Diaz de Muertos

December 13, 2018:

Marcos and Lorna return to Marcos' family home in Bogota, Colombia. Only.. it turns out his mother isn't really sick.. and his father's hatred runs deeper than any of them realized. Genoshan Magistrates run by Sage.


NPCs: Sebastian Diaz, Ines, Genoshan Magistrates


Mood Music: [*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EMJ0hDMjAM Guerrero by Proyecto TQ]

Fade In…

Well, after Eclipse and Polaris gathered up their things, Marcos allowed Lorna to use her immensely…wealthy card that her father gave her to buy a trip to Colombia using a private plane. Currently, the flight is ongoing, and Marcos looks…troubled.

For very obvious reasons.

He looks straight before he looks to Lorna, who is likely sitting beside him. "Lorna…where is my father in all of this? I know he's an insufferable asshole, but…I don't know, I just thought I'd hear his input you know?"


The plane had been the fastest method of getting out of the country. One that wouldn't require who knew how much paperwork with passports and the alike. Lorna wasn't sure of Marcos' status, she had never dared to ask just how much the Cartel had set him up when he'd come to the States. For all she knew, her husband's papers wouldn't have held up to strict inspection. Her own travel status was in question as well, after all, did she count as a foreign national now with everything that had happened in Genosha? She wasn't sure.

But if you throw enough money at a problem, they had a tendency of going away. Getting into Colombia would be easy, enough money thrown around and eyes would be averted… Getting home might be trickier, but she'd reserve that for another day. As it stood, Lorna was.. paranoid about flying in the rather large and opulent private rental. It was too nice, but she knew the importance of it. It would make life easier..

Even if she started to feel antsy about it. She wasn't a kid anymore. She had control over her powers if something happened… she could land the plane, rather than rip it apart. She just had to keep mentally repeating that to herself. Her gaze swung back to Marcos as he spoke about his father, and she reached out a hand, closing it around his. "Maybe he sent the letter? I mean.. if your mom is that sick Marcos.. I'm sure he cares. Right? If you were dying.. I don't know if I could write anything, or even be coherent." She murmured softly.


Money is a really good way of taking care of things, you just have to pay the right person.

They, in a way, doomed themselves in terms of legal, public travel. Since Marcos is TECHNICALLY a prince of Genosha if Lorna is a princess (since they are married and all, with or without daddy dearest's approval) and Marcos was nervous about that, thus when Lorna bought a trip on a private plane, Marcos was relieved.

But soon their financial situation was about to increase a ridiculous degree, but..not without a heavy cost. His eyes look to Lorna, knowing how paranoid she was, his hand covers hers as he holds her close to his side.

"Maybe. We're not on good terms, even with the closure the last time we went to Colombia but…I dunno." when she tells him that she wouldn't be able to write such a thing, or even be sane or coherent if Marcos was dead/dying, he looked like he could melt, and he leans over to kiss her temple. "hey.." he whispers. "I ain't going anywhere."


There might very well come a day when Marcos Diaz breathed his last breath and Lorna would live on. Her father was nearing a century, she wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to look well.. quite so young. She theorized it had to have something to do with the magnetic fields and the bond there. She wasn't sure. After all, in that other world, her father or the man that was her father.. had severed his connection and he had aged rapidly.

She might live that long.. and Marcos.. Marcos might not.

It was a tough pill to swallow, a painful thought she didn't want to think about too closely. Not as his hand was warm and there and real in her grip. Her gaze didn't lift from his as he spoke of the rocky relationship he had with his father. His kiss bringing a twitch of her lips to her expression.

"I know. I just.. I'm just saying, maybe your father isn't very well emotionally. But hell if I know. This is a man that threw his own son out in the streets to live or die and he didn't care." She muttered, and just like that her expression darkened.

If he's anything but contrite and heart broken over your mother, I swear.." She grumbled, a huff of a breath escaping her.


Marcos knew this was a possibility, but…he shakes his head, and holds Lorna tight. "Yeah…I know. Honestly, I never did quite enjoy the prospect of seeing my father. Never wanted to like him or have a relationship with him. But…he's still my father. I know he likely isn't taking this well." he shakes his head.

He smiles at how protective his wife is of him, but he was just as protective with her. It was like it was just yesterday that he was telling her not to trust her father and always making sure he was at least nearby.

But… life goes on. the world goes around. Things happen. and now he's the one on the tip of the knife. "I know…I love you Lorna." he's still a little shaky, because he's appropriately nervous.


Even before the crackle of the intercom announced that they'd be landing soon, Lorna knew where they were, knew it in the way the electromagnetic fields played through the air and constantly gave her feedback. She knew where she was more or less, at all times. Typically it was a rough outline, but she could also feel the way the plane turned down, the way the pilot navigated the private jet toward the landing strip.

She was so on edge already about flying she hadn't even tried to loosen her grip on the magnetic fields around her.

Still, the intercom crackled and a clear voice announced that they'd be landing soon, and oh wouldn't the two occupants like to buckle in now? Champagne was on the last call, as were the lobster puffs. As they'd need to be able to strap in more firmly before they landed.

A huff of breath and Lorna reached over to down her glass before a stewardess came over and took the glassware from her with a murmured thank-you so much!

Her focus returned to her husband as she reached up to strap herself in more firmly. "He raised you, somewhat.. at least for the beginning of your life. So he was there at least.." She breathed and made a face. Don't think about your own father. Don't—

She closed her eyes and grasped more firmly at Marcos' hand. "I know you do, I love you too. We'll get this figured out. We'll get answers. And we'll go home."


Marcos looks to Lorna and he knows she was eternally on edge. He knew this was just…a giant, catastrophic mess. But at the same time, there was a fire in Marcos's heart. His FATHER. Why didn't he help his mother?! why didn't he get her all the care in the world?! especially if he knew about the money she had? Why…..why.

So many questions, yet so little time now.

As he feels the plane start to descend, he can even tell that Lorna was probably relieved. But, he makes certain to grasp her hand tightly, and he looks her in the eyes.

"We will." he takes a deep breath. "I suppose it's showtime."


It didn't take long for the plane to land. Once it does, Marcos seems hesitant to get off the plane itself, taking a deep breath as he reaches to find his wife's hand. "This…." deep breath. "Let's do it." and he'll stand up, slinging his backpack over his shoulders, and start to walk off the plane.

He was nervous. for every reason imaginable.

Not to mention, if Marcos sees his dad…he really doesn't want Lorna to see him REALLY lose his temper. But, he was with the love of his life, and he takes a deep breath. "I'm..not sure if I can do it, you know? I don't know if I can look my mom in the eyes."


It was warmer in Bogota than it was in New York City, small shock there. Lorna shucked her coat off as they left the plane, it was in the sixties at least, with the sun still shining and the high mountains framed the city in a backdrop of green. Life went on as it always did, the city was crammed full of people going on their way and Lorna made her way to the privately rented car they'd ordered for their arrival.

It helped to have a credit card without any seeming end. Of course, it also meant her father knew her spending habits, but she really couldn't care less.

Their bags were slung into the trunk by a porter and the keys were handed to the green haired mutant. "It's okay, we're here for your mom. She needs you. Otherwise she wouldn't have written to you.." She flashed her husband a smile as she made her way to the driver's side of the rental.


Marcos enters the passenger side of the car, taking his seat and closing the door after him as he gives Lorna a warm smile. "Yeah, I know…but…" he sighs. "I just don't know sometimes, I guess. I think we both have had just some…terrible luck when it comes to family."

After all, their daughter is basically waiting on them. Something Marcos still intends to remedy.

But! he looks to Lorna and leans to give her a gentle kiss. "well…let's head that way then. Whatever happens, will happen."


The house was much the same as it was when Marcos and Lorna had visited it months ago, back then though, Lorna had been pregnant. And Marcos had wanted closure to prove to his parents that he'd broken free of the Cartel. That he'd become something. The same as it had been in his younger years. A yellow painted house that was more than a little battered and needed a good coat of paint. It was on the outskirts of the vibrant city, sandwiched between two other similar houses. A crumbling driveway and a chain-link fence ringed the tiny front lawn.

Lorna parked the car and stepped outside, "Remember, we have a hotel, we won't stay long." She exhaled a breath and glanced toward her husband as she shut the car door behind her with a wave of her hand. By now the sun was lowering in the sky, dipping below the bulk of the city's skyline. She made her way to the front door, waiting for Marcos and once he joined her, she knocked on the door.


From the outside of the house, there was little one could tell about its occupants. It did not look abandoned, and there was a feeling of 'yes, people live here'. But it was quiet, as perhaps all houses which housed the sick and dying were, carrying a pall of silence that, in its own way, announced to those approaching it what they might find inside. But there had been a good deal of work done on the landscaping, or at least care and thought had been applied to the stone plant boxes that ringed the railing that surrounded the small wooden deck that served as the houses' 'porch'. Whoever was inside was not so far gone, it seemed, that they could not appreciate the joy that beautiful living things evoked.

The sound of the doorbell was considerably more cheery than the feel of the place, but to the houses' credit, the small woman dressed in a white nurses' outfit who opened the door a handful of seconds after the doorbell rang matched the doorbell. She was bright and cheerful in the way of good nurses, who knew that a positive attitude, even in the face of dire circumstances made such times easier to bear, "Oh! Visitors! I was told to expect visitors. May I have your names?" Friendly she was…about to let just anyone inside, she was not.


Marcos had let Lorna knock on the door, looking to her with a small smile. "yeah." he whispers, looking to the door and taking a deep breath. This was hard for him. Unbelievably hard as he waited for whoever would open the door. Instead, though…he didn't seem to recognize the lady who opened the door. "Oh…uh, hi. My name is Marcos Diaz. I came to see my mother? I…"

He gulps.

"I heard she was dying. and..I'd like to see her please." he seems to be trying to be very respectful, and not trying to barge in.


Lorna had been prepared to see the old Colombian man that was Marcos' father once more. He'd been gruff and grumbly, before and that had been with a pregnant woman on his doorstep. Now, as the door swung open, Lorna blinked, stepping back in surprise to spot a woman speaking English and being.. pleasant. Of course, then the uniform the woman was wearing registered and everything made sense.

Nurse. Right. Marcos' mother. Lorna hadn't entirely been sure what she'd expected. Perhaps his mother in a hospital bed someplace else. Or perhaps his mother being taken care of by his father. The old house certainly hadn't suggested they'd come from wealth.. but then again.

The letter had said her family was wealthy. Or someone was. It wasn't entirely clear to the green haired mutant.

"Lorna, I'm his wife?" She hedged, glancing back at Marcos with an arch of her eyebrow.


"Oh! Yes, of course. Mr. Diaz, Mrs. Diaz." The nurse stepped back from the door, "I am Ines. I've been taking care of your mother." So, yes, the at-home version of hospice care. "How rude of me to keep you on the doorstep." Ines accent marked her as Colombian, but she spoke English with obvious pride, as though it were a skill she was proud to have. Quite likely, it made her in high demand for the many non-native visitors that the country received. "Won't you come in. I'll show you to the sitting room."


Sitting Room? in his own home? Marcos takes a breath and gives a small nod to the nurse. "yeah, sure…sounds good." he looks to Lorna, giving her an equally worried look but he walks in, moving to follow the nurse.

His fingers try to seek out Lorna's to clasp her hand as if seeking it out for comfort. and oh yes, Marcos's father was 'un Hijo de Perra', for lack of a more appropriate word. He feels that something is…off though. Where's his father?


A shrug and Lorna made to follow after Ines into the house. Her eyes scanning every visible surface and trying to commit it to memory. This was where Marcos had grown up, at least before his father kicked him out of the house and forced him to live on the streets. It mattered to Marcos, he clearly wanted to mend his family's fences. To be able to come home and find that love that he so desperately wanted.

But Lorna couldn't help but feel judgmental. His father had kicked him out, for all her father's faults.. he hadn't left her to die on the streets.

"Hey, at least they're inviting us in this time, right? Last time I was pregnant and we'd traveled from Genosha.. and all we got was the front porch. That's progress. Right?"


Ines was not stupid, nor unaccustomed to speaking with the families of those who were under her care, and she moved them easily into the sitting room. "I do not know how much you were told about your mother's condition, Mr. Diaz." She did offer a glance to Lorna, something apologetic there. They were both family, but Marcos was blood kin, and so, the nurse's words were directed to him. "But I often find that taking some time to…acclimate yourself to a relative's condition can help to make seeing them when they are not at their best better for them. And easier for you. Your father is in with her now." And Ines was the medical professional, so the task clearly fell to her.


Marcos looked to Lorna then, before he nods. "yeah…a little progress but it doesn't make this any easier." he speaks softly with Lorna, before he stands in the living room, more like mostly pacing because he was still thinking. When the nurse mentions his father, he takes a breath and looks at her.

"then could you tell my father to come out here so he can at least tell us her condition? how much time does she have left?" he asks curiously, he looks like he's stressed out to the nines. His father was the cruel bastard in the family, and while his mother wasn't innocent by any means, especially since she allowed it, Marcos still loved his mother, as any other son would.


Lorna perched on the edge of the couch, in a place that was clearly well worn with many others having sat there over the years. It was clean and well cared for, though older. Much like most of the living room. It was lived in. But there was also a manner of.. disuse to it. Like it hadn't actually been well cleaned in months. A fine film of dust covered the mantle's few picture frames. A dusty clock hadn't been taken care of to happily tick away the time.

Still, as Marcos remained standing, as he paced, her gaze followed him.

"Marcos, her letter said the end of the month at least.. You'll have time. Sit down.. c'mon." She murmured, trying to be patient. She was trying.

Of course, there wasn't much need for any of that, as the other door opposite of where Ines led them in, opened, double doors swinging open and shut with an older man entering. His hair was a tangle of brown, longer than Marcos' own and he was clearly unshaven. He leaned heavily on a cane and his breathing was faintly labored. Though when Lorna looked at him, she could see where her husband's brown eyes, and as a result, her daughter's came from.

"Is that Marcos? My son? Come so soon?"


Ines took a breath, likely also used to people being impatient, "That was what I was asked to do, as her nurse." There was a slight emphasis on that word. The woman was a trained medical professional. Not a glorified housekeeper. "But sometimes, these things are easier to understand when you have a familiar face to speak to." Clearly, the woman had no idea what the relationship dynamics were between Marcos, his father, his mother, well, anyone, really. She was simply treating this as she would any family situation when that family was dealing with illness. Ines turned, leaving the pair to go and get the father who had been requested. But there was no need as he slipped in, and she slipped out. She did offer, in passing, in Spanish, "Mr. Diaz wished to hear of his mother's condition from you, Mr. Diaz." And then she was gone. Back to her patient.


Marcos looks to Lorna, his arms crossed as he looks so…nerve-wracked. He wasn't prepared for what he was about to see and witness. Not by a long shot. Looking at his wife, he nods. "yeah, I…I know." but just as he was about to sit down near his wife, he looks to his father as he walked on in, and Marcos doesn't hug him or greet him warmly.


"How is she?" is the immediate question he asks, worried beyond words. His father could see the fear in his eyes. not for himself or for Marcos, but for his mother.


A green-eyed glance followed Ines out of the room before her focus abruptly moved to Marcos' father. She frowned, her lips twisting into a thin line of consideration as she crossed her legs and folded her hands tightly on her lap. She looked ready to spring into action at a moment's notice, a glance spared for Marcos as her husband stepped away from her toward his father.

The old man stood, his breathing loud in the otherwise silent room as he met his son's gaze with a sharp glare. "Esta muerta." He slipped into Spanish, sitting down slowly in an old wooden chair opposite of the two.. and continued. "She died six months ago. And I will join her shortly." He coughed, pressing a hand against his mouth as he inhaled sharply. His gaze narrowed into a glare at his son.

"Be thankful she never lived long enough to see you align yourself with that devil's island."


Marcos listens to the words his father tells him, and suddenly absolute rage touches his features. "You devil!!" he looks at him in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't ANYONE tell me?! If that is true, then why did I get a letter just days ago?!" Clearly…Marcos is ripping angry.

and for good reason.

He stares his old man down, his hands clenched so tightly his bones start to crack.


Another coughing fit racked the old man, his hand curling into a fist in front of his mouth as he hacked and wheezed. The chair creaked as he shot a look of raw hatred at his son. "You were always a stupid, foolish boy. She never wrote the letter. I wrote the letter." He rasped, he continued in Spanish, and the conversation flew over Lorna's head. She stared, looking to Marcos as she rose to her feet and pressed a hand against his shoulder.

"Marcos?" She whispered, her eyebrows furrowed, "What happened? What's going on?" Her voice low.

Still, Marcos' father shifted his grip on his cane as he leaned back, breathing hard. "Go ahead, use your demon powers on me. It's bad enough you had to whore yourself out to the Cartel. Now you work for the world's greatest threat. And dared to show up at my house with your slut. Dared to have a child with your poisoned blood." He coughed again, heaving a breath and turned his gaze away from his son.

"But it's enough. You're not my problem anymore. Soon you won't be anyone's problem anymore."


When one first became a mutant, the sensation of power sizzled along the nerve-ending, or so a number of mutants reported. The feeling of power where there had been an absence was potent, sometimes intoxicating. often, when a mutant was young, it bled out of them when they neither wanted nor could control it. As a mutant grew into their power, the feeling of being other often became so intrinsically and inherently a part of what it felt to be themselves, that many often forgot what it was like to experience their bodies without the power there.

Lorna and Marcos were both old enough and had existed with their powers enough that perhaps they were two of those, who had grown so accustomed to feeling their abilities that they might not remember what it was like to feel human, normal, unpowered.

But they were reminded now. As soon as Sebastian Diaz finished speaking their powers winked out, as a blindfold being drawn over the eyes banished sight. The light in the room changed. Perhaps the world changed, as a pair of bodies darkened the light flowing in from the living room window. As a quartet of men in black armor and tactical gear burst into the room, two from the foyer, where they had first stepped in, and two through the opening that would have led through the dining room and into the rest of the house. More dark figured crowded in in the background. To a one, they were armed and armored for battle. All with their weapons trained on the trio of people in the sitting room, father, son, and daughter-in-law.


Marcos still spoke angrily at his father for his words. "Don't you dare call my wife that you son of a bitch!" he did feel the touch of his wife at his back, and finally when his father said those last few words…He moved defensively to Lorna, not knowing what would come next. "My mother's dead. This sone of a bitch had a plan."

As soon as Marcos is about to blast his father to oblivion with his powers for what happened, he finds that he can't. "Oh no."

Then those men come in. He knows Lorna is physically frail. A glass cannon, if you will. So once those magistrates come in? He looks to those individuals, still attempting to protect his wife. He looks to his father, speaking in English. "What did you do?" he knows his father betrayed them.


As soon as the power dampeners cut into the room Lorna knew. She was constantly connected to the magnetic fields. She leaned on them, lived and breathed them. She had been arrested on and off, had a collar wrapped around her neck. Been captured by Zealot in Genosha and held in the maximum security building that had cut off her powers for over a week. She knew the feeling, and as soon as it happened. She knew.

Panic rose and she whirled around, only half registering what Marcos said about his mother having been dead already. She pressed back against her husband's side, her eyes going wide. "Run! Run!" She made for the doors a beat too slow, as the militant men in uniforms barged in. Guns leveled at the two. Panic choked her words, and she slammed down hard on the communicator on her wrist. A twist of her grip, and she activated the X-men Distress call. Shooting a direct recording with coordinates.

As chaos unfurled Marcos' father didn't so much as make to get up from his seat, coughing another hacking breath as his gaze remained on his son and daughter-in-law. "You did this to yourself, Marcos. I gave you a choice. The same I gave to your mother. Now God will judge you." He rasped. His brown eyes lifting to the uniformed men around him. "They're all yours."


The men moved into place to make certain that the exits were all blocked, including the window, which was now completely darkened by bodies. The panic in Lorna's expression, the panic in her voice seemed to have absolutely no effect for good or ill on the men. Neither did any of the yelling going on. The one who finally spoke, his voice modulated so that it could not be identified, was every inch as cold and unfeeling as the others with him seemed to be. As the pair now trapped in the room seemed not to be. "Move again, and we will shoot you. One joint at a time, until you stop moving." A second figure spoke up, his words directed towards Sebastian. "Where is the child? You assured us that they would bring the child."


Marcos saw his wife as she tried to run, and he quickly pulled her back to him after she activated the distress signal. He places her behind him, forcing those men to have to go through him to get to her. "Do not threaten my wife again." They forget…Marcos didn't always know his powers. Not like he does now. He's had to claw and scratch for most of his life. He's just as effective without his powers as he is with.

He looks at his father. "You would threaten my child?!" he shouts at him in Spanish. "I will kill you, motherfucker!"


The old man watched with sharp eyes, his dark brown gaze clear and rapt with attention as he prepared to watch his son and daughter-in-law be hauled off by the former Genoshan Magistrates. He leaned back in his chair as one of them addressed him. "She was pregnant the last time they came. How would I know what happened since?" He muttered, waving a dismissive hand. His son's righteous anger seemed unable to touch him as he leaned back in the old wooden chair.

"It's a demon's child. Not of my blood." As he addressed his son, he slipped back into Spanish for him alone. He made to stand, sneering at his son and daughter-in-law as they stood in utter horror and fear.

Lorna grasped at Marcos' hand, her features twisting in anger and rage as she finally put two and two together. She closed her eyes, and sought that well of power deep within her, pushing and pulling harder and harder. If it was like the collars all she had to do was push past it… Her teeth grit together, her figure rigid. No doubt setting off every alarm in the Genoshan's scanners.


When the sound of gunfire came, it seemed to happen in stereo, as if sound itself was reacting to the power dampeners in the room. From behind, one gunshot, accompanied by the sound of splintering tempered glass, and the tinkle of glass fragments hitting the windowsill. The sound of glass was accompanied by the sudden blossom of pain at the top of Lorna's lower leg, just below her knee. Marcos' noble attempt to shield his wife had, in point of fact, put her directly in the line of sight of the magistrates who were guarding the window. The second shot was more obvious, as the man who asked about the child lifted his machine gun, a quick shot delivered to the back of Sebastian Diaz head. A 50 caliber bullet at close range? The elder Diaz's face exploded into bits of blood and bone, the crater where his brain had been grisly in the bright light of the day, raw and dotted with bone, brain, and something darker. The cancer that had been eating at his body. He, at least, had not been lying about that. "The next one goes in her head." As the second string of magistrates moved to guard the doors, the ones who had initially moved in to arrest Lorna and Marcos converged on them, guns still trained on both, a pair of them pulling out suppression collars.


Marcos's eyes flashed with rage at his father for his cruel words, before suddenly, gunshots rang out. Surprisingly enough, Marcos was unharmed, but the second he would see his wife's leg be hit, he immediately moves to cover her. His eyes flashed with mild horror as his father is brutally murdered, his face exploding into bloody bits before he covers Lorna, knowing they have guns…a cowards weapon in close quarters. But, he lifts his hands. "Okay, okay! okay…okay…just don't hurt her. Don't." fear in his eyes. Covering Lorna as best as he can, as if saying 'you'll have to shoot me first if you want to get to her'


There was a slow, vagueness that told her if she kept going.. she'd fry the dampeners. They weren't like the ones in Genosha's supermax. They were weaker. She could— A brief light of realization slammed into her. None of the guns were made of metal. None of the bullets… Then came the cracking sound and pain. Sharp and brilliant exploded in her senses. She screamed, her connection, brief as it was to the fields was shut off abruptly and she collapsed on the floor. She'd never actually been shot. Not once. She'd never been hit before.

The blazing pain spike through her leg as she was cut off from any attempts at over-powering anything. She whimpered, her eyes screwed shut as she missed her father-in-law's death.

Only the feeling of Marcos' body pressing against her own, cooler than it ever should be, registered over the pain in her leg. She gasped, curling up on her side as she tried to grasp at the burning pain in her leg, clamp her hands against it.. Tears stung her eyes, blurring out anything else. "Marcos." She whimpered. "Marcos, no.. No.."


"Pain is a wonderful motivator, Mr. Diaz. And we can take more than enough bits and pieces of her to keep you in line and still get what we need from both of you." The magistrates moved in, guns now trained on both of their heads as the pair with the collars moved in to place them around the two mutant's necks. "Strip them, burn everything they wore here. Scan them. Anything they carried implanted, dig it out."

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