18090/The Return of Magneto

The Return of Magneto
Date of Scene:	28 May 2024
Location:	Inner Sanctum
Synopsis:	In following her weekly routine, Mystique enters the Inner Sanctum and finds someone waiting for her... Magneto has returned.
Cast of Characters:	Raven Darkholme, Erik Lensherr

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Raven Darkholme has posed:
As far as Xavier's school, the X-men, humans and the United States were concerned, the Brotherhood had changed their ways. Mystique had kept to the experiment as intended, even having gone so far as permit herself to be arrested by Wonder Woman when it all first started. She'd played nice when the Angels invaded New York City, even permitted human refugees on the Asteroid for a time. She had played all the correct games with politics, and had nothing to show for it.

The experiment had failed.

Three years later nothing had changed, if anything things were worse for mutants around the world, and she had decided enough was enough. The attack on the Starport by Sentinel-like machines had been the final straw, the one thing too many for the blue mutant to just sit idly by and wait for the more diplomatic ways to have an effect.

For the past year Mystique had gone to the Inner Sanctum once a week to report to no one. Magneto had not been in his chair, or on the Asteroid, in fact he had not been anywhere she knew of. It was a constant thorn under her skin, that he was away doing his own thing, but she had agreed to keep things in order for him, and she had done just that. She had become accustomed to everyone looking to her for answers to all the questions, and most often she had the answers.

Taking a walk around the Sanctum, she paused to look at the central dais, then prepared to depart. "H & D, prepare to seal off the Inner Sanctum," she ordered over the comms as she walked toward the door.

Erik Lensherr has posed:
More maddening is perhaps the occasional sign of use. Things moved about in Magneto's labs. The security systems of the Asteroid accessed, either internally or remotely. Few ever see the Master of Magnetism come or go; such is well within his power, when the mood strikes. And mood has been striking for quite some time now.

Then came Sentinel strikes. Then came Purifiers targeting mutants with adaptive, derived weaponry. So it is that when Mystique surveys the Inner Sanctum -today-... the large, central chair at the heart of the station rotates to face her.

Within it sits none other than Magneto himself, as if he had simply arrived home and made himself at such. His impressive physique has been honed back to a razor's edge despite his age, and a resolute intensity burns behind pale blue eyes as they lock on Mystique. Said frame is garbed head to toe in a form-fitting, power-forged armor of black, red, and the most royal of purples, the iconic Corinthian helm set to one side on a console. "Raven." Magnus offers simply, a myriad of subtle currents to the stoic syllables.

"I am glad you are already on top of this." The screens display much of the intel and operational debriefs relating to the current crises. The unspoken bit, of course: Because I have not been. For all the stints of distance and detachment, acute remorse is a familiar state for the Liberator of Homo Superior. His granite-hewn features speak of this regret through obscurity, from beneath an only partially trimmed framing of robust, platinum facial hair.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
The reaction is common place for Mystique. She stops mid-step to turn back toward the chair. There is no shock or surprise on her face, the mask of neutrality she wore to conceal her emotions was firmly in place. The only indication of an emotion came in the form of her slightly raised left eyebrow.

A slight cant of her head to the right follows before she offers the man a brief nod and a calm, "Of course. It is after all, what I do best."

As her yellow eyes look him over, head to toe and back again, very slowly a devious smile spreads across her lips. "I see you have been keeping yourself busy," is added, the only acknowledgement she will make to his long absence. "You are look quite well."

Erik Lensherr has posed:
Just a couple of emotionally healthy, entirely functional individuals communicating openly and honestly about the myriad of twisting complications and frustrations their lives have endured since their last exchange.

"It is only getting worse, isn't it." No input from Magnus' gauntlet-clad hands is required to manipulate the monitors, then holographic projectors, surveying several angles of the Earth itself, one after another. The rhythmic deployment of these images, well; no one ever impugned Magneto's sense of drama.

"As humankind shifts ever more dramatically to the future, the short-sighted, the hateful, the cretin... they redouble their efforts to fight that future. To replace a bright future, a transhuman age, with the atrocities and devastation of the past."

Rhetoric is easy; but there's nothing politick or insincere in the delivery. This is simple fact, as the Master of Magnetism sees it. And far easier to say than apologies, appreciations, and explanations. They have work to do.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Shifting her weight ever so slightly, Mystique folds her arms lightly across her chest as she nods, just once. He put into words exactly what she was thinking, what she had been thinking, and did so more eloquently than she ever could.

"I have found that there are in fact a select few humans out there who truly wish to help mutant-kind," she expresses as her eyes shift to look at the monitors. "The majority however, they are still a complete waste of the air they breath."

Turning her eyes back to him, she closes the distance between where she had stopped and the edge of dais upon which the chair he sat in rested. "Day by day, month by month, it gets worse," she repeats his sentiment. "Just as day by day, month by month, more look away from the abuse and atrocities. They sit around their living rooms, watching their televisions, whispering how they wish there was something they could do, but oh well, there isn't."

Lifting her eyes to look directly into his, she holds there in silence for a moment before continuing, "The majority will never accept, the minority will always 'wish' us well while hiding in their private, selfish little worlds. I'm done being nice. I'm done accepting that there is a calm and peaceful way to achieve equality."

Erik Lensherr has posed:
"It is a fine line to walk." Magneto cautions initially, his voice dropping to a terse, projected whisper.

"The Mob is never a question of simple demographics, nor of real divisive identity. Humans will wall themselves up, hate and fear over melanin levels. Of course mutation is met with only even more dramatic blowback and tribalism." He builds intensity, alongside certitude, as he goes; contemplating the situation from a veteran's eyes. Perhaps one of the few in the game with experience equal to Mystique's own.

"Modern man has so perfected circuses that they scarcely need provide bread to placate a population. These masses you speak of, pacified and pliant, deserve our sympathy; not our rage. The war began long ago, but war has never been Holy." Much as those on all sides always, /always/ wish to proselytize as though it were.

"This will never truly be resolved by genocide, nor subjugation. We must choose our enemies with full perspicacity-- reciprocate their force, eliminate their foundations, sever every head of that seething monster. If we wish to build a better tomorrow, we have no choice but to fight this war; but Holy or not, we must be /just/."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Each word spoken, Mystique listens to intently. There were few in this world who had lived as long as had, seen what she had seen, experienced the abuse and pain; he was one those who had. His wisdom had always been welcome, it aided her many times in tamping down the rage to permit focus. It was easy enough to give into rage and murder anything that claimed to be human, it was far more difficult to keep the rage caged and yet used to fuel the purpose.

"I try to feel something for the sheep," she finally admits, the first admission of any emotion. "It is a difficult thing for me to do. For so long they have said one thing and done another, and as we both well know... actions speak louder than words and sentiment."

Taking a slow, deep breath, she shoves the anger back into the box. "I have always believed our actions to be just, our purpose clear. The war has been an ever present plaque in my life, and I know all too well that I will live to see end of it. I have sworn to my dying breath to fight for mutants all over this planet, by whatever means are required. That will never change."

She glances to the images on the screen again. "Sever every head," she repeats softly, more to herself than to him, but as she looks back she speak up once more. "By the end of this week I will know the location of those who built the Sentinel-like machine that attacked the Starport. By the end of this week, the Brotherhood will return to the war as we were meant to fight it."

Erik Lensherr has posed:
Magneto knows rage, righteous anger. He knows murder on a scale that is far from any mark of pride or power. Sadly, none of that has fixed the world, yet.

"Those who forever go along with the herd will arrive at one of two paths simply by their nature, my dear. One day it will be too much for them as well, and they will join the rising swell in looking to the horizon... or they will remain placid so long that they will casually abide the change. They are untapped allies, enemies still to reveal themselves, or inconsequential chattel." Butter up the throngs some more, Erik. Tell us how you really feel.

"Regardless, our resources are thin enough, and our true enemy has already revealed themselves." All the footage captured of said Sentinel now burns to menacing life in place of the blue-green expanse of the planet Earth.

"By the end of this week, their number shall be fewer; by the end of this week, their suppliers and co-conspirators will be known to us." The violent implications of that hang in the air, datafeeds filling still more displays and projectors as Magnus skims, backs up, and adds final annotations to some of his work and research.

"Come, join me in the cafeteria? I could most certainly eat." For him, it was Monday. The War Rages Onward.