2013.09.23 - The Emperor and the Barbarian

Nate shouldn't be here. He should be in Genosha, finishing the X-Men business there. But the mission has left a sour aftertaste in his spirit. Too subtle in action, too subtle in detail. Magneto clearly is not the saint he was in his world, but in the scale of bad people he so far scores as slightly unpleasant. To be frank, if the X-Men feel they need to topple him, they need to bring down about half the human political leaders all over the world first.

He is used to more white and black things. To blow up trains, and shot Sentinels, not to set up networks of informants (which a group of alpha class mutants can dissemble in a weekend) and conduct propaganda campaigns.

So when he heard Magneto was in New York, he had a 'fuck this' and decided to take a few hours off. He flew to New York to a speed few human-built flying machines could match, stopping only for a few minutes at the Halo Towers, and then to the Genoshan embassy building. He comes without an appointment and probably the security detail of the embassy becomes rather unhappy when he phases through the wall with a golden halo of psychic energy (knocking at doors? Perish the thought). "Yes, yes. Buuuut I come in peace. Take me to your boss, willya?" He is not a fan of protocol, and much less right now.

Alarms start whooping the instant Nate phases through the door. "INTRUDER LEVEL TWO NORTH SIDE!"

The alarm goes up. Panels start sliding into place across the building, covering windows and egress points. The walls suddenly crackle with energy, interior conduits with enough electrical force to kill a blue whale filling with power. Guards emerge from /everywhere/. Weapons are aimed at Nate. Telepaths- some of them Alpha-level mutants in their own right- immediately start laying down the telepathic equivalent of crossing fields of fire, in an attempt to suppress and inhibit the use of his psionic abilities. Kineticists gather charges of fire and power and raw energy to them and in less than a minute, Nate's got enough firepower leveled at him to wipe out an entire army.

"It's generally considered polite to /knock/ before you enter someone's home," comes Magneto's booming voice. The Imperator is clad in his full battle regalia, face concealed by his masked helmet. The bow wave of power that precedes him is palpable to anyone with a lick of energy sensing ability, nails inside the walls squealing in reaction to the full-force field surrounding him. "And being that you're currently on soverign soil, I would be well within my rights to order your immediate execution. I'd rather not leave you a greasy smear on my floor, so- feel free to start explaining yourself. /Now/." There is a premptory tone of utter command in Magneto's voice that few men on earth could match- not Charles in his diffident, polite tones, or Scott in the middle of a battlefield. It is a voice of utter, controlled authority taking grasp of a situation by sheer force of will.

“Just wanted to make sure I got your attention,” replies Nate, looking only mildly impressed, and certainly not scared. Or shocked by the electrified wall. The small army of mutants gets a few seconds of attention, mostly because the telepaths trying to suppress his powers are scratching his mental shields and causing the equivalent psychic effect to scratch a chalkboard with a fork: They are annoying.

“Say, do you really care about those international human laws that give you those rights?” He looks at the armored mutant again, and smirks. “You know this is not an attack. If you are really angry because I came without going through pointless bureaucratic hoops and loops, you are a fool. And if you want a fight, you should get your people out of the building before we start.”

"I am angry," Magneto says in a dry tone, arms crossed across his chest. "Polite consideration and adherence to basic social protocol are what separate us from the animals. When we /ignore/ those considerations, we become little better than savages ourselves."

"Consider something," Magneto says. Quite contrarily to Nate's brash tone, Magneto's confidence comes from someone who is utterly and completely in control of the situation. "You have some power, granted. I have fifty mutants who are prepared heart and soul to repel any invader into /their/ home. Are you proof against all fifty of us? Can you defend yourself against the full weight of our combined efforts? You may be stronger than any one of us, but you are not stronger than /all/ of us. Is this how you want your story to end- that you perished for sheer blundering stupidity and not bothering to take a few minutes to /ask politely/? That would be quite the ignominous ending."

Nate shrugs, “I will die in battle, this I have know since I was fourteen. It has been a while since I worried about it.” He points to Magneto. “I know you, and I know your strength. I have seen you in battle. You could be one of the few beings on Earth that could defeat me.” But the mutant guards, how many of them are in the same league as Magneto? Nate suspects none would be.

Yes, he just said he has seen Magneto fighting. Weird thing.

“I could have asked politely.” He concedes, but then he snarls, “but I am a savage, a barbarian, you see. I am a telepath and a warrior, and I don’t much care about polite facades and kind words. I want to see the naked truth, and man, I usually can, very easily. Men wear protocols and niceties like you wear your helmet. Hiding their thoughts and their true faces. I have had enough of that for a lifetime.”

"I suppose we'll have to have a difference of opinion, then," Magneto offers in that same diffident, coolly unconcerned tone of voice. "I have little use for savagery in the world I'm creating. You're a brute and a lout who doesn't /appreciate/ the nicieties of polite consideration," Magneto states. "You're a squalling child who is feeling put out that he can't receive immediate answers to his questions. If you exercised your brain for a /moment/ you could see what my intentions are. But instead you break in here, provoke a fight, and then throw a tantrum when I refuse to coddle you." He presses a fingertip to his temple as if massaging his brain. "'they come to me, they all come to me,'" he mutters, under his breath. "Go away. I have things to do that require my /actual/ attention. Dealing with a brat who is too lazy to think for himself is not high on my priority list." He gestures at the wall and the conductive currents divert around the point Nate had entered through. "Make an appointment next time you want to see me. Now get out before I throw you out. And believe me," he says, staring daggers at the boy. "I /can/."

"That is, after all, an answer to what I wanted to know, you are not the man I hoped you would be." But Nate already knew that, didn't he? Infuriatingly, no, he didn't until now! "You have no idea of what I came here to know, or why," he replies, now sounding much more reasonable, "you call me a brat, but you are the one throwing childish insults. You accuse me of being a brute, but it was you that threatened to kill me, several times. Do I look like I need to be coddled? I came alone, I do not fear you, and you have... fifty bodyguards? You have a civilized facade and an iron helmet, threats and insults, but I don't see there the architect of a civilized world. Just an arrogant old man that dreams to be a king." He turns to leave. "Ah, but no just king. Imperator. Well, the barbarians always end the empires. And beware the Ides of March." That was just because Nate loves Shakespeare. He phases through the wall and is out of the building.