@beremud: City of love, doncha know? ;)
République Française (Republic of France) CVnU Location
Cornelius watched the Red Diamond with razor-sharp focus. The intensity of his gaze potent enough to burn through steel, captivated by her alluring physique and irresistible ambiance. He admired her, but didn't ogle her, nor salivate for her sultry, sexual figure, instead, the hairs upon his arms, back, and neck stood on end. They stood in hunger, desire and lust, as though he was a lion in the tall grass stalking it's prey, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
She was graceful in her performance, yet it was a sensual elegance, a teasing, rhythmic display of her control over the many which watched with bewitched eyes. She was a Goddess. He wanted a taste of her divine flesh. He would bring her closer to the Dragon, meld her with it, each bite, chew and swallow, would show her what true strength was. He would witness her change as he had witnessed so many others... He closed his eyes in hunger, breathing out a slight sigh, anticipating the near future, and then opened them again as the show came to a close and a thunderous applause commenced.
He kept dead still. Nothing more than a subtle stare, straight into her womanly eyes was given, a curling of his fist, and a holding of a gaze. He then trailed his eyes towards hoping she had caught his own look, for he was the only man in the audience to look into her eyes, and not elsewhere upon her slender body.... But if the beautiful Lana had been too tired to notice such a subtly, the fabricated entourage set to bombard Cornelius would soon captivate Lana's own attention, and on cue, five men bustled around the silent Kray and immediately lit up his face with flash after flash, a copious amount of images being taken within seconds, as though Lana didn't even appear to be in the room.
Guests from around started to slowly, but steadily stop clapping at Lana and avert their gaze elsewhere, towards Cornelius, wondering what type of man would be pounced upon by the press so readily. "Hm," he murmured, eyes set upon Lana once more, almost daring her to approach. He had set the trap, and soon, she would wander right in.
The lights dimmed, and her red eyes adjusted. Through the sudden darkness, she caught sight of a chilling stare. The dark eyes glimmered in the low light and chilled her to the core, the vision seeming almost to mute the crowd and draw her forward from the stage. She wasn't sure she ever felt more exposed or alone.
The Vermillion Vixen managed to draw herself back into the cover of the curtain, blowing one last kiss before disappearing behind it. She donned a stylish scarlet dress and tussled her light, blonde hair, examining her stage makeup in the mirror. One of the benefits of being the final act of a burlesque was the mingling after, the performance fresh in their minds. And so she stepped out, her hands taken by those nearest to her, congratulating her on a stunning show. But her own basking seemed to be overshadowed by another influx of publicity. Her brows furrowed as she saw hoards gathering around a rough-looking though formally dressed man. His gaze as it fell upon her. She was certain it was the one she had felt almost on another plane of existence whilst on stage. Shaking off her unease, Lana strode forward with a graceful confidence in her tall stilettos. She drew a hand over the small table, her hip popping to one side as she invited herself into the stranger's presence.
"Well, hello. Did you enjoy the show, Monsieur?"
Cornelius felt a soft, yet firm hand grab ahold of his arm. Hm, he thought. Behind his rigid, seemingly detached demeanor, the Great Red Dragon smirked internally, his spine tingled and hairs stood on end beneath his garments, as though he was a spider and his intricate web had just caught a fly, her hand being the squirm to vibrate the silky net.
Slowly Cornelius pondered, pausing, prior to turning once more and greeting the attention craving dancer, his dark eyes meeting her own with a fierce intensity. When one creates a new fragrance, every iota of creativity wonders what that first smell to be, that first, initial reaction.. It's a sensation, like a symphony of all those layers and notes intertwining into a single smell to invoke emotions, to capture a sense.
The Great Red Dragon had no biological pheromones, merely a mind of captivating wonder, for his fragrance this evening would be mystery; and it had certainly performed as desired. For now. "Very well," the Dragon responded, his eyes darting from left-to-right, ascertaining any rooms which could potentially serve for the final show later tonight, for the execution.
Delicately yet firmly, as though Cornelius was always in control, he grasped her soft hand which sought to run under his chin and responded, intimately gazing at her hand before his eyes ascended to her own Scarlet wonders, "easy," Cornelius paused, his thick voice penetrating the air between the two like a knife, "I might bite."
Sharply, the Dragon let go of her hand, placing his down and interlocking them in front of his body, gazing at her curiously. "Your pick, Miss Lana. Choose a seat, and I shall eagerly await this conversation between two very... Uncommon, "proper folk," he chuckled, quietly.
@valerie_huntington said:
-- Le Vieux Pêcheur brewery, around three hours ago --
The blazing heat radiated through the brewery, permeating itself into the wooden furniture and bringing out a unique smell alongside the alcoholic concoctions historically stained into the wooden tables, a byproduct of drunken patrons being unable to keep a steady hand.
The Devil's Heir was in the esteemed nation of France today for a highly anticipated cerebral encounter, but nevertheless, fate had decided he would be momentarily distracted by the grotesque racism emanating within two Frenchmen's less than open minds. Walking alongside the brewery, his telepathy had passively heard the thoughts of two mutant-hating men... It was only natrual, selfless even, to educate their minds...
"Maintenant, nous continuons, monsieur ... Je vous offre une seule préposition, vous tuer ami ou je tue tous les deux." ~ Now let us continue sir, ... I offer a single proposition, kill your friend or I kill both of you ~
The two Frenchmen looked at the False King in fear, this entire encounter ironically solidifying their just contentment for superhumans and X-gene carriers. But Weapon X did not care. This was just one more excuse to rid the world of two more outdated beings.
"Non? Très bien." ~ No? Very well. ~
Thwump!
A single vibranium dagger catapulted through the air and into the intestines of the native; eviscerating their organ and causing catastrophic internal bleeding. The dagger seamlessly returned to it's owners palm thereafter as though it was quantumly entangled -- Nothing would get between it's handle and it's wielder.
Simultaneously intruding into the injured natives mind with a telepathic nudge, forcing the injured human to stand still until he inhumanely bled out.
The Sociopathic Scion then stood and withdrew his pistol. Wordlessly, he aimed...
The bullet spun in the air as it drilled a hole into the second human's skull, the Venezuelan Ambassador then went upon his way; stepping over the dead body and left. He had other arrangements for this evening.
-- Present time, Palais du Louvre museum --
The Ambassador idly walked through the museum grounds with a fabricated intrigue, mentally far, far away from this place. It is said that the Louvre is the world’s largest museum.
Whether it is true or not, was up to who you ask.
Originally a fortress built in the medieval period, it became a royal palace in the fourteenth century under Charles V and was used from time to time by the kings of France as their main Paris residence.
Today it would play host to the temporary intellectual residence of Ali Bashir and Weapon X, the Unsung King of Venezuela.
@mr_winters: Ummm...
[LOL Thanks, and thanks again xD]
"You are spreading you'self to thin my koning (king). Gothic city to France, dhen back to Gothic? Even you must take time to emotionally recuperate." The protective sermon filtered through the concerned lips of one of Ali's 'Beloved Ones' as they walked shoulder to shoulder on their way inside the national landmark. Female glamazon's who stood several inches taller then even the Black Republican himself. Loyal and military minded maidens who had been ceremonially charged with the unwavering protection of the Bashir lineage. A task they had seemingly recently failed in. As the Great Khan, Ali's revered father and former warrior chieftain of the Rooi-Els, had been violently murdered while attending a human rights benefit banquet alongside the Bashir Bishop's childhood friend and wife, Nia Bahati.
The polymathic panther had visually incarcerated any facial nuances that would suggest his inner turmoil or sorrow. Cold yet approachable, his regal demeanor had helped to camouflage the loss, despite the fact that it was eating him up inside. Emotionally, physically, and spiritually. But Ali was determined to not only endure, but to avenge. The systemic superhuman problem was now a global cancer slowly destroying the World from the inside. He had heard all the celebrated taglines, that mutants were the future, supermen were a matter of evolution, yet as far as the Black Republican was concerned it was all part of a larger conspiracy. Political lies sculpted and framed to project the mutant majority as some form of weakened minority in desperate need of government assistance and preferential treatment.
-Never again-
Calfskin Ferragamo Gancini Driver's comfortably carried the regal renegade beyond the velvet rope and cascading glass shell of the museum. Passively expressing moderated appreciation for some of the institutes more exclusive and Afrocentric pieces. Broad sculpted shoulders carried the weight of expectation beneath the thin designer fabric of a caramel hued Henley and navy bomber jacket. A casual yet fiercely stylish option considering the aristocratic atmosphere.
Upon noticing the distinguished demeanor or his...contemporary 'friend,' the Bashir Bishop dismissed his two person entourage with a subtly charming head nod and smirk. They wouldn't venture far, capable of channeling Ali's unspoken intentions had become second nature for the Beloved Ones. Inconspicuously monitoring not only their liege, but the entirety of the situation as well.
"Dee's meetings are becoming frequently moah elaborate my friend." the philosophical master of pankration mused while staring ahead. Sensing the unspoken shift in not only their relationship, but the mutant human relationship as a whole, Ali made no attempts to alleviate the tension. He instead invited it in, basked in its uncomfortable glory. Anticipating the meetings agenda, a small unnoticeable sigh proceeded the distinguished delegates measured dialog.
"I assume we are heah to discus dee recent politic shift in Gothic? Dee Registration Act has been revived...dis will no doubt serve to further motivate you in taking up your father's mantle." Finally turning to face his one time friend, arms collected behind his back. "I would ask dat you stay your hand. Do not provoke dee situation. I will not ask a second time." His words solemn and direct. Not a threat, but rather simple a matter of fact.
@ali_sani_bashir said:
There was a tangible tenderness to their assembly today, the Devil's Heir could feel it within the very air despite the precarious nature of their using gatherings. The world once again balanced itself upon the very edge of a very sharp knife; held by an individual with a shaky palm. Slowly, the False King looked up at his intellectual brother not unlike one would gaze upon family in a heartfelt moment, green eyes pacifically starring.
"I'm afraid you are somewhat mistaken, brother. Gothic was a wilted flower long before the Registration Act finally cut it's dying stem." With a delicate sigh, the Unsung King of Mutant Kind readjusted his position, slipping unblemished palms into the warmth of his pockets. "I am not my father, and I do not intend to live in the shadow of his legacy. My father... the Chancellor, did not care, nor even protection his own kind. They were simply a thing to be contained..." two green eyes momentarily looked to the ground prior to elevating back up, matching his old friend's eyes. "...And ultimately, used."
This was not a fact that X said without reason, for he saw an international Superhuman Registration act in the same light as his father had seen mutants. Weapon X had no feelings nor thoughts for NGod's or other beings of esoteric power and abilities; the only one which would be kept safe in his new world would be those carrying the genetic gene of X, those gifted with it would be allowed to unlock the doors of immortality.
"We have been friends for many years, Ali. Out of respect for our past, I will not expect you to ask me a second time." Weapon X knew that Ali was a man of undeviating and dependable commitment to any of his ideals; a trait which, perhaps only for Ali, X respected within a human being. "And out of respect, I will ask you to not misconceive my words. If a registration act is forced upon my kind; blood will spill."
@supreme_chancellor said:
blood will spill."
(tight post. will get you back in the morning)
Ali looked down with a smile upon hearing the city that never dies refereed to as a wilted flower. "Gothic tis dee rose that grew from concrete. Impossible, improbable, yet there is a hahdened beauty in its indubitable will." looking up with genuine regret and solace. "Tis an admirable quality, tis a quality I see in you my friend." bringing and holding his hands in front of his waist. "I apologize, but I will no longer pretend dat dee mutant species are dee repressed species. Perhaps once upon a time, when humans were ruled by feah and dee unknown, dee persecution was real.....but times have changed. You yourself have become dee opposite side of dee same violent coin. Dee embodiment of a systemic problem. You've confused extraordinaire abilities, wit powah. You think because you can read a thought, levitate an object, dat somehow dee laws of da World no longer apply to you..... or your kind?!"
Nodding off to the right but keeping a sideways eye on the Chancellor while summoning his female associate, his Beloved One, Ali stiffened. Her oversized biological structure as she handed her Bishop an illuminated see through tablet, visually illustrated her unsung status as a true glamazon. Her towering physical stature an imposing piece of natural x-gene free art in the eyes of the Black Republican. Swiping right Ali instantly brought up an inconspicuous piece of developing news coverage, his manicured fingers rapidly typing as he multi-tasked. Before eventually handing the state of the art device to the would-be-king. "Shortly after yoah arrival in Paris two men were....unfortunately murdered. Naturally dee local authorities are lost. But given dat they are dealing with forces well outside their means, perhaps it is for dee best. But I, tracking your bio-metric patterns and facial recognition, know bettah "His words trailing off as his flexed female companion handed over yet another piece of documentation, but this time in the tangible form of a folder.
"I have dee coronah's report right heah. First male victim, stab wound, trace amount's of vibranium found in victim's wound." holding the report out as if the murdering mutant would care to read it. The rhetorical gesture was quickly rescinded. "Seems blood has already been spilled, no?" fully aware of Mutant X's notable vibranium dagger and the unsettling similarities between the size, length, and other physical evidence pertaining to the aforementioned stab wound and the Chancellor's facially captured images within relative distance to the event. "Everywhere you go death follows. As if you share a nuptial bond with the darkness herself." squinting as the mental stress of what was to come momentarily broke down Ali's stoic fortitude. "Superhuman legislation is dee only viable option my friend. And if warriahs must die in ordah for peace to prevail, dhen so be it."
@ali_sani_bashir: (This was so good!)
The False King disagreed entirely with his imminently estranged friends view on Gothic City. It was understandable that one could admire or even greatly respect the cities ability to keep a semblance of survival, of course... But X saw otherwise. Even the best of mankind within Gothic City were withered and jaded with grief, Ali, in X's eyes, was mistaking stubbornness to die with resilience and the willpower to survive. It so far had not crawled back from the darkness, merely become consumed by once tragedy after the other in perpetual torture... The Registration Act the final chapter in the City of Sin's continual downfall. "Oh, Ali," X said, looking at Ali with an academic stare, "for all of my qualms with this world; you know more than anyone I do not hold myself repressed, the laws of the human world apply to me as much as they apply to the breeze."
Weapon X raised his palm slowly as a slight breeze rocked through the area, causing his trench coat to sway slightly. The Unsung King smiled in response to the proclamation of his recent, barbaric murders. A fact that Weapon X was certain his intellectual associate would have found out sooner or later.
Raising his palm, the Unsung King utilized his abilities to grasp the electronic device as it floated through the air into his palm, his eyes briefly glancing down before back at the Black Republican. "Peace?" a dry smirk embedded itself upon his visage, the distinct rational difference between Ali and X had grown significant in recent years. Once upon a time the two were not too dissimilar, their ideologies did not clash so harshly. Now, however? It was evident this would be the last time the two could have a civilized.... Non confrontational conversation, at least overtly...
"Oh my friend, you have no idea what I have done."
With a seamless sigh, simply looking into the distance as his friend spoke, the Prince of Darkness knew that his plan was being enacted as they spoke. Tomorrow, the world would wake up. The knife edge it had been balancing upon... Suddenly, would find itself midst a cataclysmic tornado. "You know me better than any, my friend, as I know you. Let us not disillusion ourselves. You came here today knowing that my ideals would not change. I, knowing that yours would be just as rigid."
Despite X being functionally a sociopath, he was saddened at the prospect of never seeing Ali again in this same light."It saddens me, but our ideals are too distinct. Too contrasting. I'm going to miss you."The two had engaged in innumerable conversations over the years, ones which had shaped his entire beliefs and ideals. But, finally, the two had grown apart and the rift too far to overcome. Nothing lasted forever. "Goodbye, old friend." With nothing more than a parting gaze, Weapon X left the museum's grounds with a feeling of slight sadness that he had lost a valuable intellectual counterpart, but fully assured that he had done it for the right reasons. Today was the past.
Tomorrow, the future.
@ali_sani_bashir: I'm glad you enjoyed it.
[Funnest interaction I've had in a long time, by the way]
“The file you requested, Sir."
Quinn turned his head towards the mechanically toned voice that had captured his attention with a smile upon his flawless face. His charcoal gloved fingertips clasped together in deep thought as the screen that had been projected in his private office had revealed the opening and disassembling of a classified folder.
The contents spilled all over the illuminated screen with shreds of detailed information, videos and images regarding a certain woman. While one portion of the screen projected what was known about her life, another played back security footage of her taloned figure somersaulting and vaulting in perfectly fluid motion over assailants, her anatomy imbued limbs acting as extensions of her own will.
It was more than clear that she was a living, breathing weapon that could target and kill whatever it was that she had set her sights upon. Newspapers or media held little to no information of who she exactly was, but that wouldn’t stop the Alabaster Spectre from assembling his team. Granted, she was a mutant, the very breed that Quinn had swore against, but he believed that her addition would prove far more fruitful to him than her own exile.
“Upload her current location to my HUD. I’ll be attempting to retrieve her shortly.”
“Please come back intact without eveceration, please.”
He turned to the artificial intelligence that had now holographically animated itself into human form, a sly expression as he did before speaking.
“I’d be offended if I didn’t come back with a few scratches.”
12 Hours later
“She killed half our staff, Sir!”
The outburst was sudden and filled with anger from the armed guard. White words in block letters printed along his tactical body armor read, ‘ELITE’ while a rather advanced piece of hardware was gripped tightly in his kevlar gloved palms. A ebony baklava masked his face while matching helmet adorned his crown. He was another nameless soldier among the others and just like the rest, had assumed Cognus was the personal guard of The President.
The Silver Tongue Scamp shot an frustrated glance at him, his own ivory mask concealing the majority of his facial features, but his eyes held a discontent towards the aggravated subordinate. His gaze spoke volumes and within that instant, the outfitted sentry knew he held no sway from the Chancellor’s self appointed vision.
“Fo-forgive me, Cognus. Right this way, Sir.”
The Frosted Phantom gave no response, but instead took the lead into making his way down the prison hallway, noting how bloody it was decorated and gut wrenching the fumes were. A sick sense of admiration filled Cognus as he commended the work and remarked at it’s intended disarray.
Interesting.
“How exactly did you say you apprehended her?”
He inquired with no change in his mannerism, finally reaching a duo of troops standing before a triple bolted and titanium sealed door.
“She must have become exhausted and realized the futility in her efforts in attempting to escape.”
Cognus shifted his entire figure in a 180 degree turn with blinding speed, reaching and retrieving his dual cutlass pistols, bringing the handle across the guards check bone. A loud crack had echoed in the dimly lit concrete hallway as blood spewed from the wound and his body went limply to the ground.
“The Chancellor trusted you with a highly valuable and dangerous mutant and she LET you apprehend her?!”
His voice was a thunderous roar through his silver hued shawl and reverberated against the unconscious man to the other fear filled guards standing in horror, praying they weren’t next.
“She wasn’t exhausted from an escape attempt. She let you apprehend her because she grew tired of your pathetic attempts to neutralize her. She didn’t even pursue freedom! She desired a temporary quench to her bloodlust and you provided it.”
Returning his attention back to the door and the anxious watched, he holstered his pistols and strutted forward, regaining his composure before his hopeful recruitment.
“By order of The Chancellor’s Hand, open the door and seal it behind me. Disconnect all surveillance equipment. Under no circumstances should these orders be ignored.”
@cognus_: (so sorry bro life may of been a bit rubbish but i really should of been quicker none the less)
Thats what most of the guards were saying about the fair skinned killer. Covered in prison tats from the other day the ink was bleeding out of her already, much to her annoyance. Admiring the artistry and the ink seeping out like dozens of open wounds this was how the razor sharp criminal spent her time awaiting the guest of honor. Patience was the game, the puzzle of ones escape was one of the rare things of simple fun to Rayne. Mission oriented and violent as the most ravenous beasts of hell there was still some things that were just a joy to life. Such as now, where have the inmates and guards were shielding throats in fear she might tear them free. And others thought she had been bested because they were the elite and the homo sapiens. Mutants were just caged uncalculating animals. That was the most endearing part the cocky mindset and elitism. Race had nothing to do with skill, and most everyone here was strictly beneath her level.
Soon enough the smallest click could be heard, the slightest change in the two way mirror, located ever so subtly in the corner. Security measures were shut off the live feed undone. The guest of honor was on his way and wanted this conversation to be private. The window between systems going off line and entry was brief. Still Rayne executed the act she was after swift enough. Teeth were bone as well and hers were metallic it was nothing to rip a hole in her wrist. The power dampening cuffs made a lot of abilities a challenge to use. However most of her abilities were strictly biology it wasnt lasers or mental tricks her body was a weapon and that was all. Some strain and a bone grew a sliver of a thing to pick the locks. As the door swung open Scarlett Rayne Oren sat using her orange jump suit to wipe the blood away. She sat in the seat hands free and presenting herself as a queen of being edgy her claw being used to carve up the power dampening cuffs as if they were simply her meal. A hint of playfulness to her other wise merciless atmosphere.
"I'm not a racist or radical, I do promote change however. World we got doesn't work far as I can tell. So question is do you want to look past that fear of a gene of mine to have a bleeding edge? Or do you want to shoot me?" Clearly she was fine with either though it didn't take a psychic to know what almost everyone in the prison wanted. Razor was the kind of girl they didn't want to share a building with.
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