driftfleet | eins (video/action)

Entry tags:

eins (video/action)

Who: Darkholme and whomsoever dares.
Broadcast: Fleet-wide
Action: Marsiva
When: March 4th

Broadcast (can also be an action option for anyone close enough to hear the racket):
[The communicator comes online in the middle of clattering to the floor, bouncing and skidding until it ends up wedged against something that props it at an odd angle. Most of what it shows is a bland view of the ceiling, though the audio of a heavily-accented German voice grumbling is clear as a bell.]

Goddammit, what part of let me d--what the? [There' s a loud implosion of air, with a similar bamf sound echoing further away. The voice mutters something, words indistinct but tone harsh. The clarity increases with the volume as the owner of the voice begins to swear emphatically, lapsing halfway through into truly inventive German, punctuated by the sounds of clattering and movement. Someone just realized his swords are missing.]

Action:
[Sometime after he's calmed down (and hopefully found the communicator/been given a heads-up on the situation, Kurt temporarily gives up on retrieving his swords and goes exploring his temporary home. Feeling vulnerable without his weapons and with a distinct lack of shadows to blend in to, he opts to scurry along the ceiling on fours in lieu of using the floor like a normal person. It also lets him inspect the ceiling for visible cameras, ventilation shafts, wiring, or anything to give him information about their captors' technology level.

Occasionally he stops near one of the huge windows, the view catching his attention even after he's given up on recognizing any of the stars. Kurt's been in space before, but never for long and always too busy fighting to get a good look at the sky. His own world is so polluted with the aftermath of two wars that the stars are hazy--and that's on the clear nights. It's not a good time to catch him on the floor, but it is a good one to catch his attention without interrupting anything.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It takes him a moment to respond, distracted as he is by the other man's appearance. He looks rather like the boy he'd spoken to on his first day, but older. More than that, his entire bearing is different. He weighs that up for a moment, considering.]

Unfortunately, the only people you'll encounter over there are other abductees, likely as startled as you are. The ones behind it all tend not to show themselves.

[Definitely not his Erik, if he's looking at him like that. Not yet, perhaps not ever. Perhaps a different man altogether, even with so many of the expressions he's seen so far reminding him of Magneto.]

Of course they don't, the cowards. I don't suppose we're ever blessed with any kind of information from them? [The word 'blessed' is spoken like it tastes sour on his tongue, his upper lip curling.]

On occasion, I've heard. But not lately. I've certainly not heard anything from them yet.

[He's not been here long enough to have an introductory spiel to give others, even if he were inclined to be that kind of helpful. Still, he knows the facts. There is a certain unimpressed note to his voice as he does so. He doesn't care much for the situation, or the veracity of it.]

We're all brought here as part of a 'reality' television show. Essentially, we're meant to be entertainment for a galaxy's worth of viewers. The ones responsible are known as 'Atroma', and no one has met them in person.

We've been abducted to provide entertainment?! [Apparently Darkholme isn't happy about this either, rage twisting his face into something truly frightening to some. The fact that snarling like that displays very sharp-looking canines doesn't help.]

[Erik's own expression darkens, as he's reminded of the ludicrousness of the situation. It's the right reaction to have, even if his own was muted at the time of arrival.]

Or what passes for it. Whether it's true or not, that's the story being told.

[His tail lashes angrily behind him, showing briefly as a recurring blur the same shade as the majority of his fur. The next few words are in German, hissed too low for more than fragments to be picked up by the communicator's microphone. After drawing a long, slow breath, Kurt's tone is carefully even.] I can more fully appreciate why they took my swords. And why I'm in this damned outfit instead of my customary one.

I take it your preferred clothing is made for something more intense than a cruise through space.

[He hadn't worn his own armor in quite a while, so he'd had no cause to lose it on the way. He wasn't in the habit of carrying a hunting knife since leaving Kyriakos, either. Not that he strictly needs one.]

Yes. This is well and good enough, barring the horrific color scheme, but mine had bits of armor as well. I suppose those would have went the way of swords, though?

[Even if he'd only been left with his base uniform and gloves, it would've been comforting. If perhaps affording him a little less protection than the one he's wearing now; they didn't exactly have the resources for cloth with body armor woven in, or whatever Logan included in X-Force's uniforms.]

Most likely. There's some kind of armor available on the ships, once you're put on one, but it's basic issue unless you're part of security.

That's going to be a problem. [He adjusts the communicator to point over his shoulder, just in time for a tail to drift into view. Blue and tipped in a spade, it pauses long enough for said spade to bend in an approximation of a wave before the view shifts back to his face.] I have a small problem wearing anything 'off the rack.'

[He follows the movement and the tail with a look of intrigue. It reminds him of Azazel's, though it's been a long time since he last saw that man. After a moment, he smirks lightly.]

Well. Perhaps you can find a tailor.

[It may not even be hard, here in space. Aliens, and all.]

Who needs a tailor? Give me something to cut with and an hour with the armor, and I'll either have it finished or in pieces.

[He smiles, then adds as though an afterthought.] I've been horribly rude, haven't I? Please allow me to introduce myself; my name is Kurt Darkholme.

[The name jolts him slightly. There's a moment where Erik doesn't so much pull back as realign his bearing, straightening his shoulders and sharpening his gaze.]

I'm Blade. It's a pleasure.

[There's a pause while Erik flips the communicator to private. His earlier decision to use Blade as his name means he's still proceeding with caution. But surely this isn't a coincidence. Remembering his own arrival, he decides to take Nightingale's approach.]

Does the name Raven Darkholme mean anything to you?

[His chin lifts slightly when Erik straightens, his expression settling into one not quite neutral. It's just a touch too alert, a little too something else that he's trying to hide. (Hope. The expression he's trying and mostly masking is hope.)

Kurt doesn't say anything until the transmission switches over, that left eyebrow that's probably going to be able to lift weights with the workout it's gotten twitching upward. When Blade brings up his mother's name Kurt smirks. In his world, that particular expression he inherited from her, and he's doing it now solely to see this man's reaction.] It means quite a bit to me, though I didn't know the woman as well by that name.

[It's uncanny, to the point where he wonders how he didn't see it before. Perhaps because he didn't know to look for it, and the other boy he'd met had none of that kind of attitude.]

Mystique, then.

[He would hope so, at least. He hasn't got enough experience with other realities to know if names change between them. Surely though... some things must be constant across them all.]

[Fur masks a multitude of sins; and, to be fair, the man's inhuman features tend to make identifying familial features difficult. Back home, more than one person had brought up the possibility of a blood tie to Blink due to their ears and similar powers.]

When we were in the field, yes. Outside of it, I usually called her Mom. [And maybe that's more information than he needs to give, but his relationship to Mystique has always been more of a warning sign than a weak point. Darkholmes are dangerous and tricky vipers in his world, even when they're the good guys. Given what he's seen of another world's Mystique, he's hoping that's the same for this man who says his name is Blade.]

[Maybe it should have been obvious immediately. But even knowing that different realities and times were at play, knowing that Kitty was familiar with an older Magneto, it didn't change his thinking quite enough to think that the relationship could be parental. And yet, he's not startled for long by the revelation. If he realigns his point of view, it makes much more sense.

He smiles then, a quick turn of the lips.]

Then it really is a pleasure. The Mystique I know isn't old enough yet to be mother to someone your age. But then, I already know there are a number of realities present here.

You're absolutely certain about that? The woman I know has been in her twenties for a very long time. [Since at least the 1800s; long enough that she had only hazy memories of her childhood. She'd told Kurt once that she was fairly certain 1900 was the first turn-of-century she'd witnessed, but couldn't be absolute.] But you bring up a point I'd like to confirm with you. What does the name Charles mean to you? [Not Charles Xavier, just Charles.]

I'm fairly certain. [Raven hadn't discussed her past all that much with him. But she grew up with Charles, to the point the other man thought he'd 'raised' her. If they were children together, her twenties, long-lasting or not, were still fairly recent. He didn't have much cause to doubt that.

That question is simple enough, at least for him. He only knows one.] It means someone who's a good friend of mine. Though he would know me better as Erik. [Since he's this far in, he might as well go all the way. It's only for effect; his Charles knows 'Blade' perfectly well.]

Then I apologize for taking the mystery out of her future. [Except he isn't. If this man is from a world where his mother is young enough not to know the life-span she has ahead, he'd rather she had some kind of warning.

Kurt doesn't quite smile at the information, but there's a tiny bit of warmth in his expression that wasn't there before. He could try to hide it, maybe should try, but it could be useful letting this Erik know that he thinks fondly of his counterpart.] I wondered. You have the same face as a man I know, but the hair's all wrong. Still brown, to begin.

Compared to other futures I've heard of, I don't mind. [A long life would be better than the fate that had once awaited her. Whether he'd ever have a chance to mention this to Mystique was another matter. She would be within her rights to never talk to him again.]

I have heard from at least one other person here that they were used to me being much older. And grey.

Any of those less fortunate futures involve her? [The question sounds casual, polite. It isn't as important to Kurt as it might be, considering the subject; his own mother has been missing since the first war, vanished again after a disagreement. Not unusual, but when she didn't show for his wedding or his wife's funeral, Kurt didn't need to see a body to know what had happened.]

Older and grey and with a young wife, yes. [Now he does smirk, mischief lighting his eyes. The troll can't be suppressed for long.] The Erik I knew went grey at a young age, so unless you're much vainer than he..

Not anymore. [That's a guess. But he knows well enough what the criteria was to change the Sentinel future - stop Mystique from killing Trask. That was done. Whether it was enough was anyone's guess. For now, he chooses to assume it was enough to prevent that particular future. He'll only know for sure when he hits ninety years old.

That comment is what finally throws him for a loop. Enough to distract him entirely from the hair-dye insinuation.] --a wife? [Considering his current romantic life, that was just about the last thing he expected to hear.]

Good. I'm aware the differences in worlds are such that she may never produce me in yours, but in mine she was a good mother to me.

[Said grin widens at Erik's befuddlement, lighting his face.] Mhm. My sister; apparently you were fond enough of the family you decided to marry into it.

[Oh what tangled reality webs we weave. He shakes his head, not so much in disbelief but out of a need to just physically do something to regain his grip on the conversation.]

I've certainly been busy, in these other lifetimes.

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