2012-10-06 Back for Trouble

There's a certain energy in the air lately surrounding New York City. Tension's starting to escalate between humanity and mutantkind. Financial powerhouses and governmental bodies are drawing a line, taking sides, and beginning to fuel the impending battle for rights or registrations. Through all of this is a pair of yellow eyes, closely watching from the sidelines, planning out her next moves with downright tactical precision. Mystique has done her disappearing act, vanishing without a trace for months. No contact, no hints as to what she's been up to. It's only recently that this has changed, and only now that she has slipped back into the Brotherhood's nerve center to make use of the vast electronic network stationed within. Independent field work is good times and all, but where things are heading lately she needs deeper ties and stronger connections to the political world. There are some things not even the internet can deliver. So, she just makes herself at home right back here.
	 "Ahh, the lovely Mystique returns to us." In any other citadel, in any other land, Magneto's position at the height of the information nexus would be called a throne. Here, it escapes that only by virtue of the circular desk of seamless stainless steel. A few paper file folders are neatly stacked next to a computer monitor, a high-tech and seamless affair that seems to grow right out of the desk.
	 Erik's voice carries a warm baritone note that penetrates the central hub- a voice meant as much for gentle commendation and soothing words as for ringing words of inspiration and the confidence of command.
	 Erik rises from his desk, and effortlessly floats over it and lands in front of Mystique. He offers her a warm, benevolent smile, and the embrace of his paternal arms. "Welcome home, beloved sister."
It's nice having free roam like this without there being any (obvious) negative points. An operator on an independent level, trusted..as far as could be expected. Even with such absence, this place remains Mystique's home. With the greeting comes a smile, confidently striding forward in nothing more than her cobalt blue skin with a more reptilian layer added where necessary for modesty's sake. There aren't many people in this world that she would embrace in return. Somehow you've always managed to stay on that list. Even then, she's still not much for the small talk. "We have much to prepare for, Magneto. As they work themselves into a frenzy of choosing sides and pointing fingers we will soon reach a turning point in this battle. There's almost too many possible targets to keep track of." It's a matter which has her looking ..amused. The proverbial house of cards. Here returns an operative who's anxious to get back to work.
	 Erik offers that warm, dry laugh that has reassured many a worried new prospect to the Brotherhood. He slips an affectionate arm across Mystique's shoulders, guiding her gently to walk alongside him. "Only back for ten minutes, and demanding new work. My lovely Mystique, this is why I so cherish your company. Why the Brotherhood so values you as a sister-in-arms." He gestures at the computer terminals in use- nearly a dozen young men and women, all eager members of the Brotherhood, processing the information that Mystique and other operatives have been securing for weeks now.
	 "I would counsel you to rest, my dear, but I know how that will only set you chomping at the proverbial bit. Instead, join me for lunch?" He turns and smiles warmly at her, eyes crinkling in a crow's nest of laugh lines. "I promise, if you will indulge an old man's whims, I will bring you up to date on our current operations."
When acts of what others consider to be terrorism are something of a hobby, who could blame her for wanting more work? No one enjoys being bored. But, a little indulgence between moments of self-serving glory isn't a horrible idea. Mystie's fingertips splay out across your chest for a moment as she leans her head against your shoulder, then she walks alongside you. "I don't enjoy being late to the party," she says with that customary expression of sly wickedness yet in place. Then, she admits "There is much for us to catch up on. I've been compiling a list of names and connections, both for possible recruits and for us to be keeping an eye on. Even now there are many that do not share our vision, but give them time. And some proper incentive." Even more angles to manipulate, there.
"How have you been managing, Magneto? It's good to see that your spirits remain high."
	 "As Horatio Nelson said, 'My love for God and my countrymen keeps me warm," Erik observes, with a wry chuckle. "And I agree with him. These bones will survive, my dear, have no fear, as long as I have the love and support of our brothers and sisters." Everywhere Magneto goes, mutants stand aside. A few offer him respectful nods- and Mystique, as well, as much a mystery to many of them as Magneto is surrogate father. He leans on Mystique very slightly, though head erect and his blue eyes twinkling approvingly. "You are the best we have when it comes to 'incentives' and 'motivation', my lovely dear," Magneto assures her. "I trust no one more highly with the most vital of our covert missions.
	 Once in the cafeteria, Magneto seats himself at an unoccupied table. Other mutants pull away, leaving him a respectful space in which to confer with Mystique. Within moments of being settled, one of the younger mutants- barely out of her teens- comes over from the kitchen with plates of food in hand.
	 "Now, we have a delicious repast and the comfort of warm bellies," Erik smiles at Mystique. "There were times in my youth where this was the only thing to enjoy in life. Never forget, my friend, the value of friends and family." He gives her a suggestive look and takes a bite of what looks like spiced deviled eggs.
Mystique tries not to get religion wrapped up in all of this, but if it helps keep you focused and motivated then she's not about to object. You are, after all, the engine which powers this growing machine. While walking at your side she pays attention to the others which we pass, spotting a few familiar faces and many which she has not yet seen. The family continues to grow, regardless of where she is. It's comforting to think about, though it also makes her wonder just who is getting involved. Who else is sharing this vision and this fight with the rest of them. It may not be her say but she still pays attention to the finer details.
Settling in across the table from you, she sits upright with a straightened back and fingers laced together before her in a way that somehow manages to look both professional and at ease. To the youth that approaches the table she soon pins the smaller girl with those haunting eyes, though there is some warmth to her expression. "Greetings, child." What you said is true, this -is- a family. One which she is a part of. Sometimes she forgets how important this really is.
She's also forgotten the comfort of a deviled egg. It's been too long, an indulgence which she is content to share with you. "Of course. We're all here for the same reasons, there is support in that." Her attention remains upon the departing mutant as she speaks, her expression never faltering despite the twist of her thoughts. It's also easy to forget the family which has been left behind.
	 Erik's no telepath. But he's a man who's spent a lifetime observing people, and the psyches behind their masks. He offers her a comforting smile and gently pats her hand with his. Tendons and veins stand out like gaunt ropes on the back of his hand. Erik, for all his virility and strength of character, is still an old man.
	 "Operations are going well, across the board," he informs the blue-skinned woman. "We have cells in a number of new cities. At this point, nearly every major city in the United States has a cell composed of Brotherhood mutants. Some are spreading our good word. Others... are occupied much as you are." What, exactly, Mystique is doing, he of course does not mention. The Brotherhood is spread wide and far, with lots of lines radiating out from Magneto at the center of the web, but with little overlap.
	 "I, of course, read your latest report on the tragic death of the socialite. What was his name? Ah, it forgets me. Still, whomever assassinated him did an excellent job. Worthy of retaining his- or her- services on a longer-term basis," he adds.
There's a seconds' worth of hesitation between having a hand placed atop her own and her focus returning to you. That passing memory is once more pushed aside and ignored, so familiar an action for her twisted synapses that it's become little more than a casual effort like swatting a fly out of the air. Perhaps she'll let that matter return to the surface another time, but only when she's ready for it.
Hearing the news causes that distant smile to return to Mystique, the thought of so many branches covering so much territory... The lesser species could try to root out the Brotherhood but they would never find us all. "You've been keeping busy as well, I see." There's a compliment in her tone. "Wonderful news, I hope they can all be as successful."
Straight onto other matters, her fingers once more interlacing themselves together upon the table. "While I continue to question his loyalties, such proficiency should never go unnoticed. He knows which cause he is working toward, though not for which faction. As long as the carrot remains intact before his eyes, I believe that we can see much more of his talents put to good use. I will continue to monitor his activities and spread out the work as it becomes available."
	 "I don't suppose you're familiar with Machiavelli," Magneto asks Mystique. "No? He was a medieval prince, in Europe. Shortly after the end of the middle ages. He wrote extensively on the art of conquest. In Europe, he was as widely read and regarding as Sun-Tzu, in the Asian continents. Or the oral histories of Shaka-Zulu, in the African continent. "His readings were, regrettably, well-studied among the Germans in the early part of the 20th century. I find it a pleasant turn of irony that what was once used to furthur the so-called Master Race wil lend its strength to the battle for Homo Superior."
"If they knew then what they know now," Mystique says in an almost wistful voice, letting her attention stray from your eyes for a moment or three. It might have taken her some time but she's starting to open up and be more of herself, which can be somewhat tricky when she can be anyone. "And those which do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them. They've had their chance and they've shown their true colors, it's as fitting an end as any," she declares while idly picking at the tray of food. "What of these other 'super' powers that have come to light? We can't discredit there being a third team in this game, nor the possibility that the majority of them will side with the sapiens when the time comes. They are not ours, yet they could become a significant obstacle."
	 Magneto smiles approvingly as Mystique works through her own logic, bit by bit. When she reaches the end of her reasoning, he applauds her very gently. "Well done, my dear!" he croons. "When the day comes for me to pass into the next life, I hope my successor has a tithe of the wisdom you possess now. You are quite right, of course- we are part of a tripod. The least stable of structures." He illustrates with a wave of his hand, a metal plate rising to balance on three knives on the table. "Remove one, and the other two must fall as well. But..." he makes a gesture. Two of the knives abruptly fall on one another. He gives the plate a small spin, his glacially blue eyes looking to Mystique's face, then back, as the plate balances itself perfectly on top of the single remaining blade. "I take it my point is made?" Without so much of a gesture, he settles the utensils back on the table. "The good Senator is well intentioned, of course, but I will die before I allow a government to mark me, again." His right hand rests on his left forearm, a reflexive gesture. His tone shifts- no longer the benevolent patrician, but the cold, terrible force of nature that has rallied hundreds of mutants to the cause. "So. We play both ends against the middle, while we wait, and see. The extremists running the camps will be portrayed as villains and murderers. The registration camp will be cast as bigots and intolerant racists. And we will stand, hands outspread, the wounded and accused." He gives her another look. "And when the time is come, we plunge the knife, and take our place at the head of the world- as the world's new leaders."
Mystique doesn't say it, but you might be able to gather it from your skills in reading body language, even that of hers. 'Well of -course- I get it.' The praise isn't so readily ignored, but for one that has such a high image of herself it seems like a no brainer that she would be able to follow along with such a discussion. The silverware demonstration is kind of entertaining, though. For one with such a strong grasp of your own power it can be fun to see it used in such simple ways, one that fails to hide the precision behind each action you perform. The meaning behind it all, that's where the real focus remains. "Pitting them against one another won't be so easy in practice, what with names like Captain America," she scoffs. "Every corner of the trinity has its own divisions of power, the 'good' and the 'bad' as it were. Some selective organization might prove beneficial, if we wish to accelerate this process. The sapiens need to fear these other beings, they should become as much of a point of interest as we have of late. They preach of registration now while they ignore the third side completely. How patient do you want to be?"
	 "As patient as a mountain lion, stalking it's prey through the deep winter snowfall," Magneto murmurs. He flicks a finger upwards, gesturing her to calmness. "In politics, as in war, the premature blow can be the fatal one. The blade that falls last is the one that is held by the victor. There are those among the registrants who can be guided towards... sympathy with our cause," Magneto advises her. "And those who will not sympathize with us, we can certainly aim at those camps and the extremists who would see us all hanged. Between the devil in your house and the monster in your street, most of these deluded fools will strike the closest targets. We simply need to make sure their priorities are in line."
In other words, you have more patience in this matter than Mystique does. With that gesture of your hand she holds back any remaining thoughts or arguments that might remain on the issue. This is still your show..for the most part. There are times where it's best to defer to your leadership, she can put this time to good use watching and listening while on the prowl for new strings to be worked upon when the times are right. There will be a slight loss of her own independence here, but she -does- want your master plan to carry through. That, at the very least, coincides with what she's after. She'll play by your rules. "Very well. I will continue to gather data. When you are ready to make our next move, I will be here."
	 "Of course." Though Magneto doesn't say as much, there is a sense that the conversation is over. He rises with Mystique and puts his hands on her bare blue shoulders. "Farewell, my dear. Travel safe, and know we bear your absence in our hearts." His eloquence, so formal outside of a theatre, somehow still conveys a feeling of warm appreciation and consideration for her condition.
The conversation may have come to an end, though the situation is far from concluded. Mystique stands up with you, a faint look of amusement once more passing across her face. "I won't be as distant as I have been, Magneto. There is more than enough for me to do in this part of the country, and this is a time to remain vigilant. I will not be far from home."
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