Summary: Turmoil uproots the nation's capital.

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On the other side of the country, in the nation's capital, a powder keg has laid siege to the city. Outside of the Capitol Building, wave upon wave of Tree crash against the barricades erected around it. The National Guards from Maryland and Virginia have been tapped to add much needed security. They, alongside the heavily protected local police, keep the pushy protestors at bay, though they are nearing their limits. The work is exhausting, the sun is wilting, and the crowd is unrelenting. No matter what resistance they are met with, the crowd remains determined to surge forward and climb the Capitol steps. Batons are held at the ready, branch-fingers tremble over gun triggers, tension makes the air as thick as concrete, and any breathing has ceased, evaporated, alongside delusions of peaceful demonstration. The Trees gathered here, no matter what side of the barricade they stand upon, brace for the worst. Friction is all but guaranteed.

And everyone is aware that one small spark is all it takes to ignite the fire.

Tensions rage. Sap boils. Agitated protestors reinforce their efforts to climb the Capitol steps. They slam into those standing guard, shoving, punching, scratching at the vulnerable parts of the police not protected by Kevlar. Guards are given orders to take the more problematic protestors into custody. They do so with pepper spray and vine-cuffs. But as one protestor is overpowered, a dozen more sprout up to take their place. The crackle of ear pieces seep into eager ears; tear gas is not to be deployed. The police are overwhelmed, reinforcements are not in tow, the crowd riled. And the fodder needed to spur this situation into chaos stands behind a podium on a raised dais in front of the Capitol Building.

She, alongside two other Trees, are what has brought this situation upon Washington D.C. But making waves is nothing new to the three Trees waiting to begin their speech. Senator Acacia Alvarez, the youngest Senator in Coppice, has faced opposition at every turn in her career. She is a minority genus, and of the female sex, and for a lot of her colleagues this is enough to view her as less than. She has spent decades fighting against the rhetoric that the only good She-Tree is a silent one. Today, is but one of many occasions, where the Senator is determined to have her voice heard.

The other two Trees beside her have also fought to be recognized. To be accepted, and there's is a battle not yet won. Professor Cypress Xavier, one of the most powerful X-Variants in the world, sits beside the Senator in his mechanical hover-wheelbarrow, while beside him, Moira Myrtaggert sways. Her bright red foliage catches the light in a way that unsettles the Senator. She looks as though she's burning. Alvarez can't help but think maybe it signifies what is to come; she hopes it doesn't.

Senator Alvarez grasps the parchment pages of her speech, her long, elegant branch-fingers tapping against the podium's side. She tries to prevent the cries of "Freak-lover!" and "You'll destroy this country!" from bothering her, but the vitriol is hard to ignore; it echoes in her core, chases after her heart, makes her sap run cold. But she's been preparing for this moment for her entire life. She will not back down, not cower to threats, not bough or break.

What's at stake here is more important than a few loud voices, then herself. Proposal C-42, legislative reform she helped co-author, will ensure the rights and freedoms provided to the Tree people in the Constitution are extended to those with the X-Variant. It will give them security, and protection from discrimination. It will grant access to counseling programs to Variant saplings, and give government funding to institutions like Xavier's Grove for Higher Growing, to help continue to nurture these Saplings abilities in a safe environment. It will allow all of them to integrate fully into society, without fear.

Senator Alvarez took an oath - to protect the Trees of this great nation, and that oath supersedes any prejudice, any misgivings, any questions or doubt. It is an oath without caveat or exception. Acacia Alvarez swore to protect, and so she shall. Today is the first step toward fulfilling that promise.

Senator. It is time.

She turns away from her booing, heckling onlookers, to glance at Cypress Xavier. Professor Xavier meets her gaze head-on, his lips pressed together. The announcement, his voice spills into her head, lashing against the shore of her consciousness like unwanted waves, the more you hesitate, the more dangerous this becomes.

Her thin branch-fingers claw at the podium, gouging the wood. Nerves eat at her insides like ravenous termites.

They are restless.

The senator boughs slightly, the sun on her trunk causing sap to erupt over her forehead. She dabs the sleeve of her suit jacket across her forehead, brushing stray leaves out of her eyes. She feels Cypress inside her, riffling through her memories, reading her thoughts as readily as a New York Time's Bestseller. Having one of the most powerful X-Variants take a casual stroll through her mind makes it hard for the Senator to remain aware, focused. She rubs her throbbing temple as a knot forms at the back of her bole. "Is privacy not a concept you X-trees understand?" she grumbles.

Cypress gives a smirk. "Forgive me, Senator," he says. In her mind, Alvarez can feel his presence waning. She breathes a sigh of relief. "I forget myself sometimes. It is better to know the minds of my students than to leave it up to guesswork." He rumbles forward on his hover-wheelbarrow. "Makes for far fewer fires."

The Senator tsks. She doubts such monumental invasions of privacy could be beneficial in any circumstance, but as she was an outsider to the Variant Community, and all her knowledge about them only amassed to a very tiny, malnourished seed, her opinion mattered not.

"I had hoped," Cypress says again. Eyes the color of healthy soil watch Alvarez intently, keenly. The Senator feels as though she's being assessed; and it lends itself to a discomfort that makes her shift from root to root, "keeping our conversations private, would protect you." His bald branches, which he keeps wind-swept off his face, give him the air of a composed dignitary. It makes sense, given that he's worked with the Coppice for far longer than Alvarez has been alive. She imagines he was once handsome, his features are chiseled though now weathered and spotted with moss. He must have read her mind, out of habit, because at the exact moment she thinks this, he flashes an appreciative grin.

Alvarez forces down the blush blossoming on her face, and redirects her attention to the crowd, and the task at hand. They writhe with agitation. Canopies are curled and sun-scorched. They sway on roots, branch-fingers twitching. Guns are strapped to backs, and holstered at sides that shine in the afternoon sun. "In my line of work," she says as steady as she can, "protection is never guaranteed. No matter what measures are taken to secure it." She speaks truth.

Cypress says nothing. Beside him, Moira gives a grunt of agreement. Alvarez's eyes widen. It's the first time Ms. Myrtaggert has acknowledged the Senator's presence in the week they've been in contact. Given what she knew of Ms. Myrtaggert, the she-tree seems little interested in the natural world. Her gaze is always focused on the horizon, her head seemingly somewhere else. The only time Ms. Myrtaggert exhibited interest in anything was when it revolved around Xavier. Her leaves would perk up, and her gaze would fall on him directly. He seemed to be her world, or at the very least, the only part of it that mattered.

Alvarez had heard rumors of the pair's relationship - though they were work colleagues almost exclusively now, they'd been lovers many rings ago. But that was all hearsay, and Alvarez knows, better than most, not to trust what others say; so many conflate truths with exaggerations and omissions.

"Senator." One of the thicket of Secret Service tasked with protecting Alvarez, addresses her. She stiffens and turns to face the well-dressed, black-suited Tree. Several others stand at the corners of the dais, guns in their belts, branch-fingers on their earpieces. They scour the crowd from behind thick black lenses, aware all too well of how easily the day could devolve into bloodshed.

She nods, gives one last glance back at Xavier, and taps the microphone before her. It crackles to life, and then it is her voice, being transmitted through the Capital. It is strong, clear, and unwavering. Resolved. She unveils her sweeping reform C-42, what she has named The Unity Act.

Her voice enrages some, and excites others.

Regardless, she manages to stymie the promise of violence permeating in the air. Restless roots still; angered screams are hushed. Trigger fingers fall listlessly back to the sides of boles. Their hatred falls to silence.

Everyone gathered on the steps and watching from their homes, are listening.

The Senator knows it will be an uphill battle to make The Unity Act into law.

But she has never shied away from a fight.

Variety is, after all, what makes a forest thrive.

What happens next, takes a matter of seconds. The silence scatters as raised voices pitch with panic. The crowd parts, limbs all too eager to get out of the way. Senator Alvarez barely has time to think about what they are hurrying away from when a shot rings out. A Tree dressed in all-black, raises what her mind registers as a snarling snout. It's trained at her heart. There is a smile, one with so much menace, it paints a stark picture against the current backdrop of confusion. He shouts, "For Us All!"

The snout opens its mouth.

There is a scream - hers? Then several. The guards stationed on the dais rush to her side. Guns drawn, directed at the crowd. They scream into their headsets, demanding reinforcements. The barricade's been breached.

Another "For Us All!" rattles through the crowd. "Compatriots stand tall!" More bangs fill the air like staccato notes, punctuating these dangerous notions of patriotism.

Alvarez breathes in, her leaves trembling so hard, several dozen fall to the ground. She is rooted to the spot, by fear, by disbelief. She always knew it could end like this, but she never...she never thought it--

Xavier's voice explodes inside her brain. Take cover! Now, Acacia! Before it's too late!

--would end like this. That she would end like this.

She closes her eyes. Beneath her bark, her chloroplast brims with adrenaline. She exhales, her foliage prickles. She could do it. She could face it. Gracefully. In her death, she'd become a martyr for a good cause. Perhaps her sacrifice now would prevent one from being made in the future.

"Enough."

One word, whispered, in a lightly Scottish accent. It is enough to drain the energy from everyone gathered. And while it is not a command, it brings the world to heel. The bullet aimed for the senator stays suspended mid-air, centimeters from her chest. Acacia Alvarez, pulse buzzing in her ears, dares to open her eyes. The world below her has slowed to a crawl. Branch-arms are thrust into the air in defense, others twisted into fists, ready to rain down upon their enemies. A puff of pepper spray shoots from an officer's cannister, misting the air in front of three young saplings. Eyes, once frenzied and fevered, reflect fear.

Time, it appears, has ground to a halt.

The cameras, however, have not. The events taking place at the Capitol continue to be projected all over the world. Audiences watch on enrapt, confused, suspicious and though it remains unspoken, they all know what they are witnessing - an X-Variant's power. It is true power, sowed in the healthiest soil, harnessed by masterful branches.

They are scared and they have every right to be.

It's not every day impossibility blossoms into eventuality.

Professor Xavier's lips are pulled taut, his expression one of grim realization. The choice to save the Senator's life was not his to make, but he had been certain she would see reason, realize that a life lost, at times, was preferrable to the deaths of thousands. But by preventing Alvarez's death, she had made X-Variant Trees the world over, even bigger targets.

The consequences of her actions here today, would rattle and reverberate in their community for decades.

He turns to his companion, who casually lumbers forward. She casts her gaze into the distance, glimpsing a thousand futures. With a slender branch-arm, she plucks the bullet meant for Alvarez from the air, forces it to the ground, and stamps it out beneath a bare root.

Xavier need not say anything, or broadcast into her mind, to convey his disappointment.

"There was no other way, Cypress," Moira Myrtaggert, Omega-level X-Variant says, stemming the flow of words from leaving Cypress's mouth. His frown worsens, and the wrinkles entrenched on his brow, deepen.

"There's always another way, Moira," Xavier says predictably.

The feeblest of smiles part her lips. "And I have born witness to them all. Can you not trust an old friend to divulge the truth, when I have seen further than you ever could?"

Moira, his voice rolls into her head, thick and blanketing. It dulls her synapses and douses her senses. She feels him trying to curb her power. If her X-Variant was a gift, why did Xavier always treat it like a curse? You have made things more dangerous for us, he continues, think of the saplings at the Grove. The losses we have already suffered. It's all for not, if--

"NO," she barks. Her hands curl into fists so tight the bark of her knuckles starts to split. Sap snakes down her fingers. With every last ounce of energy she possesses, she boots Xavier from her mind, the force of which knocks him back in his wheelbarrow. "I have saved us."

"Not all of us," he retorts, his face haggard, limbs disheveled.

Her gaze drops to her roots. A slight breeze rattles the leaves of her canopy. Despite the ability to slow the natural world, she is unable to slow the pounding of her heart. "No," she admits. Seconds pass. Her words drift like lost ships in the space between her and Cypress, a space that, regrettably, continues to widen no matter what she does. "Not all of us."