Nathan took a slow sip of his coffee, exhaling as the heat settled in his chest. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of his chair, before giving Ororo a dry smirk.
"Well," he said, "as much as I enjoy talking about myself, we're here to reach an understanding, not write my biography." He tilted his head, studying her. "So what about you, then? How does one turn out the way you do?"
Ororo arched a delicate eyebrow, amusement flickering across her features. "What? An enchanting mistress of the elements?"
Nathan let out a low chuckle. "You sure have a high opinion of yourself." Then, almost offhandedly, he added, "Also, quick question—in addition to controlling the weather, do you also read minds?"
Ororo's smile widened slightly. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Nathan… but you do have a knack for it."
Nathan gave an easy shrug. "It just comes naturally."
She let out a quiet sigh, stirring the herbal tea in front of her before lifting it to her lips. "As for your question," she continued, "it's also a cocktail. One that includes its fair share of trauma…" She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "But the first ingredient is genetics."
Nathan raised an eyebrow. "The X-Gene?"
Ororo nodded, setting her tea down. "That, and being the descendant of a long line of Kenyan priestesses—women with blue eyes, white hair, and a natural talent for wielding magic, or so I'm told...."
Nathan hummed, swirling the last bit of coffee in his mug before taking another sip. "Fancy. No wonder you like drinking... whatever that is..."
Ororo smirked at his dry remark but continued. "My mother was to be the next priestess of our village—the leader, the guide, the protector." She glanced down, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "But she didn't care much for that path. So she left. Traveled to America, where she met my father."
Nathan watched her carefully, recognizing the shift in her tone. There was a story here—one layered, intricate, and touched with both warmth and sorrow.
He set his mug down. "Go on," he said simply.
Ororo exhaled softly, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. "Soon enough, they had me," she murmured, a distant look in her eyes.
She took a slow sip of her tea before continuing. "But my mother quickly realized that America wasn't a suitable place to raise a child of color—especially then." Her voice held no bitterness, only a quiet understanding of the world's injustices. "She faced discrimination, judgment… and she refused to let me grow up in a place that would see me as less."
Nathan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. "So you left." It wasn't a question.
She nodded. "We moved to Egypt." A small, wistful smile played on her lips. "For a while, everything was… peaceful. We had a home, my mother would tell stories of her village, my father would tell me stories of Harlem, and I was just a child, free of worries."
Then the smile faded.
"I was six when it happened," she said quietly. "A plane crashed—straight into our home. It destroyed everything." She inhaled sharply, as if she could still taste the dust in her throat. "My parents… they didn't make it."
Nathan's expression remained unreadable, but his response came in a single, knowing word. "Trauma."
Ororo gave a small, humorless chuckle. "Yes." She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Though fortunately, I was more impressionable than you in my youth. And, more importantly, I met the right people—people I could take after as positive role models." She smirked slightly. "Well… mostly."
Nathan arched an eyebrow. "Mostly? Now that sounds interesting."
Ororo's smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "They were thieves," she admitted, leaning forward slightly. "Orphaned children like me, scraping by however they could. And their leader… Achmed El-Gibar." She shook her head, a fond smile lingering. "He took me in, taught me how to survive. How to be quick, quiet, unseen."
Nathan let out a quiet chuckle. "So, before you became an X-Man, you were picking pockets and lifting wallets?"
Ororo's smile widened. "Including Charles Xavier's."
Nathan blinked. "You're kidding."
She shook her head, laughter in her voice. "I thought he was just another tourist—an easy mark. I stole his wallet without a second thought."
Nathan snorted, amused. "And let me guess—he caught you?"
"He recognized me," Ororo corrected. "For what I was. A mutant." She took another sip of tea, her voice turning thoughtful. "But he didn't tell me—not right away. He thought it best for me to learn about my powers on my own terms, at my own pace." Her gaze flickered downward, her fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic of her cup. "I'm grateful to him for that."
Nathan let out a low hum, fingers drumming idly against his empty mug. "Seems like the man has a habit of playing the long game." He paused, then smirked slightly. "Still… must've been one hell of an awkward conversation when he finally did tell you." He adopted a mock-serious tone, tilting his head. "'Ororo, you're a mutant. Also, you stole my damn wallet.'"
Ororo snorted, unable to suppress a chuckle. "Oh, he didn't mention the wallet until years later. And even then, he waited for just the right moment—when he knew I couldn't deny it." She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. "But it took him years to find me again after that first meeting."
Nathan leaned back slightly, arching a brow. "And what happened in between?"
Ororo exhaled, swirling the last of her tea before setting the cup down. "I first tapped into my power when I was ten. It was… unintentional." She glanced at Nathan, gauging his reaction. "A theft gone wrong."
Nathan simply nodded, silently urging her to continue.
"After that," she said, "I had an itch—a need to see the world, to move, to breathe beyond Cairo's streets. And so, I did." Her voice softened, laced with memory. "I made my way to Kenya, to my mother's birthplace. And as I let myself embrace my abilities, the people there… they started calling me 'Windrider.'"
Nathan blinked. "Windrider?" He mulled it over before nodding approvingly. "Cool nickname. Must be nice." He took a sip of his coffee, then added dryly, "When I was a kid, people just called me the walking existential crisis."
Ororo let out a warm laugh. "I'm sure that wasn't entirely deserved."
Nathan sighed, shaking his head. "No, it entirely was."
A comfortable silence settled between them before he tilted his head at her. "So… street thief, Windrider—what's next?"
Ororo's lips curled slightly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "A goddess," she said smoothly, letting the word settle between them. "Believe it or not."
Nathan's brows lifted slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. "Humble," he remarked, leaning forward. "Go on."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "I met the Maasai people in the Serengeti Plains," she explained. "They told me they had seen the coming of the goddess Ororo in their dreams. They believed I was destined to protect them."
Nathan gave a slow, deliberate nod, setting his coffee down. "And just like that, you found yourself on a pedestal?"
Ororo sighed. "It wasn't that simple. At first, I rejected the idea outright. I didn't see myself as anything divine—just someone with a gift." She traced the rim of her cup with a finger. "But… I was already using my powers to help people. If it meant that much to them, if it gave them hope… then why not accept it?"
Nathan studied her, his expression unreadable. "No offense, but that sounds like the setup to a cult."
Ororo smirked. "Perhaps, if I had demanded their devotion. But it wasn't like that. They didn't worship me, not truly. They respected me, honored me… but I lived among them, walked with them. And in time, I grew into the role." She exhaled softly. "There were… ups and downs, of course. Learning the limits of my abilities, understanding that I wasn't infallible. But in the end, it all worked out."
Nathan tilted his head. "So, Windrider becomes a goddess. What happened next?"
Ororo smiled. "I continued on like that for some time—until Charles reached out to me."
Nathan leaned back slightly. "Lemme guess, he needed a favor?"
Ororo nodded. "The X-Men had been captured by a mad scientist on Krakoa. Charles had no choice but to seek outside help." She glanced at Nathan. "That's when we had the talk. He told me what I truly was—a mutant, not a goddess."
Nathan let out a low chuckle. "Shocker. Bet that was a fun conversation."
Ororo sighed. "It was… enlightening." She sat back, folding her arms. "Everything after that? Well, the rest is history."
Nathan opened his mouth, about to say something, when his phone buzzed against the table. He exhaled sharply and gave Ororo an apologetic glance. "Pardon me," he muttered, fishing the device out of his pocket.
She nodded, watching as he answered the call.
"Go ahead." His tone was clipped, all traces of casual conversation gone.
Rick Mason's voice came through the line, low and steady. "We've got her."
Nathan's fingers drummed idly against the table. "Maya Hansen?"
"Yeah," Rick confirmed. "It took some effort, but we have her in a secure location."
Nathan leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. "Good. Stick to the plan—explain the situation, politely. Make sure she understands what's at stake. Once she's on board, get her working with Zabo. We need the formula perfected, and fast."
"Already on it," Rick said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "By the way, Cap's been asking for you."
Nathan let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple. "Of course he has."
"So… when should I tell them to expect you?"
Nathan glanced at Ororo, then back at the table, jaw tightening slightly. "Soon as I can," he muttered. "Give me a little time."
"Copy that." The line clicked off.
Nathan set his phone down and exhaled through his nose.
Ororo studied him carefully. "What's wrong?"
"Work." He rubbed the back of his neck before meeting her gaze. "Sorry, but we'll have to cut this short." He pushed back his chair. "I'll drive you back to the mansion."
Ororo raised a brow, amusement flickering across her features. "I can find my own way back, Nathan. If your business is urgent, there's no need to trouble yourself."
Nathan shook his head as he stood. "It is urgent. But not urgent enough for me to start skipping out on basic manners." He gestured toward the door. "Come on."
Ororo sighed but didn't argue.
They settled the bill, then stepped outside into the cool evening air. The city hummed around them, the scent of rain lingering faintly in the breeze. Nathan led the way to his car, unlocking it with a tap. As they slid inside, he adjusted his mirrors, then turned to Ororo.
"Mind some music?"
She smirked slightly. "Go ahead."
Nathan flicked a switch on the console, and a moment later, the warm, languid notes of Blue in Green by Miles Davis spilled softly through the speakers.
As the first lingering notes filled the car, Ororo's eyes widened slightly in surprise. She turned to Nathan, studying him as if seeing something new. "You listen to Miles Davis?"
Nathan shrugged, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. "Wouldn't say I listen to music much," he admitted. "But this one? This one's a necessity when driving—especially when the sun's just gone down."
Ororo tilted her head, intrigued. "A necessity, huh?"
Nathan flicked his gaze toward her, lips twitching slightly. "Something about it just fits. Keeps the mind from wandering too much."
She gave a small hum of agreement, then leaned back in her seat. "I did tell you my father was from Harlem," she mused. "We left for Egypt when I was only six months old, but he…" She exhaled, a fond, distant smile playing at her lips. "He used to play his records for me all the time. Miles Davis, Coltrane, Thelonious Monk… all the greats."
Her fingers lightly tapped against the armrest, lost in memory. "I barely remember what he looked like sometimes, but the music?" She closed her eyes. "That's still clear."
Nathan watched her for a beat before returning his attention to the road. "Sounds like he had good taste."
Ororo smirked, eyes still closed. "He did." She let the music wash over her, a moment of peace settling between them. "You know what... this was hardly the worst idea Charles had..." she murmured.
Nathan allowed himself a small smirk. "I have my moments."
With that, he shifted the car into drive, the low hum of the engine blending seamlessly with the slow, melancholic trumpet.
The city stretched out before them, the lights bleeding into the deepening night, and for a little while, neither of them felt the need to say anything at all.
...
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