18856/And the Sky, Full of Stars

And the Sky, Full of Stars
Date of Scene:	24 September 2024
Location:	The Gardens
Synopsis:	Follow a pinprick of light into the void and one will find themselves still among a familiar yet distinct field of stars, innumerable as though multiplying by discovery. Madelyne comes to Magneto to delve such a mystery.
Cast of Characters:	Erik Lensherr, Madelyne Pryor

---

Erik Lensherr has posed:
Some lives, some timelines are wound tighter within the spiraling spring of enigma than others. Even in such existences, driven or obsessive over this puzzle and the next, some peculiarities are more noteworthy than others.

All too often when too many questions seek answers, all that abound are more riddles. Such as when a, not the, Jean Grey all but tumbles onto the Brotherhood's doorstep, becoming a close ally and operative of Genosha; of Lorna Dane.

Moreso when all the documentation on such a person, by matter of occam's razor, almost -has- to be a nigh-complete dossier of lies. Some measure of the Master of Magnetism's puzzle-solving acumen has been devoted to this mystery since he discovered it, in the Christopher Columbus sense of the word. Surreptitiously obtaining a DNA sample, under the circumstances, was both simple and far more droll than the deviant may be inclined to imagine.

From there, well-- there's the question of confirming the hypothesis, that Madelyne Pryor is indeed a clone. There's the question of dating the actual cellular structures by the molecular bonds themselves. Then there's, perhaps a bit late in the process-- but not everyone is socially functional, per se-- considering the woman herself. So she is invited to parlay with Magneto directly, overlooking the brilliant interconnected luminescence of the Eastern Seaboard at night.

A plate of fresh fruit, a cart of fine beverages are both set out, and Magnus savors a piece of the former while studying the planet beneath seated upon a bench of hardwood and wrought iron. His powerforged garb consists of loose loungewear in deepest purple and darkest black, while an antique pocket watch plays in-- or above-- his grasp.

Piece by intricate piece, in impossibly synchronous tandem, the clockwork mechanisms, the fine springs and interlocked gears, disassemble and reassemble themselves as if from uncanny automation.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
By this point in her short career as a member of the Brotherhood and citizen of Genosha, Madelyne has dealt with the Queen. Enough so that she's on a (reluctant on her part) first name basis with the monarch. This should make it strange that the summons sends a chill up her spine. Magneto is not a king. He's an emeritus monarch, father of the queen, and distant figure of both awe and terror.

After all, there was a long time in her life where the tales of Magneto's terrorism were frightening to her, a simple human woman whose job was piloting metal tubes through the air by the grace of physics and fluid dynamics. In her line of work, she would have been intensely vulnerable to his terrible powers.

Not now, though the summons is curious and a little anxiety inducing. She didn't expect it, Lorna didn't warn her about it. So this must be something Magneto is doing on his own. As she gets ready, making herself presentable, she wonders what this could be about.

She arrives, dressed like she's going to a business meeting in a (reasonably) tailored pantsuit. It's black with wide legged trousers, a dark violet blouse, and matching blazer. She is, at least, wearing sensible flats this time.

She hesitates, taking in the Master of Magnetism and his, well, deeply intricate fidget toy. She clears her throat, standing about three paces back from the bench, taking the sight of space in. "You wished to see me? ... uh, sir?"

Erik Lensherr has posed:
It's true that Magneto is capable of great and terrible acts; and more than a few now reside forever upon his resume'. It's also true that the man is more than worthy of his nomenclature as the Master of Magnetism; one of the world's most powerful mutants. If the aloof patriarch means any threat or malice-- or even professional distance-- it's not readily apparent.

The pocket watch -snaps- back together to perfect, operating precision, ticking once more as he turns his eyes from the panoramic view to Madelyne herself and spares a sympathetic, surprisingly warm half of a smile. "Please, be at ease." A graceful gesture indicates the array of seating options and refreshments in the small clearing, aside a small waterfall rushing down roughly hewn stonework.

"I've asked you here because you've been a stalwart defender of our cause; and because mutants whose potential outstrips my own are always doubly fascinating." As bombshells he could drop out the gate, it's among the more disarming choices. "Tell me about how you came to be--- here?" He inquires, broadly, perhaps somewhat vaguely; this is likely quite intentional.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
As first impressions go, this one is kind of whiplash. The absolute precision and intensity over the watch, the excellence of execution. It's impressive and feels more than a little imperious. From that to the watch snapping back together, working perfectly, and the air of a kind, if seemingly strict teacher is almost jarring.

She accepts the invitation, sitting primly on a bench like she was arriving at a job interview. Though she does almost goggle and balk at his claim that -she- has more potential than -he- does. Green eyes stare, almost dumbfounded, trying to parse that statement.

Luckily he asks her a question, and the residual shock covers the odd inflectioned pause. She doesn't even parse it, so she just answers straightforwardly. "Well," she starts, gathering her thoughts. "I thought I was a flatscan. I grew up, no powers awakening. Until I had a very bad day. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that bad. Got dumped, got my vacation bumped because my old boss was too cheap to staff appropriately, and I was rejected for a different job. So I just kind of ... snapped. I wrecked my living room with telekinesis."

She reaches a hand out, using her gifts to pour water into a tumbler of fine crystal, drawing it to herself with almost negligent effort. "I calmed down and was just going to pretend it didn't happen. I was out, just visiting a bodega, when a trio of disgusting men began to catcall me. Except they thought I was J...Somebody else. I told them to leave, they got more aggressive and I guess I just ... gave two of them strokes. Before the police showed up Lorna showed up through a portal and offered me a place in Genosha." She takes a sip of water, wetting her throat.

"A couple days later, Mystique offered me a place in the Brotherhood. I didn't want what happened to me to happen to anyone else. I wanted to learn how to use my gifts. So...here I am."

Erik Lensherr has posed:
The polite word for Magneto's peculiarities is 'eccentric'.

The disbelief, the shock-- it doesn't seem to surprise him in turn. It's a dance he's wound his way through more than once, by now; though the melody varies a bit, every time. "There is more latent mutation among the population than most realize." Magnus concedes, or perhaps obfuscates-- as it's not precisely Madelyne's circumstance, now is it?

"Most psychics are strongly specialized, limited in scope. Your gift is only rivaled in our number by Exodus; and by few others on the wider playing field. Your powers are versatile, and a synergistic closed circuit with themselves."

The pocketwatch floats between them, spinning gracefully in midair. "You can sense every piece of this puzzle in tandem as surely as I can, with the right focus and training; and smaller still." Not everything is about magnitude; and such comes from disciplined control. From awareness of the full spectrum of a metahuman gift.

A flourish of Magneto's fingertips, and the air around the watch fills with static, obscured and fuzzy at best when viewed through the psychic lens, along the astral plane; then the inverse happens within its workings, a brilliant and detailed illumination reverberating along every intricate dial and coiled mechanism.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
He's right. Of course he's right. Nearly everyone she's met in the Brotherhood has intensely focused gifts. Fred is absurdly tough and strong. Mystique shapeshifts. Toad is ... toadlike. She's different, though. Much like Lorna and the man seated before her. She is a telekinetic and a telepath. A mentalist of incredible, possibly nearly cosmic, potential. But she has no real training. All of that latent strength, and she can't leverage even a full fraction of it.

Granted, what she can use without strain is absolutely enough to do terrible and wonderful things. She reached into a man's head and scrambled his brain like an errant egg, but she could do so much more. She -knows- it. She just has no one in her league to teach her.

She watches the static field manifest and invert, her brows knitted slightly. "I'm...I'm learning as fast as I can, but I've already outstripped every teacher that's been found for me. My power... I think it scares them, and I don't know why."

Erik Lensherr has posed:
"When I began to train my powers, no word was known for what I was." Magneto observes simply; deceptively simply. The implications therein are anything but. A moment is taken to finish the peach in his other hand, and return the pit to the garden. "There are many reasons to recoil from why they fear you; the questions of identity, of self, of one's 'life'." Indeed, Madelyne visibly does-- even in this conversation.

"Power without purpose is a precarious climb, and to know oneself is not a straight line or a state of being; but a constant state of painful rediscovey and analysis. Most lack the... perspective to accept that the lives we knew are already gone, with each passing moment-- and it is our focus and discipline for the path from here that matters the most." It's a particularly convenient philosophy when one has atrocities on their hands; or when one's entire origin and memory is a lie.

"Many would make us weapons, tools in their own wars, for their own ambitions-- it takes a myriad forms, whatever our origins or natures. That is the certitude, the adamantine resolve that makes the difference; would you be lost to obscurity, a weapon, or its master?" Beat. The stopwatch spins back the opposite direction, disassembling itself in detail, etched in a silvery highlight to the astral senses.

"Answers are not always foundational; some are explosive... be it destructive, or cleansing." -Would- she even wish to know? "It is not only a matter of how far you wish to push; nor how. But why."

The Ends.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Unlike many fresh mutants in the revolutionary game, Madelyne is not full of hot blood and violence (most of the time). She's happy to finally feel like she fits somewhere. Happy to have a place where the world just seems to make more sense. Even if some things, some questions, are still out. Who are her parents? Where is she actually from? Why does she look so much like that damn X-Man?

She listens. Magneto, for all of his many faults, is wise. He knows things about the mutant condition, about life, that she can't imagine. She knows he's seen triumph and pain, wrath and joy. She can feel it, even with her power as turned off as she can make them. What he says makes sense.

'You're a weapon, Madelyne. You've always been a weapon,' a voice so deep in her mind says. So softly she can barely hear it, but she can feel it. She knows it's right, but it's also wrong. She's a person. With all that it entails.

"I know the life I had is gone. I abandoned it. No more apartment. No more job. No more mundane life. The only way I can go is forward. Obscurity ... It's not an option anymore. I'm too invested. I'm learning to be a weapon. For all of us. All I want is freedom. Freedom to choose. Freedom to -be-. I'm ... still not sure who I am yet. What I'm about. I'm just an orphan from Nebraska with all of this power. I want to use it so people like us don't have to suffer."

She hesitates a moment, thinking. She draws a deep breath. "...Even though they all know that, they're still frightened. ...You know why, don't you?"

Erik Lensherr has posed:
"Knowing." Magneto muses softly, his eyes, his senses tracing the intricate web of interconnected light and intercutting darkness beyond the viewports. "The word purports a finality that the state of being does not actually convey, does it not?"

Give someone enough hallucinogens, and they may know they are falling endlessly through a melting void. What a mind 'knows' can flood itself with trauma, joy, delusion, epiphany, isolation, empathy-- all without being any fundamentally truer than another. It's quite the roll of some very intriguing dice.

There's a philosophical distance to the musing as the Master of Magnetism weighs his own options; or perhaps what he himself /actually/ does know. "I do, but within parochial rather than perspicacious terms." He //knows//-- but with all the transitory uncertainty that the word can duplicitously convey.

"Does what I know enlighten or endanger us? Yourself?" It's an answer that Magnus does not have, evident in the searching concern undertoning the rhetorical query; even if it is rhetorical only due to anticipation of Madelyne's similar lack of truisms to offer. "It is the instinct of the species to doubt and fear that which is outside out norms, beyond the standards of a particular tribe or conclave. Perhaps our most destructive instinct." And one of the great crusades of sentience amongst sapiens.

"And you, my dear..." There's resolve, stalwart intensity despite the conflict behind the ice blue that turns to regard Madelyne with perhaps surprising warmth; or concern. "Are outside the norm even for this Brotherhood." There is no judgement or fear in this for -his- part. For Magnus, this particular thread may weave a threatening truth-- but it is also a //fascinating// one.

"If I told you much of what you 'know' is falsehood, and what was built upon it part of a design beyond your own, what is your predominant emotion? What does instinct demand?"

Of course, functionally-- that -is- just what he's told her, is it not?

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Through these past couple of months, Madelyne has gotten strong. She's more comfortable with her power than she's ever been, and grows more comfortable every day. Around both Genosha and the Asteroid, she is a welcome sight, always happy to help with almost any task, no matter how low it may seem. Whatever insecurities she harbors are held back, showing merely an industrious and helpful woman.

This moment, though, in this moment they are boiling to the surface. She tries to keep her face schooled to stillness, but she's not experienced enough for such command in the face of such a surge. "I ... I know -something- is wrong," she starts. "Maybe not exactly -wrong-, but things are hidden. There's a truth out there that will make things make sense. I know they say ignorance is bliss, but ignorance is just going to make me wonder. It's going to distract me. We can't afford that."

She clenches her hands tight, her knuckles turning white. "It feels like the answer is right there, just over my shoulder, but when I look, it's gone. All I know is that whatever the answer is, it won't change how I feel about the Brotherhood or Genosha. If something was done to me, whoever did it isn't here. ... You wouldn't let them be here, I know that. It feels big. It feels like it's a terrible crime. ...I'm not a crime, though. Am I?"

Erik Lensherr has posed:
"While I suspect malfeasance over magnanimity, it is not /your/ crime." Magnus half-assures, but with fervency. Confidence.

"Another thing I can say with absolute certainty is that such is the course of life. Things will always be hidden, and discoveries often yield eight more mysteries. Things will always be wrong, because this world is far from perfect, and our minds rivals of the most insidious and resilient mettle." Is that supposed to be reassuring? Magneto seems to find some peace in said space, but the mutant Master of Magnetism may not be the greatest role model in these areas.

"I know whatever the future holds, identity and purpose are personal pursuits; innate freedoms. Self-awareness, introspection-- vital tools already sabotaged by our limited senses, retention, and perspectives. It is... fundamentally wrong for an outside actor to take those reins, regardless of their intent." A tinge of remorse exists within this acknowledgement; alongside the fact that, whether it is positive, negative, hurtful or helpful to do so... Madelyne has a right to know, a right to be free-- or at least aware of-- the yoke of expectations engineered upon her very being.

"You are approximately one full decade younger than you appear, or recall yourself to be. Though this is concealed entirely on a biological level." Sugar-coating things is the other mutant leader, however. "A nearly perfect replica of a woman named Jean Grey, who is the reason I am certain of the potential of your psi-talent."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Life is not a crime, she knows that. She's sure done some crimes, but Genosha doesn't extradite. It's fine. She goes silent, listening to the wisdom and perspective of the former king of Genosha. The man who has done horrible things, but has had arguably worse done to him. His vision, after all, is why she's here.

Tension rises in her posture as he continues. The raw -weight- of anticipation becoming almost too much to bear. Though the release isn't very cathartic.

"You are approximately one full decade younger than you appear, or recall yourself to be."

Madelyne freezes, the words echoing through her ears as her mind tries to play catch-up, to rationalize this. How is this possible? What does it mean?

'You know what it means, Madelyne,' the voice in the depths of her mind says. The voice that eggs her on, urges her to exact bloody retribution on the flatscans who would harm her people. The one that could be her id, but she knows it isn't her.

"A nearly perfect replica of a woman named Jean Grey..."

A clone. She's a clone. It makes sense, but it doesn't make it less traumatic. In an instant, she flies through her own memories, finding every little thing that didn't add up. Anything she chalked up to misremembering, or simple forgetfulness. None of it's real. Or at least it was engineered. It explains why there's nothing before the orphanage. Why she can't see the faces of her parents. She has none. She may be the most alone in the world anyone has ever been.

Almost instantly as she processes, her eyes burst into green and violet psychic fire. It leaks down her face like burning tears as she can't keep her powers under control with the violent surge of emotions. Her nails dig into her palms, drawing blood. The fruit and tea begin to shake violently, rising from their table before imploding into pulp, splashed liquids and crumpled platters and cups.

"I'm ... Who. Who did this?!"

Erik Lensherr has posed:
The matter and its splatter fill the immediate area, but do not touch the Master of Magnetism, repulsed by a reflexive, tight field that guards him from the impact; Magnus' demeanor similarly stoic, unshaken.

The so-called Mutant Messiah reaches his hands for Madelyne's, intent on inserting that precise guard, both field control and symbolic support, before the telekinetic can do further harm to herself. "Calm your mind. Listen to /me/."

Magnus cannot hear the darker voice in the depths of Madelyne's mind, but he can relate well enough to the tumult of doubt and reassessment, to the endless calculus of impossible equations and unknown variables. "Sapience is not judged by the source of its genetic catalysts, Ms. Pryor-- Madelyne. You are who you are, who you will be, who you have always been; the machinations behind that threaten that reality, but do -not- fundamentally alter it."

Static builds around them, nearly shimmering in the air along a peculiar, particular wavelength, its disruptions disorienting even within the Astral; it would be most inconvenient should Madelyne deign tear them out into space. Magneto's attentions are focused on... -other- building projects than renovating the spaceborne citadel around them. There is no threat, no looming blow-- but it becomes increasingly difficult to reach outward, to ply that gathering psionic power.

As to the responsible party? Magneto can't restrain a grim half of a smile. "Charles' first suspicion would likely be myself." What Magnus may or may not register is that this is, in fact, Xavier's wishful thinking. Better it -were- Magneto. The rest of the list becomes often far more grim.

"There may be markers we can find to tell us with more certitude, whether within your cellular structure or psyche itself. Until then however-- the short answer is that I do not know. But even hunting everyone on that list until the answers are ours, I promise you that I //will//."

It almost echoes in the voidborne station around them, not from volume but from intensity. From ominous, solemn oath.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Left alone, Madelyne likely would wrench this part of the asteroid asunder with her raw psychokinetic fury. She's angry and hurt, doubting her own personhood and ready to take it out on anyone and anything that she could even THINK is responsible. The fact that no one responsible for this is on the asteroid is irrelevant. She wants to destroy. To make someone hurt.

Her fury ignites in a pillar of green and violet psychic flames that die immediately when Erik reaches out to reassure her. As quick as the impending destruction pended, it's gone, and she slumps, suddenly too exhausted to be so angry.

Her hair, loose now, falls forward to shroud her face. When she finally looks over towards Magneto, it's with one eye, suddenly bloodshot and raw. Her voice is ragged, but quiet, seemingle shredded from unbellowed screams. "When we find them, first we ask them why. Then, if I don't like their answer, I'm going to do horrible things to them," she says so matter of factly, that it would chill the spines of most people.

Erik Lensherr has posed:
She is not left alone; and so the Asteroid is not sundered. Today.

"We shall do more than ask." Magnus assures her steadily, squeezing both the telepath's hands.

"And should their motivations be base and reprehensible, their aims malformed with yours-- no power will shield them from the depth of their error." It's prediction, as much as promise. Never hand someone a weapon if you are not sure where they will aim it; and Madelyne is quite the stubborn will holding the might engineered for her in her own grasp.

There is little more to offer, in this moment. Little to say that would not be repeating affirmations, assertions, hypotheses. Instead, the Master of Magnetism, one of the most powerful metahumans in the world to another, offers a simple and deeply human; deeply mammalian gesture.

Madelyne is offered a stalwart, strong, supportive embrace.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
When this is over, Madelyne is going to stumble back to her room and sleep for a day. This kind of thing is exhausting. The small part of her mind that can still appreciate humor wonders why it's physically tiring to be so angry. She hasn't even moved from the chair.

Still, Erik's steady, steadfast presence manages to bring her back down. To calm the tempest of confusion and anger. She's sure this isn't the first time he's had to do something like this. It shows, and somehow the fact that that thought makes her a little sad manages to cut through a lot of it.

She hesitates a moment, trying to decide if she's up for more direct human contact. Being, well, who she is, she never really got much in the way of hugs and positive contact with other people until she was mostly an adult. That was a trove of other problems. Here and now? It honestly couldn't hurt. He's like the Brotherhood's terrifying and imperious grandpa who is secretly the biggest softie unless his 'children' are threatened.

She indulges the old man, doing her best to not get blood on him from her pierced palms. "Thank you," she says finally. "Honestly, I don't think learning this any other way would have gone as smoothly. ... Sorry about the mess."