Rise Above

@c23intros || task one || pinned post

{Golshifteh Farahani, 41, female, she/her} || CYRA DE LEÓN is a mutant with the ability of AEROKINESIS. They’ve been in New York for TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS where they spend most of their time as AN ART CURATOR AT THE MET/PART-TIME ELEMENTAL TRAINER AT THE INSTITUTE. When I think of them, I think of  THE SAFETY FOUND IN A LOVER'S EMBRACE; FAMILY DANCE PARTIES IN A BRIGHTLY LIT KITCHEN; SHIFTING WINDS THAT COULD LEVEL A CITY AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE. they are affiliated with xavier institute.  [bry, 30+, she/her, psd, n/a]

tl;dr:

Age 7, Cyra’s powers come in: aerokinesis, like her father and grandmother.

Age 9, Her parents pass in what’s called a tragic accident. She’s placed with her grandparents who move her to live with them in Paris that same week.

Age 14, Cyra is attacked due to suspicions of being a mutant. She kills her first human and is left with a large scar on her back. Her grandparents relocate back to NYC.

Age 18, Cyra skips the Ivy League demands of her grandparents, and enrolls at the University of Washington in Seattle. Where she meets and becomes involved with Santiago- and outs herself as a mutant to him.

Age 22, Cyra and Santiago are married.

Age 24, Santiago joins her in New York, where they settle into Valtoria together.

Age 30, Cyra gives birth to her first daughter, and her grandparents pass shortly after. She inherits the entirety of the Anvari fortune. 

Age 33, Cyra gives birth to her second daughter.

A political action committee? God rest her soul, January St. James was no politician and while she contributed to lobbyists and activists, she wasn’t exactly one herself, but she puts on a nice look on her face and pauses. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. This is simply… a club. Where we talk and drink and chat to other people about what we do with our money and our influence. Perhaps resort to the odd blackmail or so. Collectively.” Santization. Just a little. She tucks a hair back into place and sighs.

“Our reputation isn’t going to be fixed. People will always hate mutants,” she continues, walking astride with her. “But the goal is to play their game and to play it with such a clarity as to win. Give them scapegoats, give them technology, give them access to mutant healthcare, control them the way all these nations do.” This is a clear day, a good day. And one that she dares to feel optimism about. “Then, we take their outrageous sums of money—the profit they love so much, and buy their banks. Their politicians and media and their little cultural attaches. We take it from the people who would do our children harm and render them impotent. Just like that. Like a fire with no oxygen.”

“Tell me, Mrs. De Leon, would you be party to this, or do I have to convince you further?”

Though she appreciated the fullness of her honesty, the blunt explanation gave Cyra pause. Bribes and blackmail weren’t exactly her calling cards, however.. There’s always a gritty, shadowed underside to doing ‘the right thing’. Certain sacrifices that had to be made for ‘the grater good’. Known facts that are accepted without being talked about. The world already worked this way, so why shouldn’t they? If it made the lives of mutants truly easier, or at least, fairer for the first time?

She’d sacrifice a few digits off of her account balance and a couple of morals if it meant that her daughter had a better life than she did. 

“No,” Cyra finally answers, softly but resolute. “You don’t. I don’t keep secrets, not large ones, from my husband but.. I’m in. You can count on my support, Ms. St. James.”

Santiago can’t help but laugh — he’s not trying to negate what Jackie’s just said, but her calling them pros at cheating at carnival games is too good to let slide. “Absolutely, I think everyone needs to stand aside and let the professionals handle this,” Santi agrees with a broad grin, settling his hands on Jackie’s shoulders when she moves to stand in front of him, glancing at Cyra with no shortage of warmth and amusement.

Jackie holds one of the rings up in front of Santi’s face. “You can throw this one!” Santi takes it with the same smile and nods, squeezing Jackie’s shoulder. “Very generous of you, peanut, but I’m sure you won’t need my help. Everybody ready?” He directs a quick wink towards their other pair, then: “On your marks… get set… onetwothreego!”

The attendant is barely paying attention with how many people are circling the booth, which is probably for the best. Santi leaves Cyra and Tammy to their own devices as he cheers Jackie on, instead, but naturally, all four of her tosses ping neatly off the sides of the bottles. To her credit, all she exhibits is an exaggerated shrug. “Well, even professionals have off days,” Santiago offers by way of consolation and, to prove his point, tosses his own ring to bounce off one of the suspiciously broad bottle necks. “Looks like maybe we should stick to darts, hm?”

“Oh we should stand aside, well then.” Cyra echoes with her own broad smile to a giggling Tammy, holding her closer. They watch the other half of their family with all the love and encouragement that they have, offering an empathetic symphony of ‘aww’s’ as each ring misses. Tammy nods in agreement with her father, and promises to avenge her sister. Cyra leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Jackie’s head, her tone holding nothing but warmth and pride. “You had excellent form though, sweetheart. Even got really close a couple of times!” After ensuring that her oldest daughter wasn’t actually upset, she turns a more private grin to her husband, a hand lifting to cup his cheek and presses a soft peck to his lips. “Truly,” she murmurs with a hint of a chuckle, “excellent form, my love.”

An annoyed “Maman!” pulls her away from Santi with a laugh and she turns back towards the youngest. “Alright, alright. Are you ready to show them how it’s done?” Tammy nods and clutches one of their rings. Cyra squats down behind her daughter as the attendant focuses on their side of the stall, taking the little hand in her own. “Now the key, is to line up your thumb with where your aiming. And mind the flick of your wrist. Like with a frisbee.” She guides Tammy’s hand in a few example movements, resisting the urge to both laugh and smother her cute face in smooches as her brows knit together in true focus. 

“Alright,” She whispers in Tammy’s ear as the attendant turns away again. “Ready for real this time?” A small, clearly discreet nod, and Cyra can’t help but grin with pride-- though later she should reevaluate why she’s proud that her daughter seems to be a natural at their family con. She guides Tammy’s hand again, and this time the little hand releases the ring and Cyra’s ability does the rest: the ring sails smoothly to the top of the of the bottles, completing a few teetering circles around it for good measure before settling neatly around the bottle’s neck. 

“Both,” she says, a little blithely. While the meetings were few and far between the heads and the inner circle, she at least knew of a lot of good party organizers and old tricks learned as she spent her time in high society. It isn’t exactly fun, catering to the whims and interests of moguls and politicians, but if a good time is all they need for the bills and the infrastructure she needs, January isn’t someone who skips out on a good deal. “It also is a place where you can enter business deals that will focus on mutant-centric marketing. To funneling cash into helpful legislation. To backdoor benefits for mutants,” And to well-timed assassinations that further their cause. “And I’d be remiss if I didn’t invite you, Mrs. De Leon. Or someone with your power.”

FROM: Maxine Brandt <[email protected]> TO: Cyra De León <[email protected]> SUBJECT: RE: Hi.

Cyra,

They’d prefer if you called them traditionalists, so I’ve heard.

That’s certainly a first. I don’t think I’ve ever been called anything than a dead ringer for my father. But aren’t children supposed to be like their parents, anyway?

I’ll try not to let you down, then. There’s nothing left for me to do except be an ally, right? Or try to be, at least.

Maxine

Santiago is barely watching where he’s walking, at this point — his eyes are for Cyra and Cyra alone, as is most often the case these days. She dots a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips, and even if it’s the thousandth kiss she’s given him, Santi’s stomach still does the gentlest flip. Her words only compound that, and what could he possibly do but nod?

“Of course,” he agrees easily and genuinely, but then, of course, has to buy into the bit. “Your big, fancy apartment does get terribly chilly. And it does have some uncommonly strong drafts.” That’s less of a bit; he has noticed some curious air currents in her apartment from time to time, glancing to the window to close it only to find it already shut. Cyra is terribly distracting, though, so usually if he’s at her place, well. He’s not much focused on finding the source of mysterious drafts.

Only now does Santi drag his attention away from her and cast a quick look around, making sure it’s safe to cross the road now that they’ve picked their destination. “And instead of coffee, I can make you some of that hot chocolate.” The end of his offer trails off into brief distraction; he catches a glimpse of a couple shadows, dark figures falling into step behind them.

Turning his attention forward again, Santiago frowns faintly. “Might be best if we keep to this main street,” he murmurs, resisting the urge to speed his steps and give away that he’s spotted them. “Either I’m a little paranoid, or… well.” He’ll let Cyra decide for herself.

Her teasing works, though she knows the reason is less because of how convincing she was-- or in this case, absolutely wasn’t-- and more to do with that near tangible connection that gets stronger every time they’re together. Every time their eyes meet. Still, Cyra’s grin is proud as she crosses the street with Santi, still wrapped up in his arms and determined to do little more than shrug off his comment about some ‘uncommonly strong drafts’. 

No matter how strong her feelings for him were-- are-- Things have been so great between them these past six months. She knows it’s not an exaggeration to say that she’s fallen head over heels in record time, and she thinks he feels the same way. He’s the most loving, supportive person that she’s ever met-- but even still. Every time Cyra thinks that she’s found enough courage to tell him the truth-- one of the last big secrets about herself that he doesn’t already know-- 

There’s always a hitch. A hesitation. A lump in her throat. Something that lasts just long enough for any amount of bravery to melt away. To leave her as some semblance of a lying coward in front of the man she thinks she loves, and her secret still untold. 

“Oh, god, yes please!” Her hand squeezes his arm lovingly. “If you’re sure that I have everything you need for it. You know, you could just list off the ingredients and..” The seriousness of Santi’s low voice causes her to drop her own sentence, and take a casual look behind them under the guise of fixing her hair. She spies the two figures matching their pace and in an instant, her shoulders square with the alertness. 

FROM: Maxine Brandt <[email protected]> TO: Cyra De León <[email protected]> SUBJECT: RE: Hi.

That’s… incredibly metaphoric of you, Cyra. In a good way, of course. Here’s to hoping there’s such a thing as an antidote to combined elitism, classism, and… what would you call prejudice against mutants? It’s a surprise these lot haven’t come up with their own term. I believe they’d find ‘bigotry’ too harsh.

There’s no need for forgiveness on my end. Your husband did the right thing. Of leaving B&G, of standing his ground on not returning, of not trusting me. But why do you have faith in me, Mrs. De León? What have I done to earn it?

Maxine

FROM: Cyra De León <[email protected]> TO:  Maxine Brandt <[email protected]> SUBJECT: RE: Hi.

Ha. They would find being called a bigot too much. But you know what they say-- if the shoe fits. 

Honestly? I don’t know, Maxine. But I do. Perhaps it’s because I have a feeling about you. You’ve never been your parents, you’ve always been your own person. For as long as I’ve known your family, anyway. 

Maybe that’s enough for me. But I suppose it’ll be up to you to decide whether or not my faith is misplaced.

“ and i can’t wait to see jackie more, ” he replied, as if jackie were actually there. but ‘so cool’ ? all louis could do was laugh – the type of laugh that was not as loud as it was exaggerated, shoulders lifting up and down with each subtle chuckle. as her father, it had come as a relief that their disconnect wasn’t so great that he was unable to read her – yes, as her father, it had come as a relief that they were simply on opposite sides of the spectrum. but, as her father, before he knew, it had been horrifying. even now, he had to fight the urge to pull various professors aside – ask if she was making progress ( if she cared to make progress ). “ truth be told, it’s somewhat of a relief. she likely would have preferred an ability within the ‘flight’ category – ” – not that she cared to prefer ! – “ – but it is what it is. ”

“ i could certainly use it, ” he joked, offering a wide, amused smile. and it wasn’t necessarily a lie. he was good in combat, he was useful, but he was nowhere near the level of many of his cohorts – cyra included. perhaps they had made for a good team, but outside of that… ? however, he was drawn out of his trance when he heard it – that inevitable show of being impressed. perhaps even overwhelmed. cocked grin, he turned to face the room and crossed his arms. “ they take their training rooms very seriously. i assume you saw the danger room during your initial tour ? ”

Cyra only offered a mirrored shrug-- she didn’t fully understand it either. But honestly: who does actually understand the pre-teen mind? Certainly not her. 

“Only a quick glance!” She answered, stepping into the room that she’d have to come to know. “I was hoping to get a proper look at it today, to be honest.” Cyra sent a sweet, wide smile to Louis over her shoulder before turning away again to examine the room. “Actually, I’m fairly excited to be given the chance to test it out myself.” She calls, stopping in front of a section of paneled wall, a hand lifting to touch. It was covered in what looked like sound-proof paneling, but she recognized the material as something more adept at resisting fire than suppressing sound. Her family’s old training facility had a similar material lining it’s walls. 

Cyra smiled. 

He can concur. The love. The sentiment. Will doesn’t know what else to do except buckle against the lot of them; love is a powerful weapon in the hands of those who know how to hold it, and Will was never one to learn to put defenses up well. Maybe he ought to learn now. Not yet, though. Not yet.

WILL: Ah, the dreaded waterslide. WILL: Gabby’s been asking if I could get her one. Maybe this’ll make her forget. WILL: Or seal my doom. Who knows.

There’s nothing he can say to evade it, so he lets out a sigh, long and dramatic before acquiescing. She wore him down. All he has to do now is to face the music, and boy oh boy was that music loudly proclaiming his inevitable heartbreak. Probably.

WILL: I’ll be there with Gabby. I’ll try to help set up. I insist. WILL: And yes, I will make sure that none of them get to the presents.

There’s a pause there, as Will simply doesn’t know what to say next. The conversation is a balm to the soul and a hot poker to his ribs all at the same time.

WILL: Thank you. I might forget if I didn’t say— WILL: Thanks for inviting me. Still.

Will confirms that he and Gabby will be at the party and it can’t be helped-- Cyra’s smile touches her eyes and seeps into her voice. 

CYRA: Wonderful! Will, that’s wonderful. We’ll need all the help we can get. CYRA: And if you come early enough, you can help me make the mimosas for the adults. 

Just like Will had been, for a moment she’s simply quiet. She nods at Will’s thanks, forgetting for thick moment that he can’t see it. Cyra resists the urge to clear her throat before speaking again, afraid it would be taken the wrong way. The smile-- the joy-- still obvious in her tone.

CYRA: I’ll tell you the day of too, but..  CYRA: Thank you for coming. I really can’t wait to see the both of you.  CYRA: And I know Santi feels the same. 

Santiago’s relieved that Cyra’s more than happy to burst the girls’ bubble about the fish, because even though the argument comes up regularly — they’d already dealt with Barnaby one-through-three after all — Santi often threatens to cave. It’s difficult, saying no to the little doe eyes they fix him with, and so much of his resolve is already spent gently vetoing that they adopt a dog. 

“There are lots of fun prizes around here that we don’t have to worry about taking care of,” Santi promises them as Jackie and Tammy trade places, and he affectionately smooths some of Tammy’s hair. “What about a stuffed fish?” ‘That’s not the same!’ Tammy insists. “I know, which is exactly the point. How about…”

Glancing idly around, Santiago finally spots the ring toss, then points up towards the rafters of prizes. “What about that unicorn? To join the herd you’re already collecting in your room.” Considering her enthusiasm for the equestrian camp the girls had gone to in June, it wasn’t much surprise that Tammy was the proud owner of a number of stuffed horses — because if the De Leons drew the line at fish, it was no surprise that multiple lines had been drawn at ponies.

“She’s a good substitute, don’t you think?” Santi asks the other two just as much as he asks Tammy.

The expression she makes, wide eyes and a wider smile accompanied by an enthusiastic nod, is maybe a tad over-exaggerated. Alright, it’s very over-exaggerated. But it near has to be when it’s being given to two children who know when they are being bribed with a glittery, rainbow distraction from the thing they actually want. Luckily for her and Santi, the girls also know when they have no hope of winning the battle.

With reluctant, and secretly excited, smiles and mutterings of agreement, the girls let their parents lead them to the ring toss. Their gloom quickly disappears, though, as they file into the only empty spaces left in front of the stall. There’s been a few near winners at this booth; the excitable energy near tangible as Cyra pays the attendant this time. Both girls get their allotted five rings. 

“You and Jackie are on your own this time, my love.” Cyra’s voice is soft as she brushes down Jackie’s hair and turns towards her husband. “I can only help one person at a time, and this is Tammy’s first time playing.” Tammy grins up at her mother and Jackie nods her understanding, having played this version of the games before. She moves to stand to in front of her father, a small but sure voice telling him more than asking him, ‘We don’t need their help anyway, right? We’re pros!’

 “Well, most of them, yes. Teleportation, i’ve been capable of for a decade.” But she waves off the further praise in kind. “But, trust me, you’ve just caught me on a good day. My first month here, I put a plastic ball through Professor Xavier’s window. I have learned a lot here, though. But, most of the discovery has been made through survival instincts.” From avoiding the wrath of a belligerent Father to trying to not get mauled by Joseph’s not yet controlled prehistoric forms, Finley had found herself pulling unsuspected tricks out of her hat left and right. 

It would be easy to pretend that it had always been so easy, but Finley’s life has been anything but up until this point. But, who was she to lie to Cyra about this topic? It wasn’t as if much of her recent life was a secret anyway, so Finley saw no reason to lie and call it beginners luck or claim she was just powerful. Whether or not that’s true, she’s merely a girl who had seen too much, and had to adapt to survive one too many times. 

“I feel like that make it sound bad. Control has been my focus, mainly. That stupid saying? With great power comes great responsibility? It turns out they’re right, and knowing when and how to use my abilities is what I’m best suited on spending my time on.” She can’t imagine what someone less soft hearted could do with her powers. She had injured and killed more people than she will ever care to admit during her time in the Brotherhood with skills she wasn’t even aware she possessed until her hand was forced. Being well in control and a good person was more important to her than any sort of rating or strength. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, though. I think you’ll make a great addition to the school and you’re daughter, too. It’s nice to know that I’ve had more friends than I thought, too.”

A hand lifts to cover her mouth as she laughs at Finley’s story. She tries to stop it in the moment-- really, truly does-- but it can’t be helped. The story brings to mind an eerily similar instance from her own childhood, when she was first learning her limits too. “You don’t make anything sound bad, my dear. My first time creating my own small vortex-- well, tornado, really-- I sent one of those big plastic balls that toddlers use in their little leagues through my father’s office window.” She recalls, speaking through a flurry of persistent giggles. “And ruined my mother’s drapes. I got in so much trouble!” She’d known very well that she wasn’t supposed to be practicing her powers inside of the house. Control and finding appropriate places to actually train had been the next lessons for her too. 

Cyra’s not sure if Finley’s version of survival instincts is the same her’s-- for her friend’s sake, she hopes not. Hers was more to do with surviving her grandparent’s harsh training regimen; of getting through it without loosing part of herself along the way. An experience she would not be bringing to her own class with her. But she doesn’t ask, not yet anyway. Finley’s been through enough as it is. On the off chance that they share a traumatic version of survival instincts, Cyra simply files the information away inside her mind. 

While most people would quake in their boots at the sight of her, Cyra pointedly does not, and exhibits a little power to boot. A refreshing change of pace, of course, but one that hasn’t happened to her for some time. Perhaps she should have made friends with the Anvaris herself, though they seem to have withered on the vine like some vestigial branch. “Mrs. De Leon, I would like to invite you to the Hellfire Club,” she says, the invitation appearing in her hand as if it were always there. “A club for people within the upper echelon. Think of it as a classier party Dorian Gray might throw—with a very strong mutant block, of course.”

“Cream? You’ve got it.” Cordelia opens the mini fridge next to the coffee machine, grabbing the cream. It’s also filled with bottles of water for any students who might have an emotional time in her office. “Of course! Everyone here is pretty friendly. Even the hormonal kids,” she says, with a soft laugh. Once the machine is done filling Cyra’s cup, Cordelia tops it off with the cream and brings it to her, placing it on the desk. “If you need more cream, just let me know.” Taking a seat, she grabs her own extra large mug filled with black coffee and takes a sip. She needs something to power her through the day. “I’m sure you’ll help lots of the students here. Give yourself more credit! Xavier only hires the best.” Cordelia isn’t exactly the best, but the other staff are. “We need a fresh face to brighten things up around here. Things have been a little sombre since the attack and losing Eurynome.” 

To be honest, Cordelia’s months have all blended together at this point. She’s been throwing herself into her work, trying to help Ezra without getting murdered, and rebuilding her friendship with Jess. “I think I’m not far off my two year anniversary of being here. It’s gone pretty quickly. What brought you to Xavier’s, anyway? Was it the bright, smiling faces of the faculty on a Monday morning?” she jokes.

“This is perfect, thank you.” Cyra’s smile is full of warmth as she fixes her cup and lifts it for a taste. Her brows lift slightly in surprise-- she’d been expecting something more akin to the bad coffee often made fun of on television. But this was actually quite good. Still, at the mention of the attack on the school and the death of the Omega, her smile softens and she nods, setting the cup down. “I heard about the attack on the school, I’m very sorry. I hear it was gruesome. If it’s alright that I ask: how has the recovery process been?” If anyone were to know the general feeling of a place in healing, Cyra figures the guidance councilor would be the one to ask.

“Two years?” She asks, clearly impressed. “You must have seen so much in that time.” Her head dips and bobs as she considers the question Cordelia asks. “Well.. Actually,” She starts slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I was part of the group of hostages during the attacks. With Louis Bhatt. He’s been a friend of ours-- mine and my husband’s-- for a long while now.” Her gaze points down, towards her clasped hands sitting in her lap, the gentleness never leaving her tone. “We made a good team down there, Louis and I. I even managed to help Siren before..” Before it all went to absolute shit. “I saw what happened to Eurynome. And what happened after. I don’t know,” She shakes her head, escaping the memories and coming back to life. “Something after that awoke in me. I wanted to do more to help-- and I already spend many hours a week training my daughter. It just seemed a natural step to take.” 

“ khevna has yet to reach my class, ” louis began, nodding his head to the side in preemptive amusement, continuing, “ but she has already made a point of referring to me as professor bhatt. ” despite the hardy-har-har-har delivery… it was brutal ! it wasn’t trying to fit in, it wasn’t poking fun at him – she just did it. ( was it wrong of him ? excitement over the prospect of her learning how to turn her ability off ? )

louis peered over her shoulder as she flipped through the notebook. “ training hall b, ” he echoed, looking ahead with great intent. “ yes – i believe we take a left up here, ” he said, walking to the left and to training hall b. “ i want to say four ? though i seldom train in active combat. ” aka, may doesn’t know the average amount of training rooms in training halls and google didn’t help!

At the mention of Louis’ daughter, Cyra looks up with a warm smile. “God, they’re growing up so fast, aren’t they? Oh!” She exclaims, a hand coming to rest lightly on Louis’ arm. “I don’t know if Santi told you yet-- but Jackie was so thrilled to hear Khevna’s news! She’s so excited to be able to see her more often-- and you!” Cyra adds quickly, pulling back her hand with a light shrug. “She’d hate me for saying this: but she finds Khevna’s apathy ‘so cool’” She mimics her daughter’s awestruck voice and laughs, shaking her head. It’s maybe a selfish thought, but at least Louis had the peace of mind knowing that it was an ability causing his daughter’s recent personality shift, Cyra and Santi could only blame early pre-teen hormones. “How are you handling it all?”

Cyra,

I’ve noticed that. These people really can be quite vicious, can’t they? To the point that they’ve started to cull each other. How lucky they are to be surrounded by like-minded people. Not an outlier in the bunch. (hint hint there are obviously secret mutants still in their social circles but they’re terrified out of their minds to out themselves and max is a part of that population of cowards unfortch)

Well then, I suppose there’s nothing to say except that I’m happy for you. And I must extend an apology to you that I’ll soon offer to your husband for his former employment in Brandt & Goetsch. ‘Brave’ is an understatement to describe his actions of quitting the firm.

Maxine

FROM: Cyra De León <[email protected]> TO:  Maxine Brandt <[email protected]> SUBJECT: RE: Hi.

Maxine,

They can be, vicious. But then, most of us know how quickly a viper can turn and strike once you’ve been accepted into it’s nest. The bite is never quite as surprising as they want you to believe, is it? Though it does still sting. Luckily, no matter how deep the venom goes, there’s always antidote. 

I appreciate that, Maxine. I do. But I must reiterate that whether or not my husband accepts your offer is completely up to him. I’m sure you now understand why the firm’s association to Essex was his primary reasoning for his original resignation. Though I personally place my faith with you, I hope you’ll forgive Santiago for any hesitancy he may give you. 

You can’t blame a man for wanting to protect his family.