2013.10.21 - Burning Debris

There's no kind way to put it. Bastion's an absolute mess. The spire is nothing more than charred globs of metal and glass. The area around it is completely torched, anything from grass to concrete torched beyond recognition. It's the result of when two Omega-level mutants happen to go nuclear on one another and the aftermath is something that everyone else has to deal with.

Today it's Mystique who's trying to pick up all of the pieces. There's barely a mutant on Genosha that doesn't need some sort of direction or help. Power's in disarray. Peace-keeping is a full time job and then some. Barely anything functions. Above all else, any sense of leadership is virtually gone. She gets to contend with all of the above, at the same time.

"Damn you, Erik," she seethes under her breath between barking out orders to those of the Brotherhood she's managed to round together. It might be odd that part of 'restoring order' involves her carrying an assault rifle around, but she takes these matters seriously. "You three, break up the riot starting down the street! You and you, join the others on fire patrol! All of you, start clearing the rubble--I know it's still smoldering, have Chill use his powers to cool them down! Use your damned heads!"

If Erik wasn't already dead she would kill him, herself.

It's possible Olena may not need quite as much direction as others in the Brotherhood. It's equally possible she may not want as much direction as they do. She is no sheep, needing to be led.

Indeed, in the aftermath of the Spire's destruction, the archer didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or swear. She chose the latter, proving quite inventive as she did -- in several different languages.

And to think she was worried about pan Lehnsherr being appointed a Messiah, before. Now, he's a goddamned martyr, as well. The irony isn't lost on her.

"I will take care of the outlying areas," she told Mystique, finding and commandeering a serviceable motorcycle at the time, leaving the metamorph to do what they both knew she'd have to do -- become the warrior queen and start kicking idiots back in line.

Now, several hours later, the whine of the bike's motor can be heard and the younger mutant makes her way through the streets with the same ease she does any battlefield, unerringly headed towards the blue "queen's" command center.

"Good news," she says dryly, swinging off her bike, calling out in Ukranian. "The worst of the damage is confined to the north of the city. I've managed to reestablish supply lines between here and Hammer Bay." A beat. A wry smile. "I think they may postpone their election."

Mystique really didn't want to think about the political nightmare that would come out of all of this. Magneto never did get fully recognized by the UN, which means there's no official governing body. No official names to take his place. Here is a lawless land, with a global terrorist trying to take control. It could be that not everyone's so quick to accept this idea.

She would have taken the easy way out and taken Magneto's place, in every sense of the word, if it hadn't already gotten out that he's probably -dead.- Too many witnesses. Then again, mutants are notoriously difficult to kill. She could still take that option, but not so soon. She doesn't have his powers, she -couldn't- rebuild the Spire. That would out her in a New York Second.

She needs time to plan. Time to think. But, through all of this, she's got yet other matters clouding her mind. It's a good thing that Olena's proven to be as useful as she has. It's because of this that she's well on her way to getting an opportunity that no one else within the Brotherhood has thus far been offered. The only question is how she can manage to be in two places at once. It's not impossible, she's done it before.

"Indefinitely," the metamorph replies in an identical dry, humorless tone. Her eyes may be turned toward the plumes of dark smoke rising from the nearby horizon but her thoughts are in a hundred different places at once.

"I find myself in a difficult situation," she admits in her usual mixed voice of highs and lows. "This island needs me, and I want to kill something. Power will need to be reconnected. A curfiew will be placed in effect for the forseeable future." That'll give the rest of the Brotherhood something to do, hopefully they won't end up screwing it up.

"In the meantime, you have another decision ahead of you. Stay and contain this mess, return to Kiev, or stay close to me and learn what it is like to hunt some of the most dangerous and elusive game this planet has to offer."

Olena's brow arches. "And, just who is it we would be hunting?" she asks now, fully aware that the most dangerous game is always a 'Who', never a 'What'. "And for what purpose?"

Because, seriously, don't they kind of have their hands full here?

Kiev, as much as she wants to go there, can wait. Not for long, mind -- more mutants are falling to its cruel regime every day. But, for now, it can wait. As for Genosha? That's another matter.

Olena hates being an administrator. She's actually proven herself to be fairly good at it -- insofar as she can see alternatives most can't because she's simply willing to look and listen and learn. Rare traits, those. But, if she can get out of having to do it, so much the better. She'd rather be in the field, anyway.

As much as Mystique would like to respond with 'Magneto' to a question such as that, there's not much left of him to hunt. Filtering atoms out of the air gets boring rather quickly. Besides, the way to Olena's interest involves having a weapon in hand and a target to fire at. Given those three options Raven knew which way she would lean.

"His name is Logan. 'The Wolverine.' One of our beloved X-Men friends. He had made me a promise, one which he has already failed to deliver on. I do not take to such failures lightly and he happens to be fortunate enough to catch my ire in a moment when I am monumentally upset."

Everyone needs a punching bag once in a while! This isn't the first time she's sworn to get revenge on the other mutant.

"Chances are we won't be able to kill the stubborn old bastard no matter what we do to him," she adds in a low tone. "The next best thing is making him -wish- that he was able to perish. As for the reason?" she finally replies with an upward pitch in her mixed chords.

"The reason is that he allowed my son to die."

In a fashion.

Olena's brows knit as she frowns. She remembers Logan. More importantly, she remembers Kurt -- and she is very keenly aware that he is Mystique's one 'weak spot', so to speak. (A weak spot only the suicidal would exploit.)

Beyond all that, however, he was the one mutant she thought might actually have been able to give her advice as to how to redirect the Imperator's delusions of divinity. Even now, his advice on how to redirect the religious fervor fermenting in grief-stricken corners of the city would have been exceptionally helpful.

"Syn suka!" she swears again -- a phrase Mystique would likely heartily echo. There's no way to tell, of course, exactly which of the myriad reasons triggered the outburst, but at least she seems to share the metamorph's vehemence. Even without the pretty harmonics.

Lips pressing into a tight line, she looks directly into those yellow eyes. "Da. When do we leave?"

A grim expression follows the Archer's initial reaction to the news. "Indeed," Mystique reviles. Olena's first remark is probably more eloquently put than what the blue woman would have settled for.

There's plenty more for her to plan through. There is, of course, the matter of Sinister. That would be the third name on her list of people to introduce her particular wrath to. That one's going to require even more than a team of two, though now she has the benefit of the scientist having established himself as a common foe. The enemy of her enemy is not her friend, it's someone she can manipulate into destroying her enemy for her.

That's a job best left to the X-Men. It should be, in a word, fun.

"Soon. As much as I would like for us to already be on the move I cannot leave Bastion in such disarray. I will find you when it is time. Until then," she says while pulling a piece of her very forearm off in the shape, and material, of a business card, "you will find our gear at this location on the island." Offering the address over, she adds "Familiarize yourself with the weapon I have left for you. Save the silver-tipped bullet for last," she instructs while lightly tapping the side of her own head.

"We will make sure that he feels what he should."

Olena understands Mystique's need to stay. And, the fact is, there will be time to hunt the Wolverine in due course. She takes the business card, as creepy as it's method of creation may be, and studies the information written upon it. Then, she gives Mystique a simple nod. She doesn't really have to say anything. When it comes to something like this, the archer is always ready for action.

And the metamorph knows it.

In the meantime, however, they have to deal with Bastion. She knows that, too. Thus, as she looks around, Olena grimaces. "We will need a public memorial," she notes. As much as she'd prefer something private -- because, really, as much as the Imperator's plans frightened her, pan Lehnsherr himself was still... family, after a fashion. There is private grief there, though she does not stop to feel it, or even consider it -- as much as she'd prefer something private, the state will require something public.

Something that will legitimize Mystique.