2013.07.27 - Being Seen

He hadn't been on Genosha for very long. After the rather nerve-wracking, not to mention /completely unintended/ close encounter with the Imperator and his bodyguard, Agent Ortel has spent the time since then in trying to keep an eye over his shoulder, in addition to looking for out-of-the-ordinary occurances. He'd been given a specific task for his presence here, and so far there's been quite a bit to send back for analysis. Basic infrastructure, individuals, that encounter, the encounter, and oh yes, the audience that /led/ to the encounter.

So in short, he's been going through the motions of getting used to the place. And that's not the worst of it. He may have a grasp of the basics of activity on Genosha, but it goes without saying that Fury will want far more than "just" the basics. Such as the Spire, the mutant rebels and their data, Magneto's plans, his personnel, what he eats for each meal of the day, and let's not forget when he takes a bathroom break. The usual: "everything".

So it should come as no surprise to anyone, that Aaron found himself taking a venture to Hammer Bay, imperiling himself as he is well aware, due to the relative lawlessness of the area, compared to the Imperator's more regulated compound. He's been employing advice he was given quite regularly, and it's advice that goes hand in hand with his own training: keep your thoughts under control.

Right now, though, that's proving rather difficult. He's found himself some company when he decided to "take a shortcut" through an alleyway. Of course, that shortcut was mostly derived on the basis of being followed by a rather anthropomorphic x-gene carrier, resembling a bobcat with a tiger's stripes who, on top of that, also deceptively carries himself around more like an orangutan than the cats he resembles. And he hates humans. It's that last, powerful bias which caught Aaron's attention in the first place, that flareup of emotion that made it clear someone was in a rage. From there, it was a few blocks of being followed, a duck around a corner, and then a few seconds later, there is now one very human-looking psychic being slammed against the wall.

There's a lot of people to keep track of on Genosha as a whole. It's the people that really stand out that get the most notice. Not the obviously mutated sorts, or even the 'so human it hurts' sorts. It's the ones that are perpetually lost, searching for something without realizing what it is they're searching for. These are the individuals that are watched in return from the shadows, tailed by the Brotherhood's best, thoughts siphoned out of the air by the most talented of psychics. Of these kinds of immigrants there are far fewer, but more than enough to keep the group's more devoted with useful tasks to see to.

It didn't take long for word to get around this carefully guarded network that another one of these foreigners is in the area, seeking out something of his very own. It's gone far enough up the chain to reach Mystique's attention, hearing that there's something most peculiar about what they've been able to discover. Granted, it hasn't been much, but that's the problem. It fits the spy profile all too well, and she is one who would know. There is much talent to be found around the globe but when one has been at the forefront of such a game for more than a century there are few that can compare.

Part of her is tempted to walk right on past as her prey is dragged into an alley. It would serve him right for trying to put his nose where it doesn't belong. But, this isn't some stupid tourist. This one is much more interesting.

That's why 'rescue' comes his way in the form of a five foot six punk femme in leather, fishnet, and proper combat boots. Short pink pixie-cut hair, spiked collar, it's all there.

"Oi! Why duncha pick on someone yer own soize, eh? Get them paws offa the man an' cool it at yer waterin' hole a' choice!"

If anyone is going to cause grievous injury to this individual, it's going to be Mystique.

Ever since he had been given this detail, Aaron had been thinking very hard on exactly how he was going to even hope to pull this off. He had talked with a few of the others, had run several ideas by those with more experience, and in the end had come to one conclusion: the worst case scenario was being exposed, and that meant who he worked for. So he had only one real recourse to that: make people believe he couldn't /possibly/ be what he was, and that meant instilling doubts. Which meant both his psionics, - where possible and its use carefully regimented - as well as doing things no self-respecting observer would do under normal circumstances. Like let the other guy "get the jump" on him.

So when it is that Pink makes a cameo on Genosha, she'll find the growling discussion to be quite animated, with one clawed hand already digging into Ortel's throat, as the snarling, beastial voice accompanies those words.

"Just think of how much I'll get for turning you in, human fuck." And suddenly, Aaron is being pulled up close to a serious set of canines, "futilely" struggling with the above-average-strong hand encircling the column of his throat. "If I don't eat you first, /freak/.

"GET YER OWN, THIS BOUNTY'S MINE, BITCH!" No need to say who that was to, right? Apparently it doesn't register on this guy that his vision is a little inconsistent as to who he should be targetting.

That distraction was all that Ortel really wanted, though. Witnesses can make a wonderful thing, so while one of his hands is grabbing hard to his breathing apparatus, and making him bleed a little, the other is grabbing hold of something he /rarely/ removes from his face, just in time for slitted eyes to get a face full of blue radiance, and down Furry goes, knocked out long enough that he'll come to in about half a minute, which is maaaybe enough time for someone to actually catch his breath, eyes firmly shut.

"Bounty?" the punk girl shouts back in disbelief. "Wot, there's a fucken bounty on tourists now, is thah? Well, now ya done got me brassed off, ya bleedin' prat!"

Tiny Anarchist Chick to the rescue! Knuckles are cracked as she steps forth into the alley, fingerless gloves already adorned with tiny spiked rivets possibly just for the purpose of scraping someone's face off when necessary.

She never gets that chance. There it is, the 'tell' of this individual. Something with those darkened shades of his, and the fight's over. Done. Out. Brotherhood intel had been accurate to the best of the abilities of Mystique's personal clique of operatives. She only gets a few steps in when she stops short, green eyes widening as the aggressor simply falls over.

"Bloimey. Ya done put paid to that scuffle, ay? How ya feelin,' then?"

A bit more caution now exercised as she approaches, she nudges the fallen mutant with the steel toe of a boot before turning to look at the formerly cornered individual. "How'd ya do that, mate?"

She already knew enough. This guy's got powers, whether via an X-Gene or some other sort of trickery. He's gone to lengths to keep it hidden, as well. And yet... Why didn't he drop this fool before he had a witness?

He's trying to draw a certain sort of attention. Point to him, it worked. Though perhaps not in the way he had intended it to.

There's a flash of teeth, a bit of coughing, and of course that period of recovery from having his windpipe nearly crushed. Yes, dropping the furry fool with you present was definitely on purpose, though not entirely planned for - in truth, he was going to make a few matters clear /without/ anyone nearby, but hey, shaming the idiot in "public" works just as well. Always plan for the possible and unexpected.

"Just think of how this litter box reject will react when he wakes up, wot?" That last, an obvious addition because of your accent, Ortel just can't help but inject into the normal flow of speech.

From there, it's just a matter of regarding the downed fellow mutant, and now you, keeping you both in his again-concealed eyesight, but the emphasis on his attention going to you: you're conscious, even though the newly ordained rug for the ground won't be out for more than a few more seconds. "Putting people into naptime is what /I/ do." There'a pause there, as Aaron studies the individual still on the ground, staring with rolled-up eyes on the ground. "I think he'll believe I'm like him /now/, though. If not, I'll tell him that I spay and neuter my pets when they act out the second time, see if he gets the point then. What do you think, should we shave him bald? I could put him out for longer so we can." Grin.

A thin, penciled eyebrow hooks upward at that extra word tossed onto the end of the stranger's response. The smaller girl's hands come up to rest on her hips, her guard partially returning just like that.

"That how it's gonna be?"

Which might be all sorts of hilarious if he had any idea that accent happens to be coming from a woman that was born in Austria.

There's a glance passed down to ye olde unconscious thugge, the matter being met with a dismissive shrug. Seems she's more interested in the one that managed to drop him rather than the thug, himself.

"Ya really are one a'dem muties, arencha. Comin' in from tha 'civalized world' to escape all that persacution nonsense? Listen 'ere, mate. Since ya dun look the part ya've got two options, 'eah. Eithah keep knocken 'em down loike this sod or find yaself a bettah crew ta hang about, ya undastand? This koinda thing? More common'n people want ta think about."

All the same, she offers forth a hand in greeting.

"Jacqueline Gauge, atcha savice. Goin' by tha look of ya, I'm guessin' ya've not been about fer long. Houahs? Day? Can't be more'n two."

"If by escaping persecution, you mean everyone in my life not giving two fucks about me even though I still looked like them, sure! Do you really think I would have chosen to come here if I wasn't? Please. The amount of shit I've had to put up with, and now this guy. I've had to take care of myself for a long time. I'm used to fuckheads like Tom here.

"I've been here a few days now, yes. Had myself a little chat with the Imperator, even, now /that/ was an ordeal." And a very easily confirmed fact, that Magneto himself was the one who would 'orient' Aaron to Genosha.

"Joe," Aaron replies, reaching his hand out. He's gone by his middle name before, in the past, particularly while on the run from the U.S. feds over that little business. "You ever meet the creepy guy with the tentacles? For fuck's sake, don't. He makes Puss in Boots here look like he wants pampered." The shiver Ortel gives to that doesn't require any fakery, either. Just remembering what he saw when Arkady was doing his I KILL YOU REAL NICE LIKE mental exercises is enough. No need for dissembling there. At least he doesn't have the feeling of nausea, now.

"We should go elsewhere before he wakes up, and that'll be any second now."

Another shrug. "Seen craziah things. Not sure ya're in the roight cornah of tha globe if ya're lookin' ta skive tha shambolic. Things are still koinda in tha sixes and sevens 'ere. One with your talents, though? Oughta fit roight in."

Hmm, curious. Already had a sit-down with Magneto, at that. Gotta be a mutant, a powered individual of a different take would have triggered internal alarms by now.

There's few names that are more noncommittal than 'Joe.' It's not a lot to work with, but she doesn't need someone's name in order to get places. For instance, she's heard the man speak. Now she can copy his voice with such perfection that the most advanced tech on the planet wouldn't be able to tell the difference. She's made contact with his hand, there's a sampling of DNA. A few seconds in his presence and she's already picking up on the subtle characteristics of his behavior, things which even he may not realize that he does. How he stands, how he shifts his weight, what his hands do to keep themselves busy, right down to how he handles the shades covering his eyes. It's all discovered, memorized, and filed away for later use.

A proper name might make some aspects easier, but the most difficult parts are already covered in spades.

"Tenta-twerp? Seen 'im faffin' about before. Real creepy sort, aye? No mistakin' what he is!"

Another glance is quickly passed down to the third guy who's starting to come around, Jackie inclining her head once in a sharp motion of agreement. "Good time to sod off, then." Not that they can't continue this conversation while on the move. "So what then, ya feel loike ya have no choice but ta be 'ere? There's more ta livin' than findin' place ta take root, so whatcha aftah?"

Indeed, there are plenty of nuances to copy about the way Aaron Ortel carries himself. Body language abounds in this one, and contradicting ones at times for that matter: a touch of uncertainty, a defensive fold of the arms, the constant adjustment of his eyewear as though afraid it was going to fall off despite being put back on firmly. Some of it is actually not-quite-fake mannerisms; better stated, they're bad habits drummed out by SHIELD that have come back quickly. Yes, he even took that into consideration. He's not Natasha Romanoff, who can slough personas and behavioral ticks like Mystique does appearances, but he's got an idea of the basics from simply being psychic, plus ... SHIELD.

"I have no idea what the hell I'm doing here, frankly, but I didn't have any better options." Scary part? Some of that was actually the honest truth. "It was a hell of a lot better than the alternatives, let me tell you. I'll take what I can get at this point."

The pieces are starting to come together, though doing so only reveals more gaping holes in the overall picture. Mystique knows more than enough to make sure this guy is never outside of observation, even if that means spying on the guy when he takes trips out to the loo. He's either very poor at this game or he's better than he's letting on, trying to keep those around him off-guard.

It's a strategy. Sometimes it works. This time it won't.

The only question is how she wishes to proceed. Spy from afar, or lead him into a false sense of security? If she brings him into the Brotherhood then they can keep tabs on everything that he does without remotely hinting at their counter-intelligence gathering on him. He'd never be alone, surrounded by people whom she personally has some amount of trust for. If he steps out of line, even for an instant, they can be there to shut him down.

There's only one problem. He's probably here in order to infiltrate their ranks. Why else would he be here? Why else would any spy? The whole planet wants to know what Magneto and Company are up to these days, now that he's become a national figure of power. The attitude, the gaps in his story, the timing, it all fits. Some of those gaping holes are accounted for simply by reaching outside of the immediate pool of information.

Now then, how many global powers exist that have an interest in foreign mutant politics, have money to burn, and aren't afraid to hire mutants to further their cause? Not that many. Still, she's going to want a little more information before she makes the call for herself.

"Well now, ya talked ta the Imperatah? What'd he have ta say, then? He doesn't grant an audience for any ol' lost soul wanderin' this island."

"God, I don't even want to think about that. He just upped and said he'd 'orient our new brother' when my big fat mouth played a game of Outburst. That's how I got a nice up-close meeting with Hentai Whitey. It wasn't an audience, and not something I sure as hell want to repeat."

If he even suspects you're counter-intelligence? You wouldn't know it from his words. That grimace? That brief shiver? They're real. "He - the Imperator - basically gave me the shpeel about the purpose of this place. Welcoming... us... home." Yes, he's quite proud of how that one came out.

"With the guy walking by him dragging those things along the ground and looking like he was trying to decide how to shank me... yeah, I was paying very good attention. I think that was the point."

Further evidence. Erik himself didn't trust this one, if his words are to be believed. Orient our new brother. Part of the group, but at the outer-most echelons. Brotherhood in name only, if even. Mystique knows Erik's a smart one more often than not, if this 'Joe' caught his suspicion then it's worth keeping in mind. She does tend to value his input on certain matters. Security is one of those matters.

"An' that's it? Has anyone been helpin' 'orient' ya since then?" She's guessing not, considering how he had been about to get his face eaten off when she found him.

It may be time to step in with a little damage control of her own. A small group that she can trust to keep this individual ..contained. They'll have some research to take care of, and quickly.

"Moight be I could introduce ya to some fellas, help getcha all settled in?"

Into a nice cozy cage, if need be.

"Only if Furball back there counts as orienting," comes the dry response. "I don't really know what you want me to say, to be honest. I'm standing there with the others listening to a public announcement, and my mouth runs away from me, he hears it, and the next thing I know, off we go down the street for a one-oh-one. Yaaaay."

One thing that would be easily known about Aaron's activities on Genosha: he's kept to the public areas. This is, arguably, the first time he's started going off on his own anywhere else, and even then it would have been observed he was talking about Hammer Bay with a few civilians about the 'unrest' here in the first place. 'I'll be fine,' he had told them, tapping his eyewear with a grin. No doubt Creepy Angel 14 - /those/ had been a disturbing surprise - had that uploaded before the words had finished leaving Ortel's mouth. And here we are.

"I think I'm settled for the most part, though, unless we count here. Unless one of your friends can make me invisible so I don't get accosted by cats with fleas again." That actually, really was meant for sarcasm, even if he's considered the idea of subverting some of the powered citizenry into "favors". Jury's still out on that one, for both danger and necessity.

To that Jacqueline shrugs one more time. "Hell, I don't bloody well know what it is ya want, neither. But as ya said, ya can take care of yerself. If yer good with what ya got, who am I ta stand in tha way?"

It's not like she can't keep very close tabs on this guy outside of the Brotherhood. He's on the island with the lot of 'em. Out here, he has no choice but to play by their rules. His chances of gathering intel will be hindered by being out on his own, though that also means everything that he does will stand out that much more. Mystique can work with this, no problem.

"Just try not ta poke at the locals too much, aye? Some of 'em have teeth loike ya wouldn't balieve."