2014.01.06 - Observations

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‘’’Lower Metropolis - Theater District’’’
 
The Theatre District is home to two of New York's most enduring images:
Broadway and Times Square. Theatres line the streets here, both on
Broadway and off Broadway. There is also a very large shopping element in
this neighborhood. During the holidays, this place is almost impassable.
 
Dreamraker (0s)
Magneto (10s)
Loki (7s)
 
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Unseasonably warm, which, during the winter, means rain. Fog. Overnight, the heavy clouds cast a pall over the city, obscuring most of the neon lights. Now, with the sun's rise, it's still heavy, damp, but at least it doesn't chill one to the core.
 
The city streets are emptying now. Those tourists that filled the cement canyons are gone, back home and back to work; children in school and the like. Mass transit is once again on time, and the major thoroughfares that criss-cross the island are back to normal. Filled, but at least not bumper to bumper.
 
There are few on the sidewalks thanks to the rain, which gives the God of Deceit (and Mischief) an open area in which to walk. Dressed in suit, tie, leather shoes and a light wool coat on, a green and tan scarf hangs about his neck. A cane is in hand, but it seems more an affectation rather than need. He does, however, break the one rule of walking in the City... and that is, 'Don't look up'. That is exactly what he is doing, particularly in certain areas; crossing the street rapidly when something catches his eye, he pauses in front of an electronics shop. He doesn't so much look at the signs but what is in the window...
 
 
 
 
It's amazing how incognito even a world-famous face can be at times. Out of context, Magneto looks like every other moderately successful young businessman about town. The fedora, which might look like a bit of an affectation on anyone else, only lends him an air of bold personal confidence.
 
He moves out of the local Jewish deli with a thickly wrapped brown package under his right arm, smiling and waving back at the proprietor. Apparently, the Imperator of Genosha still runs a few personal errands.
 
He moves down the street with a briskly energetic motion, projecting a presence ahead of him that unconsciously moves passers-by out of his path. He stops a few feet from Loki's position, looking through the glass as well, with sharp, cobalt-blue eyes. It's a broadcast on a recent Kree incursion into local space, foiled by several heroes, as well as several xenology experts commenting on the increase of alien incursions in recent years.
 
"They just keep coming," Magneto murmurs, mostly under his breath.
 
 
 
Unseasonably warm works just fine for Amy Stratford. The tall brunette is dressed in business professional; light blue blouse, grey blazer, pencil skirt, hellishly tall heels and opaques that lead one to believe she's gutsy enough to rock bare legs, if it weren't for the telling sheen. A large umbrella is perched over her head, and as she walks, it is with a particular smugness that betrays her knowledge that yes, a number of men passing by are eyeballing her.
 
Which couldn't be better.
 
To ward off the cold, she has a bright white scarf draped across her neck and a long pea coat in a very light gray. Her hair is done professionally, leading one to believe she is among the lower end of the upper class.
 
The Dreamraker adopts many disguises in her life. This one is her most recent, and potentially among her favorites.
 
She stops by a coffee vendor nearby where Loki and Magneto are coming together. Irony may have its twists, it would seem. Her thickly Scottish accent, however, has been forcibly subdued, causing her to sound more like a true bred American who may have spent some time at University overseas. "Yes, one of those, please. The Square Buster? And would it be too much trouble to ask for an extra shot of espresso? Brilliant."
 
 
 
 
Loki's face tilts up at the newscast, and he chuckles wryly at the fact that the heroes had met them in space. "Pathetic." His tones hold that softly accented British sound, and he looks to the side at the man beside him, and his words are quiet, almost matching the near murmur of the other. "Of course they will. Like moths flickering around a candle. They can't help themselves."
 
Upon looking at the man, Loki studies him for a long moment, his head tilting as he considers. There looks to be something on his lips, but instead, he settles for a tight smile, his lips thinning slightly. "As long as there are organized groups willing to fight for the 'common good', any incursions will fail." Hmm...
 
The lady isn't given full notice yet, but those that seem to almost fall over themselves to be sure she gets her coffee, however, are noted.
 
 
 
 
"Earth seems a land marked for conquest," Magneto says in that same cooly self-possesed timbre that Loki carries. It's a difficult thing to put a finger on exactly, the way they speak. It's the tone of a person with immense personal power, one that's modulated only in polite company- and sometimes not even then. Despite going as incognito as the two of them are, there's no pretending they are 'just two guys' on the street.
 
"And you are quite incorrect," Magneto points out to Loki, turning slightly to face the man. "As long as there are /competently/ organized groups, adequately armed, armored, and maanged, incursions might be defeated. But simple math suggests that it is statistically likely that we will eventually meet a force against which we are simply grossly underequipped to fight." He shakes his head, turning his eyes back to the TV screens. Dreamraker's perfume-advertisement walk down the street gets ignored. "And it seems we come closer and closer to that inevitability with every fresh attack."
 
 
 
 
"Oh, no. Cash will be quite alright." Amy Stratford reaches for her purse, withdrawing a bill that she leans over and places into the vendor's hand. "No," she urges, as he goes for change. "You keep that. It's dreadful out here, and you're still working. Keeping the masses properly caffeinated." She lifts her little Styrofoam cup of energy in a mock salute, and winks at the vendor in a playful manner. "Keep on living the dream."
 
It's so difficult to maintain her composure after making that little pun. The poor chap doesn't realize it -- for the Dreamraker is free to adopt any form she chooses in those shared terrors she weaves -- but he's been one of her victims before. The pathetic sod had been among the first to be 'assimilated by the Borg' in her last psychic attack on the city, and he's been busting his paycheck on a therapist ever since. It draws a slight laugh to her lips as she walks away, one that she harshly silences before it can grow too loud.
 
Fortunately, it's enough of a distraction that she's slowed her pace upon coming by Magneto and Loki. The way that they are speaking... it is most fascinating to the Scottish hellion. And the voice of Lehnsherr... that one she can't forget.
 
She's got nerves of steel in almost every instance. However, she recalls what he did when her pop-culture-infused nightmare was broken, and she turns to look at him with a soft gasp and an expression mixing terror with some kind of demented thrill.
 
 
 
 
"Well, look at the resources at hand," Loki chuckles softly. "A population that begs for direction and leadership."
 
Though, at being told he is 'incorrect', Loki spins about to face the young man, just as he's faced. Brows rise, and there's an expression of... interest. Particularly in the words that follow. He barks a laugh and too returns his attention to the screen. "Most of it is based upon luck, not skill. A fool with a great deal of luck once told me, in such words, that he was prepared for Mid-- for the Earth to fall. But that he'd fight even after it did." Avenge it. "It can be done." A nod is given, and his cane is pulled up, giving his hands something to do.
 
"And if there is, by some chance, a force that does find its way in, that leads to such questions that will remain unasked on such a lovely day."
 
The approach, now, of the woman gains Loki's notice once again, and the expression upon her face is priceless. Brows rise, and the exiled Price of Asgard takes a half step back, along the plate-glassed wall of the shop. Seems the gentleman has a fan.
 
 
 
 
"'Of a hundred men in battle, eighty will do as they are told, soldiers through and through. Ten have no business on the field and will die. Nine will carry the day and bring triumph over the enemy. But one- one among them is a lion, and will bring those hundred home'."
 
Magneto recites the quote with a smooth cadence, delivering it in the manner of some of the better professors at universities, and with an accent that's vaguely European but difficult to precisely pin down other than somewhere east of Germany.
 
He shifts his walking cane slightly in his grip. As Dreamraker passes, he remains planted in place. There's a palpable aura of personal self-possession about him that few people seem willing to challenge, much as folk do near a wild animal laying in wait. His eyes narrow minutely at the redheaded Scot, but full recognition does not seem to cross his features. Still, the scowl on his face is unnerving enough that a passer-by gets caught in the periphery and hurriedly detours across the street.
 
Magneto turns back to Loki. "Luck also favors the prepared, and victory the determined. Many a war has been won after the battle was over. Any student of history can tell you that insurrection can be as effective as a division of tanks rolling through a city."
 
 
 
 
A harshness comes about Stratford's expression. It shows in her eyes -- the kind of wild fury that is dangerous when not tempered. Her lips slam shut, and even as the aire that both Magneto and Loki seem to exude strikes a chord of paranoia in her soul, she finds herself inexplicably drawn, rather than warded away.
 
Even after the first words are uttered in a near whisper, the woman behind the disguise realizes just how foolish and inescapable it is. "You were the one who shut off the lights," she nearly whispers. Oh, she knows that she's being rude. She's reminded of it by the way Loki takes a step back, and it tempts her to simply withdraw to some dark corner of the city where she might recollect her thoughts.
 
But he'd held such power in his hands.
 
Brows furrow. Lips curl into a frown, and eyes narrow just so. Her gaze shifts from Magneto to Loki, to whom she gradually permits her forced, Americanized falsehood to slip away, now tempering her accent only to avoid coming off as purely Glasgwegian. "You'll forgive a lassie for butting in, but I cannae help recognizing this gentleman." Her eyes slip back toward Magneto, a knowing smirk drawing itself across her face. "You look quite different than how I remember you from the dreams."
 
 
 
 
Same, then, can be said for such pathetic mortals that inhabit this world, and not just in soldiering. There may be one, two.. perhaps ten out of a hundred that is worth listening to, if only for a moment for insights into the working of the realm upon which he finds himself. And this man, this deceptively young man is undoubtedly one of them.
 
For Loki, born a prince, raised a prince, served as a General in battle for the might that is Asgard in the past... his own demeanor seems quite similar. A man who is comfortable with his power, with his knowledge and understanding. Here, he has been (and will be again) worshipped as a god.
 
The interaction with others is met with an even expression, a man who simply waits until the bothersome is dispatched before he re-engages in pleasant conversation. "The downfall of humanity, I suppose. Those ten never understanding what it is that is truly desired by the masses and force them into such a painful position."
 
It's not to last, however, before the woman makes her move to interject herself into the conversation. "Then get his autograph, and move on," is given testily. His eyes narrow and before more comes, there's a slow smile that creeps across his face instead. Amused, but it doesn't quite reach those bluish-green orbs. "Dreams, eh?"
 
 
 
 
"Excuse me." Magneto turns from Loki politely and lashes out with his left hand, leaving his cane standing perfectly upright of its own accord. The motion is effortlessly fast and precise, and aimed for Lynette's elegant throat. His long fingers wrap around Stratford's neck like bands of steel, with enough force to bruise. With no visible effort, he lifts the woman off the ground until her toes scrape the concrete, regarding her face with a mute passivity that belies a sudden, burning core of rage deep in his cobalt eyes.
 
"Yes, dreams indeed," Magneto informs Loki, calmly. He reaches into the woman's purse, fishing around for a moment, then produces a driver's license. " 'Lynette Shackleford'," he reads, examining the image. He turns back to the woman in his grip, tilting her left and right as if examining a scientific specimen in a laboratory. "So you're the one. I supposed you would turn up again," Magneto remarks, his tone still coolly self-possessed. He tucks the ID back into her purse carefully, still scrutinizing the woman. "I despise telepaths," he informs her matter-of-factly. "Especially those who come treading in my thoughts without my bidding."
 
"So, Lord Loki, we have an interesting dilemma here." Clearly, he identified the man the moment they bumped into one another. "This is someone who created a great deal of pandemonium and chaos, and caused me no personal amount of grief. Yet she has power- quite a remarkable one, at that. What do we do with a blade like this?" he inquires of the Asgardian. "A weapon that can cut both ways?"
 
 
 
 
Such snark! Lynette Shackleford, the woman behind the guise of Amy Stratford, is quite familiar with snark. Though Loki may not have intended it as such, that's what it is to the woman, and she meets his first remark with little more than a flash of disappointment. Neither does his remark about dreams earn anything verbal in response; rather, a flash of mirth is easily noticed, paired with the raising of her eyebrows.
 
"--GACK!--"
 
Her eyebrows rise even further under Magneto's ferocious grasp. One hand rises out of instinct, curling around Magneto's forearm, but unable to do anything further when he lifts her from her feet. Some dampness comes to her eyes as she chokes silently, face growing red with the pooling of spent blood.
 
She has one defense. She could use it on Magneto again, this time with much more intent and much greater effect. She comes close to doing it as well, if only out of sheer instinct. And yet, as her eyes focus upon him with a sudden fury that nearly blinds her, the words of the European cut through like a hot knife through cold butter.
 
It stays her telepathic sword, the fury in her eyes tempering into something resembling reproach as they flick from her assailant to the man referred to so plainly as 'Lord Loki'.
 
 
 
 
Loki is patient, particularly when dealing with an errant child. Well, when someone -else- is dealing with one, anyway. He waits, his expression impassive, though there is that hint of a smile, a flicker of an upturned mouth. He's enjoying this, have no doubt.
 
"Did she." A statement. "Guided by whom? Her own whim? For what purpose? Oh, surely these are answers worth exploring, yes?" Loki isn't suprised by the recognition; he thrives on it. Now, his cane comes down with a sharp *click* on the ground, and he looks back at Magneto.
 
"If you think compassion is in my nature, you only know my name," is given softly before Loki returns his attention to the held woman. For some odd reason, there is absolutely no reaction from any passers by. Strange that.
 
No aid from a hero.
 
"Caused you grief then?" Brows rise as the inspection begins in earnest, searching for a clue. A telepath. "One can be used." And here, a smile creeps across his face, that hint now showing fully, and it's not a pleasant one. "And put into a position where no matter where she jumps, there is no advantage. She's learned, then, to fear you. Look at her face. The fear, but something else... she craves the thrill of a powerful man."
 
Loki looks back at the screen, but the news has moved on. Still, no matter. It's a gesture. "I'm certain something will come up. Like moths to a flame."
 
 
 
 
Magneto watches Lynette with half an eye, then nods approvingly as she stays her power. "She knows restraint. Good," he approves. He releases the woman dismissively, letting her fall or catch her balance as she's able, and turns to look at Loki again.
 
"She is coming into power. A dangerous time for many," Magneto points out. "The peril of power is not defeating your enemies, but arousing the ire of your greaters. Many a nation has been crushed before taking an inch of foreign soil, simply by building weapons and walls where powerful neighbors reside."
 
He takes his cane- still standing perfectly upright- and lightly jabs Lynette in the rib with the tip. "Up on your feet, now. You'll live yet, if you show some manners and humble restraint."
 
Magneto looks at Loki again, then back at the television. "I make no mistake about your feelings of compassion, Lord Loki," Magneto informs the demigod with a politely aristocratic tone. "Your reputation precedes you substantially. You are not a man known for forgiveness, or humility," Magneto points out in a matter-of-fact tone. "And your ambition for Earth is known as well. I have no illusions about your desire to conquer Asgard, and I know full well Midgard is merely a stepping stone for your ambitions."
 
 
 
 
Heels.
 
Heels are effective weapons in their own right, but being dropped upon them is never a thing of finesse. Lynette releases a shrill, choked sound as she lands, staggering twice to catch herself. The redness remains upon her pale face, now brought from humiliation after having been so effortlessly lifted and summarily released, only to land so ingloriously.
 
With a slender hand she reaches to touch her throat, that fire of fury smoldering as she observes the way they speak about her. Like an object. An object being jabbed at by a cane.
 
"Bloody--" she starts, but silences herself as she once again shows restraint.
 
Or is it fear?
 
Fear isn't something that becomes the Scottish weaver of nightmares. She's a hothead, and while the attitudes presented do prevent her from unleashing a barrage of Glasgwegian profanity at the two men, it's simply not enough to silence her fully.
 
"I... am not an object." The words come quietly, with a tone of reproach that is only tempered by the respect that has been all but forced upon her. "It was an accident," she explains, looking between the two in response to Loki's prompting for information. "I can only keep people from the dreams if I know who they are." Her quietly fuming expression turns upon Magneto. "If I have... 'aroused your ire'... it was'nae my intention, awright?" The fury seems to expend its last fire, and now, the woman looks between the two with a question in her eyes. "Who are you?" When voiced, that question holds more than its basic query. She wants to know who they are, beyond mere names, beyond the simple observation of such eloquent dialogue.
 
Impressed? In a way... yes.
 
 
 
 
"Then if she is only now coming into 'power', then perhaps some more education would not be amiss." Some of which, as far as Loki is concerned, just occurred. A dog brought to heel. The dog may growl now, and threaten, but if afraid to bite? It can be taught. Directed. Or muzzled. Or put down when the animal no longer is amusing. Upon release, however, as the answers begin to roll off her tongue, it gives Loki an insight into abilities. New information is always welcome; particularly when coupled with the way one can avoid it. Being identified, however, by Magneto should be more than enough- particularly in that his ambition is also outlined by the young and obviously powerful man standing with him.
 
Therefore, Loki looks content to continue speaking as if the woman is no longer in their midst, or moreso, very much like an invisible servant- one to remain forever in the shadows and is best only when its duty is done with no remark or notice. Therefore, it does seem that their conversation is free to continue, even if there's a slight shift in topic, at least it's a little more specific.
 
"My brother is a fool. He's soft, and isn't worthy of that throne." Touched a nerve, perhaps? Loki's tones sound bitter, though he does have those ambitions still. "And I sat on its throne once, and there are none who could argue that I was not a worthy king." He exhales, and there's a scowl upon his face, his eyes terrible in their brief flicker of anger. "Midgard will one day understand that it is a kindness to be ruled. Protected. And those incursions will cease."
 
Yup, Lynette... that's who he is!
 
 
 
 
"No, it was carelessness," Magneto corrects Lynette. "An accident implies there was no one to blame. You deliberately went out and wove that... bizarre tableau of men and machines, and forcibly dragged my psyche into your delusion. Wrap the humans in nightmares all you care to, but have a care when threatening your fellow mutants. There is a small line between police and criminals, and its name is discrimination. Now lend an ear and stand silent for a moment. You may learn something here."
 
Magneto turns back to Loki with those old/young eyes, listening with a calm gravitas as the Prince of Mischief rants. "Society cannot function without a head of state," Magneto agrees. "Anarchism breeds desperation and democracy, corruption. It would seem your brother has resigned his station as the future King in favor of a wedded life of children and self-gratification. I would submit that matched as you are in ability, you seem the favored son to rule Asgard." A smile touches his lips- brief and terrible- and there's a flickering of energy around him that only truly superhuman senses can detect, a brief peek into the immesureable wellspring of power that makes Magneto one of the most formidable mutant powers on Earth- perhaps in the universe.
 
"But it would do you well to focus on your own home before treading upon the soils of Midgard as a self-proclaimed king," Magneto tells Loki in a friendly voice of dangerous caution. "After all, if you cannot claim a throne to which to have authority and birthright in your own land, how could you think to rule here, where demigods and heroes stand ready to defy any would-be conqueror?" He brings his cane up to a mid-point grasp and gently bobs the grip in Loki's direction. "'And Alexander wept, for there were no more lands to conquer'," he quotes with a patronizing smile. "Arouse Thor's ire here by conquering Earth, and he will summon the armies of Asgard to sweep you into the nether. Somone as clever as yourself by now has surely recognized that Asgard is the far more tenable prize to take and keep."
 
 
 
 
It's the sheer fact that Magneto has answered her defense in such a mature, calm, and collected manner... that's what stays the Scottish temper. She may have missed the fact that these two men are treating her like a pawn, a dog, or what have you, but such a response seems to nullify any argument.
 
She's young, and about as far from these two men in stature, intelligence, and ability as she might be. But her power is immense, and she's only caught a glimpse of it; her plans dangerous and driven merely by the sociopathic tendencies of one addicted to a power she doesn't truly understand. The conversation is far beyond the mind of one who spends her time on twitter, gatecrashing the parties of trust-fund babies in a blur of booze and cocaine. However, the manner in which they speak... there is something about it that draws her like a moth to flame. One might say it takes a herculean effort to shut her up.
 
For now, Lynette Shackleford remains silent, her expression almost whimsically fascinated.
 
 
 
 
Loki can feel that flicker of power. He knows the game, and it's one he's played for a thousand years. Two thousand. It's a warning and it's a bit of information, all wrapped into one package. It's one that he respects, but doesn't fear. He never fears... mostly.
 
"I would agree with you to an extent," Lokin begins again, his tones softening to almost a whisper, "Which is what brings us back to our initial problem, doesn't it? Those individuals out of hundreds, thousands, and millions that somehow find luck and exploit it." He straightens, his cane lifted into his hand. "Therein lies the problem." His mind races now, like that quite descriptive term 'like a bag full of cats', and he barks a quiet laugh. "I can't go to Asgard. Not yet. Not now. It seems for my part in some," the hand that grasps the cane is waved in general in a soft arc to underscore his words, "... misunderstanding, I am a Prince in exile. This petty land is now my home for the time being, and," another soft laugh sounds, "I may be here awhile. Hundred years? Five? A thousand?"
 
Now, and here is a saving grace of Miss Lynette Shackleford. She is silent. She can learn!
 
 
 
 
Magneto makes a noncommittal sound, resting both palms on his walking cane. "What is a thousand years to an immortal?" he asks a bit redundantly. "Is it better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, when you could yet rule those golden cities?" he asks the God of Mischief.
 
"You made a gambit for rule and it failed. Will you stay here among the mere mortals and nurse your wounds and sulk in petty humiliation among us 'lesser beings', or fight to take back your throne- your birthright, which is squandered on your brother's dalliances and tepid family life?"
 
"Were you the All-Father, would you place a son upon the throne who is at least dedicated to the continuity of Asgard, or one who is consumed by the banality of parenthood and idle distractions among humans?"
 
 
 
 
While this tale of immortality brings a mixture of disbelief and wonder, Lynette's lips curl at his final question. "Screw the bastart," she interjects, before giving Loki a look that borders on fierce compassion. "Seems you've a better idea of what this 'Asgard' needs. Sounds like this brother of yours could use a good crack to the head."
 
There is barely a beat that passes before her eyebrows rise, mischievously. "But... what if it's better that he's being so dull?" She looks to Magneto, then back to Loki. "Better to have him 'playing house' than keeping his eye on what you're up to. A crack to the head might be the last thing he needs."
 
Lynette hides a wince. Only after the fact does she consider how silly it sounds, her trying to be anything to this conversation outside of a simple observer.
 
 
 
 
"To fight, one needs an army," Loki suggests, his voice never rising. "And ways to bring the quarry to ground. Insurrection begins from within, but one must have loyal servants to begin such a task." That smile doesn't depart his face, no, but there is something of a shift.
 
"If I were the All-Father..." and Loki pauses, feeling the heat of anger seeping in once again, and rather than the chuff of a laugh to turn the edge, his anger is full within. "This world is so beloved of Asgard. Songs, feasts are sent in worship of Odin, of Thor... so you can see why this is the next best thing to being home."
 
Home.
 
"But," and immediately, the God of Chaos shifts both manner and mien, taking on the mantle of lightness, even though there's steel beneath, "as the days pass, I find that my desire comes closer and closer to my grasp. And now--"
 
Lynette's exclamation gain's Loki's attention, and those light eyes darken. "Asgard's peace is always the end product brought about by war. They rule the Nine Realms because of the threat. Not because of kindness and domesticity."
 
Returning his attention to Magneto, Loki appears as if his anger has abated, if only by a little. If anything, his expression lightens, his head cocks, and his tones are inquisitive. "Mutants. You said 'mutants', and you differentiated them from 'humans'."
 
 
 
 
"I did," Magneto says calmly, agreeing non-commitally. "Mutants are a biologically distinct evolutionary tract descended from Homo Sapien. Over the course of some millions of years, numerous bipedal tool-using species- Homo Darwinius, Neanderthal, and others evolved and bred into what would eventually become Homo Sapien. Homo Novus- mutants- are simply the next step in that evolutionary track."
 
Magneto looks at Lynette. "I find myself overwhelmingly unconcerned with what Lord Thor does with his spare time," the Imperator informs Lyenette in the manner of a professor correcting a badly errant student. "He is the inheritor of Asgard and the future king. Asgard stands at the heart of the Nine Realms and is one of the great military forces of our universe. To have its prince idling his time dandling babies on his knee and indulging in lattes in Central Park is a gross waste of the power he wields."
 
Magneto turns back to Loki. "Consider what Asgard /has/ versus what Asgard /needs/. Thor has power, yes, but his authority has waned. A king must be more than a weapon. Thor is little better than the weapon he bears. Removed from Mjolnir, he becomes even less. How much of the man is tied up in the myth?" Magneto asks suggestively. "And with the myth gone, where would the All-Father turn in his hour of need? Where would /Asgard/ turn?"
 
He gathers his cane and the small package he'd tossed negligently aside, bringing them winging to his hands with the casual ease of a man thoroughly in control of his gifts. He bows courteously to Loki, a nuanced gesture- a man acknowledging another's status without deferring to his authority. "If you seek council, Lord Loki, feel free to pay upon me a visit. I did enjoy this talk." He looks at Dreamraker, then gestures curtly with his cane. "Unless you have some pressing question for the Princeling here, come along, Miss Shackleford," Magneto orders Lynette. "You and I have a great deal to discuss about your future, and how best to employ your unique gifts. You could prove to be of great use to your people with the proper coaching... and discretion."
 
 
 
 
Loki's response draws a frown to Lynette's face. And yet, like a servant, she doesn't scold him for it. The secret of what he may be capable of being the driving factor for her behavior.
 
Magneto, however, sheds some light onto this place called Asgard. While there is more than a shred of disbelief, she does in fact listen. For a moment, she's willing to entertain the idea -- they have spoken of if convincingly enough -- and nods her head in a manner of agreement. It's paired with a sense of reproach where the one called Thor is concerned.
 
When she is bid to come along, Dreamraker casts a look Loki's way. "If what you talk about is true... Godspeed to ye." Then, she raises her umbrella again and moves to follow Magneto. "Please," she answers him willingly. "Toying with stupid people and Borg nightmares gets impossibly boring after a while..."
Category:Log