blink hard and he shoots her a tight-lipped not-genuine smile.

Illyana lets her own hand drop to her side, her manner quiet. Perhaps for the first time, she's realizing how much of a stranger he is to her. Now, things 'he' has known about her forever… she suddenly doesn't want to bring up. "If something comes up and I think you could help… I'll ask you." She assures the large man with her own tight-lipped smile. "I'm sure as soon as we can get you in to see the Professor, you'll be fine. You can take up teaching at the Institute again if you like."

"I… " his eyebrows draw together and Piotr issues her a faint frown, "…don't know." With a mirthless chuckle he shakes his head. "I feel like I've been granted a chance at a piece of my old life without any of the things that made it worth living. Our lives are different, Yana. You are my sister, and I know you are special. That what makes your soul is fire and ice and everything in between. But what you've lived through. Where you grew up. What I remember of you. None of it, not an iota, is real. Not for here. Real in that it didn't happen. I didn't imagine it. But not real in its consequences."

He sucks on the inside of his cheek, this dose of philosophy wasn't something he was looking for.

Somehow, Illyana doesn't think that Piotr needs the details of her own formative years to add to the burden he's carrying right now. "If it helps, I don't think that any of the X-Men had any real contact with my brother. Not enough to have… strong feelings against him that might interfere with you making…" And now she smirks again. "'Old' friends." Her expression sobers again. "I know, I'm not your Illyana. And you're not my Piotr. But you are my brother. I'll do whatever I can for you and stand by you. No matter what." She assures him.

And then, adding with perhaps more wisdom than she should have for her apparent years, "You have to go forward. You can't get mired down in the past and the 'what ifs' or 'could have beens' or when you loose… everything. You have to keep going."
Jericho Trent has connected.

"But how do you negotiate befriending people who don't know you, but meant the world to you in another lifetime?" Piotr asks quietly as his hand runs over his chin. "Or do you? Do you try to forget what was and live in a new reality where everything you cared about may exist but doesn't involve you?" Evidently he's been thinking about this a lot. "I'll paint. Or sculpt. Or draw. Perhaps the answer can be found in some sketched charcoal lines or the colours of a pastel."

His chin drops, "I hadn't intense on losing everything. I'd planned on being lost first."

Illyana's smile is sad and wan. "Don't we always?" She says so softly before stepping over and taking his hand again, with perhaps a bit of hesitation this time. "Come on. We'll get you some supplies." Because that at least, she can help with.

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