2013.07.19 - Of Bears and Wolves

It's one of those things, living on the edge. Mystique spends a lot of her life toeing that line, it's become second nature. Kurt's still in the area, with her own brand of delusions in place around his eyes. Now she's got Logan to deal with, knowing that the two may well end up talking sooner or later. Her attitude may have changed but by and large her story has not. The mountain was full of anti-mutant rebels, they were killed to safeguard Bastion's mutant population, yadda yadda. Same story, different setting.

Maybe that isn't enough for Logan. Then again, maybe it is. Regardless, Mystique aims to bring the Canucklehead right into Bastion, itself, for a little sit-down with the resident Master of Magnetism.

Because it should be fun.

She doesn't like Erik being hard on her son, but Logan..? He's a tough old bastard. And he's about forty-five percent metal.

She always did enjoy giving Erik new toys to play with. Here, enclosed within a building which has been constructed of little more than reshaped metals, she has little doubt that he'll be able to smell that adamantium in no time at all. As she walks alongside Logan she does so with no physical contact. She's had her time to tease the scruffy guy. Now it's down to other business.

Logan walks into the enemy's den with the calm repose of a man who has no idea it's dangerous. He didn't even come to Genosha clad in colors, instead dressed in old, dark jeans and a worn red and black flannel. Heavy, shit-kicking hiking boots round him out, and he's completely unarmed; other than the obvious, of course. Really, nothing could be further from the truth: Logan remains -acutely- aware of what he risks. Hell, it's likely the reason he comes along at all.

Mystique's words and explanations and purported idealism are all well and good, but if there's any truer test of a force's disposition, Wolverine hasn't learned it. He has a cigarette, and keeps his wits about him, memorizing the layout, the security along the way, forming estimates of headcounts and hypothesis about alternate routes out. There aren't many more words for Raven.

Sure, Logan may not be equipped to take on Magneto, but that's half the point-- tough old bastard that he is, only a fool would expect him to go quietly. If they do manage or decide to kill him? Well.. the Canuck'll just try to grin and think about the inevitable blowback.

Hammer Bay is not Bastion. But what Magneto's built in Hammer Bay- by hand, in less than a day- is an ambassadorial suite to rival an Emperor's throne room. He still hasn't got that title nailed down yet; the UN is simply recognizing Magneto as 'ruler' of Bastion. Perhaps Imperator is the right word after all, and there's a certain neo-classical 'vibe' about the way Magneto's decorated. Heat-tempered steel, alloys and metals of all colors glimmer in the brilliant lights that cast cones of light bright and subtle across the room.

As Logan approaches, Magneto lifts his head from the papers in front of him. The desk at which the ruler of Bastion sits rotates away with a motion too unnaturally smooth of metal, despite its gleam, and the chair resolves itself into the form of a high backed affair much resembling a throne. Olive laurels, the signet of Roman rulers of old, raise themselves in bas relief over his head.

"Ah. We have a guest," Magneto says, spreading his hands in welcome. He rises slowly, wearing simple clothing of a deep purple with a scarlet sash over his shoulder and across one hip. "Mister Logan. The 'Wolverine'," Magneto says, nodding a welcome to the most notorious of the X-men. "Welcome to the Embassy of Bastion, Mister Logan," he states with that same grand eloqution.

Omega Red has gotten in trouble for lack of control during the audience chamber in the past. His thinly-veiled contempt for Nightcrawler, especially the blue-furred elf's religious leanings, had been noticed and gotten him a reprimand from Magneto. So, when Logan is brought in, and Arkady feels that good, old fashioned hate bubbling up in him, he clamps it down. Rides it even. Sociopaths, you see, feel very little. Stepping on the throat of a teenager crying for his mother in the pits isn't much different to him than swatting a bug that got on his sandwich or pulling the tag from a mattress if it itches him. They are largely matters of convenience and, while he might take a certain pleasure in seeing it done (or at least the suffering involved in getting it done), he doesn't experience much in the way of emotional resonance. Much the same about love. Doesn't feel it, never has, can't even begin to conceive of it. To him, it's like the proverbial elephant to the blind man, except he isn't even bothering to try and get a feel. He's content to be in the dark.

But then there's hatred.

Hatred is warm. Hatred is thrilling. Hatred makes the blood rise and the heart beat. Hatred is filling. And so, when he sees Logan, when the hate starts to rise in him, it doesn't read, necessarily, as hatred on the surface of him. No, while he schools his emotions and keeps his face as placid as it seems, as he lets his scarlet eyes fall on the 'guest' and bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything at all, anything disruptive, anything that would anger the patron who could tear his metal-riddled body apart as easily as he could the Wolverine...while he does all that, to a perceptive observer of the human condition, such as Mystique, or to one of enhanced senses, such as Wolverine, what it reads as is joy. For Omega Red, broken, wicked and sick thing that he is, hatred is as close to joy as he can experience. He is so very, very happy to hate. Welcome to Bastion, Logan.

Strilka doesn't, in this instance, have a great deal of reason to linger in the 'Imperator's' ambassadorial throne room. But, still. The young woman is, in many respects, one of the Master of Magnetism's finest hunting hounds. Certainly, that's what's whispered among her detractors, at least. She's not nearly as sociopathic as Omega Red. She's not a brute enforcer like he. She's more Mystique's creature than anything else -- stealthy, focussed, and discerning.

Presently, she treads lightly along the outer perimeter of the room -- not so much idly passing through as moving from one vantage point to another. Generally, she likes to sit and watch the proceedings here. It's not the twisted observation of a voyeur at all. It's the observational curiosity of a scientist.. a student, really.

It's amazing what she can learn just by watching.

So, clad in her leathers, hood, and mask, she leans lightly against the wall in a slice of shadow and simply watches.

"We do," Mystique replies to Erik's observation with that cool, double-tiered voice she favors so much while in the blue. "Found this stray along the crater, enjoying the sights and scents. He seems to believe that we might be gearing up for a war."

Or convinced that's what they're planning on doing. But, he can explain himself from here. She motions Logan toward the desk with the sweep of a white leather-clad arm then steps aside, closer to Omega Red. His appearance doesn't bother her in the slightest. Physical manifestations of the X-Gene are something to be cherished, after all. Maybe his mind can't process the concept but to her solid yellow eyes, here stands another beautiful creature.

And largely obedient, too.

The resident archress isn't missed, passing a glance and a smirk on the sly toward Olena. It's good to see her keeping up with things, taking an interest in the official business of the island's reformation. It's always helpful, knowing which amongst their numbers are properly educated on current events. Why, little Strilka has practically become an extension of the metamorph's own will these days. One cannot simply hire that sort of assistance.

There's a lot that's been said about Erik Lehnsherr. Not all of it is nice, not all of it is true. But no one can deny this particular upstart (and how many people living can look at Magneto as young, yet) his imposing sense of style; if one wants to call it that. Wolverine's never been super comfortable around well-lit and sterile halls of steel, but he can't deny it gets its point across-- even if he does simultanously wish he had gone for a long walk in the woods, instead.

Magneto's unsual 'bodyguard' doesn't register as a surprise on Logan's face, like he expected Omega Red to be here; or more likely, smelled him five minutes ago. No, the Russian just gets a wry smirk and a shake of Logan's head. He may not remember a lot, but chunks of it involve their Cold War beef. "Arkady." Wolverine's almost amused to see the old nemesis here, rather than outwardly concerned. Beat. Rich, blue eyes assess their icier counterparts in the white-haired Master of Magnetism.

"Magneto. Just Logan, bub. Or Wolverine, if ya prefer." Doesn't seem to bother him, either way. As far as Mystique's incindiery introduction, it draws a sidelong glance, one of the feral runt's dark brows rising sharply. It doesn't reflect in the tone, though, as he appends without missing more than a beat, "Or goin' to spark one. Lot of people are going to wonder what the next target is..." a number that likely includes Wolverine himself, "And some don't need much excuse at all." There's a dissatisfied grunt to punctuate.

"Mystique seemed to think you could ease my mind." Logan's eyes drift from Magneto back to Omega Red, to scan to the side and keep Mystique in the periphery for a moment, as a decided frown forms on the diminutive mutant's face, one fist clenching and releasing as his breath remains steady, even.

Magneto smiles broadly and takes the three steps down the dais to put himself on a level with Logan and Mystique. Olena and Omega, lurking in the shadows, are ever present, ever silent vigiles- King and Queen on the board, stealthy rook and brutal castle on their flanks. With a self-possession that precious few dare around the bestial Wolverine, Erik rests his hands on Logan's broad shoulders, smiling down at the shorter man with a benevolent air, and leans forward to murmur something into his ear in a tone so low, even Mystique and Olena's enhanced perceptions cannot detect it. He straightens and smiles again at Logan, clapping his shoulder, and walks towards a simple but well-appointed liquor table. "A drink, Logan? I know you're particularly a fan of an excellent bourbon. I happen to have a bottle of Wiser's here, if you're interested," he offers, pouring himself a glass. He pours Mystique a glass of something clear, smiling and offering the Dame of Bastion her drink of choice.

Magneto smiles broadly and takes the three steps down the dais to put himself on a level with Logan and Mystique. Olena and Omega, lurking in the shadows, are ever present, ever silent vigiles- King and Queen on the board, stealthy rook and brutal castle on their flanks. With a self-possession that precious few dare around the bestial Wolverine, Erik rests his hands on Logan's broad shoulders, smiling down at the shorter man with a benevolent air, and leans forward to murmur something into his ear in a tone so low, even Mystique and Olena's enhanced perceptions cannot detect it. He straightens and smiles again at Logan, clapping his shoulder, and walks towards a simple but well-appointed liquor table. "A drink, Logan? I know you're particularly a fan of an excellent bourbon. I happen to have a bottle of Wiser's here, if you're interested," he offers, pouring himself a glass. He pours Mystique a glass of something clear, smiling and offering the Dame of Bastion her drink of choice.

Omega Red casts a sideways glance at Mystique as the shapeshifter moves up near him, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He doesn't acknowledge Logan's greeting except with a stiff, simply nod, his white skin making him seem very much like a marble statue come to life. Per Magneto's analogy, he is very much the castle in this situation, solid, dependable, ready to strike if necessary but content to let other, flashier pieces open the gambit. He also understands that Logan is as much in Magneto's power as Arkady himself is. There is a little something there, though, but it's in the way he looks at the bourbon, with just a hint of longing. He is on duty, after all, but whiskey is whiskey. He makes sure to keep track of Olena's presence as best he can, making sure not to block her angles at Logan. Even the runt probably wouldn't run so fast with one of her arrows in each of his bloody eyes.

Strilka isn't overly sure any of the mutants that bring their protests to Magneto -- old enemies, every one of them, it seems -- will ever truly be convinced by the arguments presented here. This doesn't overly surprise her, however. Most of them are Westerners. They haven't felt the effects of the Pogroms in the erstwhile Eastern Bloc. In her homeland, Ukraine.

She still wants to grab some of those liberated Sentinels and send them stomping all over Kiev. But, never mind. That's not why she's here, currently.

She watches Logan interact with the Lord of Bastion, her senses nearly, if not entirely, as acute as his. She monitors the reactions of all of them... Just in case. It always helps to have an idea of which way to duck before taking aim.

The whisper that passes from Erik to Logan is interesting. Mystique doesn't need to know what had been said, though she definitely focuses on Logan's reaction to it.

Free drink, free entertainment, and free memories of days gone by, she accepts the offered drink while she watches their newest visitor with more amusement within her expression than she has any right to be feeling.

She just may be getting a slight kick out of denying Arkady a drink of his own, too. ''Wait your turn, little one. The adults are playing now.'' Though, what's much more curious is that he seems to share some history of his own with Logan. There's more to this albino creature than she yet understands, though they have nothing but time for her to properly dissect such a creature. Especially if it would give her any more ammunition to use against Logan. One sociopath to another. It should make for a pleasant discussion.

Strilka's own impression of the situation is definitely mirrored. Nothing will ever change through discussion. Logan has a solid metal skull, there isn't anything on this planet which is going to get through it unless he truly allows it to (though she suspects that adamantium bullets may also do the trick. Regular ones, as she had already discovered, don't fare so well.) All the same, it's the neighborly thing to do, inviting him in here to speak to their host. The scruffy little ball of indifference came here for a reason, after all. Maybe if she leads him around on a leash he'll pick up the scent of what he's after.

The motion is a show of power, perhaps.. but so, then, is Wolverine's restraint, and simple proximity. One stroke could end the war, if he were to lay it at Magneto's feet. It would almost certainly be worth the risk.. if he could be sure of that answer. As it is, Logan simply frowns after Magneto and lets the implications of his words sink in, trundling after the would-be overlord to sidle up to the offered liquor. "Better make it a double." Logan affirms, drily.

Even as the others in the room keep close tabs on him, Wolverine's ears, eyes, and nose track all those subtle changes that could spell disaster-- of course, much of that comes down to the preferences of their stylishly deadly host, doesn't it? "Gonna be a fair outcry in the X-Men that you have to be stopped now." Wolverine notes, matter-of-factly, as if it's all cards on the table time. Both men, and likely both women, will know outright that's not the entirety of the situation-- Logan's not so sure about Arkady. Either way, at the same time none of his words would ring as falsehoods to even the most trained ear.

"We both know there'll be others doin' the same. Figured someone should have a look up close." And Logan is the hardest to kill with some of the best connections. Magneto can do the math. If anyone in the room is truly, intimately familiar with the breadth of cruelty mankind is capable of, Wolverine is certainly among their number; trying to rank that kind of decimating violation would just be tacky.

Magneto passes Logan his drink, smiling benevolently over the gruff Canadian's assertions. His pale blue eyes are utterly unfazed by Logan's grim demeanour. "So it's the 'X-men' now?" he asks with a musing tone in his voice. "And Charles accuses me of having an egomanical streak," he mumbles mostly under his breath. Mostly. He quirks an eyebrow at Strilka. "I do not go about calling you the 'M-men'. It would be a phoenetic tribulation, to say the least, would it not?" He exhales huffily and takes a sip of the bourbon.

"One is curious, Logan, what it is precisely you think you and your merry band need 'stop' me from doing," Magneto asks the Wolverine, turning back to his iron throne. He mounts the dais with deliberate steps and settles into the seat as comfortably as if it were a padded sling chair. He turns those appraising, judicious eyes onto Logan. Logan might have the years, but Magneto's got the mileage. It's akin to having a seemingly all-knowing grandfather chastising one for stealing cookies, and doing so with a meaningful glance. "And I suppose, quite incidentally, what they could possibly hope to do to stop me," he adds, arching an eyebrow. He glances sidelong at Omega, then takes a sip of his bourbon again and waits for Logan to enlighten him.

Omega Red can tell that the denial of the bourbon is partially a reminder of his place, and he accepts it easily enough. He has spent most of his life being a servant to those in power, partially because he simply has no interest in the bureaucratic elements (or the inevitable targeting) that comes with being a figurehead. He's content to be a bloody cog in a bloody machine. He is bemused by the concept of these X-Men, apparently a band of self-styled mutants sitting in judgment on the rest of the species. Such rights are earned with power, not platitudes. Of course, if Mystique's lily-livered milquetoast of a son was any indication, Logan was the one with all the spine. Frankly, just seeing the vaunted warrior standing here paying court to Magneto reminds Arkady that things change, that not all is as it was before he was laid in his icy tomb. The Logan he remembers would have snuck through the back door and tried to put an end to Magneto, risk or no risk. The animal before him is apparently wiser and more cautious. Arkady will have to try and emulate at least that. It is so very hard, though, when he is so very close and only a flick of his wrists could wrap a tender around that fat little throat and make the hairy little freak's eyes...no. No. Steady, Rossovich. By the white wolf, he could use that drink, though.

There's no doubt Wolverine has more experience than someone like Strilka. She's young, and her experience is lacking, as a result. She knows this. This is why she stands in the shadows and watches. Learns.

X-Men. Always the X-Men. She gives Magneto a wry smile in return to his comment and a mild shrug that basically translates to: What else do you expect from them? In her opinion, even at their most altruistic, they're still concerned more about themselves.

But, then, she hasn't had good experiences with them. And is a little too blinded by zeal and cynicism to recognize any personal hypocrisy.

"And do you speak for all of the X-Men when you say that?" Mystique asks with a touch of amusement reaching as far as her voice (both of them, for that matter.) "Because I'm having difficulty in deciding whom it is which you are speaking for."

It's been days, already. Nothing from the X-Men. She can only imagine that they must all have bigger problems of their own, in which case where is the trouble? By the time they could organize themselves the Brotherhood would be ready for them.

In this, history is doomed to forever repeat itself. The boys will do their posturing then separate and return to their own various sandboxes. Things will continue as planned. Her plans will continue uninterrupted. The beauty of her work is that it's impossible to connect back to Genosha, and nearly as difficult to tie back to the Brotherhood, itself. She could be doing anything for her own selfish means, manipulating allies into doing her bidding. Magneto may not have such benefits, but where he may lack them she claims them in spades.

So, go ahead and threaten them. Magneto will still come out on top, even if he never leaves his chair.

Because Mystique desires it.

"I don't pretend to read Chuck's mind. And if it were clear cut I wouldn't have bothered." Logan observes, before continuing bluntly, "But if you don't give a damn about that conflict, then I've underestimated you.." Both of them. In two senses of the phrase. ".. and I'm probably pretty damn stupid to just walk in here." The feral runt shrugs one shoulder, somewhat noncommittally. He's not the orator Magneto is, but he gets his point across. He punctuates that point with a much heartier swig of that bourbon than one takes of fine reserve in polite company, then wipes his mouth with the back of the opposite forearm.

"I didn't come here to debate who's gonna crush who." It comes down to the high ideals on both sides, and the people who actually bleed for them. "You don't think that fight's a setback to everything you say you want and all the kids wrapped up in fighting it, well." He shakes his head. "Like I said." He'll be very disappointed in Erik, for all that matters-- and likely eminently screwed. Wouldn't be the first time.

It's also safe to say he expected it as a very real possibility, which raises a whole different set of questions.. "As far as what folks're afraid of, though? You should know the answer to that. Genocide, reprisal, and fire-- samn as every other god damn time."

"Ah. I'm sorry, I thought you were referring to some more specific stratagem I was employing. Forgive me," Magneto says with that grandfatherly smile. "My mind does wander with the number of balls I keep in the air. The Ultimate Strategy, then, is what you take exception to." He sips his bourbon deliberately and then makes a gesture to Arkady and Strilka to take their ease. "Relax, my dutiful warriors," he asks of the two of them. He turns his eyes back to Logan. "At times, this is a lesson that bears repeating. Hearken to me, Logan," he says, lifting his white eyebrows and dropping his voice to a mellifluous sussurance. "I know Charles' mind. Better than you do, I imagine," he says. "Better than you know your own. How many towns, Logan? How many lives? How many fake identities, fake names, fake lives?" His words are heavy, heavy as hammerblows. "How many times have you stood up and walked away from death, only to be driven away by an angry mob? How many times have those claws brought out the torches and pitchforks? How many times, Logan," he says, plucking at Logan's name in the air like a harpist and the strings of his instrument, "have these... humans forced you to move on? And how many years- how very, very many more years- will you endure their torments, before you accept that they /do not desire peace/?"

Omega Red knows better than to sigh. Again, sighing has gotten him in trouble before. But, geez, boss, not the speech again. Sure, Wolverine's a nasty piece of business. Damn nasty. Takes a special kind of bad man to show Arkady what his guts look like and not end up with said Omega Red intestines stuffed down his throat while being run over repeatedly by a truck while being torn to shreds with two tentacles at a time. Not that Arkady wouldn't -do- that to Logan, mind you, he just hasn't been given the proper opportunity. Again, tough little bastard. But not worth recruiting. Too many lives, too many loyalties, too many tears in his beer over the poor little humans, boo hoo. Arkady doesn't think of Magneto as soft: he's had far too much direct experience of the man already to make that mistake. But this idealism...if it's not weakness, it's certainly the opportunity for one. To Arkady's mind, Logan should be on his knees, trying to choke out his begging for forgiveness through the drip of adamantium over his regenerating tongue. The short stack would probably choose death. Good. But, once again, bloody cog in a bloody machine. Turn turn turn. But he keeps his teeth sharp in case Logan should fall into the gears.

The funny thing is? Strilka actually is relaxed. Leaned languidly against the wall, albeit in a slash of shadow that does nothing more than shade her eyes from the light, rather than concealing her from any within the chamber, she's heard much of this rhetoric before. And it resonates with her. To a great degree. Those parts that don't resonate with her? Well... She doesn't dwell on them.

Not right now, anyway.

At Magneto's invitation, however, she gives a small smile and adjusts her stance. There's no doubt in her mind that they're safe from anything Wolverine might try. Between Magneto and Omega Red, not to mention Mystique... Well, Olena doesn't figure she'd have much of a chance to fire off an arrow before the 'problem' was 'solved'.

She glances around, finds a convenient perch elsewhere, and settles down to watch the continued debate.

Mystique knows that what she's about to do isn't going to help. Logan probably won't enjoy it, either. But, she will. And that's all that really matters, isn't it? While Erik starts to lay out the questions she quietly comes around behind the shorter man, letting her arms play across the back of his shoulders until she's loosely embracing him from behind.

All the better to place her own mouth closer to Logan's ear.

"We've both suffered through this, Logan. Countless times, all across the globe. It's what originally brought us together. Do you remember?"

There's no teasing tone nor amused lilt upon her blended voice this time. Only smooth compassion. Something downright empathetic.

"You've tried to do the right thing, tried to be left alone, tried to isolate yourself from every living soul. Still they find you, chase you off. They do not wish to be your friends. But, given the chance, you may find that you have friends a little closer to home."

Besides that, how many times had she played this trick on him before? The thought of pulling a stiletto and driving it neatly between Logan's hardened ribs is practically muscle memory, as though no discussion such as this one is complete without a literal blade in his back. She can almost feel the blood upon her hands. Even without following through with the action, it feels good.

"See, I'd be right there with you if this were any kind of new thing. Mankind doesn't hate mutants, just /hates/. Everything that makes 'em scared, everything that makes 'em feel helpless, little, lost. They just seethe with it, target all their ill will and impotence out." He may have strong feelings about this subject, and he makes no qualms about it. "Been that way as long as people been scratchin' shit into walls, and probably before. Soon as some jackhole picked up a rock and decided he didn't like dicks who wear tan pelts."

Mystique's intervention doesn't help, and not only because there's little comfort in the proximity, or attempt at empathy.. it may have something to do with his own muscle memory, with the way hairs on his neck stand up, aware on some primal level of the malice mingling with the compassionate words. Instead of lashing out, he seeks to shrug Mystique off, step away with a low growl, "Yea, and ignoring the problem didn't make it go away. I know in those lives, in those decades, I've seen a hell of a lot of innocent /people/ in trouble, bub. Just people. A lot of bad ones too, both sides of the coin terrorized for bein' different, or hell, just flamin' -because-."

Wolverine downs the last of his bourbon, and evens his gaze on Magneto, "Every time the line's the same. How many times have /our/ people been victimized by /those/ people. If only we kill /those/ people, we will have peace." Beat. Teeth grind. For sake of the company, he bites back the finalizing '-Fuck that.-' "Think about what you're sayin'. Mutantkind isn't above -hate-, and you know it."

"Hate?" Magneto's eyebrows rise rather pointedly. "Did I say hate?" He looks to Strilka. "Do you think I fight this war because I hate humans?" He turns to Arkady. "Arkady, my lethal warrior. Have I ever said this is a mission of hatred?"

Magneto shakes his head. "You must loathe them so, Logan, to hate so readily. I don't hate them for being what they are," Magneto informs the Wolverine. "No more than I hate the serpent for striking, the ant for biting. I don't hate them for being human," he tells him. "After all, they are our antecedents. We have the potential to be as weak as them, but we have so much more potential to be /so much stronger/," he says.

Magneto sits upright in his chair, his voice powerful, resonating through the room. "Our campaign is not one of politics, but of evolution. Of one species climbing atop the shoulders of the other. This," he says, gesturing a bit frustratedly, "this is not just /war/, this is /survival/, Logan. How can you not see that?" he demands of the man, his ire growing palpable with each passing breath. "Arkady sees it," he says, flinging a hand towards Omega Red. "He sees it as the predator sees prey, sees competition, as the wolves and the bears fight for survival in the freezing winter. We are bears, but they are wolves. We are mighty, but they are many. And this world cannot feed us both!" he declares. The sensation of his righteous indignation becomes a living thing, metal in the room reacting to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Those pale blue eyes, full of fury and raw determination to make even Logan's stubborness seem lax, turn fierce upon the bestial man in front of him. "And I /will not die/ so that these /humans/ can live! And nature cannot abide two predators on the same range, Logan! You know that better than most!"

Magneto takes a deep breath that resonates through the room on a base, atomic level, calming himself by the same force of will that can literally move planets. "You're a predator yourself, Logan," he murmurs, his voice a compelling bass. "You know in your heart that I'm right. What would you be? Bear, or wolf?"

Omega Red preens just a little bit when he's held up as an example. He may find most of the rhetoric and the ideals tiresome, but the language of tooth and claw he understands. Arkady has always seen other creatures has prey, even before he knew he was a mutant, and feeding on the lives of lesser beings only reinforced that particular paradigm in his mind. He doesn't think of humans so much as wolves as sheep, however. Yes, they might bite on occasion, but the proper thing to do was to take the ones that bite, slit their throats and feed them into the grinder to make your pie. Mmmmmmmmmmmm...sheep pie. When he speaks to Logan, he speaks in Russian, knowing full well that the diminutive mutant speaks it well enough, as do most of the others in the room. He wants the fullness of fluency in his words, "Wolverine is neither, Lord Magneto. This has always been his problem. He is a bear that thinks he is a wolf. That thinks if he wears wolf clothes for long enough, if he lays with wolf bitches and plays with wolf puppies, if he protects the wolves from the dark things with teeth that threaten their puny little pack, that they will think he is like them. He will do it even if he has to kill other bears, all for the approval of those precious little nippers. And now that the bears have formed a pack of their own, so dangerous that it threatens all the little wolves in all the world...and we offer him the his own pelt back. The pelt of a bear. The pelt of a mutant. I do not think he will take it, my Lord. But you are generous to offer it." he says, his hands clasped before him, keeping himself stock still.

Actually, Strilka very much believes this is a war based on hatred of one form or another. She hates what the humans have done to her. But, her hatred is generally focussed. The ones that have hurt her or others like her -- mutants and metas with abilities that set them apart from the rest of humanity -- she retaliates against. The ones that haven't? She's perfectly happy to leave them be.

In fact, she's willing to go so far as to question the appropriateness of the 'pens' the Brotherhood keeps for its human prisoners. It is, in fact, the one thing that bothers her about this whole deal. Because there's more hatred displayed in that one condition -- and in the human's reciprocal actions regarding the imprisonment of and experimentation upon mutants -- than in any of the destruction wrought by either side.

Thus, to Magneto's question, she gives a wry smile in response, along with a brief, oblique cant of her head. She's not foolish enough to ever voice those thoughts, after all. Especially not while the Imperator is pontificating like so.

Her eyes glance from Magneto to Omega Red as he speaks. And then back to Mystique. After a moment's consideration, she decides that whatever she might say is better left unsaid. She doesn't quite feel it in her to try to compete with the orators here and now.

"Every conflict needs a winner, lovely," Mystique remarks with a thin look of both amusement and malice settling upon indigo lips. There's temptation to do more while she's so near. So much more. Maybe if she were to bite Logan's ear hard enough to make him bleed it might spur Arkady into a frenzy. Temptation... But that's just one more thing which she controls. Logan is spared that little experiment, though as her hands retract there's a passing of nails which no amount of masochism could ignore.

She remembers their times together. It's too bad that he seems to have put that all behind him. Whether it had been love or hate, it had been pleasant. It had been something.

Now, with Erik's words ringing true, part of her has the mind to draw the .40 caliber pistol she still carries upon her person and press the bore square against the man's temple. Survival. Even if she pulled the trigger he would live. Not all of them are so fortunate.

That alone is almost part of the game for her. It weeds out the strong from the weak.

With Erik's rant on a roll she leans back and finishes her drink, right back to looking amused. She knew this encounter would be entertaining.

"Their nature isn't alien. That's what somehow gets missed, every single goddamn time. Hell, most aliens I know of, just as damn human as the rest of us." It seems neither of them is quite connecting their message-- not that that should surprise anyone. Least of all Logan. "You want to pay back the butchers, I'm all for settling those debts in full. You want to undermine the tyrants, I'll get my damn hammer and start pullin' nails. Soon as you tell me the lot of them are just inherently scumbags, that we're so fuckin' evolved, well. I know myself better than to buy that shit. Everyone in this room ought to be able to say the same."

The feral runt's eyes narrow, scanning slowly without fully settling, perhaps picking out a route, or just scowling at the futility of it all. "As for what I am?" Those piercing, primal blues pass back to their origin, Wolverine's brow knit as he shakes his head at Magneto, "Just the guy standing between predators with delusions of divine right, and all those poor schmucks without the strength to fight." Same as it's been, at least off and on, for a hell of a long time now.

"Don't suppose this is a difference of opinion likely to resolve here and now, so what's that next step look like?" The fact that he's a bit at Magneto's mercy here does not escape Wolverine for a moment.

Magneto looks a bit taken aback. "I assume you'll /leave/," he says, the last coals of his ire giving way to perplexity. "Honestly, Logan, you seem to think so little of me so readily. I'm certainly not going to detain you against your will. Trying to kill you sounds /exhausting/, and you- well, let's be honest. You pose absolutely zero threat to me." He smiles, a bit wanly, and rises, coming down the steps to stand near Logan again. Inside striking distance. "More to the point, /we need you/."

That statement just kind of... hangs in the air for a moment. Magneto lets it realize fully. "You are a savage, uncouth killer combined with a canny student of the art of war- and you are a good man." He smiles more warmly at the warrior. "I know some of your history, Logan, I know you. You would be an invaluable member of our team." He spreads his hands. "There, out in the open. I don't lie, Logan- I don't need to lie. I don't need to decieve you or speak falsehoods. The truth is, you could do your fellow mutants a fantastic amount of good by settling here on Genosha and helping to realize more peaceful ends between humans and mutants. Even if not as a member of our entourage," he adds. "But... well. As I said, the war is inevitable. Peace will only delay the time for evolution to demand that one species is supreme." He lets the words linger for a long moment. "The job offer remains open, such as it is. I don't discriminate, Logan," he says, turning his back to the man and walking a pace away to look out a window. "Killers and kind people, murderers and merry men. Prostitutes and tax collectors. Give me your tired, your poor, your mighty and your meek," he says, his voice an almost distant murmur. "Your huddled masses, yearning to breath free."

"You may go, if you wish. Or stay if you like. I prefer the latter, but understand the former."

"Yea, well. It's not like we've never crossed.." Then, there's a meaningful glance cast towards Omega Red, "And I'm not half fool enough to doubt your... flexible hiring." He knows Arkady-- he may not be a mind reader, but if asked to guess, Wolverine would probably guess that his Russian counterpart spent much of the meeting pondering various brutal deaths for Logan... and anyone else who sprang to mind. Logan is an angry man, one of the world's angriest-- but then there's Creed and Rossovich. It's reason enough to harbour doubts, in his experience.

"Even if you're right, and it does come to some.. worldwide pogrom.. I don't kill for anyone's causes, anymore." It's asserted with a swift, dismissive flourish of one hand and an entirely unecessary amount of stern intensity, much of which isn't necessarily directed at Magneto or Mystique at all. "Ideals aren't worth killing over." Especially ones based on hate. "I'll cut the same suckers down where I find 'em either way it plays out. You really think I'll agree with your measure of that..." Well, he'd listen.

There's a pause, a slow cant of Wolverine's head, the only change in his demeanor as he studies Magneto in the wake of his explanation. "I'd like to believe you've got noble intentions, preparing and protecting. That nobody who's not begging for it is going to get crushed in the rubble...." He winces, visibly, and just shakes his head. He's too much the student of history for that to be an easy sell.. ironically, a trait in Erik that feeds his certainty.

"I'm not sure you -want- me sittin' on your shoulder, side of the angels or no." He's not known for his patient disapproval of an operation, Wolverine. He makes a mess when someone puts a 'cause' ahead of... well, to wax ironic: basic human decency.

The man's been given his leave... and still the debate rages.

Olena pushes up from her resting position, now. She gives a brief nod to both Mystique and Magneto, along with a tight smile. For the first time, this encounter, she speaks, her words soft and in Ukranian. "I should go check on the others," she notes -- the 'others' being myriad... friend and foe alike.

"Excuse me."

She turns to leave, sparing one last glance to Logan. He's an interesting study in dichotomies. Perhaps, some other time, she'll have a chance to discuss openly with him.

Or perhaps not. Time will tell.

For now?

Time moves on and she takes her leave.

"As you will, Logan, as you will," Magneto says. He stands quietly regarding the view, then turns and smiles briefly at Logan. "Farewell, Wolverine. If you change your mind, you of course know where to find me. Or Mystique, if you prefer someone with more ... subtlety." He smiles approvingly at Mystique. "You're a smart man, Logan. Smart enough to know when to be a carpenter, and when to be a hammer. You can continue on through the world as you have been- on your own, alone- or you can find companionship- brotherhood- here with us." He steps towards the dais and remounts his throne, the desk flowing back over his lap and a holographic computer flickering to life to one side. "Farewell, Wolverine," he says, dismissing the man.