Jason
1/3/2008
=NYC= St. George's - Lower East Side - Manhattan
Gothic in design and decor, St. George's has been abandoned for nearly a decade, and it shows. The wood nailed up over the massive doors and windows is rotting where it hasn't been pried loose, and cobwebs drape heavy over elaborate carvings of largely draconic inspiration. Garish statuettes snarl over the cavernous interior from their roosts along the walls - many missing delicately carved body parts, from forked tail to fanged maw, if they're fortunate enough to have retained a head at all. What few pews remain have been shoved into disorder, with the once-white blankets that shielded them from dust scattered dark and stained over the dust-greyed planks of the floor. Clear spots pushed into the dust here and there are countered by older abandoned sleeping bags and rat nests settling beneath the heavy press of time's hand, but what limited light and fresh air there is has to struggle in through creaking walls and broken windows, and the location is less than stable - factors that make St. George's a somewhat less than desireable shelter for the inebriated or unfortunate that happen upon it.
It's cold outside - seasonably so, but that doesn't make the temperatures any easier to take for those who lack proper shelter. St. George's is fuller than usual, then, with corners stolen by newspaper-insulated men and women who curl inside cardboard shelters in an effort to stay warm. Still, the area near the front altar remains quiet and clear. Perhaps no one wants to disturb the dark-haired woman who sits there in silence.
Save, perhaps, for one. A young man, full of verve and dapper, with a top hat almost too tall to be practical and tails, good heavens, flickering out in a light trail behind him. He is coming in and he is coming in faast.
Fast footsteps are enough to catch Mystique's attention. She straightens and turns, tense and ready as her gaze falls on the approaching figure. She relaxes only when top hat and tails are identified - who else could it be?
MAGNETO. Only not. It's just Jason. He waves so perkily at Mystique, so perky.
Mystique scowls. Perky. She turns forward again and says, "Hello, Jason."
"Hellooo, darling." Jason stops. Jason tips his hat.
"Aren't you dapper today," Mystique answers dryly.
"Very." Jason replaces his hat and skirts closer. "And aren't you serious."
"Am I ever otherwise?"
"Would that you were." Jason all but hops onto a pew, which doubtless strains his legs.
"What would you prefer me to be, Jason?" Mystique wonders, lips twisted into something like a smile.
"In love!" Jason /quite/ leans in from his new stand.
That earns a fast snap of Mystique's head toward Jason, eyes narrowed in a dangerous expression.
"Come on." Jason flares his fingers out sharpish toward her. "The world should be in love. Be it platonic or otherwise."
"Why is that?"
"Because everything is delightful!"
"Is it? I see how love has made your life delightful," Mystique taunts.
"It has!" With ridiculous daring and a rapidity that jostles his top hat, Jason leans forward to attempt a nose tweak he knows won't go anywhere.
Irritation flares fast and furious as Mystique's hand darts up to catch Jason's. Her fingers wrap around his wrist with a vicelike grip.
Jason is duly, sadly grabbed. He makes a half-hearted effort at extricating himself.
Mystique's grip tightens to the point of bruising and her gaze is darkly hot. "Do not try me, Jason Wyngarde," she warns on a dangerous hiss. "I have little patience for your idiotic nonsense at the moment."
Jason dampens down a hiss of pain. Different kind of hiss. "So. What's up, then."
Mystique's fingers tighten and twist, rubbing pain into Jason's skin. She responds with silence.
Jason grunts quite audibly at that. "You know," he mutters, "when the world's on fire and it's more than you can handle, a briefing would be nice."
"You want a briefing." Mystique releases Jason's wrist and drops her hand to her lap, eyeing him skeptically.
Jason rubs his wrist most, most gingerly, at that, and flexes it back and forth once or twice. "Yes."
"Why?" The snap of the word is not particularly kind.
"So I know why you're acting like a woman that just lost a mission."
"Oh, you're curious are you?" Mystique answers, voice thick with scorn.
Jason flexes his hand one more time. "Why yes."
Mystique's head jerks forward, and for a moment she watches the altar before her in heavy silence.
Jason folds his arms. "Not that I expect anything."
"Shut up, Jason."
"Hmm hmm." Jason folds his arms tighter.
"I have been working," Mystique finally answers, after another span of silence, "for some time. Following a lead we picked up in France. It is very important to me, Jason. These people I am attempting to track are doing serious research, into things that I don't want to see uncontrolled on the open market. Or on the market at all."
"So it's not going so well?" Jason asks. Quiet-like.
"It is slow and delicate work, Jason. I knew this when I began it. If I want to have any hope of finding every branch of this organization, I must be patient. Diligent. Steadfast. It is not something you can /rush/. Not if you want to do it properly."
"So you're not feeling so patient?" Jason tries again.
Mystique flashes an irritated glance at Jason, lips pressed into a thin line. Does he want to hear or not?
Jason subsides so quiet!
"When the Rift was open." Mystique begins again, quieter. "It became clear that they were going to send a team over. I didn't think I could handle the situation on my own. I took a team of Hellfire members across, and we killed several of them, but they still obtained a technology. Identification technology. Something to make our blood tests look like the tortoise next to the hare. Since we returned, I have been pushing the limits of my cover in order to get names and locations, but they've been very careful."
Jason nods. Once, and then twice. "So registration is suddenly going to be hugely practical."
"In addition to other things," Mystique answers with a deep frown. There is a hesitation here, a long moment during which she does not continue to speak.
"Getting rid of people with unfortunate powers? Perhaps young?" Jason hazards.
"Whatever they wanted, Jason."
"Well, quite."
"Erik--" She speaks the name and then hesitates again, biting it off to let it hang in the echo of the church.
"Is pissed," Jason hazards.
"Has decided that he's restless and wishes to attack the men we know are involved, and kill them," Mystique corrects with a clear tightening of her jaw. "He wishes to /see what happens/."
Jason tries not to look too interested. "Well. That would be fast."
He tries, but apparently not quite hard enough. Mystique looks at him with disgust and pushes up to her feet in swift motion.
"We are not very skilled in spying, all of us," Jason /quite/ apologizes.
"I don't believe that I've asked any of you to strain yourselves," Mystique answers in a snap. Her spin directs her toward the end of the long row of pews, and her stride carries her there.
"No, you haven't actually asked me to do anything," Jason says, and leans over the bench in another direction as Mystique starts off.
"Would you like to blow some things up, Jason?" Mystique wonders, turning back to start at him down the length of the row.
Jason sticks his hands up in the air. "Yes!" Yatta!
"Exactly," Mystique answers, and turns away once more.
Jason sighs. And slumps. This is tragic.
Mystique confides. Jason is a boy.
=NYC= St. George's - Lower East Side - Manhattan
Gothic in design and decor, St. George's has been abandoned for nearly a decade, and it shows. The wood nailed up over the massive doors and windows is rotting where it hasn't been pried loose, and cobwebs drape heavy over elaborate carvings of largely draconic inspiration. Garish statuettes snarl over the cavernous interior from their roosts along the walls - many missing delicately carved body parts, from forked tail to fanged maw, if they're fortunate enough to have retained a head at all. What few pews remain have been shoved into disorder, with the once-white blankets that shielded them from dust scattered dark and stained over the dust-greyed planks of the floor. Clear spots pushed into the dust here and there are countered by older abandoned sleeping bags and rat nests settling beneath the heavy press of time's hand, but what limited light and fresh air there is has to struggle in through creaking walls and broken windows, and the location is less than stable - factors that make St. George's a somewhat less than desireable shelter for the inebriated or unfortunate that happen upon it.
It's cold outside - seasonably so, but that doesn't make the temperatures any easier to take for those who lack proper shelter. St. George's is fuller than usual, then, with corners stolen by newspaper-insulated men and women who curl inside cardboard shelters in an effort to stay warm. Still, the area near the front altar remains quiet and clear. Perhaps no one wants to disturb the dark-haired woman who sits there in silence.
Save, perhaps, for one. A young man, full of verve and dapper, with a top hat almost too tall to be practical and tails, good heavens, flickering out in a light trail behind him. He is coming in and he is coming in faast.
Fast footsteps are enough to catch Mystique's attention. She straightens and turns, tense and ready as her gaze falls on the approaching figure. She relaxes only when top hat and tails are identified - who else could it be?
MAGNETO. Only not. It's just Jason. He waves so perkily at Mystique, so perky.
Mystique scowls. Perky. She turns forward again and says, "Hello, Jason."
"Hellooo, darling." Jason stops. Jason tips his hat.
"Aren't you dapper today," Mystique answers dryly.
"Very." Jason replaces his hat and skirts closer. "And aren't you serious."
"Am I ever otherwise?"
"Would that you were." Jason all but hops onto a pew, which doubtless strains his legs.
"What would you prefer me to be, Jason?" Mystique wonders, lips twisted into something like a smile.
"In love!" Jason /quite/ leans in from his new stand.
That earns a fast snap of Mystique's head toward Jason, eyes narrowed in a dangerous expression.
"Come on." Jason flares his fingers out sharpish toward her. "The world should be in love. Be it platonic or otherwise."
"Why is that?"
"Because everything is delightful!"
"Is it? I see how love has made your life delightful," Mystique taunts.
"It has!" With ridiculous daring and a rapidity that jostles his top hat, Jason leans forward to attempt a nose tweak he knows won't go anywhere.
Irritation flares fast and furious as Mystique's hand darts up to catch Jason's. Her fingers wrap around his wrist with a vicelike grip.
Jason is duly, sadly grabbed. He makes a half-hearted effort at extricating himself.
Mystique's grip tightens to the point of bruising and her gaze is darkly hot. "Do not try me, Jason Wyngarde," she warns on a dangerous hiss. "I have little patience for your idiotic nonsense at the moment."
Jason dampens down a hiss of pain. Different kind of hiss. "So. What's up, then."
Mystique's fingers tighten and twist, rubbing pain into Jason's skin. She responds with silence.
Jason grunts quite audibly at that. "You know," he mutters, "when the world's on fire and it's more than you can handle, a briefing would be nice."
"You want a briefing." Mystique releases Jason's wrist and drops her hand to her lap, eyeing him skeptically.
Jason rubs his wrist most, most gingerly, at that, and flexes it back and forth once or twice. "Yes."
"Why?" The snap of the word is not particularly kind.
"So I know why you're acting like a woman that just lost a mission."
"Oh, you're curious are you?" Mystique answers, voice thick with scorn.
Jason flexes his hand one more time. "Why yes."
Mystique's head jerks forward, and for a moment she watches the altar before her in heavy silence.
Jason folds his arms. "Not that I expect anything."
"Shut up, Jason."
"Hmm hmm." Jason folds his arms tighter.
"I have been working," Mystique finally answers, after another span of silence, "for some time. Following a lead we picked up in France. It is very important to me, Jason. These people I am attempting to track are doing serious research, into things that I don't want to see uncontrolled on the open market. Or on the market at all."
"So it's not going so well?" Jason asks. Quiet-like.
"It is slow and delicate work, Jason. I knew this when I began it. If I want to have any hope of finding every branch of this organization, I must be patient. Diligent. Steadfast. It is not something you can /rush/. Not if you want to do it properly."
"So you're not feeling so patient?" Jason tries again.
Mystique flashes an irritated glance at Jason, lips pressed into a thin line. Does he want to hear or not?
Jason subsides so quiet!
"When the Rift was open." Mystique begins again, quieter. "It became clear that they were going to send a team over. I didn't think I could handle the situation on my own. I took a team of Hellfire members across, and we killed several of them, but they still obtained a technology. Identification technology. Something to make our blood tests look like the tortoise next to the hare. Since we returned, I have been pushing the limits of my cover in order to get names and locations, but they've been very careful."
Jason nods. Once, and then twice. "So registration is suddenly going to be hugely practical."
"In addition to other things," Mystique answers with a deep frown. There is a hesitation here, a long moment during which she does not continue to speak.
"Getting rid of people with unfortunate powers? Perhaps young?" Jason hazards.
"Whatever they wanted, Jason."
"Well, quite."
"Erik--" She speaks the name and then hesitates again, biting it off to let it hang in the echo of the church.
"Is pissed," Jason hazards.
"Has decided that he's restless and wishes to attack the men we know are involved, and kill them," Mystique corrects with a clear tightening of her jaw. "He wishes to /see what happens/."
Jason tries not to look too interested. "Well. That would be fast."
He tries, but apparently not quite hard enough. Mystique looks at him with disgust and pushes up to her feet in swift motion.
"We are not very skilled in spying, all of us," Jason /quite/ apologizes.
"I don't believe that I've asked any of you to strain yourselves," Mystique answers in a snap. Her spin directs her toward the end of the long row of pews, and her stride carries her there.
"No, you haven't actually asked me to do anything," Jason says, and leans over the bench in another direction as Mystique starts off.
"Would you like to blow some things up, Jason?" Mystique wonders, turning back to start at him down the length of the row.
Jason sticks his hands up in the air. "Yes!" Yatta!
"Exactly," Mystique answers, and turns away once more.
Jason sighs. And slumps. This is tragic.
Mystique confides. Jason is a boy.