2013.07.14 - Hearts and minds

Having left Hammer Bay's embassy to attend to matters in Bastion, Magneto had of course not been present when the hit had gone down on Mystique. That assassination attempt, while not surprising, was certainly newsworthy and had generated a tremendous amount of ill-will among many mutants, who regarded Mystique as Magneto's more 'approachable' half.

The Master of Magnetism's /reprisal/, of course, has the entire island treading softly. Perhaps a dozen metahumans in the world are capable of destruction that scale. Magneto might be among three or four who could do it so easily. So the Master of Bastion sits on the Steel Throne, under the Spire that has become a literal beacon for mutants around the world, looking out over the rapidly growing city of Bastion. Omega Red, already welcomed to the outer circle of his coterie, offers a menacing presence to the parade of guests, petitioners, and a few interviews that must be conducted to maintain day to day business.

"Send in the next one, please," Magneto asks his guard, rather calmly. Today, the Steel Throne is functioning as the Steel Office, with a desk, holographic computer, and display panels organically grown from living metal to sit at his fingertips. Omega Red stands off to the side of Magneto's throne, his arms crossed over his chest. His tentacles are out as well, spilling from his wrists and wrapping around his body, writhing sometimes seemingly of their own accord. Arkady is fully aware of the effect his tentacles, so obviously inhuman, alien, so very -mutant- can have on those who come into Magneto's presence, the massive albino's very presence a reminder that this is a regime that is very much not human. Magneto's ruthless response has only increased the Russian's respect for his new master, the swift and decisive slaughter evidence that he need not fear the same squeamishness from Magneto that once caused the Russians to seal Omega Red in an icy tomb.

"Have you no heart!?"

The voice comes booming from the back of the room in heavily accented tones. Approaching the Steel Thone, or rather, the Steel Office, the blue furred, be-tailed mutant sounds angry. Disbelief, sadness and relief have all passed away in those moments in the street as he held what he believed was the stricken, prone form of is mother.. leaving now, anger.

Anger in the reprisal. Anger in the loss of life.

"To what end was that?"

Nightcrawler's tail whips from side to side in agitation as glowing yellow eyes land firmly upon the form of Magneto. For a moment, his gaze flickers towards that of Omega, and there, it lingers. The 'look' of the man isn't lost on him.. just as the fact that he, himself, looks like a demon from hell and so very not human.

"You didn't have to blow a verdammt mountain up to make your point. It had already been made in that street."

Magneto sits very calmly for a few long moments, shuffling papers, then gestures with a hand over his computer display, sending the image into a vanishing waterfall of sparkles. He interlaces his fingers calmly and rests his elbows on the desk, very large, very penetrating blue eyes looking down on Kurt with an utterly unfathomable gaze. For the young man, a one-time Catholic aspirant, Magneto very likely looks every inch like the reproachful abbot addressing a very out of order young acolyte.

"My considerable respect for your mother does not extend to your person, young man," Magneto says, very cooly. "At best, you weather the heat of my tolerance under the shade of her auspices and my generosity. I will give you one chance to calm yourself and ask your question in a more /polite/ tone of voice before I give you a very object lesson in proper etiquette when addressing the sovereign ruler of a nation- especially one you do not currently number as a citizen of." His eyebrows rise minutely, challenging Kurt. "Would you care to try entering the room again?"

Omega Red barely stifles his amusement at Magneto's stern response and, frankly, at Kurt's intense feelings of despair and upset at all the deaths. Omega's level of empathy, however, would most likely be measured in the negatives, if it could be measured at all, and he mostly sticks to his primary purpose at the moment: looming and looking threatening, his tentacles licking around his ankles. Still, he rather hopes that Nightcrawler keeps being petulant, for Arkady would very much enjoy seeing if the blue-furred mutant has red, red blood.

"Let us not forget who our real enemies are."

For someone like Mystique, she can be anyone that she wishes. She can sound like anyone she wishes. She has power of her own not to destroy mountains but to move them, to collapse entire governments from the inside out. It's when she doesn't mask herself that the proper feeling of her own power can be felt, seen in yellow eyes, heard in a voice speaking upon two separate layers while seamlessly blending together into one.

Being more alien than human is simply par for the course.

Here she steps in, the sound of her combat boots heard as a dull 'thump' against the smooth metal flooring. Even with five pound boots and an agenda on her mind she still has that sway to her hips, that acute feminine refinement which has had more than a century to be perfected.

She doesn't look all that happy, herself.

"I understand that you are both displeased at the moment but the battle does not belong between us. The humans have spoken, we have responded. They must learn to take our promises seriously."

Not that she had any idea Magneto would retaliate as he had. Not that she would ever tell her son that she supported his decision. But, later, when her son isn't here? That fatherly mutant has earned himself a heart-felt kiss upon his weathered cheek. Hundreds dead, in an instant.

In her honor.

"I thought you had said that this was an island refuge for mutants?" Kurt's chin rises, those glowing yellow, featureless eyes locked upon the Master of Magnetism. "Am I understanding incorrectly? English is not my first language." Though he speaks it quite well.. and understands it better.

"There were hundreds of souls that perished." The spade-tipped tail continues to sway, though he is making that concerted effort to calm himself. At Mystique's entrance, he twists around, his attention lingering, though he can't help it. His eyes turn upwards to where he'd seen her shot, and shudders in the memory. "Not all of them were the enemy. Only those who shot. Und I caught the others." Believing there'd be some justice.

Now, Nightcrawler watches his mother's progress through the room and exhales.

"Where is the battle, when it is like a boot squishing ants? What lessons are learned, but hatred? Wanting more than ever to take a life where they can? To create that ant hole, eventually to create so many holes as to bring our house down?" Magneto rolls his eyes and exhales in exasperation. Mystique's imploratives do not fall on deaf ears, and the lord of Bastion makes a flickering, almost dismissive gesture. The desk that had been hovering over his knees melts and rolls away, the metal vanishing back into the throne. "I indulge you too much," he grumbles in Mystique's general direction. A quick shake of his head sends his silver hair rolling across his shoulders, and the Master of Magnetism takes a steadying breath.

There's a moment of tension in the air as his own temper calms- and given the way that the world itself seems to lense around his relaxation, it dwarfs Kurt's anger as a volcano dwarfs the campfire. In a moment, it's gone, and that sense of implacable /mass/ is replaced by a lissome, agile man, who walks down the dais and approaches Kurt. "Understand, my young friend," he says with a long exhalation. "This is not an abbey. This is not a place of worship and spiritual understanding. There are two kinds of people in this world," he says, gesturing at the wall of the room. It abruptly transluces, revealing a stunning view of Bastion tinged only slightly by some opaque cloudiness. "There are us, and them. There are enemies, and allies." He nods at the cratered remains of the mountain. "Why should the boot argue with the ant? Those men will never speak again against me. Never raise a hang in anger against your mother. Those bodies, buried under that hillside, will serve only one testament," he says, wagging a finger in Kurt's face. "That those who meddle in the affairs of mutants will meet a swift and just-deserved end."

Omega Red is a different sort of man, perhaps, than even these others in the room. He mouths the words of cause and belief, of course. Others expect them, and one cannot be a servant if one does not pledge allegiance. But these moral quandaries and arguments leave him largely bored. He doesn't particularly care the whys and wherefores of the lessons learned, and is even less interested by the theatric, grandstanding grief of the betailed mutant. He schools his expression to simple interest, however, keeping his place by the throne, almost as still as a statue.

Just because the philosophical platitudes mean nothing, however, doesn't mean there's nothing to learn here. He watches very carefully the interactions between Magneto, Mystique and Nightcrawler. He's still getting the lay of the land here, after all, a newcomer. Magneto's violent, savage punishment for Mystique's near-death shows her place in the Lord of Magnetism's heart and, while Arkady can't, perhaps, relate to such feelings of love or care for another living creature, he can acknowledge its existence and know to respect it. He already knows better than to cross Magneto, as any mutant with a metal laced body must. And now he knows to respect Mystique in the same way, not only on her own merits but for the place she holds in Magneto's circle. As for Nightcrawler...well, that ant and boot metaphor applies very well, so far as Arkady is concerned, but Magneto seems inclined to be indulgent.

As always, Mystique is prepared. She has a plan. Here, she has both sides of the proverbial coin, two arguments to defuse. Two extremely opposing views with one shot at returning some semblance of balance.

"I want to show you something, Kurt."

From a back pocket of sleek black leggings that look like oil painting her very skin (and they actually are her skin, in another format,) she produces a handful of pictures. In these pictures one can clearly see the territory on and around the now missing mountain, revealing humans, vehicles, tunnel entrances, and weapons.

"They were not innocents. An underground fighting cell, preparing to strike back against us all and remove our presence from this island. The other night was their first coordinated strike, one of many."

Those pictures may or may not have been altered, though one thing's true enough. Mystique's intel is never bad. She had infiltrated their operation days ago. It's what kept her busy when she wasn't planning with the Brotherhood or keeping her son 'distracted.'

"Mindlessly slaughtering innocents is how you start a war. Removing their fighting arm is how you end one."

Kurt watches as Magneto rises, and makes his way off the dais towards him. At his approach, the blue mutant straightens from his usual slouch with some effort, his expression wary. He's not willing to test his mother's devotion to him, and here, in the center of all that power for destruction, he stands. But it was his desire. This, of all places, is where he wants to be at this very moment.

"It should be a place of understanding," is virtually whispered in the face of the 'finger' as it is waved before him.

There, with those words, however, Mystique approaches with the photographs. Twisting again, though he keeps an eye on Omega Red there, Nightcrawler cranes his neck to look at which his mother bears.

"Was?" Reaching for them now to take a better look, a closer look, he stares at the photographic 'evidence' for a few long minutes before he exhales again, his shoulders slumping. Now, the only question that comes forth from the mutant is, "Warum?" Silence reigns for a long few moments as Kurt is given time to consider the evidence his mother presents. "There are those of our brothers and sisters who would say, 'there is no war'," Magneto says, from a few feet away, his back to the mother and her errant son. He glances sidelong at Omega and offers a wry smile to the psychotic warrior- the Russki, of course, understands the essential state of the 'human' condition is one of war. Magneto shares his amusement of Kurt's ignorance with the Russian, then composes his face. "There are those who would say that war is merely a condition of ignorance and prejudice, that it can be defied with discourse and conversation and reasoning," he says, clenching his hands to his chest and drawing that last word out with a dramatic hiss. His hands fall to his sides after a moment, fist tapping against his thigh. "But war- war is not about ideology, or rationality, or politics or messiahs or land. War at its core is an extension of evolution," he explains, moving to face Kurt again. His eyes are neither angry nor frustrated- in fact, they are compassionately benevolent, a teacher instructing a student in a painful lesson, and empathizing with his suffering. "We are not at war for territory or idealogues. We are in a war for the very survival of our species. Homo Novus is the inheritor of the earth," he says, gesturing out the window. "We are the next step in the evolution of Homo Sapien. And nature abhors a loser," he warns Kurt. "So for humans, there can be /no other choice/ but to fight us. For us, there can be /no other choice/ but to strike back. Not just for ourselves, or for our people, but for our /existence/ as a species," he says, pressing a rawboned hand onto Kurt's shoulder, opposite from Mystique's side. "We are fighting for our very survival. Every day we live is another day we stand in defiance to the progress of Homo Sapien and for the future of mutants the world over."

Omega Red watches as Magneto tries to convince Kurt, listening to the words of the zealot, of the believer, the intense emotions of these creatures alien but intriguing to him. His own passions are black and white, pure appetites, whether it's the desire to murder the woman who looks at him wrong, the desire to crush the rebellious human beneath his boot, or the desire to have a really, really good pastrami sandwich and a cigar whenever this particular audience finishes. They are all equally important, in his eyes, because they are what he wants and his wants are paramount. But he understands that most people feel stirred by this sort of rhetoric, this 'ra ra ra', 'we are all one', 'mutants united' stuff.

Yes, Omega understands that life is war. Not only for mutants, but for humans, for any form of life. You survive by consuming and dominating any and all threats. You rule by being so fearsome that no one would dare threaten you. That's what Magneto's doing, creating a regime so terrifying, so ruthless, so savagely powerful that none will dare cross them. Omega suspects that one island won't be enough for Magneto either. Which is just fine by Arkady. He likes a good conquest.

It's a sound argument, what Magneto brings to the conversation. Mystique has used it in her own words on many occasions, often to great (and desired) effect. Unfortunately, such words have never fully taken root within Kurt. Still he refuses to hear them, always believing there to be another way. One without violence, one with co-existence. His faith has deluded his grasp of reality, and he clings to it so dearly. It's unfortunate, but she knows without any question in her mind that the quickest way to slam the door closed between her life and his is to attack his faith. What she sees as his ignorance, his blind following of a dead concept, is his baggage and his alone to slog through. Of this she will not attempt to bar his path.

She will, however, attempt to make minute course corrections as necessary.

At the moment she only hopes that Magneto's own sermon doesn't trigger the anger in her son which is looking for an excuse to come forth. Much like how Erik had been awaiting a moment such as her staged assassination to pull the trigger, himself.

While Erik is saying his piece Mystique leaves the photo evidence in the hands of her child, drifting away only to wind up standing beside Arkady. One of the newest additions to the ranks of the Brotherhood, she still doesn't know much about him. However, he is here. He is one of them. And, outwardly, he is obedient. One must be to work alongside Erik at his own throne. Here the metamorph's blue hands come to rest upon Arkady's shoulders, one of them gently drifting down toward the tentacles that make up his limbs. It's a caring, motherly sort of contact. We look out for our own.

It's also a subtle reminder to Kurt. What he could have here. What he could be missing out on. You want to be cared for, don't you?

Kurt listens without a sound, and his tail ceases the weaving, though now the spade-tipped end twitches. He's heard this. He has. He remembers Wanda.. and their quick coffee conversations now.. has it been a year ago? She's never called him back.

And every day in the Xavier manse, he's fought against that teaching, preferring instead to believe that humans and mutants can eventually find their way. Isn't that why the mutant registration went away? Because they did have friends.

"Do not mistake my idealism for ignorance, mein Herr," Nightcrawler begins again. "I know they wish to kill us.. to find ways to make us impotent." In all manners of the word. "But, like some in my home country, there are those with kind hearts that believe that we have every right to live beside them. As equals."

There it is.

Equals.

"Is there no room for turning the other cheek? To use their own justice system so we can show them that law is on our side, when we use it?" Though, truth be told, Kurt doesn't believe fully in the judicial system for mutants. Just look at the fact that he was there to protect the mutant from what could be considered a 'lawful arrest'.

"I do not believe they can wipe us out. We are too numerous, too powerful."

Mystique's departure from his side is felt, not just seen. Featureless yellow eyes follow her progress up to stand beside the silent Omega Red. The gesture isn't missed, and the meaning behind it clear. There are sides to all of this.

"I would like to visit the mountain." "Done." No one but Kurt would sense the minute alteration in the magnetic energies that now constantly fill the throne room. "Once you leave, I of course cannot let you teleport back in," Magneto adds, looking at Kurt levelly. "I cannot afford the risk. There are metahumans working for the human agenda, much as it sickens me, and there are those among them with the gift for matter translocation. A bomb delivered into the room would likely kill your mother as efficiently as a bullet to the head, and I will not allow her harm." He smiles warmly at his female counterpart- the Mother of Genosha, as they are calling her.

"Turning the other cheek is a wonderful sentiment, leipschen," he tells Kurt, turning to look at the two remaining thirds of the mountain in the distance. "To offer non-violence in the face of violence... is a supremely enlightened response." His smile turns a bit sad, and wry, and he looks back at Kurt. "But when a man comes along and puts a gun in your face... can you still turn the other cheek? Would you die before defending yourself? Would you let his neighbor, his allies, his friends?" He spreads his hands in consternation. "You see? Where there is one, there is always more. And when you are outnumbered- vastly, terribly outnumbered- there can be only one course of action. Swift and immediate reprisal must take place the moment you are threatened so that your aggressors understand that the repayment for attacking you goes beyond them- it extends long after they are dead and gone. This is what a family does, Kurt," he says, his voice soft. The master statesman looks back out the 'window'. "A family ensures that a legacy lives on- that if they come for one of us, they will not survive long enough to return for the rest. Should even I perish some fateful day, I will rest in peace, knowing that my heirs and those who love me will carry on my dreams in my name- the dream of a better world, for all mutant-kind."

Arkady Rossovich doesn't find the beautiful woman stroking his shoulders to be particularly maternal...which is probably good for Mystique, given what the ruthless mutant did to his human mother. He understands her presence as a statement of solidarity, however, of aligning herself fully in Kurt's eyes with Magneto and what he represents, a darker side of the mutant race. Mutant supremacy, even, for who, Arkady might think, might represent that supremacy better than Omega Red? He knows better than to show too much pleasure at the touch, though, still not entirely sure of the woman's relationship with Magneto. Who knows, the Master of Magnetism might be a jealous man. Most men are, putting far too much stock in the names and faces. Women, for Omega Red, are more a matter of utility than affection and care.

Arkady sees such ties, such sentiments, as weakness. He sees it on display here, a bit, such effort put into assuaging the whinging, bleating cries of this goat-faced freak and his poor conscience. Arkady thinks he'd rather Nightcrawler turn away from the cause rather than join. How could he ever feel safe with such a lily-livered, mewling thing pretending to be his comrade in arms? He supposes Mystique must feel some sort of residual affection for this thing that she spawned. How very human of her. Still, let them have their family if it makes them feel better, with Magneto as the loving father and Mystique as their beautiful, duplicitous mother. Omega is happy to be the one to bury the bodies where the children aren't allowed to see.

One step closer, though not out of the woods yet. Mystique could almost hold her breath in a moment like this one, waiting to see how the pieces will fall. She can only influence them so much, by so many degrees before her tricks are discovered and a backlash commences. One must be subtle, with a delicate touch. Now more than ever. She's had many years to work both with Erik and with Kurt. Not every attempt had ended up being a success.

Today, things seem to be working out alright. They could be much worse, and little better. It may be a little early to tell but she's marking this one down as another victory. She should be able to salvage any mistakes made from here on out.

"We are not so blind as to condemn an entire species because of the actions of some," she offers in tandem with Erik's side of the discussion. (She just condemns an entire species because they're inferior.) "We live upon a very delicate balance. Everything that we do, for ourselves or for them, must be carefully thought out. The repercussions of our every action must be taken into consideration. Erik did not focus his efforts by random. He concentrated upon the source of our troubles."

As opposed to, say, sinking all of Manhattan into the Atlantic. Which she believes he could have done. And some day she may ask him to. As for Arkady, well... He's just a matter of utility, himself. A good little soldier, silent and observant, awaiting his next order. Now he can serve another purpose. Emotions can be played, just like anything else in the human, or mutant, condition.

Besides, it's good to feed the pawns the occasional carrot. It inspires loyalty.

"I would be happy to take you there, myself," she offers in that soft, multi-layered voice to Kurt's request.

Kurt most definitely can feel that current. If anything, there's something within that gives him pause, and a toothy smile graces his features. He's fixed!

Never let it be said that Nightcrawler isn't above using another to his own ends. He's been hiding the fact that he simply hadn't had his bamf completely 'back' since he'd been fed a cocktail of drugs for a week. Sure, one part of it, the genetics, was done. He was lacking the magnetic fine-tuning, and he actually knew that.

Done.

(His range is now back to, at a minimum, 300 miles.. give or take a push!)

Rather than entering into a theological debate regarding the turning of a cheek, Kurt says nothing in the face of it. He's heard.. and seen enough. "My family will know that I lived a good life." Golden eyes turn towards Mystique again, letting his words simply sit for a moment before he nods. "If you wish, mother. I won't say 'no' to your company."

Though, there is a moment when he returns his gaze towards Magneto, and his words are soft in the room even as he holds a hand out for Mystique. Have bamf will travel. "I would never kill my mother, mein Herr." Certainly not teleport a bomb into the fortress! "Und even you have something beneath all that. A soul that can be saved one day. When you are dead, you are beyond such things. Und I will argue that to my dying breath. But now?" Nightcrawler waits before he inclines his head. "Guten Abend, und.. danke." "Gehen mit Gott, mein freund," Magneto says in nearly flawless German. "And think about what we have discussed here. Think about the future you want for yourself- for your family, and eventually, your children. A world for mutants, and a world where mutants are safe to be themselves. Or a world where you will constantly look over your shoulder for someone with a gun." He returns to his Steel Throne, the desk flowing back up from the floor. "Be safe with her. I need my spymistress back," he adds, belatedly.

Omega Red can't quite disguise the bullish snort that escapes his nostrils when Nightcrawler begins to spout his religious pablum. Those who kneel for invisible, imaginary gods while denying the mountain-leveling and very material ones before them strike him as particularly ignorant. That glimpse of piety, at least, goes to show why Nightcrawler is so eager to kneel to the human scum, though. After all, one of them died for his sins (sins which Omega doubts would require much more than a box of Kleenex to wipe away). And, if he's wrong and must find himself in Hell, someday, he's quite sure that the Devil, like Magneto, has use for a monster to do his dirty work.

He steps aside enough to let Mystique join her son without impeding her progress, his tentacles gliding up and licking along his ankles, keeping his self control to keep them from trying to brush against the woman as she moves past. He might have to visit the human pens for some entertainment after this. Things like this show him, in truth, what a lie family truly is. How could a skilled, consummate professional like Mystique spawn such a weakling? But, then, how could a crawling, weeping tart like his mother have ever given birth to Arkady Rossovich, the Red Terror of Siberia? Ah, well. Mysteries on mysteries. Arkady will stick to his certainties of power and pleasure and pain and screams and blood. Red, red blood.

It's that very snort which earns Arkady a look of warning from the metamorph as she slips away from his company. It's a glance on the sly, momentary yet lingering all at once. Her son may be misguided and lacking in proper wisdom, but he is her child. He is a mutant, which makes him a superior creature compared to the masses of genetic trash clogging and destroying their planet. He is not without fault, but she would slaughter thousands to see that he could live another day.

One day, she hopes that she may get such an opportunity.

Not a word is said, however. Yes, Arkady has chosen to ally himself with Erik and the Brotherhood, but she would still choose Kurt's life over He of the Tentacles.

Part of her is tempted to morph such appendages for herself, just to mess with the guy. Instead, she accepts Kurt's hand. Teleporting, such a joyous feeling.

"I will see you soon, Erik."

Don't worry about her. No human is ever going to kill her. Not unless she allows it, for a time.

Kurt hears the snort as well, and those glowing, pupilless eyes fall back on the tentacled man, narrowing slightly. Still, he says not a word. Instead, the blue demon offers Magneto another nod of his head, "Danke, mein Herr," before Mystique steps forward to rest her hand in his.

"I will have her home for dinner."

bamf!

"Arkady, please try to contain yourself," Magneto informs the Russian with a weary sigh. "If you cannot maintain decorum during a family conflict, we can relocate you to something more your taste." He adjusts some papers and brings his computer back online, looking out the window. "I do need you to head down to the prison facility. Kill prisoner group A and see if the other groups decide they are willing to be a bit more compliant." He dips an old-fasioned fountain pen into an inkwell and starts writing on the sheet of paper. "You are dismissed, Arkady."