2013.10.20 - During Prelude's Speech

Somewhere within the favela that is Hammer Bay, a large group of people have gathered to hear a speech. It's being delivered by Prelude, the middle aged mutant who is running for the Presidency. As she speaks into a microphone, the place is swarming with humans and mutants alike, people of every color and income bracket. And of course, there are guards. Both official and unofficial types, most of whom are here to just keep the place safe, and a slim few who might be looking for an excuse to fight.
Many people lean out of the buildings surrounding the makeshift square, hanging on balconies, fire escapes, and out of windows as they listen to her speak. Kwabena is among them, and he's garbed in plainly colored, traditional African clothing. He fits in, which is very much the point. Dangling from his hand is a cigarette, nearly finished, and in the other he holds a cup of coffee. His attention remains split between the inspiring and challenging words being spoken, and a careful watch over those below who openly carry weapons around the square.
Halfway across the world, Jean Grey makes her way up the slope from the lake, to her favorite tree overlooking the autumnal shoreline. It's wee hours, for her, so the colours aren't much to look at. But the sky is. 
Nevertheless, her focus isn't on either the trees or the stars, but rather focused inward, instead. She stills her thoughts and clears her mind, concentrating on on stretching her awareness out halfway around the world. It would be easier, actually, to astrally project herself to the one she seeks, but that runs the risk of other sensitives seeing her. So, she confines her contact to a mental whisper across thousands of miles of ocean, instead. 
"Kwabena." In a moment or two, she becomes aware of his surroundings. "Passionate speaker, that."
Though there are many voices and things to distract him, Jean's voice is very clear inside of Kwabena's mind. Closer than everything else, even though it's a mere whisper. It's both unsettling and comfortable, especially given his last round of telepathic conversation which involved three powerhouses and lots of pent up anger and information being shoved his way.
It still sends a shiver down his spine.
There is a pause, perhaps more than is usual, before he replies. He's extinguished the cigarette, moved inside, and left the window open simply so that he might catch any unexpected shouts from beyond. The place he's 'acquired' for this little spy session is a littered, unoccupied flophouse in a quiet building. The only other people who might even notice him are either so drunk or otherwise inebriated that they aren't watching the speech, and there are walls separating him from their slumber.
Finally, his thoughts reply. |"She has twice the zeal, but is not as much of an intellect. She can win this country."| Oh, but there's a deep and fresh sense of concern about that, one that remains a feeling. It isn't brought to the surface, it isn't thought about willingly. It's been set aside, compartmentalized, as if he's had some guidance in how to properly order thoughts for telepathic conversation. The feeling however... it's very thick, very strong.
It's also replaced suddenly by relief. |"It's good to hear you, Jean."| 
 
Jean tracks Kwabena's progress. Once she's made contact, it's hard not to. As he settles down, ear to the outside world, she gives a small smile. To make it a little easier, she projects herself as an image in his head, so they can speak a little more naturally. 
~ You, too, Kwabena. ~ She seems to stand not so far away, taking stock of the rundown place, aware of the minds beyond and the minds that watch... but really can't touch her. Or him, while she's here. 
~ Looks like things have been busy for you. I spoke with Jocelyn. ~
There are two pointed blinks of his eyes, but Kwabena fights the kneejerk urge to resist. |"That's a new trick,"| he points out, before letting a grin spread across his face. |"Well. New to me, at least."| The grin is short lived, for he's soon drawn back to the inevitable. Business.
|"She told you more about the pale man, didn't she?"| he asks. |"This Doctor Milton and his living biolab?"| A deep and steadying breath is drawn in and out while his thoughts carry on. |"And I am going to take a wild guess that you received my report over Cypher's network."| 
The coffee comes to his lips and he takes a drink. It was nothing special, cheap crap really, but it had been imported from Kenya, so there's at least something about it that he can find rewarding.
|"The food is terrible here."| It's a wayward thought, but it's not stopped.
 
Jean chuckles softly. ~ New to you, yes, ~ she agrees. Then, however, she nods. ~ Yeah. Got your message. There are a few things we need to talk about. ~ That's not likely a surprise. There was a lot in that report, after all. 
~ Two things, particularly, are a concern: Dr. Milton, and Cable. ~
|"I'll spare you my typical bitching."| Kwabena can find humor in any situation, even if it is dark. |"The floor's yours, my friend. Tell me everything. I don't have to tell you that these developments are troubling. We..."| He stops, keeping himself from jumping ahead and asking where they go from here. Instead, he settles back, choosing to perch himself cross-legged upon the floor. Nodding his head toward Jean's telepathic projection, he goes silent and lets her choose where to begin.
 
Jean gives a dry chuckle at that. ~ Then, let's start with Milton. ~ She doesn't even know where to begin with Dayspring. A beat. ~ What did Jocelyn and Rachel tell you? ~
She appears to move, as solid as anyone else, walking across the room to an old, battered table, where she hoists herself up and sits languidly on the edge. 
At this, Kwabena stands, giving forth a light sigh. He begins to pace around the room, not bothered in the slightest by the fact that Jean's hovering still above that table.
|"Well, aside from having a living biolab in Jocelyn's hospital?"| There is disbelief in his mental tone that is only suppressed by the sheer fact that he trusts Jocelyn and Rachel, and wouldn't think for a second that they would lie to him. |"He's experimenting. Researching. Preparing for the coming of some person called Apocalypse -- whom both Nate and this 'Cable' person don't seem to have any love for at all -- you don't know him, do you? -- and that he's got an army. Or is at least building one. The Marauders. Mutants, teleporters. And... that he is planning a way to turn others into mutants. Perhaps everyone."| 
There is a pause in his thinking which seems paired with the way he stops moving and looks toward the window, where Prelude's voice echoes throughout the square, eliciting applause from the street below.
|"And he's here under Magneto's blessing."| He doesn't need to say how important that little tidbit of information is, or even begin to postulate on the implications.
 
~ Yeah, ~ Jean says, her lips pulling in a grimace as she rubs her hands on her thighs. ~ He sounds like a regular Dr. Mengele. Only worse. ~ Which is kind of saying something. 
She shakes her head now, ~ I've never heard of Apocalypse, ~ though it's damned certain she'll be pumping Cable for information the next time she speaks to him. ~ But, Cable and I have met. More than that, though... I've bumped into Milton's work before. He has a... focus, if you will, on very specific genomes. Everything I've seen, ~ memories, in fact, from other mutants in ever case, ~ tells me he's bent on survival of the fittest, though I think he intends to select the 'fittest'. Consequently, however, he's targeting very powerful mutants. ~ A beat. She holds an internal debate with herself. ~ Rachel and Nate may be among them. Rachel knows this. I don't know if she's spoken to Nate. I haven't had the chance. ~ 
Her lips press together as she looks at the African's face. ~ You can't afford to shelter either Rachel or Nate -- or hold them back. You need their strength there. But, you do need to be aware. Frankly, I'm far more concerned about the Nietzchean geneticist than I am about Magneto. ~
After spending a few moments at the window, listening to Jean while watching the crowds below, he turns back to rejoin her at the table. Steadily, a dour expression comes over him. |"A Mastah Race."| It's a fitting allegory, considering her name-dropping the infamous Angel of Death.
|"So am I,"| agrees Kwabena. |"But it's because both Nate and Cable seemed far more worried about Milton than Lehnsherr. Believe it or not, I've started to trust Nate. He's headstrong."| And his thoughts give away that he has developed a distaste for headstrong types. |"But he's flexible. He'll budge if I need him to. Beyond that? He's seen things where he comes from, things that are valuable. Maybe it's just a gut feeling, maybe there's something I haven't connected yet but my instinct is telling me the same thing."| 
There is a momentary pause as he seems to be changing gears. |"I was growing concerned with our presence here. We haven't encountered any real trouble -- which doesn't mean Magneto isn't fully aware that we are here and we are trying to distract him -- he's smart like that -- and I was coming close to recommending that we pull out. Let this develop as it will. Come in guns blazing if we need to. God knows SHIELD will do it, and if the UN gets involved, the whole god damned US Armed Forces might come in too. But no, I don't think Magneto is ready for full scale war. Doctor Milton, however."| There is another pause. |"Yeah."| 
Kwabena is apologetic for spewing such thoughts. The telepaths have put him through the wringer, especially with the info dumps that were forced on him by Rachel and Nate. He's a bit frayed, to be honest, which might explain the disconnected thoughts that are communicated. However, he is holding himself together, which is impressive for a Muggle.
 
The expression on Jean's face, a simple way of conveying her thoughts to Kwabena without having to articulate each and every one, suggests that he need not apologize for such thoughts. She shares them, in fact. Though she doesn't know Cable that well. At all. And she hasn't quite learned to trust him, yet. 
Still, it doesn't do to ignore potentially useful information. ~ I've been wondering about a pull-out. Or, more accurately, a pull-back. I still think we need to monitor the election, but we really can't afford to interfere. Particularly not in any open way. The moment we do, we become the aggressors. And... ~ Here she pauses and exhales heavily, an expression of frustration rather than resignation. ~I simply have too much conflicting information to see a clear path. Cable and I spoke. He told me, too, that Magneto 'needs to win this'. I'm not sure I believe him. But, if I have to choose between stopping the Pale Man ~ there is a definite sense that the phrase is a title, one laden with horror and dread that she is somehow intimately familiar with -- ~ or the Master of Magnetism, well... We know where Magneto is going to be. He's setting up a whole country for himself. Milton, however, is very good at going to ground. ~ 
All that said, she looks at Kwabena. ~ Let's see the election through. Let's see if we can link your groups through Cypher's network. They can stay anonymous and act as our eyes and ears while we regroup to focus on Milton. We need you guys home, Shift. And we need all the information we can find on what Milton's planning. ~
It's pretty apparent that Kwabena doesn't exactly trust Cable, either. He does have trust issues. Jean would know of this personally. However, most surprising is that he trusts Nate... and that Nate trusts Cable is ironically earning the mysterious man points. |"He said... Magneto needs to win this?"| he repeats, with a mixture of disbelief and amazement. |"Something from the future? Something that..."| Kwabena trails off, thoughts muddled with an ongoing frustration that he's been forced to face this time-travel nonsense. He doesn't like that he's come to believe in such a far-fetched thing.
But it keeps staring him in the face.
|"I'm tempted to say he can have his country. As long as he doesn't make a move for, oh, you know, extinction of homo sapien, I don't see what's too terribly wrong with that in the grand scheme of things. That doesn't mean that it's morally right for him to steamroll the people here. But, in the end, maybe the people need to be steamrolled to see what's going on."| 
For a moment, he seems to be considering his own black heritage, and how many beautiful things came out of the darkness of slavery. The music... the heritage... the civil rights movement...
Pulling back, he refocuses on Jean. |"Unless Milton is nothing more than a feint."| He cocks an eyebrow, before grinning. |"Sorry. Chess. I know. But... it's possible."| There is a pause, before he considers something. |"Jean... what about Cerebro? Can't the Professor just... read Erik's mind? Find out what the hell is really going on here?"| 
 
Jean shakes her head, a wry grimacing smile touching her lips. ~ No. Magneto helped the Professor build Cerebro. He has technology that counters it. The only way anyone can read his mind is to get that helmet off of him and get him out of the Spire. That's not an easy thing to accomplish. ~ 
She sighs again. ~ More than that, I'm not convinced Milton's a feint. I've... ~ Her eyes tighten and her lips thin. ~ I've seen things. Felt things that he's done to others. The man is... a lot older than he looks, I suspect. I can't be sure, but... It feels like it. I wouldn't be surprised if he's using Magneto... as much as Magneto might be using him. ~ 
She picks up Kwabena's feelings about Cable. And she knows Nate well enough -- after a fashion -- to believe that the boy has good instincts. Even still, it doesn't entirely put her at ease. 
|"Well, if it's going to come down to a gamble, I can put my chips on Milton."| He makes a gesture that looks quite similar to shooting craps. |"Double down."| Then he walks a bit closer to that coffee table, head tilting forward while all signs of jesting fade. |"Rachel and Jocelyn are good. Damn good. With Nate in the picture, they're... downright frightening. If we want information on Milton, we have two avenues."| He gestures to the left. |"The safe route will involve time, lots of time. Patience. And the risk that we won't get a thing."| Then, he motions toward the right with his other hand. |"The other route? We go in fearless. Take everything we can. We don't back down and make damned sure he understands that there are powerful people who will stand in his way."| He pauses, before allowing a smirk to grow on his face, one of good humor. |"That's the dangerous route."| 
As if Jean didn't know that!
 
That's the suicidally dangerous route. 
~ Yeah, ~ Jean says dryly. ~ Somehow, I doubt a full-frontal assault is going to work with this guy. ~ Though she really would like to put his lab out of commission. 
Actually, being a geneticist and a mutant and -- most particularly -- a Grey, she'd really like to get a look in that lab, herself. 
Her jaw sets, as that thought occurs to her. 
~ You know what? I think I'm going to come meet you in person. I want a look at this place. I want to see first hand what he's doing. ~ Because, right now, if anyone on the team has a chance in hell of figuring the science out, it's her. 
|"There's nothing like a bit of knowledge to brighten your breakfast."| It's a dry thought, for Kwabena is very well aware what Jean's presence on the island alone might do, not to mention what might happen if they go busting into Mister Sinister's living laboratory. He draws a breath, lets loose a long sigh, then nods his head. However, a weight seems to be lifted from him. He's been playing the political game, cloaks and daggers, for too long. He may not be the most tactful X-Man, but he's never one to shy away from a little action.
|"We'll have the red carpet waiting for you."| 
Which, of course, means they will do everything they can to make sure her passage here is safe and unnoticed.
They'll talk about how many explosives he can round up in 24 hours another day.
Category:Log