17910/Social Studies Workshop: The New Human Is Illegal

Social Studies Workshop: The New Human Is Illegal
Date of Scene:	26 May 2024
Location:	Genoshan Embassy
Synopsis:	Presentations from J'onn J'onnz, Jaxon Blain, Mystique, Mary Seward, Scott Summers, and Bishop; and comments from Natasha Romanova and Sally Pride all serve to help educate all present on just a few of the many perspectives on the violent history of Mutantkind, and how - if at all - a path forward might be forged for them-- and, indeed, ALL of humanity: J'onn discusses the death of the Martian race, consumed by hatred between parallel subspecies; Jaxon gets lots of attention for sharing his dark past with William Stryker and illuminating the ways in which people of all kinds fail one another; Mystique demonstrates why she's one of Mutantkind's oldest, hardest voices by pledging to spend the rest of her long life fighting for it; Mary shows why she's the Queen of Blood, and shares the vampiric perspective on coexistence; Scott Summers puts a lifetime of PowerPoint expertise on display by laying out the cold, hard stats animating the bloody history of Humans and Mutants; Bishop reveals his past in one of our futures to stress the importance of coming together before the nightmares come to fruition; Sally reminded everyone that all people have /some/ things in common, while Natasha's cold cynicism shines through her insistence that tribal isolation and self-interest are the natural state of humanity. Madelyne gets a peek into a relatively quiet moment inside of her new community, Talia reflects on the twisting possibilities she's lived through and the way that war touches all of them, Camille studies passionately then swears to take Stryker's eyes one day, Rogue keeps rowdy Institute students in check, and Micola shares a brief moment with her sister-in-law. Also, there are snacks. John Cumberland continues not to exist.
Cast of Characters:	Lorna Dane, Natasha Romanoff, J'onn J'onzz, Raven Darkholme, Sally Pride, Mary Seward, Madelyne Pryor, Talia Wagner, Jaxon Blain, Camille Russo, Bishop, Scott Summers, Rogue, Micola Maximoff

---

Lorna Dane has posed:
Leading up to the double doors are wide hallways and spacious, comfortably appointed community areas. Befitting its dual purpose as a piece of Genosha away from Genosha for her people and outsiders alike, this part of the Embassy has been carefully calibrated to act as a gathering place for the locals. A safe place; a place of recreation and education.

Past the doors lies endless black space.

-- well. Not really(, probably). There's a floor, for one thing: The dark expanse everyone's walking on is wholly solid, if plush. And there are walls; it's just that their curved shape combined with deeply, nigh-impossibly black surfaces all aid in creating the illusion of infinite darkness. In the center of the darkness shines a column of white light descending from somewhere unseen; a few yards back are soft, accommodating chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the center. Each is wide enough, reinforced enough to suit a variety of bodies.

There are no stars here, but in turn there's sound: soft, wistful ambiance laden with gentle pads and sweeping strings.

Once the appointed hour nears--

Once guests have taken whatever seats they like--

Once idle chatter has fallen into a soft enough din--

Lorna Dane - Polaris - the Queen of Genosha steps into the light. Dressed in a three-piece suit, her purple blazer's got two buttons fastened over her sternum so that the deep green blouse beneath peeks through for a prominent contrast. Exquisitely tailored slacks in the same shade as the blazer, pristine black heels, and a lacy green ribbon binding thick, green waves into a lush ponytail complete the outfit. Smiling, waving, she greets:

"I just want to thank you all for coming today to be a part of this little experiment, and I hope that -- more than just learning something about history, you come away having learned more about the people sitting next to you, by the time we're done today. About the people everywhere around you." Her rich and smoky voice easily permeates the whole space, thanks to hidden speakers and a lavalier.

And with a turn and a gesture behind herself, a fresh rush of radiance floods the darkness.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"In 1880," she begins, "Nathaniel Essex published the book 'On Mutants' and shared his radical discovery with the world: the secret to the rare gifts that for countless generations had touched the blessed few rested in all of us. Every man, woman, and child had the potential to evolve-- to claim great and terrible powers; it was a matter of simple genetics, not divine providence."

A copy of the book - a leatherbound tome with the title stamped across its midnight blue surface in ruby red letters - holographically manifests amidst the light and lingers for a few seconds. It then shifts, expanding and compounding into a scene of London aflame amidst horrible, alien tentacles and shells flowing from the dark heart of a vast figure wreathed in shadow save for the baleful gleam of red eyes.

"Just 19 years later, one of the most powerful Mutants in recorded history attempted to bury London in a swarm of alien horrors, eager to carve a throne out of the ruins from which he could personally preside over the great work of driving humanity to evolve.

"To change, or to die.

"London was not buried. Humanity was not crushed beneath the iron heel of genetic tyranny. Humanity continued to chart its own uncertain course forward, mining even its darkest lows for precious innovation: war taught how to distill what made some of us special and distributing it for maximum tactical gain," comes with scenes of soldiers fighting across theaters in both Great Wars. Increasingly, they are intercut with figures like Captain America, Baron Blood, Starman, and the Red Skull doing battle with superhuman powers and impossible sciences. "We learned the dizzying value of posthuman bodies and the dangers inherent to not exploiting them with the same vigor as one's enemies. We created our own gods and monsters; we forged heroes and villains on the anvil of our own genetic code, but in the end, what changed the world - what truly threw the gates wide and let the supernal flow openly into the mundane - was a spark of all too mortal genius."

Eventually, inevitably, everything is swallowed up in an ever-expanding mushroom cloud of smoke and fire.

"We built a bomb, you see."

The holographic explosion grows, and grows, and grows, encompassing Lorna--

"We built a bomb that could destroy anything, even the will of an entire people."

-- edging towards the audience itself --

"And when we detonated that bomb - twice - the shockwaves rippled far, far beyond an island nation that was already on its way to surrendering:"

-- and stopping just inches from contact, bathing the front rows in gentle, persistent warmth. Seconds later, the display field snaps back to its original dimensions.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"A generation afterwards, we entered the Post-Atomic Age."

Through the dissipating cloud come shadows streaming from either side of the display. One half is consumed by a council of vast and indistinct figures, this time tinged in blue and white; the other half contains their red-tinged mirrors. Both birth a cacophony of explosions, soldiers from half a dozen nations, and secret agents to battle in the center, neither side ever gaining on the other. Periodically, illustrative images of scientists surrounded by cradles and strange quartz spires flicker through the foreground, in time with her words.

"During the Cold War, metahuman assets both born and made fight and die in the shadows for people who barely knew, or care that they ever existed. In Genosha, a man was allowed to use a protectorate for war refugees as his personal laboratory due to its unnaturally high metahuman birthrate. The Factor Three syndicate tried to turn a slice of Belarus into the capital of its mutant empire.

"And all the while, We continued being born. And born. And born, and born, and...

"In 1988, the Brotherhood of Mutants hijacked a plane flying from Bangkok to Kuwait, and the world watched in horror as they declared the beginning of the Homo Superior Era and demanded the release of Mutant prisoners around the world," is accompanied by a stream of clippings and news footage pouring over every angle of the 'Brotherhood of Evil Mutants' and their 'terroristic designs'. "Ever since, government, military, intelligence initiatives, and worse have triggered another wave of innovation in their haste to devise weapons with which to tame and exploit Mutantkind-- to ensure their unopposed stranglehold over the future of all Earth's hominid species.

"25 years later, the first Sentinels rolled off the production lines amidst promises that they'd keep humanity safe."

Sentinels rip and tear their way through the archival flood; just as news snippets fall away, plasma beams lance from one robot's eyes, annihilating the roof of a tenement building so that another can reach inside and scoop out a screaming man.

"27 years after the hijacking, the butcher of Genosha was cast out by Magneto, with the Brotherhood at his side."

Magneto stands tall and bloody over a bleak, blasted crest in Hammer Bay, the broken body of David Moreau dangling from one hand by the collar of his labcoat.

"28 years, and to be a Mutant became a crime; to be a Mutant meant being driven from your home, your job, your life, and forced to live in Mutant ghettos," comes with scenes of Bushwick transforming seemingly overnight into a series of halfway homes and temporary detention centers for metahumans prosecuted in accordance with the Mutant Felon Relocation Act. "To be a Mutant was to be a superpredator; a metaterrorist; a postcriminal worthy of scorn at most."

A rapid zoom out from Bushwick reveals countless patches of desperately clustered Mutants throughout the East Coast, the United States, the Western Hemisphere-- everywhere. Nowhere, save for Genosha, are they more tightly gathered than in the European nation of Sokovia.

"Thirty years after the words 'Evil Mutant' entered every household in the world, thousands of Mutant refugees driven into Sokovia were murdered by the machines humanity built for its protection."

And just like that, Sokovia erupts in flames.

"And two years after THAT, the protectors we were promised were dead, gone, and decommissioned were wielded by an alien megaintelligence to do what came most naturally to them: Murdering us."

Lorna Dane has posed:
The flames spread rapidly; violently. At the same time, the perspective broadens, draws inwards, and sweeps all at once, until the attention is focused on the tropical island Genosha just as a wall of annihilation roars towards it from all sides. At its heart is a towering abomination, a Sentinel made of Sentinels-- a fused monstrosity of technoapotheosis storming onwards, surrounded by a black and buzzing horde of lesser Sentinels picking at every ounce of Mutant flesh they encounter like technolocusts.

"On G-Day, millions of Mutant lives in Genosha were extinguised because there were people who just couldn't handle the thought of being without their security blanket," Lorna states, low and tightly restrained. The horror gradually recedes into nothingness; the light dims, until Lorna's once more alone in her singular spotlight. "And ever since, we have huddled in our designated places, our sacred enclaves; we have wrapped ourselves in layers of fearful secrecy and hidden our light beneath the bushel out of fear that we, too, might join our Mutant siblings in suffering for the sin of existence."

She pauses, intently.

Takes a beat; takes a breath--

When she exhales, there is light, once again, and Genosha lies at its core-- sunny, rejuvenated; populated, if less thickly than before.

"We arrange ourselves into groups," Lorna continues, sweeping her eyes across the crowd. "Teams; squads. Tribes, you know; just like we always have. We each tell ourselves and everyone else that we know what's best for everyone; we sit in ivory towers, steel and glass spires, lunar panopticons, and flying fortresses, and we declare that might is right. That strength is virtue. That tolerance is earned, and respectability is freedom. We fight, and we fight, and we fight... and all the while," she says as the image of Genosha grows ever sharper, ever clearer behind her, "we tell ourselves that this is what's correct; what's natural.

"We teach our children to fight the wars of tomorrow because we no longer believe in the possibility of saving them from those horrors today..."

Ever sharper. Ever clearer. Ever more detailed.

Ever larger.

Ever more dense.

Ever greener; cleaner; humming with vibrant life and sparkling progress.

"... and we struggle with all our terrible might to preserve a status quo that serves hardly anyone. We scrabble amongst ourselves for the right to persist in dread stasis," she states, low and grave.

A vast, humanoid figure rises up over the horizon, rendered entirely in dark shadows but resolving, gradually.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"But why?" she wonders as cold, dead eyes and violet armor come into focus.

"What's THIS round of Mutants fighting Mutants while the human race gorges itself on its future possibilities going to accomplish that all the others didn't?"

Integrated into holographic image of the Genoshan palace is the rent, shattered, and reforged body of a titanic Sentinel, its three faces blooming with flowers for the martyrs of Genosha.

"I see a future where humanity - meta, sapiens, Atlantean, sanguinian, or otherwise - lives and lets live because the agitation that's festered at our core for so long has finally been pinned, captured, and spun into something shining and resilient," Lorna exhorts, spreading her hands towards the audience. "Genosha IS the spiritual homeland of all Mutants -- of any, and everyone made so Different that their fellow Man no longer sees them as truly human -- but Genosha needn't be alone-- and it needn't be an island. Genosha is a principle; Genosha is the promise that, rather than destiny, genetics are an opportunity to thrive-- and maybe there are other ways, other tools to build that world where we ALL have the right to Be... but ever since I was given the opportunity to stand where others faltered and make a home for Mutanity, it's the only one that's made sense to me.

"That's why I'm here, really," comes with the dimming of that utopian vision as Lorna lowers her hands and smiles, broadly; warmly. "That's why YOU'RE here."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
And there is Natasha Romanova, present as an observer for SHIELD. She's not here for any sort of official presentation, but to pass along information as needed and to be a coordinator if so amongst the disparate groups present to help relay things back and forth. Since the superhuman community was all too often broken up and over into cliques when it came to organizations. ANd far too many independent types.

She has out a small device that she's recording with to keep up with things and then pass it along to any that could not be present.

She otherwise is stoic, quiet, and for all she moves she almost looks like a statue in the background.

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
J'onn J'onzz is here and as his super heroic alterego, cape flowing to a slow dignified invisible telekinetic wind. He sits, having taken the invitation to an open dialog and feeling this is the best way to say something that has bothered him since the raid on the starport. He keeps his telepathy to himself but cant turn off his empathic senses; pungently aware of the psychic tides in the room.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
In the darkness, comfortable enough there, with her yellow eyes watching those who arrive and find places to sit, Mystique is there. She's dressed in a black tailored suit, with a lowcut white silk shirt beneath it. It is difficult to read the mutants, even if she could be seen, as her ability to 'wear masks' to conceal herself has been mastered over the years.

As Lorna moves to begin speaking, the blue mutant shifts slightly, and speaks quietly to the security team. The Queen was visible, security was now on high alert. Should anyone be stupid enough to try something, anything really, they would find themselves in a world of pain... though only for a moment, because death would soon follow.

Sally Pride has posed:
Sally Pride leans back in the chair she's sat in, letting one arm drape over the back as she watched the initial presentation unfold. She was mainly here to listen and learn. She's seen some of the shittiest possible attitudes towards Mutants and Metas in her time, so the potentially more positive experience she was definitely looking forward to.

Mary Seward has posed:
Always one to stand out wherever she is, Mary Seward makes herself a guest in the embassy, making sure to come in her nicest crimson dress. Lorna will definitely remember her in red.

As a newfound associate of the Brotherhood, she figured she may as well endear herself to the team by showing up in this momentous occasion. Especially for the sake of the Genoshan Queen that she had a lovely time discussing with not too long ago. What better way to show proper solidarity to the cause?

The "shared" Cause.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Poor J'onn. There is absolutely a potent and pungent psychic tide coming from the redhead sitting in the back. Madelyne Pryor, recent immigrant to Genosha (and Asteroid M, but don't tell), is hanging out in the back with some punch. Her psychic presence is as muted as she can make it, but it's not easy to do, and she occasionally ... psychically hiccups. She needs more training.

She's dressed casually in comfortable jeans, sneakers and a Mets t-shirt.

Talia Wagner has posed:
Talia Wagner isn't far away from Mystique, more or less making her part of the 'Brotherhood' grouping, whatever mixed loyalties she might bear. Talia often finds herself at a crossroads among her fellow mutants, able to see the big picture, unwilling to choose sides. Solidarity, in other words. Comes with having seen many different worlds, many different outcomes. The spectrum of mutantkind, so often red and bloody.

She wears wide-legged pants and a tight-fit top, mixing blue and red, her golden eyes gleaming. Her tail swishes behind her, growing more agitated during the gruesome parts of the presentation. Always good to know the history of this world, now that she's settled here. She once thought of it as stranded. But now it's become her own.

She doesn't expect any trouble. But then, she never was great at predictions.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
Jaxon is doing what he always does, hiding in the shadows. They're not literal shadows, not this time. This time the shadows are just distance. He's positioned himself away from the others. As Lorna speaks, the shadows dance across his eyes like storm clouds. Every word she says hits a note in him, strums at a string that sing part of the song of his own oppression, his own childhood spent in the darkness of another's shadow.

It's likely that he too is causing a headache of pain and misery for poor J'onn. Might be a good idea for a mind reading alien to turn it all off for a moment.

When Lorna finishes, the doesn't applaud, not outwardly - but on the inside he's cheering and a tiny spark hope for the changes she's suggesting ignites.

Camille Russo has posed:
Camille is there to learn. She's not a mutant, but she understands oppression. The fear of the other that drives people to do devastating things in the name of something or other. The rage, too, that drives those othered to rise up in ways both small and great, good and unspeakable. There's a notebook in her lap, and dim light on her pen that gives off just enough light to read what she's writing down.

Not that there's much, yet, as she grapples with the vague horror and disgust that fades into curiosity and a little bit of hope. Her pen starts to scratch out words - questions, thoughts, the word "References??" in large letters across the top. She's almost wholly focused on the green-haired woman commanding the stage, only occasionally flicking her eyes away when brief movement or noise is enough to catch her attention.

Bishop has posed:
Ah yes. Being an energy sponge for -all- kinds of energy (including psychic and assorted psionic siblings) sure is...uh...interesting right now. With the occasional hiccups from Miss Pryor or any other sort of empathic or telepathic needling here and there... Bishop just sort of pushes his lips into a mildly perturbed frown every now nad then as he feels his brain matter react and sizzle to such affairs. It's ...mildly distracting but he says nothing aside from a slightly annoyed look towards the back of the room every now and then.

No, the large X.S.E. Commander mostly focuses his attention on Lorna's presentation and aside from his occasional eye twitching and lip tightening from such outside sources....he remains mostly dour looking, serious, and fixated on the presentation.

As the various images flash before him in vivid display...he continues to remain silent...letting the presentation sink in on those who are present and mostly hiding his feelings and thoughts through his stoicness. His perspective on these matters is...well..strangely colored to say the least given his origins and the precise history he knows is long changed and altered from the world that produced him...but at the same time the more things change the more they stay the same, as the saying goes. So he just listens.

Scott Summers has posed:
A small group from Xavier's School for the Gifted are in attendance this afternoon. A pair of chaperones have accompanied a trio of students to attend the event held at the Genoshan Embassy as a trip on the matter of civics and discourse. It isn't necessarily Scott Summer's particular subject at the school, but the subject matter is an important once. Which means he's set aside time to attend with the students; as has a particular Southern Belle. While the presentation unfolds, Scott's chin shifts this way and that, directing his ruby colored shades toward this feature of the presentation or another. He does not wear his thoughts on his expressions however. There are no frowns, smiles, or grimaces. He takes it all in with the same impassive, neutral expression.

Beneath Scott's left arm a laptop is visible held cradled within his fingers at his side. Without a doubt Mr. Summers has his own presentation to make and it's sure to be a riveting piece of insight and lecture.

When quiet voices begin to share in off-topic discussion, Scott's neck cranes forward and his head turns to stare at the two Xavier's students who have began to talk about their evening plans. It's without a voice that Scott's stare is delivered. Plain, open, and entirely directed at the pair of students. In his own silence he exerts every ounce of will that he may possess. While his will may be incapable of influencing others as far more talented minds and wills may be able; the stare seems enough to stifle the pair's conversation. The stare lingers a moment more and then, finally, Scott's attention turns back to the presentation. As the presentation delves into far more sensitive and present day topics, Cyclops does finally spare a glance toward Rogue which lingers for but a moment, and then carries onward toward the the Queen of Genosha, Lorna 'Polaris' Dane.

Rogue has posed:
Look out, Mystique. The trouble maker has arrived. Likely come to test that cracker-jack security that the blue skinned woman has been working on.

Dressed in a dark green denim jacket, a black tanktop, dark blue jeans and leather angkle boots, the Belle has a pair of aviators pushed up on to the hairline above her brow. Her white bangs are free flowing around the sides of her face, and her green eyes are searching around the interior of the room as the speeches begin. She reaches one hand up to adjust a black leather choker collar around her throat, before she casts a sideways glance toward Scoptt. She grins at him, her light makeup, smokey in hue, accentuates her facial features as she playfully chides him with a look.

"What exactly are you gonna say anyhow?" The Mississippi Magnolia asks of the man in the ruby quarts shades.

She shoots a look toward the students who'd come with them, wavering a gloved finger in one of their directions as to indicate 'ya better behave', as she'd warned the trio several times on the ride out.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna Dane says, "Because for all that Genosha makes sense to me," Lorna continues, "I'm not perfect; I'm not all-knowing. I'm a girl from San Francisco, and one day, a crown landed on my head; there are ways forward other than mine, and I want to hear them," comes with dual beckoning gestures. Her right hand remains closed a beat longer; her eyes flick towards a particular point in the darkness, meeting hidden yellow pupils.

She winks; she smiles. She faces the audience once again.

When her hand opens, there's a small, square remote in her palm, waiting to be taken.

"What's your perspective on the violence that's woven through so much of posthuman history?" she asks, left arm falling while the other remains extended. Waiting.

"How do you see the future going, in a better world," she wonders, "and how do you imagine we might bridge the gap?"

The improvisational implication is-- partially performative. There was a whole registration form; it was all pretty informal, but it - crucially - included a section for uploading media files and describing any necessary accommodations for the presentation. Respondents would have gotten concise instructions on handling the projection system (one button to go forward, one to go back, one to pause). They'd have even been allowed to choose a soundtrack, if they so desired.

Partially: for anyone who chooses to come up and present off the cuff, there's copious stock content that can be pulled and displayed reactively to accentuate a presentation, and the controls are-- well. There are three buttons; Lorna is not above explaining them in person.

"Personally, I've found great inspiration these past months in the writings of a man named John Cumberland..."

(John Cumberland does not exist.)"

Lorna Dane has posed:
"... from his 1997 book, 'Beyond The Threshold: On the Precipice of Transformations and Endings'..."

(John Cumberland has never existed.)

"... about the possibilities of a future in which transhumanity is allowed to flourish, and drag all of civilization into the next stage of its existence. He saw us approaching Class 1 on the Kardashev Scale, by now..."

(If, by some impossible chance, John Cumberland did exist... the only proof of it would be a broken pointer in a decommissioned SHIELD database to a heavily redacted report from an undercover agent sent to disrupt a suspected cell of HYDRA/Communist sympathizers in Los Angeles. Rather than terrorists, he found a commune of hippies and weirdos who mostly spent their days tripping on hallucinogens and dreaming about the future-- except for the clear-eyed, golden-haired man they called 'Johnny Cumberland' who'd stop in every few days to chat, share food, and help solve any and all problems he could.)

"... living in communities of people who all worked effortlessly towards their common best interests..."

(Somehow, if there were ever a man named 'John Cumberland', he'd only be remembered by the whispers on dying veterans' lips-- by the final tales of the Greatest Generation of Private John, the big, blond sonofabitch who all the brass insisted be called 'Codename: The High' when he came to save them from the monstrosities birthed by Nazi science. Nobody ever bothered; who in their right mind would go against a guy as humble as John?)

"... and exploring the very limits of what our bodies, minds, and spirits could achieve, if given the opportunity to grow. He stressed the critical importance of those three words I mentioned earlier:"

(If ever there COULD have been a man named 'John Cumberland', the sole piece of compelling evidence would be a song that sometimes emanates from the highest peaks of Nanda Parbat, bathing silent ascetics with the tale of 'Brother Cumberland', the ray of sunlight who passed through hallowed halls on his way to find a peak cold enough to be his tomb.)

"'Change or die'. They're the cornerstone of evolution; they're the blueprint for advancement... and from his pen, they were a warning about what awaited us if the world he saw in '97 couldn't get its act together in time."

(Even though there's a reference to 'Beyond the Threshold' (no subtitle) by 'J. C.' in a 2002 paper about innovations in the field of nanotechnology, finding such a book on shelves - digital or otherwise - is impossible. Because John Cumberland does not exist; John Cumberland has never existed. John Cumberland cannot exist.)

"I believe there's still time to do one without the other," she concludes. "So. Without further ado..."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Is Maddy taking notes? No. Is she paying attention? Of course. Still, she's not taking notes because this isn't school, and she's (probably) not being graded on absorption of content. If she's being graded, it's probably on something else that only Mystique and/or Lorna are aware of. Will she pass the test? WHO KNOWS?!

She's really good at drinking punch, though. And trying to Google John Cumberland and possibly ending up on some watchlist. Again.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova would muse over to herself, speaking introspectively. "Self-interest is paramount above all other things to all known sapient races. They must get something out of the arrangement for it's appeal. Whether or not they will continue to maintain the arrangement is purely psychological." An dnot even then, how many conflicts turned upon pure spite, after all? Natasha would simply continue to watch, speaking to herself as if reminiscing.

But, she had a rather cynical view of humanity after all. But not nearly as cynical a view as the survivors of the attempted Genoshan Genocide did. They had just wanted their own place to call home and live apart. And they had still been slaughtered for it.

And in another time Natasha might have very well been an active participant.

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
J'onn J'onzz says, "I am here as a freind of mutant kind and their proginitors, cousins and...all of humanity and all of its glorious spinoffs and variants past present or other. We are galactic neighboors, companion species in the same solar system; not every star out there is so fortunate. My species gained civilization before yours, and we have a long and complex history; but this forum isnt about Mars. Its about Humanity and the potential illegality of part of it....so I'll keep it simple.

" He leans forward, showing gravity and majesty, "I am, so far as I know one of the last of my species. There are an unknown number approaching zero as time goes on. I have every reason to believe in the right unfortunate circumstances could be the last of my race." Is the last of my race..."Long ago, ill intentioned meddlers interfered with the evolution of my species...a separation of the wite martians and the green martians, taking away natural pyrokinetic powers and interfering in Martian evolution. There was a near genocidal conflict among my people between Green and White Martians to the part that we almost killed each other. Green or White might not seem a big deal to humanity...but to many of us at the time; it did. And then the White Martians fled into space...and an alien dark force killed my own people....and I have watched Earth for centuries, been among you for decades. Words matter, symbols matter...please understand I will briefly do something shocking, to make a point and then revert..."

He briefly becomes Jiminy Cricket, immitating the voice perfectly, "Imagine if I had said all that looking like this, lecturing to you as if I was your conscience..." he shifts back to the form and voice he started with, "To me, you have differences, but the things that you all have in common on this wonderful fertile world I call my home now are not so large you cant overcome them, and the first way to do that is how you say what you say to each other; and actions speak much larger and louder than words. I wish you empathy, I wish you prosperity and above all, I wish you hope that will become eventual utopia.""

Talia Wagner has posed:
Talia Wagner has not encountered Cumberland in her dimensional travels, if he went by that name. If he existed, which of course, he doesn't. Didn't. Hadn't.

"War never changes," she says softly to herself. She'd heard that somewhere.

For now, though, she would keep her peace. She was never much for talking, even during her times as a leader. Like her paternal grandmother, Mystique, and her maternal grandfather, Magneto, Nocturne prefers to speak through action.

Sally Pride has posed:
Sally Pride nods to herself as various points are made. War never changes, and is started over the most spiteful of things at times. And Martian Manhunter's retelling of Martian history gives an interesting example. "The more different people are the more they have in common," she murmurs softly. Now if only people could focus less on the differences...
And honestly she's met a few mutants that are just as bad towards humans as humans are towards mutants. But this isn't the time to bring that up, let's focus on one part of the matter at a time.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
Jaxon stands up, he has no pictures to present, no note cards, he doesn't even approach the podium. That would all be too much and this is about as off the cuff as a thing can be. He hadn't even decided he was doing any of this until seconds ago.

Looking down, Jaxon takes a deep breath - steeling himself, gathering the courage to stand tall when he looks back up again. He's not a public speaker, the crowds at Walmart are enough to make his skin crawl. He's been alone so long that he's begun to see it as normal - being alone has become his comfort zone. Something that this certainly isn't.

At first his voice is soft, barely a whisper that's certainly unheard by anyone in the room. He clears his throat and starts over, "My name is Jaxon Blain. Most of you don't know me, most of you have never heard my name. I was going to stand up here tonight and tell you the story of a 'friend'. But I'm done with that, I'm done with hiding behind the shadows of half truths and lies. So, my name is Jaxon Blain and this is /my/ story."

Jaxon pauses, not because he's waiting for a reaction, but to gather his courage once again. His voice is a touch louder when he begins again. "I've lived in the shadows since the day I was born. My parents weren't abusive because of my obvious mutation, they didn't neglect me because I was a mutant - no, it was because they were addicts. I don't blame them. I know they were sick. I blame a system that didn't care to check when a mutant child missed too much school. I was nine when my powers manifested, the defense mechanism of a child afraid of the angry dealer that busted through the door. I didn't want to be there and the shadows showed me a way out and I've been living in the dark since."

When Jaxon pauses this time, he doesn't look down, he doesn't need to build up the courage to continue. No, this time he pauses so he doesn't raise his voice too much. He pauses so he can calm the storm clouds that are, literally, swimming in his intense blue eyes. "Afraid to go back home and afraid not to do so, I was found by a human stranger that offered me kind words and a hot meal. I was too young, and too naive, despite my life up to that point, to think he was being anything less than genuine in his concern. Three days later I was in the hands of William Stryker. For eleven years, I lived my life in the darkness - in the shadows not of my own making. I'll spare everyone the details of those eleven years because those details aren't the point of my story. I was failed by my parents, I was failed by a kind stranger. I was failed by systems not in place to protect those like me.".

He pauses for just a moment, this time, perhaps, for dramatic effect. With every word spoken, Jaxon is sounding more like a professional public speaker and less like a man afraid to step out of the dark. "I was failed by my fellow mutants. I don't hold it against any of you. It was Mystique's kindness and our Queen's strength in the face of all this adversity that gave me the courage to stand up here without hiding behind the shadows of a lie. I was failed by my fellow mutants as many children before me have been and many more after will be."

A subtle breath in and another out gives and his voice lowers just a touch, just enough to let the emotion of his next words shine through in them.

"Maybe failed is the wrong word because God knows you have all probably tried." Another brief moment of silence and his voice becomes louder, a little more intense.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
"But I can't help but to think that more could be done, that more /should/ be done in the future to make sure that no mutant child is left to feel hopeless and alone in the world - left to feel as if they don't have a choice, left so alone and terrified that they end up taking solace in any form that it's presented. I'm no scientist, but I've seen the resources of the Brotherhood, I've seen the amazing technology they possess and the wealth. We /all/ have to do better, we have to use those resources to do /better/ by our children - to find a way to bring them in from the shadows /before/ my story, or worse, becomes theirs - to lobby harder for reform in a broken system and if lobbying doesn't work, we try harder and we fight harder - we work harder - to change laws and to create a way to find them, to build technology to reach them. How can we hope for a better future when there are so many of our children - those that will become our future - are out there living in shadows not of their own making? Change starts with our children."

After another pause, his voice rises further, he stands straighter, the storm clouds in his eyes shift and twist chaotically. The dark lines and swirls, the tendrils of shadow beneath his skin become thicker, darker, heavier until Jaxon is more shadow than flesh. Behind him, the shadows cast by the room's lighting stretch out, reaching as if to surround him in a dark embrace. "My name is Jaxon Blain, the thief known as Tenebris. I still live in the shadows but, as of today, I will not stand in anyone's but my own. And none of you should either."

When the shadows recede and the storm raging in him subsides, he adds, "And may God, or whoever's in charge of this sick world, damn the William Strykers of it to Hell."

After he's finished speaking, Jaxon immediately sits back down again.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
For several days before this night, Mystique has considered what she could add to what Lorna would say, and others would present. She was one of a select few of mutants who have lived through everything Lorna spoke about, and was even alive before Essex wrote his book.

Now that the moment was upon her, she felt there was very little she could add. Her anger, frustration and hated for most humans was not something she hid, most of the world knew her stance on the situation. The experiment had failed. In spite of three years of trying to play by the rules, nothing changed, if anything it was getting worse. A part of her wanted to keep trying, the other part wanted blood.

"The plight of my brothers and sisters is commonly known all over the world," she begins, once she had stepped into the light. "Some of you may know already, some of you may not, but I have existed on this planet for one hundred and sixty-five years, and have been a mutant for one hundred and fifty-three of them."

She pauses there to take a moment to collect her thoughts. She hadn't written anything, had no notes of lap top, it was all coming from with in her. "Mutants have been caged, beaten, abused, broken, and forced into every dirty corner of the world, all because those humans in command fear us. They fear what they do not understand, and rather than try to understand and know us, they maintain the same actions over and over again." A slight half smirk appears on her lips. "That is the very definition of insanity. To repeat the same actions and expect a different outcome."

Her yellow eyes dance from person to person, her voice strong and clear. "So long as there is breath in my lungs, I will continue to fight for the rights of Mutants to be who they are, instead of being defined by what they are. I will continue to support Genosha as our spiritual homeland, and I will protect it from /all/ who would try to take it from is."

Letting her eyes now seek out only those she did not know to be mutants, whether they be human or alien, or something else. "But most importantly of all, I /will/ find those mutants in other nations such as Gamorrah, Latveria, China... those places that refused to sign the Sokovia Accords. The Brotherhood of Mutants will stand against the newly rising wave of machines out there hunting us. If other's are unwilling to aid in that fight, so be it, we will do it alone for our Mutant brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, and children."

With the briefest of nods, she walks away from the light and moves to stand by the chair Jaxon sat down in. Laying and hand on his shoulder, she gives it a light squeeze. He had shared everything about himself that she had found out, and finally all the puzzle pieces about him were in place.

Mary Seward has posed:
The Queen of Blood takes the stage. "I promised myself I wouldn't get too political tonight, but well..."

The woman smiles, fangs apparent for all the world to see.

"...Nice to meet you all, I'm Mary Seward. I don't have a fancy show for you tonight, so I'll just talk at you like the Green Man. Now, I've only recently come to personally know some of the fine people of the Brotherhood such as the woman who just preceded me and the lovely Queen of Genosha, I'm a bit of a queen myself by the way.....Nor am I what one would traditionally classify as a Mutant or a Meta or a...whatever words that people are coming up for it now." She shakes her head and waves a dismissive hand.

"...However, as one who would definitely identify herself as posthuman to say the least, I feel I understand their battle better than any other non-mutant in this room...I should know...I've been fighting it for centuries."

She pauses, as though for some dramatic effect, waiting on a reaction from the crowd. Regardless of whether she gets a satisfactory one or not, she continues. "Yeah, I know I don't look it, but I'm old. I'm an old old lady...and in my age, I have known the burn of the oppressor that humans can be. I've been around to see many civil struggles to end the systematic persecution for so many outsiders. Whether that be over skin color, nationality, religion, sexual and gender identity...and Of course, that against the vampire such as myself."

Mary Seward has posed:
She grows wings from her back, stretching them out wide as she takes to the air.

"Centuries upon centuries, we are forced to hide in the shadows...Living as rats, scavengers. We have been hunted by religious cranks, aiming to shove stakes through our chests or cut off our heads or burn us or other such things. We have been villainized and fetishized alike in countless of your movies, tv shows, books...We have been labeled monsters, demons, inhuman...despite the fact that before the change came upon us, we were once one of you..."

"...And for what? Cause of our hunger? That we shed blood to survive? Because, if that's the case than wooooah, boy, does mankind have us beat on that. We have an excuse. Nobody mortal was feeding on all the dead in Genosha...to my knowledge of course."

She lets her wings recede as she makes contact with the ground once more.

"...As you can see, I'm very passionate about this. This is why I don't normally give speeches...I take action. I fight, and I fight and I am still fighting. Tooth and claw. Dirty and bloody. As all those who would call themselves something 'beyond human' should be. That's the only way we can hope to win. CRUSHING them! We are at war. It is a WAR we must WIN! Because I've already died once and I'm not going to do so again at the behest of those superstituous, filthy, stinking, primate-..." She cuts herself. Perhaps realizing she's starting to become unhinged. "...You get the point. Thanks for the talk, tip your waitresses, all that stuff" She takes off, taking on a form of mist and reforming at her seat.

Scott Summers has posed:
It isn't with applause that Scott acknowledges the presentations of others like Jaxon Blain, Mystique's point of view, the Martian-turned-Jiminy Cricket, or many others. It's through his focused attention and unwavering resolve to absorb the words and examples of others that Scott Summers dedicates himself.

Rogue's question earns a glance from Cyclops and a small, barely there smile tugs at each corner of his mouth. It fades away just as quickly to accommodate his speaking, "A few statistics of course". The floor is opened to the next round of speakers and Scott offers Ms. Marie a small nod, ceding duties pertaining to the trio of students over to her. Armed with his laptop and a slight straightening of his deep blue and white striped tie, Scott begins to make his way forward for his own presentation when the time comes. The projector is armed, readied, and as Scott's ruby quartz shades turn this way and that over the crowd, he strikes an impressive figure himself. Tall and lean, his expression ranges toward the serious. The hair's fantastic at least. He's got that going for him.

A clearing of Scott's throat seems to signal the beginning of his presentation. The projector clicks once and the sound of an old-school slide of an equally old-school projector fills the presentation area as Scott begins his presentation in earnest. He has prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the subject of violence directed toward mutants, statistics, and other data that paints a grim picture for existence as a mutant...

An untold number of power naps, thirty six PowerPoint slides, one request for a bottle of water, and quite possibly one walk-out later and Mr. Summer's presentation is finally brought to a merciful conclusion. "This is why we can not look at this issue as human or mutant, but as a whole people. The solutions to our problems will not be found among our friends and like-minded peers, but through open dialogue and safe exchanges of ideas with those who maintain disagreements. Vigilance is an important tool, but so is approachability". Again the projector makes that rattling sound as the final slide is presented, making the thirty seventh. The final slide showcases a number of hands and arms interlinked, showcasing all manner of colors and forms; human and mutant, no doubt.

"Thank you," he says in closing. The laptop is closed and the projector's remote is passed off to the next presenter. Soon enough Scott is gathering his things and moving to resume his place among students and his teaching counterpart: Ms. Anne-Marie. "Think it resonated?" he asks with utter seriousness as he returns to standing among the contingent from Xavier's School for the Gifted.

He settles in near Rogue, his hands resting at his sides and his back arrow-straight. The laptop remains tucked in against his hip and Scott's ruby quartz shades turn to regard other presentations. Some of which seem rather impassioned.

Rogue has posed:
Throughout the various speeches, Rogue was shifting her attention from those talking, to those around her. This was a curious place, filled with a curious amount of diversity in faces, origins, and otherwise. There was a lot at-play here, and Marie knew that things could possibly go south at any given moment, should the wrong things be said, or the wrong people interject over what is being said. The woman that had shifted in to smoke, and returned to her seat, got a lingering look from the Southern Belle, but it was soon there-after that Scott was raising up to his feet. She returned her eyes toward him, offering a teasing smile toward the man. "Good luck, Sugah." She quietly said toward him as he made his way to the grand stage.

Of course, she had to give the trouble-maker from Xaviers' student body another glaring look to settle them down, before she leaned over to the trio of students to whisper something toward them.

It wasn't the school year any longer, but that didn't mean they couldn't get the students to write about what they were hearing, and seeing here today.

Rogue settled back in her chair then, utilizing her phone to camera record Scott's speech, keeping her gloved hand holding her phone up with dedication, until she had to swap arms... as the speech was kinda long, lots of numbers.

By the time Cyclops returned to join their school's row of seats, the Belle was smirking at him again.

"ya did good." She quietly adds, before glancing his shirt over, and pointing at his chest. "Except for that ketchup spot from lunch." She tells him. "I hope nobody else noticed it."

There's no spot, she's just messing with him, and her grin would showcase it.

Camille Russo has posed:
Camille is steadily scribbling notes. Generally she's calm, although Jaxon's story causes a sharp burst of Angry-Protective-Murderous that fades into something softer as Mary speaks. The young man's words are in line with her family's own, giving the children the room to learn and grow, to truly understand the magic before being committed to it. That was why her own training was behind where it should be, after all. She'd not been old enough to dive deeper before the people teaching her were dead. STRYKER is underlined so hard she tears through her paper.

That sharpness fades as Mary speaks, and by the time Mr. Summers gives his presentation she's back to her calm, but wondering in the back of her mind what sort of view Johnny's going to take when she relates the story later. She makes a note to ask for the presentation, then sits back.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova watches quietly and attentively as presentations go on. She records them, she memorizes them. She watches each individual in the room to see how they react to things. Who nods in agreement. Who shakes their head. Who looks enthusiastic. Who looks bored. To what and each thing they fall to. Natasha Romova watches ever so quietly. She does not contribute.

That is not her function, after all. She is not a negotiator. She is an executioner.

Bishop has posed:
"I hesitated on if I wanted to say anything..."

Bishop's deep voice is resonant, low, commanding and rumbling as it is wont to be as he addresses the gathered group, "But having listened to these other presentations.....I think it'd be wrong for me to stay completely silent so..."

The Security Enforcer takes a deep breath while also folding his large arms as he faces the group, "...At the risk of sounding insane....some of you may know that I come from a....I'll just say...an alternate future. There are those present who know this truth and others who may be surprised and wish to write my perspective off as simply being the ravings of a lunatic but I assure you it's true."

He shakes his head and then says very simply, "The future that I came from...was... well... Maybe about eighty years from now. I was raised in a camp for mutants. We were sequested, put away.." he points to the M tattoo, "Branded."

Shaking his head he continues, "In my time, Sentinels controlled all of North America. Mutants and Humans -alike- were controlled by their regime though of -course- we had the worst of it. It began with a cataclysmic event that occurred that was blamed on....mutants. M-Day. Most of the world lay in ruins as a result of it and the aftermath... Nuclear war. The works." He frowns, looking distant and then continues, " But even in that dystopian nightmare there was hope. I was raised on dreams of a world where humans and mutants cooperated and lived in peace. An unfufilled dream that was taught by Charles Xavier. Hope that lay eternal but hope that existed not to simply dream on but to -act- on that dream. The heroics of his students and those who stood together to protect mutants -and- humans and to fight together for a better tomorrow. I was taught that fundamentally that -we are one- and it was this that lit the match that inspired an uprising. The Summers Rebellion. "

He quiets again though he seems briefly embarrassed as he glances at Scott in the background and then he speaks again, "We overthrew the Sentinels and set about trying to rebuild the world but co-existence was still resisted by humans -and- mutants both. I was on a security force that existed to help bridge the gap and to serve as a security force as it was believed mutants should police themselves. The point is---"

Bishop frowns and then says, "I don't know this present. My time is gone. I'm trapped here now. History is not occuring the way I was taught and remembered it. I don't know what's going to happen 'next' but what I -do-...as a law enforcement officer and as someone with some sense of hindsight from a time that hasn't arrived yet..that we are on a path that dovetails towards the world I grew up in. So how do we avoid that? Co-exist? Dominate? Protect our own and only our own? I believe in Xavier's dream because I saw, first hand, the world change when we came together. Then I saw it fall apart again due to old ideals and old prejdiuces. All I can say is that I know we're at a crossroads and extremism leads towards destruction. There has to be a path forward that includes everyone. We must be more pro-active. Swifter to defend. Swifter to attack. Swifter to lead by example and to place our priorities in order..."

He falls silent at that and then brsquely unfolds his arms and steps back. Merely a crazy time traveller it seems.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Now that is interesting. As Bishop goes to speak Natasha Romanova watches him ever so intently. The Russian assassin makes her first move since the prseentations started. SHIELD files on Bishop are rather.. Copmlicated, even with the agreements in place with the X-Men. But what he's said will definitely start up some hard and fast discussion, and hopefully break up the flow of the prseentations.

And she's here to watch people talk, to get a feel for them, to observe. And this could very well jolt reactions.. Which makes it all the better for her information gathering. For perceptions. For analysis..

Natasha is ultimately here to gather intelligence.

She is a Hound. She is a weapon. And she is here to see how the other weapons respond.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Madelyne finds exactly zero results for 'John Cumberland', because he does not --

(must not)

-- exist.

Just thinking about the possibility of such a thing naturally flows into a reminder of its impossibility in a way that - to a sensitive mind - is gently, subtly tangible-- like strings barely flitting across the surface of the psyche as they drag misplaced thoughts into their proper place.

Natasha and Sally's briefer statements all get moments of lingering eye contact and thoughtful nods from Lorna, in turn; even if they don't approach the light, green eyes find them from just outside of it, intent.

J'onn gets a small, fleeting grin in spite of grim context: for all that his parallel tale of a civilization damned by genetic tampering, fear, and a total breakdown of all understanding seizes her utmost attention, he.

Well.

He turned into a cricket, and it's the funniest shit she's ever seen. Poignant, too! He gets a brisk, polite bow as he concludes and retakes his place.

And then - just after Sally's important reminder of what so many sapients share - Jaxon steals the floor without even taking it. Like Natasha and Sally, he keeps Lorna's attention riveted on him regardless of his presence along the margins--

Unlike Natasha or Sally, he uses this held focus, unintentionally or otherwise, to hit her with a seven letter surprise: 'Stryker', one of the Mutant people's many great devils. By the end, her expression's grown somber, but no less thoughtful; he gets a brisk bow from Lorna as he retakes his seat.

Appropriately, this is followed by the cold, dimly hopeful certainty of Mystique; the wild, barely checked rage and pride of Mary, Queen of Blood; and thirty-seven straight slides of gruesome figures, every one of which Lorna forces herself to pay intent attention to, drawing on years of practice from her days in Westchester. Each gets her respectfully bowed head; each leaves her more pensive than the last.

For a few seconds, Lorna doesn't say anything at all. She waits, leaving the floor open.

And then for a few seconds more, she remains silent. Lidded eyes open fully, meeting each set present in turn.

"If self-interest is paramount to all sapient races," starts at Natasha, "then could it be that - when our backs are against the wall - our natural instincts will be enough to pull is back from the brink? We're all one race, in the end, after all-- we're all homo sapiens SOMETHING."

Stepping back into the light, slowly, Lorna continues, "Some of us were altered without a choice, against our will; many of us were just-- BORN as we are. And some of us have yet to become what we will be; must be," as her gaze shifts to J'onn. "But all of us are human, in the end." Sally gets a firm nod before her eyes find Mary. "And those of us who differ from the base of what we understood that to mean before Essex's work-- metahuman, posthuman, transhuman... ALL of us are Mutants. And for those who aren't," comes with a brief, pointed glance and smile for J'onn, "you're still alive; still sapient. Still part of 'us', in the end; still just another small soul looking for meaning with the potential to grow into something more, regardless of genetic blueprints."

Lorna Dane has posed:
After a brisk, bracing breath, Lorna sets her eyes on Jaxon.

"Human; Mutant; Alien, God, Spirit, or Vampire... we're all Living. We owe it to ourselves, and to each other," she softly, firmly utters, "to care for one another. To reach fearlessly into the darkest places and offer a hand into the light. Every day, we fail each other without trying, without meaning to; we leave one another behind as we struggle to survive for ourselves."

As Lorna's gaze and posture shift far enough to center on Mystique, she says, "We fail one another now, hoping that our children will be better. We rage at the darkness, instead of penetrating it. We struggle, we fight, we scream, and we tell our children to try again," gets incrementally lower, lower, and lower, until, "always hoping that something different will come of it. Something better," falls like a whisper in every ear at once.

"Thank god for the long memories of those who've fought since before the rest of us were thought of," follows, a touch louder. "And thank god for the unbreakable will of ages, forged into a beacon to guide all of our lost, battered, and bruised siblings to safer lives.

"Safer futures.

"Finer worlds than this one, free of our madness."

Which, of course, brings her to Bishop, Designated Representative of the Future.

"But there IS no future if we don't work to create it," she states. "If we don't dedicate ourselves to the difficult work of expelling the worst pieces of ourselves from our shared body-- if sapiens and superior and all the rest remain divided against themselves and each other, we will consume ourselves. We will bury ourselves beneath our worst impulses, and when we finally find it in ourselves to change... it just might be too late."

Closing her eyes and exhaling, Lorna brings her hands together in front of herself and bows, briefly, to her fellow learners and presenters.

"The next time you see fingers reaching..." she says, straightening.

"... the next time you hear screams..." she says, drawing her hands apart.

"... ... the next time you find someone dying in the dark, don't be afraid to reach out and be the tether they need," comes with both hands reaching towards the crowd, illustratively.

This, along with lights rushing on along the upper curve of the theater punctuates her conclusion. The lights also reveal tables lining the edges of the room, piled high with coffee, punches, pies, cakes, and several chafing dishes of hot apps (one of which is vegan). Several more sections for cold dishes, as well as sandwiches, fruits, and salad take up the rest of the space.

And with that, she allows herself a long, narrowly relieved sigh and paces from the central stage, bee-lining towards Jaxon in the hopes of taking his hand in both of hers so she can offer, "Thank you," to him in a low tone.

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
J'onn J'onzz applauds her and the other speakers. For a brief moment he considers offering to share the telepathic experiences of those who are here with anyone who wants them including his own. Instead, he simply waits until attentiom is off of him amd them turns invisible and reenters the crowd as a faceless normal human observing and taking notes. Here but not here he also listens but "covers his eyes" modifying his brain to stop his empathic sight.

Sally Pride has posed:
Sally Pride shifts in her seat. Some of those presentations were very... passionate. Sentiments she can certainly sympathize with... but they had to avoid that point where they become no better than the ones they are trying to resist. She chuckles a little to herself at Bishop's initial remark though. She's been working with Cable and X-Force, she's familiar with the whole potential alternate futures deal even if she doesn't understand the whole branching timelines yaddda yadda that stuff is what they have a human sidekick scientist for.

All in all very insightful though. It was good to get more familiar with the aspects beyond the small group of mutants she's familiar with. She joins in the polite clap for the end of the presentations.

Scott Summers has posed:
Rogue's remark regarding lunch and ketchup does seem to garner a look out of Cyclops. Despite the grin that she wears, Scott can't resist glancing down to ensure that there isn't some slightly darker shade of red smudged on his jacket, clothing, or tie. He provides his chest with a light brush of his palm and then nods with some measure of satisfaction. "Good one, Ms. Marie," he comments back with a small smile threatening to overtake his expression. Though he's Scott Summers and he has a reputation to uphold, especially with students around. The expression bleeds away swiftly and Scott's left fixing Rogue with his most neutral of expressions.

The talk of a Summers Rebellion results in a lone eyebrow dancing just above the rim of one half of Scott's shades and the X-Man's attention turning toward Bishop to both listen and observe directly. The expression persists for a moment and is the only outward showing of any particular response to the subject matter, time travel, and all the rest. It isn't Bishop alone that Scott considers, but the many other faces present. Those jotting notes are given a moment of long distance scrutiny, but Scott's attention inevitably drifts back toward Rogue and the trio of students on a little summer trip, "It's gatherings like these that are important. For mutant, humans, and everyone. They foster discussion and discussion is important in every part of our lives". Then it's toward Rogue that Cyclop's turns his focus and a question presented, "You want to mingle or should we head back? We're a bit ahead of schedule, so we can linger or return early". On the battlefield Scott Summers may assert command and control, but today seems like a more go-with-the-flow sort of day for Mr. Summers.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Madelyne listens to the various presentations and even manages not to glaze over too hard at Scott's. It's a feat of will, but she is a potent esper and manages. Somehow.

Jaxon's impromptu speech makes her seethe, her psychic presence -boiling- in sympathetic outrage. Sorry, J'onn.

Honestly, this whole thing is a lot for one who's only recent to the whole Mutant thing.

Mary Seward has posed:
Mary Seward really tuned out of any presentation other than Mystique's. Impolite of her of course, but that's never stopped her. Of course, this made Scott's extremely long and drawn-out one commit absolute murder on her patience. Bishop, though one her back at least somewhat with the talk about futures and that kind of thing. Just a little though.

When the claps start, she looks around, having been snapped out of her own train of thought. She hurriedly then joins in, pretending to have started from the beginning.

Now, it's time to break the ice. What fun.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
With the speeches now complete, Mystique gives Jaxon's shoulder another light squeeze before she steps to block the lights as they come on from getting right in his face. Speaking quickly into her comm unit, the lights dim slightly on the side of the room where she stands.

Glancing to Jaxon with a questioning expression as she asks, "That a little better?" Clearly having had the lights lowered for him.

The words that were spoken continue to go through her head, so many opinions and thoughts on the matter from faces she doesn't know, some she does, and of them only a few who would act if needed. Perhaps that would change, perhaps not, most likely not. The blue mutant may hold on to hope in some situations, regarding certain things, but when it comes to believing that those who aren't mutant would actually help... she had no hope at all.

Finally turning her attention to Lorna, she offers the Queen a slight bow and a bright smile, "Thank you for your words Lorna, they were the truth that rarely gets spoken."

Micola Maximoff has posed:
Micola has been in the back listening to the presenters that came forth today. The blue haired woman with the golden eyes is minus her husband today though. He's probably off doing Avengery things. When the presentation is done though she joins in the clapping for her sister-in-law and others that had spoken on things today.

The words struck home given things she was a mother and someone that ushered those to the other side of death. She is quiet though in things as people start to mingle.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
Mystique would find Jaxon tense at first, but eventually all that tension drains from him. It's not replaced with anything that remotely resembles 'at ease'. No, it's more exhaustion than that. What he just did, he can't believe himself. It wasn't planned. It wasn't even thought of, but now that it's over? He's exhausted from it.

And then Lorna bee-lining toward him. What's the proper protocol? She's royalty after all. He stands quickly and during his lame attempt at a respectful bow or something similar, she's taking one of his hands into her own.

For a moment, he's just speechless. He looks toward Mystique for some indication of just what he's supposed to do with this situation.

"Ummm, you're welcome...?" There should be more to that. He's still not sure what it should be so she gets an awkward, "Your Highness," at the end.

He is suddenly very conscious of the fact that he's squinting - at the QUEEN no less, so he makes a mental note to be eternally grateful to Mystique for lowering the lights.

The darkness, the shadows, they remain his safe haven and always will due to his mutation. But for the first time in a very long time, he doesn't feel as if he needs to cower in them.

Talia Wagner has posed:
Talia Wagner feels Bishop's words perhaps most of all. They shared that displacement in common, memories of worlds that no longer were, people that would never be born. In this world, she suspected she, herself, would never be born, unless stars aligned in very unexpected ways. Sometimes they did, though. That's the thing about a multiverse. Anything really can happen, no matter the odds.

Every world is an exception.

If permitted, she will walk over and give the mighty Bishop a squeeze on the shoulder and a nod of commiseration. They had both decided to do what is needed to make sure THIS timeline comes out for the better.

Rogue has posed:
After chiding Scott with a well timed fake-out, Rogue cast her eyes over toward Bishop. His speech had resonated with her quite well, and should the two lock eyes, she'd raise her right hand up, waving it in his direction within the dark green glove adorned upon it. A glance is sent down to her phone then, as she reviews the various videos she'd recorded, before she looks toward the offerings at the tables.

A nod is given to the trio of students, but Scott's question draws her emerald eyes back onto him. She flashes him another soft grin. "I told them there'd be food here. We better let'em grab somethin' before we head out. But..." She lets her eyes roam over the gathered crowd as everyone is settling in to the post-speech phase of the evening. "Yeah, we can head out after that." She gives his arm a few light pats with her non-phone-holding-hand. "ya did do a good job. If I were a numbers person, I'm sure I'd be enthralled by what you were showin' off up there."

With that said, Rogue slips her phone in to her denim jacket's inner breast pocket, then moves to scurry after the trio of students, to make sure they behave themselves at the food tables, her voluminous brown and white hair bouncing about her shoulders as she moves to catch up with the teenagers.

Bishop has posed:
Tension that he didn't even realize was there finally leaves Bishop once everything comes to an end. It wasn't so much tension in regards to the words he had>..though...he'll probably end up having that 'Summers Rebellion' drop circle back his way.... Rather it was tension at the eclectic gathering here in this room. The clashing personalities. The disparate ideals. The potential hot tempers.

The sheer power.

In short this could have gone very, very badly given the subject matter but miracles do happen and the place is still intact and standing and nobody is either hurt or mentally zorched or fried by an irate red headed clone.

Sighing, he stiffly makes his way towards Lorna but pauses upon catching Rogue's gesture his way out of the corner of his eyes. He nods back at her, giving her a slight hand wave back in an almost casual salute like fashion..and then he's intercepted by Talia who places a hand on his shoulder.

At first he's surprised but then understanding seems to dawn on him and he nods back to her giving her a slight true smile. A rare sight from him. He lays a large hand onto hers and then nods once again before slipping his hand free from hers to continue on towards the Genoshan monarch and those around her.

Camille Russo has posed:
Camille is checking over her notes, flipping to a fresh page and writing down a few names she's going to try and get specific information from before she stands, smoothing her blouse and looking around the room. She doesn't recognize everyone, of course, but she does give Natasha a smile and nod of greeting as she makes her way towards Jaxon. She notes the women around him, and is polite as she steps up to the small group.

"Mr. Blain? My name is Camille. It was very brave of you to speak your truth tonight." She gives a polite nod of respect to the other two women, but her focus is largely on the young man in front of her.

Sally Pride has posed:
Sally Pride gives the crowd a bit of time to meander out then gets up from her seat and wanders over to the table. Nobody worry, the lioness is only interested in the meaty snacks on the table and not actually chewing on anyone. Tail flicks a few times as she looks over. "Well they didn't cheap out on the spread." Let's see, let's see... what looks tasty....

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
And this is what she's here for. As things break up and individuals go to approach one another and discuss things, Natasha turns to face Lorna. "Self-interest does not preclude cooperation." Her tone is calm and ever so rational in reply. "One has to change minds and understand. And there is little more unifying than mutual survival. Rationality for self preservation brings out agreement." There was a reason why the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction worked in a twisted way with both sides of the Cold War able to kill one another a million times over.

And don't call Natasha human.

SHe's Russian. There can be strong distinctions.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Leaning closer to Jaxon, Mystique whispers something in his ear, then she slides her arm lightly across his back to rest her hand on the opposite shoulder. Only two people presently in the room would recognize what this small move meant.... the blue mutant had slipped into protective mother mode with Jaxon.

She knew all of this made him uneasy, she could see it in his eyes and body language, so she would remain right there beside him and offer what comfort she could. His shared story was one she had heard before, though clearly with difference... a young mutant, left to their own devices, gets caught up in something bad, is taken away, or any number of horrible things.

Jaxon's was worse, and every fiber of her being wanted to hunt down William Stryker, torture him for several hours, then kill him.

"Thank you for telling your story, Jaxon," she then offers with a smile.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"'Lorna' is fine," she immediately assures, once he's taken his guess. It'd be rude to interrupt, of course, so she just focuses on giving Jax as light of a landing as possible, paired with a small, understanding smile. "You spoke so passionately-- and for all that I don't WANT to think about how many others might be stuck in situations like yours, we obviously don't have a choice."

Briefly, the pressure around his hand tightens-- and warms, perceptibly.

"We'll talk soon," she softly adds, leaning inwards. "You did good at the bookstore... especially given the circumstances."

After leaving those kind words in his ear, Lorna draws back with a final, firm handshake and says, "Of course," to Mystique. Her smile broadens and warms, just a bit, because it can't be helped. "But how did I look during it--?" comes with a flashing grin and a brief, dramatic pose. Upon lowering her arms, she clasps Mystique's shoulders and squeezes, tightly.

"Thank you for speaking up, too," she quietly offers. "I know how much you love being the center of attention."

One wink and pat later, Lorna detangles from her bodyguard, turns--

-- and has her vision obscured by the tower of gravity that is Bishop.

"Bishop!" comes with a big smile and a warm hand against his forearm. "I-- really did not expect you to say anything, much less that. Thank you-- you know how much I value your perspective on things. You know Mystique," comes with a brisk nod towards her, and is followed by turning towards Jaxon, "and this is Tenebris, who you-- well, met, like all of us just did. And this--"

Beat.

A double-take: Mystique, Jaxon, Camille-- -- Camille--

Focusing on the studious woman, she bows her head in acknowledgement without trying to interject in her conversation with Jaxon. Instead, she glances towards Natasha:

"That's the thing, though, right? Self-interest and cooperation are necessary linked, here."

Mary Seward has posed:
Mary Seward from the corner of her eye, spots her blue benefactor and her fellow Queen. In the blink of an eye, she dashes over to where they stood, as if that was how you approached someone casually.

"Hey, hey. Misty, Lorna." She greets them like schoolgirl best friends.

"Great job with the whole fest...How'd I do out there? I looked hot, right? Never done one of these before but honestly, I think I rocked it..."

Natasha catches her attention.

"...Oh, hello."

Micola Maximoff has posed:
Micola is watching and listening, she's never been one for getting into the middle of conversations and she's sure that she'll give her regards at some point. There is a nod of greeting to those that pass by and she stands not far from the gathering as she watches things. She feels at ease with conversations going around and no one seems to be dying...so this is good!

Jaxon Blain has posed:
He's never been the center of even this much attention from this few people. Jaxon is doing his best to look like he's handling it all - taking it all in stride. In reality he's really wishing he could just hop a shadow on out of the public eye. In this instance, it's his shadows that give him away. The ones in his eyes become so thick that they nearly drown out the electric blue of them when they pass over it. The tendrils, the patterns of dark beneath his pale skin grow broader and darker as well.

Sucks to have your mutation give away all your little emotional secrets.

He breathes in a slow breath, not loud, not overtly obvious but long. He lets it out just a softly and slowly before his attention shifts to Camile momentarily. "Be honest, not really feeling so brave at the moment." Although he's a little less likely to flee into that place between total darkness and complete light with Mystique's support. He does, however, 'blush' when she points out his little faux pas with the Queen. Blushing means darkness rising to his cheeks rather than a healthy pink blush.

Drawn back in by Lorna's words, the feeling of her hand squeezing his and then her words? Her words coupled with Camile's statement only moments before? He's, again, not sure what to do. Never, literally never, has he been given a /sincere/ compliment. Sure, when Stryker was all but brainwashing him, there was a smattering of 'good job, Jaxon' in the abuse. But this is the first time kind words have ever felt /real/ to him.

"Of course, Lorna," he speaks her name as if the /Majesty/ - thank you Mystique - is implied.

When his attention drifts back to Mystique, his expression is readable without his growing shadows, 'What. The. Fuck? Help!'

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique chuckles softly, replying to Lorna while she was close, "You look fantastic my dear, purple is your color," then she adds more quietly, "Suit should be a little tighter."

At the comment about being the center of attention she rolls her eyes slightly, "Oh please, you're the attention who..." she stops herself from finishing that sentence. The meaning is obvious, and she need not openly insult her Queen and friend.

Then Mary is suddenly there, which causes the blue mutant to release Jaxon and step between her and Lorna. The reaction wasn't thought out, it was instinct, and happened to fast that even Mystique was surprised.

"Mystique or Raven," she offers to Mary as she steps back to stand beside Jaxon again. "Never Misty...."

Two heart beats and she moves into 'save Jaxon' mode, "Jaxon, would you like to go to the refreshment table with me? I'd very much like to know your favorite type of pie, and there are quite a few choices over there. Maybe after you've had a little pie, you can answer some question, but only if you feel up to it." She speaks loudly enough to be heard by those around Jaxon, but addresses only the young man.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
One monster looks to another as Natasha makes eye contact with Mary Seward. One might be far, far older and far, far more powerful. The other has merely simple and extended spite and cynicism to press her forwards. Mary is evaluated as a threat, categorized, and filed away for the event that the two enter into active conflict. It's very subtle and calculating, but the categorization is there. Everyone is a potential enemy. Including herself.

Looking to Lorna, "Yes, and you will be eternally used as the other, the existential threat to unite others because to the powers that be you are far more useful that way. You are stronger together, but also easier to isolate. It precludes the option of the pwoers that be deciding that you are far more useful to them, and thus worth protecting and keeping at their side."

If everyone will forever fear the mutants for thier powers and make them useful to rally against, then is it not just as simple an option to start a cold blooded transactional approach to the matter? If one were to ask the assassin for a psychological suggestion in a sense of raw pragmatism.

Every empire since the dawn of time had supported just about anyone or anything they found useful for a time to puppet.

Natasha is a monster. And she makes no pretenses otherwise.

Scott Summers has posed:
While many begin to converge upon one another to discuss, socialize, and engage with one another; Scott Summers keeps himself on the perimeter. The laptop still tucked away at his side and his ruby quartz shades turning this way and that to consider other guests, yet he does not stray from his place watching the social hour unfold. While Rogue is busy escorting the trio of students for refreshments and chow, Scott assigns himself the task of watching over the four of them from afar. Rogue's perfectly capable of course, but X-Men watch each others backs. Which means Scott watches Rogue and the teen's from afar.

A quiet chime from his phone results in a hand dipping into a pocket to retrieve it. He studies the screen for only a moment, though his expression never seems to change. It's hard telling whether it's good or bad news, as he doesn't so much as frown. The phone is tucked away and finally Scott steps forward, beginning to stride his way across the expansive chamber to approach Lorna first. Thanks, gratitude, appreciation and all the rest is in order.

He's not rude though; he doesn't interrupt. He waits his turn.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
"I'd rather have cake," Jaxon replies to Mystique. Tonight has been /a lot/. Spilling his entire life in front of strangers and then being 'ambushed' by a QUEEN. "Shit," he hisses softly. "I'm sorry," he says to Mystique without any further elaboration. "Yeah, cake and whatever's good." He's having a difficult time even putting his words together properly. Likely because he spent his world allotment for the day spilling his trauma like so much toxic waste all over the room.

When was the last time he had that much to say? The answer would likely be never - just as he's never really been offered a sincere compliment.

Despite his lack of lengthy ramblings in his lifetime, despite his lack of actual friends, he knows how to not be rude. "You want to join us?" he asks Camille.

Bishop has posed:
It's of no surprise to Bishop that so many people would be gravitating towards Lorna and Jaxon. The great genoshan queen and the emotional heart of this evening, whether or not Jaxon wants that distinction.

So he doesn't attempt to press in too quickly though he does take note of the back and forth between Natasha and the magnetic mutant queen.

He listens, quietly, opting to not interject though his gaze does drift to follow Natasha's in the direction of Mary Sewards and Mystique is given a nod as well - but ultimately his attention is fully captured by Lorna as she addresses him.

"That makes two of us." he admits, "I wasn't sure I was going to say anything but then....I suppose I just found myself up there. Maybe there's a clever psychic around."

Or two or three of them, who knows.

"I just wanted to say, good job...and to top it allf, nobody's shooting fireballs at each other."

After a pause he leans in, lowering his voice and he says simply, "And Ill be in touch on that matter we discussed. There's movement on our end. Sit tight..."

Upon leaning back he sees the approach of a certain figure of, apparent, massive future import or something, something.

Bishop clears his throat roughly and steps away, moving to give Scott clear access to Lorna and hopefully for himself to not get asked too many additional questions about that one.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Very hot," Lorna brightly assures Mary. The 'OK' symbol that flashes past Mystique's shoulder is like an emphatic underline. "Very lethal."

Her hand settles on Mystique's shoulder while she leans in to whisper something in the shapeshifter's ear, then she wriggles out from behind her.

"Well, that's the challenge, ultimately: all of these branching subspecies terminate at the same point, like I mentioned-- like the Martian Manhunter touched on, too. We've all been someone's bogeyman; we've all made monsters out of others to pull ourselves together... it's easy, right? It's natural; we're tribal entities," she says, strolling fractionally closer to Natasha as she goes. "We want to separate ourselves into groups big enough to let ourselves feel like we're a part of something, and small enough that we don't feel like we're missing anything. So, you're right: we're stronger together, and there are powers outside of us who'd do anything to keep us from recognizing it."

Pausing right next to Natasha, the smiling Queen of Genosha turns just enough to whisper, "But nothing can last forever-- not even the powers that be. Recognizing that is a big step towards mutual survival."

The spy gets -- an attempted -- shoulder touch, albeit a brief one, before she steps aside to face Bishop and Scott. To the former, she offers, "Thanks-- it feels like people were engaged, and, well. That's all I want, here--"

To both, she offers, "Make sure Scott's looped in if he isn't already."

And then, Scott gets an arm loosely coiling around his. Lorna's seen her sister-in-law lingering on the edges, watching as is her way; rather than torture the woman by making her choose her own spot to ford through the crowd, she opts to try and draw Scott towards her, killing two birds with one walk-and-talk.

"You could've used maybe thirty percent fewer stat slides," she says to the ruby-eyed man, eyes twinkling and lips curled in a grin, "but other than THAT... good job, Scott." Even as she says this, Micola winds up getting a pointed look and a wave as she draws closer.

Camille Russo has posed:
Camille notices the protective slant to Mystique's pose, and smiles. He has powerful protectors. Good. "If I may be frank with y'all?" Her Louisiana drawl slips out, and her eyes are steely. "I'm not a mutant, and my magic don't really lend itself to killin outright... but if y'all ever pin this Stryker man down? I will be most happy to help y'all take the trash out." She offers a business card to Mystique. Her name, cell, and email address are printed neatly on it.

"Mr. Blain, I'd be thrilled to join you for a slice of cake."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova would glance over at Lorna, accepting the touch. Her tone is otherwise flat over at it and a light nod is given. And as it rests there, her own hand flips up and over then to casually ease the finger of the green haired Queen of Genosha away.. Right as in Lorna's glove is left a small data chip. Presuming it's reviewed later to any degree it's all the data that SHIELD's files have on Stryker.

"All you need is for the powers that be to accept you for a generation or so. Then you're integrated enough to them that you havea say in what they do and you're essential to the system and they can't exist without you." As the Great Game amongst the great powers went, after all. In the varying ways for millenia.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique listens to Lorna's whisper, and the only response is a sly smile and a wink to the woman. Anything more right now would be inappropriate. She'd save it for later.

"Well then, cake it is," Mystique says to Jaxon, and only then looks toward Camille.

"Why thank you," she says politely, and accepts the business card. For a single moment she studies the woman intently, yellow eyes almost looking into the woman's soul (or so it might feel like) and then she is offering a smile.

"Chocolate, vanilla, lemon, I think there may even be a raspberry cake," she says to Camille and Jaxon, since Camille will be joining. "My favorite is German chocolate of course."

Mary Seward has posed:
"Noted." She answers Mystique's correction. At least for now. Chances are she might forget later on whether by accident or on purpose as a joke. The latter far more likely.

The other redheaded monster in the room seems to captivate her for whatever the reason. She keeps engaging. Especially, now that Lorna's time is being taken up by others.

. "All this talk on the Powers that Be...Maybe, they should watch their step, in my humble opinion...Before they end up replaced. As someone who's seen a few empires fall, I know just where that leads...and how messy it gets. Very messy."

Micola Maximoff has posed:
Micola's golden gaze looks around and then goes back to Lorna as she moves. There is a bit of a chuckle from the Psychopomp and she decides to meet Lorna and others halfway, since Lorna is incoming. If they had Wanda here they would make a good color palette of hair!

When it is polite to speak there is a dip of her head to her, "Pietro is on a mission, I apologize for his absence." she explains. "But I wanted to come and support things." she smiles to that. "You are looking well." she tells the Queen.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
Cake, focus on cake. "I'm a vanilla kind of guy," Jaxon states, voice pitched low now - trying to keep attention off him before his brain just breaks. "Vanilla cake, vanilla ice cream." He's a man of simple tastes, likely by nurture, not nature.

He does lean in to murmur ever so quietly to Mystique, "How does she know about the bookstore? Was she even there?" Oh little grasshopper, one day the lesson will be learned - those that need to know all generally do.

He sticks close to Mystique and once at the refreshment table, he's once again not sure how to proceed. Does he just grab a piece? Should he wait on other people to do so first?

So, he just stands there as if the answers might just magically come to him.

Once again, he does remember how to not be rude. His attention shifts to Camille. "I didn't catch your name, sorry if I missed it. And I'm just Jax."

Scott Summers has posed:
Bishop receives a small nod out of Scott as the former steps aside to permit access to Lorna, the Queen of Genosha. The mention of Bishop's presentation being engaging and taking a firm grasp on attention earns another nod from Scott, directed at Bishop. He gives nothing away however and his expression remains as neutral as ever. Even when an arm is coiling loosely among his own, Scott moves with ease when his free hand moves to slide the laptop away from the arm that Lorna lays claim. As the pair walk and talk, Scott answers back on the topic of his number of slides, "Thirty percent fewer would have been thirty percent less critical information. Every one was crucial to the whole picture," he pauses a moment before he offers a polite dip of his chin, a shallow nod of acknowledgment of the compliment provided, "thank you. I also wish to extend our appreciation toward you and your embassy for hosting this. The students will definitely remember this as an important moment in their lives".

Micola's interception, aided by Lorna's guiding themselves toward Micola, earns a nod directed at Micola. It's polite enough and the subdued smile seems to at least be friendly enough.

Scott carefully slips his arm free however with an apology to accompany it, "We wished to express our appreciation for the hospitality and educational value of this meeting. I don't wish to impede on your time or availability further, so I'll take my leave and we'll depart soon. Thank you."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
As Jaxon murmurs, Mystique grins slightly and replies quietly, "Word travels through the community rather quickly, Jaxon. We stay informed."

Reaching the table, she picks up three plates and offers one to Jaxon, one to Camille and keeps the last one for herself. Looking over the choices, she listens to Jaxon's choice, then uses the cake knife to place a large pieces of vanilla cake on the plate.

For herself she selects the raspberry filled cake with white frosting, then waits for Camille to decide which flavor she wants before serving it for her. Clearly mother mode has been completely engaged because she doesn't even know Camille, who admitted to not being a mutant, and Mystique was being nice to her.

Bishop has posed:
Oh good. He's stiff, neutral, overly serious, focused, diplomatic and focused.

That's great! It means Bishop won't be harassed about revealing a future inspirational rebellion named after him.

Bishop returns the nod and places dark glasses upon his nose. Mission accomplished.

"Don't worry. I will." he says towards Lorna.

"Scott? See you back at the Institute. There's roping to do."

There's a pause. Awkward. pause.

"Right. Goodbye."

WIth that he turns and begins a hasty exit.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova would look over to Mary Seward, and quip, "Merely watching rather than instigating? And all things come and go in time." But there was always a difference between sitting back and watching, being an internal player.. Or fiddling while Rome burnt. Bishop is given a gaze of the first actual emotion that Natasha has showns o far this evening.

Respect and approval.

Her face goes passive again as soon as she sees that Bishop has noticed it as if it was never there.

Lorna Dane has posed:
There's enough trace metals -- enough information -- packed into that tiny microchip that Lorna's eyes fly right to it about two beats after it's planted.

And then they settle on Natasha's for another beat--

-- and then it's back to mingling.

Dragging Scott along to give him compliments and whisper, "My last AAR's perms are all fucked up, but we have a line on Purifier bullshit; more soon," just before Micola closes in and Scott is allowed to escape.

Beaming, she takes Micola's hands in hers and ever so gently lifts them up and touches them to the Psychopomp's brow, bidding her not to bother with the formality.

"I don't think this is really his thing, anyway," she says of Pietro, drawing their hands down-- lingering for a moment longer before letting go. "Just send him and the rest of the family my love-- and thank YOU for coming at all. Did you have a--"

A brief pause. It's not really a-- 'fun'-- sort of affair, right--?

"... good learning time?" the Queen goes with, a hair lower and exponentially more self-aware than a moment ago. She doesn't let this hang over them for long at all, though: reaching for her sister in law's hand once again, she seeks to lift it up and give her a quick twirl while she says, "God, look at you--"

Camille Russo has posed:
"It's Camille, just Jax. And if you're cutting the slices for all of us, I'd like the chocolate please." She smiles politely at Mystique as she accepts the plate and the slice of cake. Manners didn't hurt, especially when she suspects many of those in attendance could squash her like a bug, even with amount of protection tied into her clothing. She keeps her words light, now that she's complimented Jax and offered what help she can. "Do powers tend to run along family lines, or is it largely happenstance?" she asks carefully. "The magics where I'm from tend to... take root, I guess is probably the best phrasin. Different expressions, but families tend to take on a specialty. Even moreso if they're claimed to specific Iwa. Mine's fair different from what my mama or granny's were, but it's got some common with my auntie. For a while, we thought I might be the next manbo, but it didn't take." These people had shared stories honestly. It didn't hurt her to do some sharing of her own.

Scott Summers has posed:
The quiet exchange is heard, but not acknowledged. There are no nods, smiles, or spoken understandings. If clandestine is the name of the game, then Scott seems capable of playing it well enough. He doesn't acknowledge that he's heard a word, but carries on with his intended plan. Which is to say that after unthreading his arm from Lorna's, Cyclops begins to slip away. He even covers that departure with one final farewell, "We look forward to your next gathering and if it's during the school year, we'd love an opportunity to bring more students to see productive discourse at work".

Then Scott offers a polite dip of his head toward the Queen of Genosha, before he's turning and beginning to move off toward the table of refreshments and other snacks. He has a trio of students and a colleague to retrieve before the contingent out of Xavier's school make their own departure.

Bishop's back does earn a couple ruby quartz lenses in its direction, but nothing that lingers long enough to burn a metaphorical hole in it.

Mary Seward has posed:
Mary Seward grins. "Oh, I don't concern myself with human politics...They'll be irrelevant eventually." What she meant by that, she was being purposefully vague on. Evidenced by her looking off to the side, just as Scott makes his exit.

"Ah, well, do you guys hear that? Mister thirty-six slides didn't wanna impede on our time..." A scoff leaves her.

"Boy, if that thing went on any longer, I swear, I was gonna tear out his throat with my teeth." Some would probably assume her to just be joking. Others probably would be able to tell that she wasn't.

"...Am I right?"

Micola Maximoff has posed:
Micola gives a dip of her head in greeting to Scott, "Hello." she intones. Then Micola gives a smile to Lorna, a warm and welcoming one as she takes her hands. It is easy to do with family, "It is not really his thing. He'd have fidgeted himself out of his seat and through a wall probably." she tells her in a gentle tone.

"I will send your love and know that you have ours as well. You do not need to thank me. I am always here to support what you and Wanda are doing as well." she comments. "It is always good to hear the stories of others and where we are wanting to go and wanting to avoid repeating." she admits.

She spins with a bit of a laugh when Lorna spins her, "It is very good to see you. I wanted to let you know that I was going to see about getting everyone together for dinner sometime, schedules permitting." she offers. "And maybe see if there is anything that we can assist with." she adds.

Jaxon Blain has posed:
Jaxon isn't quite the 'squash like a bug' sort. He's more the 'appear from the shadows and slit a throat' kinda guy. So Camille is safe from squashings from him. He too takes his plated cake from Mystique. Really it was just something different, something other than all of what's going on around him, to focus on. He probably won't eat much, stomach turning and tossing as it is. "My parents weren't mutants," at least that he's aware. His focus is on the cake on the plate in his hand that might be shaking a little bit as he speaks. "I mean, it's genetic - a genetic difference, but I don't know how hereditary it might be."

Holding the cake in one hand, he slips his other into the pocket of the jacket he's wearing to pull out a pair of sunglasses. They're not ruby red, they don't shoot lasers - they're cheap dime store things. But they take the edge off the lighting in the room. Even with Mystique dimming them slightly, it's still a little much for him for such a long duration. He's sticking close to Mystique.

For someone more than willing to gouge a woman's eyes out for just one 'win' against the Purifiers, the man seems awfully nervous. "I don't know what a manbo is," he admits quietly. In fact, he doesn't know what half the stuff Camile just said might be.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Of course," accompanies the inward step when Micola stops spinning. A slight, forward tilt lets her touch her brow to the bluenette's as she releases her hand. "Likewise.

"We'll get together soon, alright?" she quietly promises before breaking away. "Do you need anything now?" she checks, stepping back and glancing around, checking on groupings-- pausing, for a spell, on Madelyne doing her very best to take it all in.

"We should have at least one of your favorites over there..." she offers, edging towards the tempestuous redhead.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Camille's piece of chocolate cake is set on her plate, then Mystique gets herself a fork. Listening to Jaxon and Camille talk, as well as eavesdropping on the other conversation taking place, she takes a bite of her cake to savor.

After a moment she looks to Camilla and says, "The mutations that come are largely factored from the genetics of men, though on occasion the female."

Glancing to Jaxon for a moment she looks back, yellow eyes studying the young magic user. "There is no guarantee that two humans will produce a mutant, and the percentages only go up slightly for two mutants to have a mutant."

Micola Maximoff has posed:
Micola rests her forehead against Lorna's for a moment and there is a soft smile to the woman, "Thank you." she tells her in a whisper. When Lorna breaks away there is a smile, "Yes, soon. I will let Pietro know as well." she states.

"No, nothing right this instant. You go do what you need to do." she grins to that. And with that she makes a few rounds to talk to others that she knows and then heads back to make sure her children aren't terrorizing her mother!

Camille Russo has posed:
"Apologies, mon petit. A manbo is a priestess of sorts, and they're often dedicated to a specific family of Iwa - gods and goddesses that represent different domains. If you're familiar with stories from ancient Egypt, you could say my ancestors dedicated themselves to the goddess Bastet long enough that it shaped the direction our magics like to go. It's an affinity, much like your shadows or the way merfolk love the water." She takes a bite of her cake, listening to Mystique. "So much like Pandora's Box, perhaps? All of the mutants could take their own planet, but it wouldn't prevent new ones from being born if the genes were expressed. Similar to the way white couples sometimes get quite the surprise in the delivery room when their ancestor's actions decide to stop being recessive." She gave the other woman an easy grin. "Well, even more reason to make sure y'all have support and safety. Can't leave unprepared children to take the brunt of that hatred."

Jaxon Blain has posed:
Jaxon fiddles with his cake, poking holes in it with a fork. It's definitely something he's using as more of a distraction than food. For a few moments he's just lost in his thoughts. He's just now starting to process everything that was said this evening. He was listening, but his processing power was thrown off a little bit by reactions to words he didn't even know he was going to say.

Camille brings him out of his reverie with her last few words. The rest was certainly heard, on some level, more to process later. "No child should ever be the brunt of hatred, ever, but there are things worse than that and they happen more than anyone would like to admit." The words are spoken with a little heat and through slightly clenched teeth - shadows swarm in his eyes once more. Those shadowed blue eyes snap up from the cake and focus on Camille. "In the span of seventy-two hours, I could have been killed twice battling against things controlled by humans that hate us. Twice. How can we ever have safety when they're busy building machines designed to find our weaknesses and take advantage of them, machines that adapt and learn with every blow we try to give in defense of our lives? How can we ever be safe when phrases like 'Purity Justifies our Hate' are being shouted on the street corners?"

He stops talking suddenly - his mouth just snaps shut. He looks down at his cake again and murmurs, "Sorry."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique lays her hand on Jaxon's shoulder again as she says, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Jaxon. You express your feeling, and you're allowed to do that. If someone has a problem with what you said, they can fuck right off."

She glances to Camille a moment, wondering if the young woman was at all moved or effected by Jaxon's words. "I have been seeking equality for mutants for a very long time. I have seen the atrocities, and had them inflicted upon me. I know the pain Jax feels, I know anger... it echoes my own."

She pauses there, canting her head slightly, then finally adds, "The truth should never be locked away or hidden. The truth should be announced to the world, even if the world doesn't want to know it."

Camille Russo has posed:
Oh, child. Camille wants to hug him, because he's very right, and not even just for mutant children. "Ms. Mystique is right. Do not apologize for speaking your truth and expressing your feelings. You're right. And y'all have my help, just ask. I know at least... one other person I might be able to call on for assistance, particularly if innocents are in the crossfire. I have a few ideas of small things that might help just a little." She's noticed his light sensitivity, and she thinks she can offer some mild shielding for it, but it'll take some tinkering. "If I were to send something, I assume the Embassy will be able to pass it along? You can have any of your own magic using contacts scan it first, of course."

Jaxon Blain has posed:
He has so much more to say, so much more that's been bottled up inside him for so so long. It's so much that it starts to become overwhelming. So, as a man who was forced to grow up too quickly, yet never got a real chance to become an 'adult', he does what he knows. "I can't do this," Jaxon blurts out suddenly. Can't do what? He doesn't say. He just tosses his plate back onto the table. The cake topples off of it, icing side down. Ruined - perhaps a visual representation of how he's feeling? It only takes him as far as a few steps to the closest shadow being being cast or darkening the corner of a room and Jaxon is just /gone/.

Not far though. He hasn't gone far.

He's gone to where he always goes, to that space somewhere between the darkness and the light - hidden in the shadows, literally becoming one with them. It's quiet in the shadows, cool and dark - familiar.

He'll eventually pop back out somewhere, maybe even back here - but it won't be until the room is shrouded in darkness and everyone's gone.

Everyone save the stubborn blue mutant that likely won't leave until Jaxon is forced out by a desperate need to piss or something equally pressing.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique reaches for Jaxon's plate just a touch too slow, watching as the cake turns upside down on the table. Looking back toward Jaxon she knows exactly what he can't do, and she understands why. She could call out, try to stop him, but she doesn't. Instead, she look back to Camille.

"Don't worry overly much about Jax, I will remain here until everyone else has left and make sure he's alright," she offers with a smile. "If and when we find one of the many major targets out there who want to see all mutants wiped out, I will call you."

Camille Russo has posed:
Camille smiles, but her eyes are a little tight. "I didn't mean to overwhelm him, but I'm very glad he's got such fierce protectors. And if you ever wanna talk outside of wantin assistance, grab coffee or somethin, that's fine too. I'm still new to the city, my hours are weird, but I like meetin people and tryin new things." She nods to Mystique and then slips into the crowd.