2012-12-28 Stunt Double

Word has a way of getting around, whether people want it to or not. Rumors have been spreading like wildfire throughout the mutant underground, and then some. Rumors of a raid on Latverian soil, involving mutants, regarding -other- mutants, and some that aren't. The latter part doesn't much matter. The former... One slightly damaged country, involvement of her kind, a dictator barely scathed, it's all incredibly fascinating stuff. It's also one hell of a ripe playground for a bored spy.
Mystique, now under the guise of a woman with wavy brown hair that hangs to her shoulders, green eyes, and clad in only the trendiest of Manhattan fashion, throws caution into the wind and makes travel arrangements to come all the way out to this troubled little corner of the globe to see things for herself. She's not armed, not dissuaded, and not intimidated. It's a dangerous game but it's one which she's been playing for decades. It's a game which she happens to be very good at. All that's left to wonder is what Doom might do with this arriving offer, and what she in turn might happen to do with it down the road.
To come to Latveria by anything resembling normal travel arrangements is asking to be observed and researched by the top minds of the Latverian government, and sometimes, even by Doom himself. One subtle scan at the airport told them everything they needed to know.
"My Lord, I have the manifest for the monthly inbound plane. It seems there are three mutants on board."
"Place them under surveillance. I want reports on their projected usefulness, as usual... And... Bring them to me."
"Of course. All hail, Lord Doom."
Once the plane lands in the Doomstadt airport, security takes on a whole new, one-hour long, meaning, full of Servo-Guards and even a Doombot, before the arrivals are given leave, one by one, to go their own way. Mystique, however, and two others are approached by a pair of human officials, flanked on all sides by a retinue of five Servo-Guards. "Lord Doom wishes to meet you."
The resident overlord makes good time. Or his security does, at the very least. This persona, Melissa Hawthorne, isn't on any wanted lists, being yet another ghost amongst the thousands that Mystique has put to use over the years. They wouldn't have flagged her based on name nor appearance, which can only mean one thing. They know she's a mutant.
Glorious.
It saves her the time and effort of trying to request a meeting with the man in metal, herself. The compliment of security gives weight to the rumors she's been hearing, anyone out of the ordinary seems to be getting the automatic caution flag upon entering the country. Terrorists, or merely visitors? The other two to be singled out do catch her attention, taking note of who else is sharing the moment with her before saying "Then let's not keep our gracious host waiting any longer." Points lost for possible vacation spot. Points earned for possible conflict region.
"But... We w- were told Latveria was /accepting/ of our ki-"
"Honey, you don't know that's why they're asking for us."
The other two mutants at least appear to be a couple, holding hands as they look nervously amongst the security detail.
The man who appears to be in charge flashes a pleasant smile, dipping his head slightly in recognition. "She's right. It is because of your unique talents. However, you will still be graciously accepted by Lord Doom and all of Latveria if you submit to a brief interview and psychic examination. Due to recent events involving a high number of mutant terrorists, we have had to impliment this new precaution. Absolutely nothing to worry about." He displays another smile, before nodding to Melissa and turning towards the exit, a trio of cars waiting for them. As they walk, the Servo-Guards spread out and encompass the entire group, escorting them to the doors.
Always nice to see that the information network is alive and well, Mystique has her proof of the recent attacks. Seriously, what foolish children would have tried to pull such a stunt like that? All brawn and no brain. Questions she can answer. A psychic exam? If these guys manage to get inside of her head, they're welcome to take a look under the proverbial hood. With the amount of noise inside of her head, she may well break the testing equipment. It should prove to be enlightening for both parties involved. Possibly even entertaining.
"We've been selected," she tells the other two, "nothing more. Consider it an honor." Selected, because they're superior. An honor because they're significant enough to pose a threat, merely by existing. Doom seems to recognize this, though she's certain this isn't out of the goodness of his heart or for the safety of his people. One does not rule an entire country based upon such simple and straightforward principles. Today will be a game, a chance to see who can discover the most out of the other. Melissa is happy to play along, the gathering of intelligence has already begun.
The ride is relatively short, only about fiteen minutes of driving before they arrive at their destination; Castle Doom. Once there, they're ushered out of their respective cars and brought through into a courtyard where they must endure even more security scans. Twenty minutes later, it all pays for itself when they're brought into Doom's throne room. In the center, where the hall would normally be open, is a long table piled high with a bountiful feast. The head of said table is occupied by a throne, and three chairs, two on one side, one on the other, are pulled out for the guests.
"You will wait here until Lord Doom arrives. Answer his questions honestly, and enjoy your meal." The official from before smiles once again to the three mutants, before he turns on his heel and exits the hall, leaving them alone... at least until another door opens, followed by a clang of metallic boots, and the regal voice of Doom.
"Welcome, to my home."
Ah, the offering of food to compensate for their time and cooperation. This guy must have written the book on dictator hospitality. Melissa trusts the food, with all of the tech and security around this place there wouldn't be any need to resort to such tactics as lacing a meal with a little special seasoning. Besides, she would be able to survive such a treatment in the end. "Something to tell our children," she announces to the mutant couple while raising a glass in a mock toast. The smile that follows would need dozens of scans and tests of its own to be determined as faux, it's the sort of act that's been born of so many years of muscle memory. "Cheers."
Prompt, once again. No one's left waiting for long, the arrival of Doom heard before seen. Here stands a man who enjoys his power, would be beyond naked without it. Melissa's all too familiar with the type. The man before her enjoys greater success and returns from his efforts due to the aid of resources and a commanding presence, a peculiar form of charisma despite being covered in metal plates. She gives the couple seated across the table from her five minutes at best before they're swept up by his words.
This brunette will prove to be a greater challenge, delicately setting her glass aside while redirecting her attention to the man of the country. "Thank you. It is quite lovely, especially given the circumstances for our being brought here." If they had been in the same situation anywhere else they could have expected a bland white room with a one-way mirror and one of the world's most uncomfortable chairs to cool their heels upon. Here, even potential threats to the country are treated like royalty. It's all very flattering, and one heck of an act. It's all covered under chapter three.
Doom's mask sweeps the hall and stops on Melissa, pausing there for the time being as she speaks, and the couple nervously mumbles their response. Mentally, he gives the couple two minutes, while 'Melissa' will take ten. Strong-willed, sure in herself, and most importantly, unintimidated. "Innocence until guilt is proven, Ms. Hawthorne." He waves a hand faintly, a plate lifting into the air and arranging itself with food as he speaks, "I am here to make sure you all hold Latverian standards, if not in your hearts, in your minds, for the duration of your stay here." Once more he looks to the couple, and says, "Now, here in Latveria, we hold certain things to be true. First and foremost, Doom is Lord and Monarch of all, but below Doom, all are equal. I know where you come from, your talents are viewed with a certain amount of... hostility, here in Latveria, however, we recognize it as a gift. A resource that makes you, amongst all, powerful, and here, we respect power. Those, without it, of course, are looked after as all should be. No one, weak or small, should be subjected to unneccessary violence or unrighteous rule, but those with power... Those with power are not limited in the lengths they could achieve."
By the end, the couple are smiling broadly. They hoped for tolerence, but found respect for the very thing they were hated for in America.
Time? One minute.
So much for initial impressions on those two. Either they're weaker than Melissa thought, or Doom is better than she thought. Since she hasn't had her opinions changed any, it's likely the former. Pity, but if they were stronger then she would have singled them out for possible recruitment ages ago. Go, find yourselves the illusion of safety so you can build a nest and start a family of your own. While those two are busy with that, she's going to continue operating within the realms of the real world.
"Such a tragic thing," she offers while quietly folding her hands together in her lap. Perfect posture. Flawless mannerisms. Unusual in its own right for a mutant, either she's a special case or there really is more to her. "One would hope that any perceived difficulties they might have faced could have been handled under more mature circumstances. Now the trouble they have caused has spread out to affect everyone else, regardless of their own involvement. Other countries would have slammed their doors tight, set up an armed perimeter for the world to see."
But not you. You want something from them. Despite the food upon the table, a trap is always a trap. How the other couple chooses to deal with it is their call. Melissa's approach does not involve them. This is between the resident Monarch and herself. "Yet here we are, most graciously accepted." With control already taking root within the others. She's expecting this game to bounce back and forth for a while longer before she's singled out once again, the others taken out to be shown around. That's the point where proper business can be discussed.
Doom offers a slight nod to the couple, before he gestures to a side door. "Clearly, you are to be trusted. Through there is just one example of the position you can reach here. A telepath is waiting to do a cusory examination. Just to make sure you pose no hidden threat to us that even yourself may be unaware of." A pair of Servo-Guards come through the indicated doors and begin to show the guests out. They go happily enough, even throwing in a bow to Doom before the doors close behind them and Doom looks over to Mystique.
"I need no such armed perimeter, Ms. Hawthorne, for there was never any threat. The attack was short-sighted and easily thwarted. It would have been overkill and of absolutely no use... Now, why don't you tell me your reasons for coming to Latveria. Surely someone of your strong will is not seeking sanctuary from rude words and unfriendly glares." Doom's eyes flick down to his food briefly, before the mouth plate of his mask folds away neatly, and he takes a bite of the perfectly prepared steak. The limited amount of his face that can be seen doesn't appear to be heavily scarred, but it's quickly hidden away again when he's done.
When the others are led away, Melissa sees them off with a gentle wave that falls somewhere between polite and sarcastic. Their perception is too clouded over to figure it out. A long breath gets pulled through her lungs before she redirects her attention solely upon you, the food before her forgotten for the moment.
"Very astute, as I would expect. Though perhaps not enough, mmh?" The next smile is more of a friendly teasing sort than a demeaning one. "Why would I come here, knowing that you would pull me aside the instant I set foot outside of that plane, knowing that due to most recent events I would be flagged as an area of concern then be subjected to tests to verify my integrity."
"If those ignorant children meant to send in a spy they surely would have done something considered clever by Hollywood enthusiasts, airdropped in under the cover of night, because that worked so well for them before. No, rather they would have sent someone right through the front door. So, Lord Doom, either I am a spy, or I have come here upon my own volition. There are less resistant locations I could have chosen for vacationing, so travel for pleasure may be ruled out. That leaves us with business. Particularly in light of your recent interruptions, I thought that you might appreciate a helping hand."
Doom listens intently, though with a poker face like his, he appears for all intents and purposes, to be faintly bored. "And I am to believe you did this because you appreciate my vision?" He asks, raising a goblet to his mask and drinking deeply from the wine within. "What do you want in return? Rather, before we even get that far, what makes you think I could use you? I have nearly limitless power and resources, an army that could crush my opponents in seconds, and common weaponry that stretches the imagination of even the most technologically advanced country. Not only that, but you are currently sharing dinner with the most brilliant mind on this, or any other, planet, who has also delved deeply into the mystical arts, travelled through time and space to learn the most jealously guarded secrets of the galaxy's most powerful practioners of sorcery, and fought and defeated the very cosmic forces that shape and define the laws of the universe. What could you /possibly/ offer me?"
Just like that Melissa starts to look like the bored one. "Force, force, force--yes, I understand, possibly even respect, that you've got enough power to destroy six planets and save half a dozen others." It's almost like a mother scolding a child. "What you're lacking is subtlety, precision, a delicate touch. The velvet lining upon the iron fist. One could easily pull the sexist card and declare that you and your kingdom are missing a woman's hand, but I don't presume to be so shallow."
"Wherever you go, you throw your weight around. You make people know you're there, you're involved, you're untouchable. You could continue to gather your information by singling people out and interrogating them, subjecting them to the rigors of ultra-modern technology. How many favors do you think that will earn you, dear? You are the leader of a country. Strong, confident. Frankly though, your bedside manner is atrocious. Anyone that can see for themselves can look beyond this veil," she declares with a dismissive hand toward the two that had recently departed. "Glazed over like a doughnut and a hole."
"Beyond that," Melissa continues with a slight pause, shifting from her sleek and chic inner city persona to a near-exact duplicate of yourself right down to the armor and voice, "who doesn't enjoy having a stunt double?"
"I have my own ways of fulfilling that purpose," Doom replies, continuing to sip from his goblet as Mystique shifts into his exact duplicate, apparently unimpressed. However, he knows the far more practical purposes of such an agent, and he can't help but begin to make plans with her in mind. After a brief pause, he sets his drink down and sits back in his throne, watching Mystique through his mask. "Very well... I can make good use of you, but again, I doubt you wish to work for me because you see the benefit of a world ruled by Doom... What do you want?" He taps on the table three times, and a door opens allowing one of Doom's underlings to enter, make his way to the correct Doom, and bow deeply, "Yes, Lord Doom?" He look to the man briefly, before offering a faint gesture for him to wait where he is.
Mystique has herself shifted right back to prim and proper Melissa before the underling can enter, not to make the man's life any easier so much as to give the appearance that nothing of the sort ever occurred. "Quite simple, really," she starts back in while reaching for her glass with a delicate touch. "You have the power and the drive for change on a significant level," comes the initial observation while she gently swirls the liquid around within the glass, "and I know where your mind is at when it comes to dealing with my kind, regardless of your most recent interruption by a small handful of them."
"You might consider this the first step toward an alliance between factions. I wish for the continued freedom and respect for my people, that which is both earned and deserved. Like many things, power comes from the sum of its parts. I think everyone involved would be much more content to work together if it happens upon their own terms, chosen by their own desires, rather than having such ideals pressed or manipulated. At the very least, I'd like to think that we can prevent future ..events happening upon Latverian soil, as well as understand that we all have some friends out there rather than more enemies. Two birds, one stone."
Doom takes a moment to listen before he lets out a short, tinny laugh. "If you wish to work here, then you are going to have to be far more convincing then that. I am to believe you came here, disguised as Melissa Hawthorne, hoping to gain an audience with me in order to gain an ally who is sympathetic to the mutant cause? Hardly. For one, I am not sympathetic to your cause. Your cause is meaningless, as all are, next to mine. I simply respect power, power that you have by very nature of existing."
He sips from his goblet again, before setting it down and pushing it back with his fingers, "Secondly, I am considering your offer because you are of use to me, not because I am seeking an alliance with you, or your kind. If this happens to advance your goals in some way that does not impede my own, then so be it. However, we all have our prices, and I know your's is not simple friendship. So I ask again, what do you want?"
Melissa breathes out a slow, silent sigh. "I don't care for your sympathy, I am not some lost puppy whose foot got stepped upon. You, like us, have power, thus we are to be respected. My being here is because I recognize this. Sooner or later, we are going to be butting our heads against one another as our power continues to grow. Considering the care you show for your citizens, it can safely be assumed that you are not interested in there existing a war between us any more than I would wish to see the same."
"The humans are too busy ranting about this silly Registration Act while turning a blind eye to what is really happening around them. Soon enough, they will find themselves pushed out of the equasion altogether. Their time is limited, ergo now is the time for one of us to step forward and shape the future for those of us strong enough to survive. I count you among our numbers."
"What -I- want is the safety of my kind, the ability to continue our lives and our evolution. So, consider this an attempt to skip right over the whole Cold War business. We each have our big and scary weapons at our disposal. Let's do the reasonable thing and take some steps to prevent us from aiming them at one other. Perhaps in time we might even come to respect one other for more than how much destruction we are able to create."
Doom sighs, and leans back in his throne faintly, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "Very well, to preserve the balance, I shall avoid mutant genocide, and you will be sure I do not have to deal with any more mutant attacks. A simple enough deal, and yet it still does not put you in my service. Therefore, your offer of service was appreciated, but apparently unneccesary. Will there be anything else, before you leave?" Doom continues to observe her through the mask, the servant shifting once, uncomfortably.
Good start, but something fell through the cracks along the way. Melissa carefully re-evaluates the situation, gathering what information she has already managed to acquire. You respected power. Power drew opportunity toward the source, it didn't go out of its way to search for more. She could sit here and try to make a sale, give you dozens of reasons why employing her would be within your best interests so that she might cash in on the results.
Who would hold the power then?
Another smile promptly edges across the woman's face. Any game worth playing requires some preparation, time to set the board within her favor. She's been dealing with simple minds for far too long, this mutant is back in the big leagues here. In that same span of time she's shifting a patch of her very skin into the shape and composition of a card, complete with Melissa's name and number. Her jaw is set when that piece of herself gets peeled away, managing to not flinch as the thin piece of pressed cardboard is separated from her body then gently set upon the top of her glass.
"Only if you happen to desire my talents at a later date. I accept bank transfers, technology, and diamonds. Hard to beat a girl's best friend."
Finally there's a slight grin from Doom, but it's concealed beneath the mask. He waves the servant over to retrieve the card, before stating, "Price is no issue. When I have need of you, I will call." He gestures for the card from the flunky, making a mental note to do all kinds of tests on what is obviously her genetic material, before nodding to the food. "Help yourself. There are rooms available if you need them, and I assure you, you will. The next flight isn't for another month and Latveria's border's are strictly controlled. We do have an inn in Doomstadt, but my hospitality greatly rivals all others. I will call on you shortly." He stands from his throne, and looks to the servant, stating simply as he begins to leave, "Make sure Ms... Hawthorne is well taken care of."
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