The Falcon Cannot Hear the Falconer
The temerity of that man, coming to my club, my office - standing before my throne and making demands. He is vastly powerful, but his power is personal - he carries it with him, like a hobo does his suitcase, and even the wealth of nations in a suitcase can buy only one thing at a time.
It's the Hellfire Club, and Shaw is in his office, smoking a cigar with an air of superiority on his face - just about to sit down to a talk with Bahir when words comes of the Master of Magnetism's sudden arrival, minion in tow. "Well," he says. "Fuck me." A look around. "Bahir, if you'll oblige me... through that door there?" He indicates the bedroom.
"...." Bahir is eloquent, at least, as he follows the gesture down the line of Shaw's arm to his bedroom. His lip curls toward a sneer, but reason (and caution. and maybe a certain /healthy/ portion of fear--) steer him where directed. "Let's not make this habit," he says lightly over his shoulder, slipping in to look through Shaw's medicine cabinet as he waits. << I suppose that you don't just want me to take a nap. >>
<< No, >> the Black King's mind echoes. << And don't you be getting any ideas, either. I'm sure he'll have that silly hat of his on, but he has a minion with him. >> He's sitting at his desk, quiet and comfortable.
The Master of Magnetism indeed, without so much as a telepathic trace to give him away. The silvery, delicate device snugged in around his right ear has seen to that. Black overcoat swinging heavy about his measured stride, collar flipped high and shoulders rigid, he is very much upright and alert as he nears Sebastian's door - little more than a glance cast over his shoulder after Sarah along the way.
When Magneto requested Marrow's presence, and escort into the city, she did not deny him. Curiosity as well as a change in scenery compelled her to make the long and mostly silent drive. Upon arrival, thin fingers paw at her current attire - rather baggy jeans, a shredded sweater that's seen better days, and a ballcap that hardly hides maroon locks - as she's suddenly obvious to its inadequacy for the location. Despite, she carries herself tall - bristling protruding bones an intimidation factor where her scrawniness is not.
Bahir? Ideas? Perish the thought. He makes as if he has never committed gross acts of stupidity where Magneto is concerned, and stays silent -- in the bedroom. Telepathy opens wide, an imperceptible thing that draws information running freely from unguarded minds.
A black pawn in neat uniform pulls open the door to the office of Sebastian Shaw - and inside, the man himself rises from behind his desk, smiling - natty in pinstripes and blood-red tie. "Erik!" he says with bass warmth. "It's so pleasant to see you - it really has," he informs the man, "been too long." Eyes flicker to Marrow, too trained to widen at all at her protruberances. "And who," he murmurs with amusement, "is the darling cherub you have brought with you?" A hand is extended over the desk in Sarah's direction. "Sebastian Shaw," he says. "A pleasure, I'm sure."
There is a wine-hued sheen to the dark of Erik's suit once he's deigned to shrug out of his overcoat upon entering, but black seems to be the running theme in his own attire, from fedora to the neatly polished toes of his dress shoes. For all of Shaw's generous enthusiasm, the younger man gets little more than a coldly skeptical look, and Erik's turned shoulder as he squints for a place to hang his coat. "If we could keep condescension to a tolerable minimum, Sebastian..."
At least the conversation in the car prepared the young woman for who they were meeting, saving Sarah from widening her own eyes at the drop of the name. A hesitance does wander about shadowed jade eyes before that hand is clasped, polite firmness in the shake while a name is given, "Sarah Rushman." Mentally, she's processing her last visit into New York City, the enticing or riots, the missed opportunities of meeting past friends and acquaintences.
"I'm willing to call that fair terms," Shaw responds amicably to Magneto. "Why don't you both have a seat?" he suggests, walking towards the drinks cabinet with a casual air. << Why the hell are they here, Bahir? That old man /unsettles/ me. >> He starts to uncork well-loved bourbon, filling two glasses. "What's your poison, Miss Rushman?" he inquires. << I wonder what would happen if I just put cyanide in the man's drink? >>
Coat set aside, and his fedora settled after it, Erik smooths a hand neatly (and somewhat unecessarily) down the smooth press of his suit before glancing evenly to Sarah, and then moving to claim a chair for himself. Something pops low in his back, but he seems to settle comfortably enough with his knees apart, and his hands curled lazily about their respective arm rests.
<< Perhaps the liquor, >> Bahir suggests as he considers Shaw's hair products. He switches the bottles for no good reason, from one side to the other, and then drifts back to look out the bedroom window. Morbid fascination wreathing his tone, he asks, << Do you /have/ cyanide? >> There is the slightest hint that he wouldn't be surprised. The touch of his mind settles as he turns more serious, taking a seat. << Let me see what I can find out. >> Telepathy does more than passively gather, now, reaching out slip through Marrow's mind to see what she knows of the visit. << Can't get anything out of /him/. >>
Sarah does not take the proffered seat, and the offering of a drink gets a wag of her malformed head and a polite raise of her hand. "No, thanks." Assuming an uncharacteristic silence, the woman remains just behind and to the side of Magneto, hands clasped neatly before her. Boredom is starting to edge around the fringes of her grey matter - song lyrics background noise for occupation. Being a minion tends to be a disadvantage for telepaths as she's not been told much, merely that Erik will be holding audience for a 'chat'. Marrow seems to be wondering herself just what the discussion will entail.
<< Don't ever mistake the unmarked pill bottle at the back of the drinks cabinet for Tylenol, >> Shaw recommends. "As you say," he murmurs to Marrow, returning with two drinks. One is deposited in front of Magneto before the Black King takes his seat, glancing across the table with an urbane smile. "So," he says, quietly saluting the other man and taking a sip. "How can I help you?"
"Before the week is over," begins Magneto without a tremendous amount of pause, though he does lift a hand in half-hearted gesture meant to stay the offer of alcohol, "I will have released a video to the media claiming the recent EMP detonation over Manhattan as one of my own power and design." A few seconds of pause are extend to allow for that to settle, and his long fingers wrap loosely back about his chair. "The war against humanity has begun. I have started it. But for now, my goals are realistic. I wish to see the end of mutant registration - but even in that, there is a problem."
The soft breath of laughter is too quiet to carry through thick walls and a heavy door. Bahir rests his head on the pillow of his arms. << Noted. I get little from her. She does not know much. >> However, she does have a better view (or better ear--) on the conversation, so he eavesdrops through her thoughts when words transmit through air with imperfect clarity.
Thin lips gradually curl into a pleased smile with the words passed from Magneto; a subtle pride is renewed within Sarah's mind. This is what she's been waiting for, this is why she's followed, why she's kept herself at the compound.
"I came to that conclusion some time ago," Shaw responds. "I suspect I'm not the only one - but I have to say, Erik..." His lips curve into the worst sort of Shere Khan smile. "I welcome that war. Tell me - can I sell you any bombs?" Fingers flicker to underline his point. "There's a problem," he continues. "I am all ears."
"I..." So comes the offer of bombs, and Erik's brows knit as he shakes his head slightly, caught a trifle off guard. "...No. Not at the moment." The clear blue of his glare bordering gently upon suspicion, he resettles somewhat in his chair, broad shoulders braced stiff against its back. "Ours is a government that does not negotiate with terrorists - and as things are, it has enough support from the general populace to do as it wishes, even with the threat of scandal looming up over the horizon."
Malachite eyes watch Shaw with a dull interest, a muted curiosity while Sarah remains sentinel.
Shaw deadpans, "I am confident widespread disaster in New York is just the thing to turn the public to your side, Erik - it worked so /well/ for Usama." He sips at his bourbon. "It's true - your voice is unlikely," he acknowledges, "to silence mutant registration - and so I presume you come to me to ask the Club to get involved."
Had Erik hackles, it's doubtless that they would lift at that comparison. As things are, the rather nuetral nature of his glare burns briefly with an icy malice that he seems hard-pressed to control until he's had an opportunity to focus down upon the glass of bourbon on the desk between them. "I am capable of providing violence, but as you have observed, I hold very little political sway. That is your arena."
The Black King eyes the Master of Magnetism for several long, level moments. "I feel confident in our ability to see registration overturned," he says. "A little nudging, and the courts can probably even be convinced to get a conscience and ignore case law - make a ruling that can't be avoided by a more cleverly written law." A beat. "And yet..."
"Mutant registration does nothing to end violence, and everything to incite it. Registered or not, everyone is entirely aware of who and what I am, and that awareness cannot..." In Shaw's office, and indeed, across most of New York, main electricity fails for the umpteenth time this week. The power flickers, and Erik lifts his chin. "I do not merely wish to end registration. I would /prefer/ that the administration responsible for it suffer a severe decline in its approval rating in the wake of my announcement."
"The administration responsible for it is likely to get a significant boost because of your announcement," Shaw informs Erik bluntly. "Lowe was on the rapid road to impeachment, but nothing makes a President more popular than an attack on American soil. I'm not telling you this isn't a fine piece of manuever in your war, Erik - but don't think you're going to win the hearts and minds of all-American, all-/natural/ voters by knocking planes out of the sky."
"You're a businessman, Sebastian. I am certain you are familiar with the concept of 'spin'. If Lowe's administration had not instituted Mutant Registration, I would not have acted, and planes would not have fallen from the sky, as you say." Brows lifted, Erik's prior anger seems to have faded to a more manageable underglow, and his posture has begun to ease into something far more confidently relaxed. "I do not intend to run for President. Nor do I intend to promote myself by any other means. I merely wish for Lowe to reap what he has sown - and from the beginning, before that boost has an opportunity to initiate."
"I'm the Black King of the Hellfire Club, Erik. We invented it." Sebastian Shaw's smile is thin. "We are committed, for our own reasons, to the hunting of the President. Your actions are certainly going to affect that enterprise, but they aren't the genesis of it. Merely an..." He flicks his fingers. "...inconvenient obstacle, and one we'll circumvent." Now teeth glitter white between his lips. "War, after all, is just but one of our harbringers."
"Sebastian," says Erik, and he says it with the utmost patience, "when I release my video at the end of this week, I do not want Lowe's approval rating or confidence in the need for mutant registration to boost significantly. I do not care how you accomplish this, nor do I have any interest at all in your own interpretation of my intentions. This is not a negotiation. This is me, telling you what you are going to do if you wish to retain the security of your position here."
Shaw bristles - it's visible, perhaps, in the tightening of his eyes, in the set of his mouth - but to Bahir, it's a sudden black inferno kept in check only with iron will under great pressure. "Your concerns, Erik," he says - speaking very slowly, enunciating each word - "have been noted."
"I have been careful to avoid treading upon your own operations up until this point, and I do not desire to fuel a fresh rivalry between us, but rest assured that I will take matters into my own hands if I feel I must." With that and a hard look for Shaw's bristle, Erik sets his own jaw and pushes up out of his chair.
"Careful to avoid treading on my operations?" Shaw wonders. "That's an interesting turn of phrase, Erik." He is all smiles again as he rises from his chair in time with Magneto. "That's largely exactly the phrase I would have used to describe you informing my dear Queen you wished to supplant me."
"If my occasional interests are entertained, then there is no reason for me to assume the mantle of King to be certain that my agenda is acted upon." Eye contact levered hard across the desk, Erik keeps his shoulders straight and his expression impossible to read. "Generally speaking, I have more important things to occupy myself with. I'm sure you understand."
<< Before she leaves, Bahir, >> Shaw thinks. << Can you pluck the location of Magneto's base from her mind? >> He smiles to Erik. "Crystal," he tells the man. "There is one other thing," he murmurs. "About your metamorph."
Magneto's jaw hollows a bit, and he lifts a brow. He's listening.
Sarah's eyes have been switching mildly from man to man - and up to the flickering lights when appropriate - before settling back upon Magneto with his defining words. She shifts marginally, a step away from his chair, allowing him room for passage so as to resume her position behind him when called for. Outlined clearly and naively in her mind is the location of the abandoned mining facility, a three hour drive from here, one hour from Albany.
<< I can try, >> Bahir answers. He winds telepathy all the closer around Marrow's thoughts, turning them toward the memory of the base and riffling. She is so nicely unguarded as to make it child's play, and Bahir feeds the information straight to Shaw.
"Tell her she's welcome for dinner and a game of pool any time she'd like," Shaw says lightly, echoing a silent. "Just..." A beat. "Not Talhurst. It's a little creepy." Bahir's words get a << Thank you >>, and Shaw can cease his patter. "Always a pleasure, Erik. But next time, call first - I'll make sure to prepare some special."
"I'm sure she will be beside herself," Erik informs rather dryly, his eyes lingering on Shaw as he moves to turn back to Sarah and the door beyond her. No formal farewell is offered. He merely collects his hat and coat and heads on along his way. It is expected that Marrow will follow.
"Do," Shaw bids, "take care." With that, he retakes his seat and eyes the burnt-out stub of his cigar.
Marrow, indeed, and without any goodbye biddings on her behalf, follows.
And from the bedroom: << Can I come out yet? >>
"You may," Shaw intones once the pawns report Magneto to have safely cleared the area. He's alright relighting a second cigar. "Such a /creepy/ old man."
It's the Hellfire Club, and Shaw is in his office, smoking a cigar with an air of superiority on his face - just about to sit down to a talk with Bahir when words comes of the Master of Magnetism's sudden arrival, minion in tow. "Well," he says. "Fuck me." A look around. "Bahir, if you'll oblige me... through that door there?" He indicates the bedroom.
"...." Bahir is eloquent, at least, as he follows the gesture down the line of Shaw's arm to his bedroom. His lip curls toward a sneer, but reason (and caution. and maybe a certain /healthy/ portion of fear--) steer him where directed. "Let's not make this habit," he says lightly over his shoulder, slipping in to look through Shaw's medicine cabinet as he waits. << I suppose that you don't just want me to take a nap. >>
<< No, >> the Black King's mind echoes. << And don't you be getting any ideas, either. I'm sure he'll have that silly hat of his on, but he has a minion with him. >> He's sitting at his desk, quiet and comfortable.
The Master of Magnetism indeed, without so much as a telepathic trace to give him away. The silvery, delicate device snugged in around his right ear has seen to that. Black overcoat swinging heavy about his measured stride, collar flipped high and shoulders rigid, he is very much upright and alert as he nears Sebastian's door - little more than a glance cast over his shoulder after Sarah along the way.
When Magneto requested Marrow's presence, and escort into the city, she did not deny him. Curiosity as well as a change in scenery compelled her to make the long and mostly silent drive. Upon arrival, thin fingers paw at her current attire - rather baggy jeans, a shredded sweater that's seen better days, and a ballcap that hardly hides maroon locks - as she's suddenly obvious to its inadequacy for the location. Despite, she carries herself tall - bristling protruding bones an intimidation factor where her scrawniness is not.
Bahir? Ideas? Perish the thought. He makes as if he has never committed gross acts of stupidity where Magneto is concerned, and stays silent -- in the bedroom. Telepathy opens wide, an imperceptible thing that draws information running freely from unguarded minds.
A black pawn in neat uniform pulls open the door to the office of Sebastian Shaw - and inside, the man himself rises from behind his desk, smiling - natty in pinstripes and blood-red tie. "Erik!" he says with bass warmth. "It's so pleasant to see you - it really has," he informs the man, "been too long." Eyes flicker to Marrow, too trained to widen at all at her protruberances. "And who," he murmurs with amusement, "is the darling cherub you have brought with you?" A hand is extended over the desk in Sarah's direction. "Sebastian Shaw," he says. "A pleasure, I'm sure."
There is a wine-hued sheen to the dark of Erik's suit once he's deigned to shrug out of his overcoat upon entering, but black seems to be the running theme in his own attire, from fedora to the neatly polished toes of his dress shoes. For all of Shaw's generous enthusiasm, the younger man gets little more than a coldly skeptical look, and Erik's turned shoulder as he squints for a place to hang his coat. "If we could keep condescension to a tolerable minimum, Sebastian..."
At least the conversation in the car prepared the young woman for who they were meeting, saving Sarah from widening her own eyes at the drop of the name. A hesitance does wander about shadowed jade eyes before that hand is clasped, polite firmness in the shake while a name is given, "Sarah Rushman." Mentally, she's processing her last visit into New York City, the enticing or riots, the missed opportunities of meeting past friends and acquaintences.
"I'm willing to call that fair terms," Shaw responds amicably to Magneto. "Why don't you both have a seat?" he suggests, walking towards the drinks cabinet with a casual air. << Why the hell are they here, Bahir? That old man /unsettles/ me. >> He starts to uncork well-loved bourbon, filling two glasses. "What's your poison, Miss Rushman?" he inquires. << I wonder what would happen if I just put cyanide in the man's drink? >>
Coat set aside, and his fedora settled after it, Erik smooths a hand neatly (and somewhat unecessarily) down the smooth press of his suit before glancing evenly to Sarah, and then moving to claim a chair for himself. Something pops low in his back, but he seems to settle comfortably enough with his knees apart, and his hands curled lazily about their respective arm rests.
<< Perhaps the liquor, >> Bahir suggests as he considers Shaw's hair products. He switches the bottles for no good reason, from one side to the other, and then drifts back to look out the bedroom window. Morbid fascination wreathing his tone, he asks, << Do you /have/ cyanide? >> There is the slightest hint that he wouldn't be surprised. The touch of his mind settles as he turns more serious, taking a seat. << Let me see what I can find out. >> Telepathy does more than passively gather, now, reaching out slip through Marrow's mind to see what she knows of the visit. << Can't get anything out of /him/. >>
Sarah does not take the proffered seat, and the offering of a drink gets a wag of her malformed head and a polite raise of her hand. "No, thanks." Assuming an uncharacteristic silence, the woman remains just behind and to the side of Magneto, hands clasped neatly before her. Boredom is starting to edge around the fringes of her grey matter - song lyrics background noise for occupation. Being a minion tends to be a disadvantage for telepaths as she's not been told much, merely that Erik will be holding audience for a 'chat'. Marrow seems to be wondering herself just what the discussion will entail.
<< Don't ever mistake the unmarked pill bottle at the back of the drinks cabinet for Tylenol, >> Shaw recommends. "As you say," he murmurs to Marrow, returning with two drinks. One is deposited in front of Magneto before the Black King takes his seat, glancing across the table with an urbane smile. "So," he says, quietly saluting the other man and taking a sip. "How can I help you?"
"Before the week is over," begins Magneto without a tremendous amount of pause, though he does lift a hand in half-hearted gesture meant to stay the offer of alcohol, "I will have released a video to the media claiming the recent EMP detonation over Manhattan as one of my own power and design." A few seconds of pause are extend to allow for that to settle, and his long fingers wrap loosely back about his chair. "The war against humanity has begun. I have started it. But for now, my goals are realistic. I wish to see the end of mutant registration - but even in that, there is a problem."
The soft breath of laughter is too quiet to carry through thick walls and a heavy door. Bahir rests his head on the pillow of his arms. << Noted. I get little from her. She does not know much. >> However, she does have a better view (or better ear--) on the conversation, so he eavesdrops through her thoughts when words transmit through air with imperfect clarity.
Thin lips gradually curl into a pleased smile with the words passed from Magneto; a subtle pride is renewed within Sarah's mind. This is what she's been waiting for, this is why she's followed, why she's kept herself at the compound.
"I came to that conclusion some time ago," Shaw responds. "I suspect I'm not the only one - but I have to say, Erik..." His lips curve into the worst sort of Shere Khan smile. "I welcome that war. Tell me - can I sell you any bombs?" Fingers flicker to underline his point. "There's a problem," he continues. "I am all ears."
"I..." So comes the offer of bombs, and Erik's brows knit as he shakes his head slightly, caught a trifle off guard. "...No. Not at the moment." The clear blue of his glare bordering gently upon suspicion, he resettles somewhat in his chair, broad shoulders braced stiff against its back. "Ours is a government that does not negotiate with terrorists - and as things are, it has enough support from the general populace to do as it wishes, even with the threat of scandal looming up over the horizon."
Malachite eyes watch Shaw with a dull interest, a muted curiosity while Sarah remains sentinel.
Shaw deadpans, "I am confident widespread disaster in New York is just the thing to turn the public to your side, Erik - it worked so /well/ for Usama." He sips at his bourbon. "It's true - your voice is unlikely," he acknowledges, "to silence mutant registration - and so I presume you come to me to ask the Club to get involved."
Had Erik hackles, it's doubtless that they would lift at that comparison. As things are, the rather nuetral nature of his glare burns briefly with an icy malice that he seems hard-pressed to control until he's had an opportunity to focus down upon the glass of bourbon on the desk between them. "I am capable of providing violence, but as you have observed, I hold very little political sway. That is your arena."
The Black King eyes the Master of Magnetism for several long, level moments. "I feel confident in our ability to see registration overturned," he says. "A little nudging, and the courts can probably even be convinced to get a conscience and ignore case law - make a ruling that can't be avoided by a more cleverly written law." A beat. "And yet..."
"Mutant registration does nothing to end violence, and everything to incite it. Registered or not, everyone is entirely aware of who and what I am, and that awareness cannot..." In Shaw's office, and indeed, across most of New York, main electricity fails for the umpteenth time this week. The power flickers, and Erik lifts his chin. "I do not merely wish to end registration. I would /prefer/ that the administration responsible for it suffer a severe decline in its approval rating in the wake of my announcement."
"The administration responsible for it is likely to get a significant boost because of your announcement," Shaw informs Erik bluntly. "Lowe was on the rapid road to impeachment, but nothing makes a President more popular than an attack on American soil. I'm not telling you this isn't a fine piece of manuever in your war, Erik - but don't think you're going to win the hearts and minds of all-American, all-/natural/ voters by knocking planes out of the sky."
"You're a businessman, Sebastian. I am certain you are familiar with the concept of 'spin'. If Lowe's administration had not instituted Mutant Registration, I would not have acted, and planes would not have fallen from the sky, as you say." Brows lifted, Erik's prior anger seems to have faded to a more manageable underglow, and his posture has begun to ease into something far more confidently relaxed. "I do not intend to run for President. Nor do I intend to promote myself by any other means. I merely wish for Lowe to reap what he has sown - and from the beginning, before that boost has an opportunity to initiate."
"I'm the Black King of the Hellfire Club, Erik. We invented it." Sebastian Shaw's smile is thin. "We are committed, for our own reasons, to the hunting of the President. Your actions are certainly going to affect that enterprise, but they aren't the genesis of it. Merely an..." He flicks his fingers. "...inconvenient obstacle, and one we'll circumvent." Now teeth glitter white between his lips. "War, after all, is just but one of our harbringers."
"Sebastian," says Erik, and he says it with the utmost patience, "when I release my video at the end of this week, I do not want Lowe's approval rating or confidence in the need for mutant registration to boost significantly. I do not care how you accomplish this, nor do I have any interest at all in your own interpretation of my intentions. This is not a negotiation. This is me, telling you what you are going to do if you wish to retain the security of your position here."
Shaw bristles - it's visible, perhaps, in the tightening of his eyes, in the set of his mouth - but to Bahir, it's a sudden black inferno kept in check only with iron will under great pressure. "Your concerns, Erik," he says - speaking very slowly, enunciating each word - "have been noted."
"I have been careful to avoid treading upon your own operations up until this point, and I do not desire to fuel a fresh rivalry between us, but rest assured that I will take matters into my own hands if I feel I must." With that and a hard look for Shaw's bristle, Erik sets his own jaw and pushes up out of his chair.
"Careful to avoid treading on my operations?" Shaw wonders. "That's an interesting turn of phrase, Erik." He is all smiles again as he rises from his chair in time with Magneto. "That's largely exactly the phrase I would have used to describe you informing my dear Queen you wished to supplant me."
"If my occasional interests are entertained, then there is no reason for me to assume the mantle of King to be certain that my agenda is acted upon." Eye contact levered hard across the desk, Erik keeps his shoulders straight and his expression impossible to read. "Generally speaking, I have more important things to occupy myself with. I'm sure you understand."
<< Before she leaves, Bahir, >> Shaw thinks. << Can you pluck the location of Magneto's base from her mind? >> He smiles to Erik. "Crystal," he tells the man. "There is one other thing," he murmurs. "About your metamorph."
Magneto's jaw hollows a bit, and he lifts a brow. He's listening.
Sarah's eyes have been switching mildly from man to man - and up to the flickering lights when appropriate - before settling back upon Magneto with his defining words. She shifts marginally, a step away from his chair, allowing him room for passage so as to resume her position behind him when called for. Outlined clearly and naively in her mind is the location of the abandoned mining facility, a three hour drive from here, one hour from Albany.
<< I can try, >> Bahir answers. He winds telepathy all the closer around Marrow's thoughts, turning them toward the memory of the base and riffling. She is so nicely unguarded as to make it child's play, and Bahir feeds the information straight to Shaw.
"Tell her she's welcome for dinner and a game of pool any time she'd like," Shaw says lightly, echoing a silent. "Just..." A beat. "Not Talhurst. It's a little creepy." Bahir's words get a << Thank you >>, and Shaw can cease his patter. "Always a pleasure, Erik. But next time, call first - I'll make sure to prepare some special."
"I'm sure she will be beside herself," Erik informs rather dryly, his eyes lingering on Shaw as he moves to turn back to Sarah and the door beyond her. No formal farewell is offered. He merely collects his hat and coat and heads on along his way. It is expected that Marrow will follow.
"Do," Shaw bids, "take care." With that, he retakes his seat and eyes the burnt-out stub of his cigar.
Marrow, indeed, and without any goodbye biddings on her behalf, follows.
And from the bedroom: << Can I come out yet? >>
"You may," Shaw intones once the pawns report Magneto to have safely cleared the area. He's alright relighting a second cigar. "Such a /creepy/ old man."