driftfleet | [Video] 1st Form

Entry tags:

[Video] 1st Form

Who: Mystique and open
Broadcast: Fleetwide video
Action: Marsiva
When: Now.

[For any that may be watching the new recruit's arrival they would recognize the instant she became conscious, even if she didn't move from the bed. Her form shifted, a change in coloration, blue skin to tanned Caucasian and fiery red hair to glossy blonde. Despite looking like she was still asleep and resting Mystique was hyper aware something was wrong, trying to identify her surroundings through her other senses as she continued to mimic sleep.

Yet several long minutes later after no attack or sounds of another living being, she rose smoothly and cautiously from the bed, eyes darting around to her new surroundings. Her face was stiff, frozen in a forced calm expression while her mind raced to figure out what the hell was going on. It looked like a facility, similar to the one Scott Summers had trapped her in and left her to be experimented on. A flash of white hot rage at the memory shot through her but she quickly shoved it back. She was repay him ten folds for that, but for now she had to focus on what was going on.

Her exploration of the areas was only increasing her frustration and anger, ignoring those others trapped with her for the time and slipping out of their way to try and discover what was going on. Yet it was another discovery that angered her greater than anything else; the augment. She had been chipped, a fucking implant placed in her, and if it wasn't for the information that was ever so slowly trickling through it, to tell her that no, this wasn't a government base holding mutants, or even related to mutants in any way, she would had ripped it right out of her skull. She was still considering it actually.

Instead she looked to find the cameras, the ones she now knew were watching her, unable to keep a snarl from her face as she let her true form show.] Whoever thinks that I'm happy to be part of your little freak show, you're sorely mistaken. Or you will be once I get my hands on you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She did not like that tone, not coming from a disembodied voice she didn't know. It was almost like watching a cat getting irritated, it's back arching and ready to lash out, as her form shifted oh so subtly, ready to strike out if anything came even remotely into her arm reach. Mystique did not like to be talked to that way.

It was Kurt's saving grace that he switched topics, bringing it back to himself that was able to draw her out just enough to distract her from her anger.] You're a mutant?

[She really is so like his mother. Kurt's stricken with the urge to cut the feed and go find Kitty.] Since the day I was born. Same as you, unless you're a very different version of the woman I knew.

[Mystique's eyes narrowed as she shifted back to her more natural form.] Who are you? [Her tone left little room to be argued with, unless of course you were Rogue, as she seemed to argue about everything Mystique ever said.]

[Or her son, who's never been afraid to yell at his mother. He doesn't now, pausing after she asks who he is. Perhaps he will go see Kitty and compare notes face to face, or make an excuse to venture onto the communal ship and distract himself talking to the wolf.] Someone who has a vested interest in seeing you settle in smoothly and not chase your tail on the well-worn path.

[And then, because he has to know how similar they are:] How's Irene?

[If that was suppose to offer her some sort of comfort, it backfired. That was the one person, the one name, she was most protective of. For this unknown person to use it, to have the gall to ask that question, it hit that inner trigger inside of her, pushing her beyond rage. Instead her form relaxed, loosened up, her expression calm, and it looked like she was finally coping with the situation.

Until she spoke. It was cold, still, and held so more threat behind it than anything she had snarled and snapped about before.] Do not say that name.

[No comfort; until he decides to reveal himself, Kurt doesn't expect anything he says to be a comfort. Maybe not even then.]

She's safe then, or long enough dead the sting's dulled a little. [It isn't a question, but at least he drops the topic.] Is Creed an acceptable topic of discussion, or are we going to skip to the part where you try getting answers from me?

[Safe or dead? That was the two options, because if so than... than that last one, it sent a cold chill through her that had nothing to do with how far her anger had taken her. Why would he even ask if Irene was dead, unless... was he able to predict the future too? No, he would had an answer then, he wouldn't had to ask her.

Unless of course he was just toying with her, which Mystique guessed was the case considering his current question. This was not right. This was suppose to be her role, and Mystique hated the concept of having a taste of her own medicine.] Then what's the point of you even contacting me if you are not here to provide answers?

I've answered every question you've asked me, Mystique. Even the rhetorical ones. [Technically.

There's a pause and a rustle, the vague sounds of movement from his end.] I'm many things, but none of them a telepath. I can't answer your questions until you ask them.

Yet still saying nothing. [It would be almost impressive, if it hadn't been aimed at her. She herself was so use to skirting around questions to answer them but not truly do so that to get it from another was infuriating.] So let me be more direct.

You clearly know me enough to ask, certain questions, [Ones she really did not like.] What is your name?

I learned from the best.

[There's a pause after her question, but instead of switching off the audio feed switches to video. There's a clear view of Kurt's face, enough to see the war etched into every line on his face. There's not many, fur covers a multitude of sins. His voice is as steady and neutral as his expression when he answers.] Kurt Darkholme, born of Raven Darkholme and hell if I know who else.

[While she could consider this a step up in information gathering... who was she kidding, she wanted to put a face to those questions he had asked so she could owe him back later for asking such things. Yet the image that came across quickly shoved those thoughts clear out of her head. It wasn't the entirely the blue fur or yellow eyes that caught her, not even the name, but a thought.

'He looks like Azazel.'

Most would get caught up in the coloration difference, something she was so proud had carried onto her son considering the number of features he had picked up from his father, but looking at Kurt, this Kurt, she could see that demon so clearly in him with this age difference. Not the joking boy she knew from Bayville, but this man was...

She tried to keep her face still, controlled, and for anyone seeing her she would succeed, yet there was still enough micro expression that Mystique really had to question if this Kurt could read them. That initial shock, then the terror before it seeped into regret. She hoped he couldn't.

Swallowing down those emotions, Mystique managed to keep her voice clear of them, if a little softer than her previous shouting.] How is this possible? You are clearly not m- You are not the Kurt I know.

[He can. She's not the woman he knew, but his mother taught him to be observant from a young age, and the first face he learned to read was hers. The second was Creed's, whom he assumes the most likely to be his father. His mother always told him she sought out his father because he had the gene for fur, and Creed practically already had a pelt of his own.

Suffice to say, this Kurt's never met Azazel when he was old or lucid enough to remember it.

The shock he'd expected, and the regret answers a question he'd been dreading asking. This Raven lost her son too, intentionally or otherwise. The fear is surprising; does she expect him to hurt her?] No, and you're not the Raven who raised me. The one I knew kept her eyes and hair different, rounder face too. She's also been dead for years.

[He pauses, then adds in a softer tone:] Thank you for being kind enough not to say that I'm not your son. I'm not, but you do sound similar to my mother.

[While it hadn't meant to offer comfort, but to distance herself from her connection to her own son, there was part of Mystique that she refused to acknowledged was glad not to cause him additional pain. Getting past the shock of seeing the features of Azazel on him, she was able to look closer at him, study as much of his face as the screen allowed her to.

He had grown up a fine young man.

Ignoring the mention of 'her' death right now, Mystique instead settled for what she always did; looking for answers.] So this is a case of, what? Other universes? [What else was there? She knew they existed, layers between worlds, but never to something like this where there was copies of people within them.]

[Kurt inclines his head, humming an agreement.] Not the first time I've dealt with it, though not on this sort of scale. Before I came here, I'd spent some time in another universe where mutants had been largely depowered. Some of our criminals had escaped there, and I was charged with hunting them down for trial or execution.

[He sounds completely blase about legally sanctioned murder being part of his duties. The only one he'd enjoyed was killing Dukes, and that brings to mind:] The name Freddy Dukes wouldn't happen to ring bells, would it? Or Blob. Don't be coy about it, I ask for your own safety.

[There was a hint of real anger on her face at the mentioning of the depowering, but it vanished in a flash as he continued. Yet she rose a brow at the extra little line he added on to the end of the question, a retort to it on the tip of her tongue before she realized that yes, she hadn't been that forthcoming so far.

It however didn't stop the stubbornness in her wanting to not say anything just because he had added that though.] He was a, I guess, pupil of mine when I was in control of the Brotherhood. He's still there, along with Quicksilver, Avalanche, Toad, and Scarletwitch.

Wanda and Pietro working with Dukes. [He shakes his head in soft disbelief, burying the pang when he remembers the siblings; Pietro, who had helped save his life as a young man and convinced him to join the X-Men, and Wanda, who had been kind and beautiful and dead far too young protecting their home.

The somberness of his expression hardens with urgency, and he considers switching the feed to private before deciding against it. His conversation with her needs to be public record, even if it means opening his wounds for the entire Fleet to see; his mother was too dangerous to leave room for suspicion to grow between he and the rest of the X-Men.] In my world, Hank McCoy performed experiments on Dukes that made him larger, increased his powers, and a voracious appetite. Not a problem when food was plentiful for the Beast's experiments, but after Apocalypse fell and his followers scattered..

[Kurt presses his lips together, his expression closing off. It works well enough except for his eyes; he can't quite, despite his best efforts, keep the horror playing out in his mind from showing in his eyes.] Don't ever let Dukes starve.

[Despite her best attempts to keep from reaction externally at the information, Mystique couldn't help but cringe in disgust as she worked out just what Kurt meant by those words. That was... ugh.

She was about to give some smart answer back, a dark joke or comment that they hadn't reached that point yet, until she saw his eyes. And suddenly seeing so much of herself in them. Clearly they looked similar, you had to be blind not to see a link, but it was that ability to try and hide true, strong emotion away that was so unlike her Kurt who wore his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see. This one, this one knew not to show weakness, that it would be abused and taken advantage of by the enemy. That you had to swallow it down and ignore it despite how much it wanted to get out.

This Kurt really had been raised by her. Or at least another her.]

Noted. [Mystique took it as a serious comment, her face focused and showing she would hold onto that information. And use it if needed.] However, the Hank McCoy from my world does not have the same taste for experimentation. Yet.

[The set of his expression relaxes slightly when she acknowledges the warning without making a quip. Maybe it's unwarranted; he hopes to the nonexistent gods it is. But as always there's that voice in the back of his head, sounding like no one so much as the woman in front of him, whispering 'what if?'.]

He may never develop the taste; in the world I traveled to, Hank McCoy was a member of the X-Men and trusted enough to handle--an X-Man's autopsy. But he wasn't the only monster from my world to be replicated in another, and not all of them had the same softness of heart. [Sinister, for one. Thankfully Sugarman seemed to be unique to their world.]

[Mystique hesitated before speaking again, yet... he already brought up Destiny, so he knew what she was capable of, right? Knew how important she and her visions were.] Destiny has not mentioned anything of the sort so far, and I, [Hope.] Think if it came to that then she would know enough for us to prevent it from happening if it turns into such a threat as it has been for you.

Knowing what will happen and being able to prevent it are two different things, Mystique. Especially when you are old and your dearest friend won't listen. [The look he gives Raven is decidedly pointed, because his own mother had a bad habit of ignoring Irene when she was being obstinate. And if the pause between your and dearest was a heartbeat too long, Kurt gives nothing away on his face but a hint of watchfulness. He might have done it on purpose, to see how she'll react.]

[That kind of comment instantly got Mystique's hackles up, her own eyes narrowing as her jaw tightened, looking just barely being able to keep herself from lashing out to hit something. When she spoke, it was in very controlled words, a very even voice tone that. If his mother was anything like her, then it was just one step down from barking out in rage.] I know. [She did not need to be lectured by him, she knew all too well that the best laid plans could still go wrong. And it had hurt every time, to see something she should be capable of stopping but wasn't able to, or had to let something else happen for a worse event not to unfold.

It was never easy to just stand by and see such a failure.

The other comment, that pause, went unspoken. It was partly due to her still reacting to the first part, trying to keep that anger from boiling over. Yet it was also because she didn't care what he thought or knew about her relationship with Irene, all that mattered was the other woman was protected and safe.]

[Kurt simply watches her for a few seconds after that, looking her carefully contained rage straight in the face. There's no fear in his, very little change in his expression at all save for the hints of wistfulness, of all things, creeping in around the edges.

Then, of all things, he smiles. It's a small expression that would probably look like a smirk if it weren't for the fondness permeating it.] That expression used to scare the hell out of me as a child. I'd make the situation worse by hiding in the rafters so Mom would have to shift into something that could climb walls, so then she'd be even angrier because there were holes in the wall in addition to whatever she'd been upset about.

[He huffs a soft chuckle and then shakes his head, gesturing with his tail as though to wave the memory away.] But that's not something you care about, it is? Apologies, the memories got away from me. [They did not, but he's doing a damn good job of pretending they did. Mystique, the one he met in the twisted reflection of his world, had been practically starving for the affection of a son that loved her and his memories of a childhood spent with her. Whether this one is the same remains to be seen.]

[It wasn't a case of whether she wanted a relationship like this Kurt and his mother had, if she had lost the chance to do so or never really had it in the first place, it was the presumed familiarity. That he could talk to her like this, keeping her on unsteady ground as he swapped between talk of happy memories and recognized reactions from her to stabs at her life as if he was trying to prod at a wound. And Mystique hated to be left on unsteady ground, to not have control.

Whatever his goal was, she was not appreciating it one bit.] Quite. I'll just leave you to reflect on those memories then.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Video] 1st Form

Audio

Re: Audio

Audio

Re: Audio

Audio

Re: Audio

Audio

Re: Audio

Audio

Audio --> Video

Video

Video

Video

Video

Video

Video

Video

Re: Video

Video

Re: Video

Video

Re: Video

Video