Joy ride (part1): Stealing

ceremony

He remembers waking in a dank place. A fresh wetness to the air that has him tense up before he smells the placating hue of natural stone and that sharp metal tang that can only be vibranium ore. They are down, far below. In the mines, somewhere. But it's Wakanda; Wakanda still. Though everything is off.. different. no natural light filtering in, but candle-light. No chime from below; the machines digging forever at the ore silent; replaced by a soft humming. Someone at his side, the vibranium side, a soft scratching and swipe from a brush. And, for a moment, he thinks: repairs! Yet the arm is closed, and the dark frown is directed on the outside plating his shoulder. Not fixing anything. Painting on top of it.

Okoye; it's Okoye bent down over his side. Frowning in concentration, working slowly and steadily with absolute focus. And when she finally straightens she nods over to her side. To the second woman in the room, hovering somewhere above his head, just out of sight. And he knows that voice; the only one that matters. Above him. Singing to him.

With Okoye no longer breathing in his ear, it is easier for him to focus on the song. That beautiful voice he will not be able to hang on to. No; not just her; not just one voice. Her voice close, inside his little space of dark and dank and candle-light; but more voices just a little further. A slow sad hymn, sung to a cavernous hall that shakes with it, in tune. Shakes the ground and the walls and the cool, stone slab he is resting on.

The voice above stops, leaving only the rest, from avar, to carry the tune. And then, she speaks. And he knows her; it's her. It's Shuri. Her hand lands on his forehead, yet her voice is sad and distant. "Once upon a time Wakanda was the last nation to stand, an island surrounded by its slain brothers. We hid, in the jungle, from the Colonisers. And it shamed us, but it kept our children safe. It kept our knowledge, our arts, our science alive. Yet, if the Colonizer was blind to us, it was worse for us, hiding in the dark. Not knowing who or what awaited us.

"So came the brave men and women, the Hatut Zeraze. Dogs of war, that would venture out in that world so vicious and keep watch, and warn us of danger.

"The WarDogs were our best and bravest. They ventured out, they leaft their families, their loved ones. For hundreds of years they defended our beautiful country, knowing their chances of ever returning were slim, even in old age. They gave their life in service, so we may feel safe."

"This is what the tattoo inside a WarDog's lip symbolizes.

"But, it is also a promise. A dedication by all the friends, of all the family, and of those left behind. They put their mark there, on their loved one's themselves. It is their prayer for their safe return. And a promise, to come for their body. To retrieve them if they fall."

"You are not one of our dogs; you should never have been kept on a chain. And we will not, ever, ask you for that. You should run free, like the White Wolf of our stories." she taps his arm; his shoulder, like there's something significant there. "If you ever need a master, this should be the one. He may seem weak and fickle sometimes, but I have had faith since the start. And I still have faith; in him.

"But, I do want to give you our promise. Our promise of safe haven. A place for you to return to, when you are ready to return. And our promise to.. To if you fail, if you fall. If you cannot return on your own power. A promise to retrieve your body and keep it safe. Will you accept my promise?"

And James's gut tightens, because he doesn't want to; he doesn't want...to leave. But also, no one has put a mark on him that stayed. Not since he lost the arm; not ever that lasts. He does not scar; returns to that original state everytime. As for the arm? It has been reinvented so many times now. New again and again.

And James would say that. But, his tongue is still stuck, and his body too heavy. Too tired to move. Too tired to speak or fight. Almost too tired to care.

But Shuri? Shuri is smarter than him. Know so much more, knows what he'd want, so much better than he does. And at least, mercifully, she answers for him one more time: "You are right, a tattoo on your lip would probably fade by the end of next week. But, the shoulder joint? The insides, remember? Where you have had vibranium from the start?" Shuri lifts his arm, until it lays somewhere above him, thumb tangling his hair. If he had the strength to move, he could scratch himself, caressing the crown of his head. James does not; he is too heavy to move at all. But Shuri taps the plating, around his arm-pit, just above where flesh meets metal. And holds a pen out to him.

James just looks back, exhausted, and manages a slow nod. It brings a slow, hesitant smile to her face, stretching with understanding. Wisdom and knowledge long before James can even rally enough will to want; because he's only ever wanted what she wants.

Shuri bends down to write. It takes a long time, a soft buzzing and prickling like heat, before she straightens, lookis down to stare into his eyes. She finally takes his right hand with a sigh, and runs his fingers over the engraving.

"It says: This one is family to Shuri, princess of Science and Wakanda."

She smiles crookedly again, and it forms a lump in James's throat to see. Still, her voice is clear and strong. "I hope this will comfort you, when you are away. I hope you will know; believe. I will protect you. I will always have your back. I will always love you."

-

Shuri had left then, only leaving the Dora general at his side. And he'd have panicked; wanted to panic. James had wanted to run after Shuri. Or at least, call out to her. Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone with Okoye, to her non-existent mercy. But, then Ramonda had stepped in, fixing him with her kindest smile. The Queen took up the pen next, eyes searching his. "I would like you for a second son, James. Will you have me?"

Of course, he cannot say no to her. Nor to the King himself. Who comes in next. That calm, intelligent smile of his fixed in place as he sat down next to James. He took a moment, long and still, before he spoke in measured words. "I have already promised you my protection. I have tried to keep you safe, here. In my beautiful country. But perhaps it was Hubris to think it would suit you, just because I love it with all my heart. Yet, that doesn't mean my promise will become void when you leave. I would be your brother in this, White Wolf. Will you accept?"

Like he'd say no.

When T'Challa steps out, James is exhausted. Just wants to pass out. Return to oblivion and sleep. He closes his eyes, tired and uncaring. Yet, a warning flashes in his brain as another shadow falls over him.

M'Baku, standing over him. And this one is the first James might deny. If James could. It feels like a lie; and something in his throat gurgles at the idea.

"Don't be difficult, Colonizer. I feel part responsible for getting you outed of your safe haven. Though I still feel you should thank me for it. Still, I am not a man to dodge responsibility. And, if your corpse requires to be dragged away.. The Jabari are the best for that job."

He grins, something almost mean but not quite. "Besides, if we must have Colonizers in our beautiful land, I'd rather it be one as interesting as you. I might come to like you yet, White Wolf."

The man punches his arm, and if James was reeling before, the room is spinning when the Jabari chief leaves. But, the final piece is Okoye, taking up the pen. "No."

He manages, weakly. "No, you hate me."

"I do not." She bites at him, hard and final. "But I may hate the fear that makes you cower behind my princess. I hate the mind-set that puts her on a pedestal not even she can live up to."

She moves over him, eyes close and frowning in challenge. "You can choose if you want my name or not." waves that special pen at him with a waggle of her eyebrows. "But it will not matter in my actions. You are already part of this family, nd it is my duty to protect it."

When he aquiscences with half a shrug, Okoye gives him a baring of the teeth, before bending over and adding her own name. She takes her time, some of her cursive hand carrying over to his still-fresh nerves. When she is done, Okoye gets to her feet and stretches with a pop of her back. But, she steps in again to frown down at him, her expression strikt "Remember: Wakanda forever. That has been our credo for over five hundred years."

The engraving pen she drops into James's real hand. And with a shrugs, she leaves him too. The last one. With a last word. "And how old were you again, boy?"