We Don't Want To Anger Morven

[Matías]

Matias steadied himself, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His jaw was throbbing, a dull, insistent pain that spiked sharply whenever he moved his lips. Anger simmered in his chest, a hot, tight knot that seemed to pulse with his heartbeat. "Commander Vellas,” he began, his voice hoarse, the words laced with a bitter edge, "my 'talents’, as you put it, are very specific, but thus far I am not keen to share it with you. "

He paused, taking a shallow breath that did little to ease the throbbing now flushing his skull, likely a bruise flowering beneath his skin from the force of the punch. "I came here in good faith, under the flag of truce and cooperation, only to be greeted with violence. My feelings about Jay Carpenter are irrelevant; what matters is the lack of control and discipline your soldier displayed."

Matias's eyes flashed with anger, a stark contrast to the calm he attempted to project. "As for my abilities, I am proficient in various aspects of the Power, but I've never had much patience for Healing. It requires a calm and focus that..." He paused, his expression hardening, "that seems ironically lacking in your establishment. Yet if you are offering, I will accept.”

He shifted slightly, suppressing a wince. "However, if you are indeed offering knowledge and cooperation, I am willing to put this... unfortunate incident aside. For now. But make no mistake, Commander, my patience has limits. And my interest in Damien Oakland's achievements in Mexico doesn't extend to enduring assaults."

Matias’s gaze swept over the infirmary, his anger momentarily eclipsed by professional curiosity. The stark, clinical environment was bustling with activity; medical staff moved efficiently from patient to patient, their faces set in concentrated frowns. The smell of antiseptics mingled with the underlying scent of pain and presence of distant Power, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere of order amidst chaos. In one way, he felt very much at home though he could not say why.

Despite his pain and anger, Matias couldn’t help but be impressed by the efficiency and resources at play. "Impressive setup you have here," he conceded grudgingly, his voice still edged with resentment.

[Jay Carpenter]

He anticipated the retaliation. Michael warned him not to act, and that was exactly what he did. Given that he’d endured more than his fair share of head injuries, another one knocked him clean unconscious.

The Garden didn’t exactly have a jail. Instead, he woke up to find himself sitting in a near empty room. The walls were smooth and featureless, painted a dove-gray, and composed of a composite material that shimmered under the LED lighting when seen at the correct angle.

“Suppose I had that coming,” he mumbled as climbed his way into a chair. The only other piece of furniture was an old metal desk, but onto its surface he folded his arms and laid his forehead down.

His head was throbbing. Michael was powerful enough, bitch could have just slapped a shield on him but no, he had to slap the shit out of him and toss his ass in this depressing hole.

At least he was away from Matias-fucking-Amengual.

Without lifting his forehead from the desk, he slipped his Wallet out of a pocket and sent Natalie a message.

“I might be in trouble. Probably not too much, but we’ll see. Punched a diplomat in the face. Not my fault it was Matias Amengual.”

He hit send before he realized that she may not know who Matias was, but she’d certainly recognize the last name.

[Michael Vellas]

Michael simply weathered Matias's jibes while he directed a team towards the man. After he had finished his tirade Michael waved for the others to leave. "I will take it from here. See to it that Carpenter learns his lesson," he nodded to Karim and the others as they left to go about their business. When they were gone, he addressed the visitor.

"You may make your assumptions about me and Carpenter, Matias, but do not insult the rest of these men. Like most of the people who have the seed of the Power, many have been through tragedy. We are all survivors, Matias. From our own Powers, or the Atharim. That is my first piece of knowledge to you, if you do not already know of them. An organization that is dedicated to our destruction. I will have all classified information that I have access to on them given to you."

He sat down on a seat across from a bed that the doctors led Matias to and leaned back. "I shall instruct you myself. I doubt you came here to sit in classes and learn to spin webs of the Power safely. Have you encountered any...aberrations? Creatures that men would call monsters? Besides others like us, they can be the most dangerous things to our kind. The Ijiraq, a monster of mist that has some resistance against our power is the most dangerous, even the Ascendancy had trouble dealing with one."

"Is there anything in particular you hoped to learn? I shall answer what I can."

[Jay Carpenter]

Natalie replied quickly, and relief from a tension he didn’t know he held followed.

“The least of what he deserved probably. Where are you?”

“I’m in hell… Some office, but I prefer jail.”

He kept his head down, wondering where to find the nearest bottle of advil to grind up and snort straight into his skull until the door opened. But he didn’t look up.

“Alright. Alright. I get it. Don’t punch Ascendancy’s guests. But do you have any idea who that is? Oh..” He stopped as soon as shoes came into view. They weren’t what he expected.

[Morven]

Arms folded, Morven assessed the Dominion slumped over the metal desk. She’d met most of the boys in black by now, but not the American. She had no idea if he’d know who the hell she was, or if he did, what he might have heard about her presence among them – depended on which of the others here he was friendly with. Her eyes scanned a quick judgement, but she snorted laughter at the comment as she kicked the door closed behind her. She had a decidedly laissez-faire attitude towards punches to the face. Just ask Taicheschski.

“You must be Carpenter,” she said.

No one sent her beyond wildfire rumour. The diplomat’s descent on the Garden had not been expected, the sparks erupted at his arrival even less so, and it left a buzz. Morven didn’t care for politics beyond where her loyalty was instructed. She had no official jurisdiction to be here, and Vellas might in fact be disgruntled at her intervention should he discover it – but let him gnash his teeth, she was ready for that fucking battle. Morven was no bleeding heart, and neither was she shocked by violence, but her expression had pinched a frown at discovering Michael had unceremoniously knocked down one of his own men for stepping out of line. She didn’t care why he had done it. To soothe relations with the visitor, or to strong-arm his fearsome reputation? Not at the expense of a concussion. Not when he had better options. Oh, they’d be having fucking words.

“Sit up then, solider, if you can. Let me look at you, ye ken?” She came to a stop in front of him, tone sharpish.

[Matías]

The mention of the Atharim drew a wry smile to Matias's lips. He had heard whispers of this organization, shadowy figures who hunted those like him, but in the chaos of his homeland, they had been more myth than reality. There were far greater dangers than magical boogeymen. Here, it seemed, they were a real and present danger.

"Your warning about the Atharim is noted," Matias said, his voice terse, professionalism barely contained. "In my experience, those who wield the Power often face threats from many fronts. But to know there is an organized force dedicated to our destruction is... enlightening."

He shifted his position, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, taking in every detail of Michael's demeanor and surroundings. The mention of monsters caught his attention next, particularly the Ijiraq.

"I have seen many dangers in my homeland," he began, his tone measured. "but they are the evil of mortal men. Yet aberrations, as you call them, are not unknown to me. There are creatures in the wilds of Mexico, things that defy explanation, whose stories are passed down as tall tales to frighten children. The Tlahuelpuchi that sucks the blood of infants, the malevolent sorcerer Nagual who can shift its form from human to animal to hunt its prey. But the Ijiraq... that is new. If even the Ascendancy had trouble with one, it must be formidable indeed. I would be interested to learn more about it, and any other threats you consider significant. These are knowledges that my master will value.”

Matias paused, considering his next words carefully. He had come with his own goals, his own desires, and now was the time to voice them.

"I did not come here to sit in classrooms, as you rightly guessed. My Power is as it is, but it can always be refined, improved. I seek to understand its limits and its potential. Practical knowledge, not just theory. Techniques that have been proven in the field, not just in the safety of a training ground. To fight and defend, especially under duress.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "I want to learn how to wield my Power with precision and efficiency. To understand the nuances that can make the difference in life-and-death situations. And if there are secrets you hold, knowledge that is not freely shared, I am willing to earn it. Power, after all, comes to those who are willing to seek it, and pay its price."

Matias’ expression was unreadable, though that could easily be the mask of one hiding his pain. He had laid his cards on the table, and now it was up to Michael to respond… if he could.

[Jay Carpenter]

Jay kept his head down, the pounding in his skull making him wish for the sweet release of oblivion, or at least a handful of Advil. He barely registered the footsteps until they stopped in front of him. The voice that followed was sharp and unfamiliar, cutting through his haze of pain.

“Alright. Alright. I get it. Don’t punch Ascendancy’s guests. But do you have any idea who that is? Oh..” He paused, and Jay could sense the surprise, the unexpectedness of what (or who) was found.

Reluctantly, Jay straightened, wincing at the pain that shot through his head and neck. He raised his eyes to meet hers, the defiance still smoldering in the way a puppy stubbornly refused to waddle closer on principle. Arms folded, the Dominion assessed Morven’s presence. He took in her appearance quickly, noting the confidence in her stance, the way she held herself as if she owned the room. She was quite pretty, though he had the feeling she would not appreciate the standard charming, flirty banter. “You must be Carpenter,” she said.

Jay flinched at the sound, but didn’t move otherwise. He doubted that someone sent her; no orders had been given for her intervention. Her presence was as unexpected as the diplomat’s descent on the Garden. He had no idea who she was other than having seen her around, but the way she carried herself, the authority in her voice, told him she wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

She wasn’t here for politics, that much was clear. Her loyalty was to something, or someone, else entirely.

“I take it you know what happened? How pissed is he?” Michael hid his emotions well; there was no telling how angry he was.

[Morven]

Morven assessed him visually as he looked up, impatience in her arm-folded stance, since Carpenter was apparently going to be sulky about it. She’d told al’Shaidis what she was about when she stormed passed, and he hadn’t stopped her, but she also doubted a little time to cool off like a toddler on the naughty step would be the extent of his punishment. Carpenter clearly wasn’t sorry about it.

“That you twatted a diplomat in the face? Oh aye, I heard.” She half rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t unfriendly. Morven wasn’t privy to whatever prompted the Dominion to be so self-righteously unapologetic for having stepped out of line, but she didn’t care to pass bad judgement. She happened to know what it was like to wrestle with a short fuse, being as it was half of how she’d landed up here in the first place. The defiance she perceived in him was more than familiar. She’d felt it herself, not so long ago. “Caused a right stramash, ye bampot.”

She waved away the rest of the question. Michael ruled this place by fear. He had the gravity for it, but not the true heart. For him it seemed born of necessity, not will. Which meant however pissed off he was would be irrelevant – he’d make the example he had to, to preserve whatever fragile politicking brought a Mexican diplomat to the Custody in the first place. “How the fuck should I know? I imagine you’re in for a reaming, Carpenter, but not until after I discharge you as my patient – least not if Vellas wants to cross with how pissed I am.”

Her arms unfolded, and she welcomed the flow of power in readiness. “Name’s Morven. I’m going to use the power to check you for injury, and to rectify anything broken in there. It can feel cold, but it won’t hurt. Ye ken?” She held her hands open, stretched as though to touch his temple, and waited for his acknowledgement.

[[The slang is basically, “You caused a commotion, you idiot.” You can assume Morven delves and heals so long as Jay doesn’t protest. If there’s anything specific I need to know about his injuries, let me know]]

[Jay Carpenter]

“In that case, I won’t object to letting you keep me as your patient as long as you want.”

From the wince of his throbbing head emerged the smirk of a sarcastic liar. He’d not hide from Michael. Hell, he’d walk straight up to the man and tell him to do his worst.

It wasn’t the first experience with healing, but it was the first time he wasn’t dying when it happened. He stared into her eyes as she leaned close, as if perhaps this was the time that he would finally discern a woman using their magic, especially as it coursed through his body.

It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but the after effects were much more welcome than the before. “Well Morven, I’m Jay," he said when it was over. Then, he stretched, leaning back on the terribly uncomfortable office chair.

“And since we’re making the introductions, that asshat is the heir to the fucking cartel that slaughtered my entire family. So of everyone here, I think I have the best reason to be pissed.”

His expression fell to one not unlike when he wielded their magic, but this was drawn from entirely within.

[Morven]

She’d been here long enough to recognise the tells that might indicate he was about to be really fucking stupid. Yet for all Michael’s curiosity about the differences between male and female power, most of the Garden’s men were reluctant to pit themselves against a woman. Especially a healer. It meant she wasn’t truly sure what would happen if that look did mean he was drawing power into himself like a fucking furnance. But for all the hellscape promised in those cornflower eyes, Morven didn’t flinch. In fact her hands perched on her hips, brows curled up to her skull.

“Och, whatcha preaching at me for, soldier? I’m not over the infirmary fixing up his head, am I. And ye welcome, by the way. Thought you boys would have better fucking manners.”

The revelation narrowed her eyes a fraction, but if he was expecting horror or sympathy he wouldn’t get it from her. Whatever else he was that asshat was a diplomat in the middle of a military compound, which meant even Morven’s hotblooded drive for justice was tempered by the impossibility of retribution. This was politics, and like it or not, Jay was a Dominion before he was a son.

She pulled herself a seat opposite the desk, propped her legs up as she made herself comfortable in it. Her arms folded. She eyed him critically, top to toe, and without a shred of embarrassment in her interest. “I’m here because Michael had no right to knock you down like that. But I won’t heal stupidity. If you feel like finishing the job–” she briefly and impatiently gestured to the door. She wouldn‘t stop him. Not that he wouldn’t run smack into the Dominion outside, but he knew that as well as she did. And doctor or no, she meant it – if he fucked himself up cutting his teeth on this grudge, she wouldn’t lift a finger to lighten the burden. That was his prerogative. Given what she’d done to the Atharim who tried to kill her sister, she could hardly say otherwise.

“But if they sent him here it means he’s like us,” she added. “Which also means you’ll get your chance to smack him around on the training fields soon enough.”