20286/Jobs of Many

Jobs of Many
Date of Scene:	20 March 2025
Location:	Carrion Cove
Synopsis:	Or perhaps the Man for the Job!
Cast of Characters:	Fabian Cortez, Jamie Madrox

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Fabian Cortez has posed:
<Mr. Madrox, it would seem I have use for you.>
<Can we chat?>
<Preferably somewhere public.>
<Very public, as may people around as possible>
<There's a carnival at the south beach of Carrion Cove today. See you there.>

The sunset lights the ocean on fire here, the gradient of colors across a tropical sky are heralded by the smell of salt and sweet flowers. In time, when the last rays of day have faded, the sky will fill with stars, sparkling back from the waves and Genosha will sleep. It's a perfect beach in the daytime and a perfect beach at sunset and a perfect beach in the evening.
Perfect beach for the lines of games and rides, lights and music of the little festival bring the hint of sugar and alcohol to the air, chimes of happy rides and riders abound. What's the celebration? Doesn't matter. It's perfect fun for the whole family!

It is, however, not a perfect beach to be walking down in leather business shoes and a suit, yet here Fabian Cortez is. At least his jacket unbuttoned and his phone out, but the briefcase down in the sand as beside him as taps away on the screen still marks him as working. Whatever he's about, message sent, the phone is pocketed, the briefcase up and he's walking again, scanning the perfect picture of paradise for someone-or many someones-any of the someone.

Jamie Madrox has posed:
Sunset on Genosha.

High Tide.

Mere months ago, the relative motion of the Moon and the accompanying change in tidal pressures was of little to one James Madrox, Esquire. For in Mutant Town, the only things the rising tide is likely to bring in are additional garbage and the occasional dead body. But here on Genosha, far from the contaminated fish and the 5G towers, Madrox has had the chance to appreciate island life and all of its many accompanying benefits.

Several meters from shore, the mutant master of multiplication wades out with his brand new surfboard gripped carefully, and attached with a velcro strap to his person.

The wetsuit is a brave choice, given his physique these days. For though he has clearly been indulging in a bit too much of the mutant steroids available here, he has also clearly been overindulging in the Genoshan cuisine. And so when he pops up on his board to greet the wave, it's a fairly bloated-looking Jamie who gets knocked off of his board almost immediately and then gets washed back up on the shore a few moments later, laying on his back like a starfish in spandex.

The surfing lessons are coming along slowly.

Further on the beach, his counterpart is living up the island life in a slightly more comfortable fashion. And in slightly more fitting 'island attire.' It's not really fair to call the loud printed garment a 'Genoshan Shirt', but it is covered in loud images of flowers that only grow on this particular island paradise. In his board shorts and flip flops, this Other Madrox takes sips from a pina colada variant noted for using real Genoshan rum, and especially nutrient-dense coconut milk.

From his spot at the table in the carnival's food cart section, he watches his other self wipe out on the beach, and wipes pina colada dribble from his beard. The Dude abides, indeed.

Lazily a hand is raised, and a placid smile spreads across his face below a single-lens style of polarized sunglasses. Judging by the wrappers on the table, he's already been sampling the carnival food, and found it to his liking.

Fabian Cortez has posed:
Popular pop songs are being played across the beach from tin-y sounding amplifiers, the occasional cheers and screams of rides zipping about is caught by the wind and dimmed. But the other all feel of cheer is not restricted to the carnival. Couples and friend groups scatter the beach around the festivities, someone even trying to get a bonfire going before the sun fully sets. Surfers trying to catch the last good waves before visibility gets bad hyping eachother up, Jamie included.

He's there! Target spotted. A hand raised and droops in a brief confusion as Jamie in the wetsuit returns to the waves. Cortez starts to speak as a Jamie washes up and decides the man is clearly busy. Moving on.

Oh there! No not looking like the peak of-It doesn't matter. Cortez has given up on asking people who work for him to maintain the level of professionalism he, himself maintains. At least this Jamie is actually holding a hand out! Cortez's trajectory turns, thanks to the carnival, some sections of the beach have carpets rolled out for ease of walking, these he moves to and will make his way to the table Jamie is at.

"Mr. Madrox, thank you for taking time out of your vacation to talk with me." Pleasantries out of the way! Wonderful, he sits, a few food wrappers moved aside without a word, a smile offered as the briefcase is placed between them and popped open. An envelope is pulled out and will replace the briefcase on the table, case now to the side. The menelia folder is tapped lightly, "Is it safe to assume you have the time to do a Task I'm reluctant to send-awe-the less abled-bodied among the organization on? I was hoping many hands would make for lighter work."

Cortez's words are smooth, but there is tension in every movement. His suit ever so slightly rumpled, a few strands of hair escaping his ponytail and framing a face slightly too pale. The sharp, quick movements of someone feeling short on time, but still trying to go through the social motions required of work he does, "Though before I offer, I understand you are a man of many talents, how many of those talents might be directed toward theft. Given what was taken by-awe-you, I suppose, at least passible-But how would you rate your skill? And do you generally require other people on missions? I mean, other than yourself."

Jamie Madrox has posed:
An unlikely pair to be meeting, for sure. Where one is business formal and a bit too pale, the other is dressed in the Tourist Special and is red from a couple of sunburns that are beginning to congeal together into something resembling a mottled tan. The smell of rum and tanning oil is strong on the Madrox side of the table. But they are far from the oddest of couples on this beach, as less than four meters away from Madrox's table a man with squid arms is making out with a woman with a bird beak. It's a great time to be wearing polarized lenses.

The movements of the more rum-addled of the two are a bit slow, as should be expected, but he seems to be merely in the more garrulous stages of drunkenness, rather in the sad and embarrassing later stages. It probably bodes well for the chances of him accepting a mission. It probably bodes ill for the chances of him retaining all of the relevant details. Good thing that Cortez brought a folder.

"Let's see what you got here..."

Taking the folder, Madrox fumbles with the metal prongs and gets it open. Looking around a bit before he pulling out the contents, he seems satisfied that nobody is looking. But then, who on this mutant paradise would care much about the movements of a normal-looking tourist with a sunburn and an rapidly-expanding belly?

"Interesting... three stories... Hammertech security system... oof, that's a lot of guards..."

A couple of seconds of silence, and the Multiple Man strokes his sketchy vacation beard in contemplation.

"I think I can probably handle that for you, Mr. Cortez. Back in Mutant Town I used to do stuff like this all the time. Typical Tuesday night... nothing to fret over. But I might know a few candidates for backup, depending on how secretive this little... side project of yours is."

Fabian Cortez has posed:
Cortez is content to wait. His phone briefly out again, frowning at whatever he's been told and back to texting. That Jamie has been enjoying all that Genosha has to offer is not off-putting, simply noted and filed away for later. If anything, Cortez is pleased that the man is content and happy. Recruitment is such a pain as it is and with someone like this Someone, with the risk of questionable loyalties? Happy members of his organization are always a welcome sight. Even if Cortez might want Jamie fully sober for an actual mission.

When Jamie finally speaks, Cortez's phone is away and he nods easily, "I just need the information. Digital if possible is preferred, but I'll take paper if that's all you can get your hands on. I don't want to send you to New York until we are sure it won't lose you-awe, this lifestyle."

At the mention of secretiveness, Cortez openly sighs. A hand runs over his face, a brief massage of his temple, "Look, Acolytes generally train in teams of four, powers complementary as possible and such. With you, I haven't bothered suggesting you try and find a team until now. You being here is already useful to me, I didn't know if you'd need one. I can offer you a team to lead that will come with three other Acolytes. Or-Well, I don't Mind it getting out that I'm looking for this sort of information-" He stops, "I do mind actually, I mind quite a lot. If you can guarantee that whoever you want to work with outside of the Brotherhood or Acolytes won't ask why I need medical histories of a whole city-Or. . . ."

Cortez stops, his tone returning to the more curated words of a diplomat. Eyes locked on Jamie with an almost casual shrug, "If perhaps it's not Me that needs this information, but if word has to get out, why not word get out that X-Factor Investigations needs this information? How opposed to framing Awe-The Other You for this sort of operation are you?"

Jamie Madrox has posed:
The wonders of Genoshan culture never cease. No mere funnel cakes are for sale at this festival. No. The cake upon which Genosha Jamie feasts is a special Vortex Cake, the very existence of which defies at least two laws of physics, but which is nevertheless both flaky and delicious, with a perfect smattering of a sugar that's been powdered so finely, it practically floats upon the surface.

It's no wonder he's gaining so much weight. Steroids be damned.

"A little bit of psy-ops, eh? That's one way to piss off old Primey-Pants McGillicuddy. He's probably plenty pissed already though, what with the Chiefs flopping so hard in the Superbowl."

Little known fact: Jamie Madrox is from Kansas.

With a bit of extremely finely-powdered sugar floating upon the hairs of his Vacation Beard, Madrox considers the possibilities, while flipping through the pages with slightly sticky fingers. It's hard to tell if he's in better fighting shape or not after spending so much time here. On the one hand, he's much heavier now, and seems to be breathing heavier as well. But on the other hand, those mutant steroids really work wonders.

"Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Cortez. You couldn't have picked a better man for the job. Or a better group of men."

Off in the distance, a Madrox makes another attempt at riding a wave, and ends up imitating a starfish on the beach once again. Surfing's not as easy as it looks in the surfing movies.

Fabian Cortez has posed:
"That was not an answer." As someone who excels in Not Answering Important Questions, Fabian will sigh, a glance over the physic of Multiple Man briefly. Maybe he should have been checking in on this one slightly more often than he has been, but Happy Acolyte That Might Double Cross Him is still better than Upset Acolyte That Might Double Cross Him. Cortez already has too many people in that later category right now. He waves his own words away.

"Fine, fine. It doesn't matter. I'm trusting you with this. Get me the information. Get out. If you do gather a team outside of my influence, it's not us-It's X-Factor. Try to keep it a quiet operation. I will come fish you out of prison if you're arrested, but I'd rather not have to race your Prime for it." With that, Cortez is back at his phone again, typing away.

"I'm signing you up for a few weekly sessions in the Training Room on Asteroid M. Shouldn't take too much of your time, but will familiarize you with the tech and weapons available to you through the Brotherhood and give you a rotating playground for keeping yourself sharp." No question if Jamie has already familiarized himself it would seem, but Fabian looks up from the phone with a perfect grin, "Do this mission well and you are free to consider yourself fully secure in your lifestyle here for-" There is the briefest of pauses as Cortez ponders how much the medical history and genealogies of a city means to him? Hmmmm.

"-Quite a while, honestly. And if you skim anything else from the databanks, then rest assured I don't mind offering you more."

Jamie Madrox has posed:
What? Madrox? Evasive? The man with the funnel cake crumbs on his face? Perish the thought.

Pushing his sunglasses back further on his nose, Madrox keeps all but the faintest of smiles from betraying the rest of the poker face that he's managed to display. But though he might leave potential customers frequently exasperated, there's a reason that X-Factor Investigations has so many four star reviews on Gripe. Jobs are done on time, under budget, and generally without opening a portal to a hell dimension or activating a sentient robot factory.

"It's ironic... for an Acolyte you don't seem to have a whole lot of faith. But don't worry Cortez, after you see the results you're going to be a believer."

The smile gets bigger, which is not in and of itself all that assuring, but the confidence that it seems to reflect is perhaps a positive sign. Whatever his many shortcomings might be, James Madrox knows his way around a heist caper. He might have a little trouble fitting through a ventilation duct right now, but there are easier ways of getting inside a secured building.

"The next time you hear from me, it'll be to deliver good news. Unless..."

He polishes off the remnants of his pina colada, and stands up, leaving the biodegradable trash to evaporate in the setting Genoshan sun.

"... it's to deliver great news."