1880/The Saint and the Demon

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The Saint and the Demon
Date of Scene: 28 May 2020
Location: Guest Boathouse
Synopsis: Brainstorming about the attacks on Xavier's Mansion may have some leads.
Cast of Characters: Bishop, Illyana Rasputina




Bishop has posed:
Sometimes, you just need a drink. And so Bishop has retreated to the second level of the Boat House, A glass tumbler with two fingers of amber scotch in it rests nexts to an open bottle. Bishop however is neglecting them. Instead he's focused on a table that he holds in his hands, it's got the inconspicous yellow X on the back of the case that betrays it as one of the tablets that the teams will carry in the field sometimes, "Don't be bloody paranoid Bishop. There's teleporters in this timeline too, and so far none of this has matched his M.O."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Sometimes, you just need a dinghy and the fire marshal shouting about unsafe practices. The water gives way through displacement, pushed apart where a halo of luminescent flame forms a wickedly rotating spin of fire. Silver light twinkles into a shade of cerulean rarely beheld, numinous flames dancing on the rippling surface of the lake. A few moments later, a young woman manifests in a way that would have sent the knights of Arthur's court skittering for the shoreline as fast as their heavy chain would have allowed.

For the water gives way and there she is, sleek and dark in those thigh-high boots. The rest manifests itself in fine detail, blonde standing on the water for just a moment. This is naturally a great way to get shot, except the girl -walks- on the water towards the nearest stretch of dry ground. Or she tries; there's something to be said for that, stretching out her gait slightly. Illyana may well see Bishop first, or he might see and shoot her. Such is life.

Bishop has posed:
People are on edge at the Mansion, and Bishop, for his part, just spent the better part of the last month in Genosha, helping to keep mobs from breaking out. As there is a flash of fire, dancing across the water, Bishop is up and to the balcony of the boathouse. Despite being jumpy, and Illyana's entrance being a good way to get shot, Bishop is nothing if not possessed of good battlefield discipline, and though his blaster is in hand, when potential target is confirmed as friendly. It lowers.

Bishop vaults over the balcony rail and lands on the boat dock below. "Illyana?" He calls out to her as he moves to intercept where she's likely to reach dry land. Dark eyes study the blond sorceress for a moment, certainly she has a flair for the dramatic, but this is like a gun boat 'coming in hot.' "What's wrong?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
There perhaps might be a truth to those entrances: falling out of the sky, rising out of the shadows, or existing where before nothing but air sang with effort indicates precisely who Illyana is in strange ways. Not everyone in the Mansion knows her signatures, but some might.

She very well may be aware that blasters train on her, or half a dozen frightened mutants looking jealously or unhappily from their windows spotting the disturbance. She may very well not care, arrogant in her youth. But she walks through the water, careless for the swishing.

Up to that boathouse, where Bishop stands. Pale eyes pass over him, focused with a measured scrutiny, and return the measured assessment. "You tell me," she ripostes that point with characteristic Russian laconic nature. Spartans sound wordier than she does. "What's new?"

Bishop has posed:
The big man rubs his chin as he considers how to answer that, "Genosha is still a shit show, and I imagine your brother's briefed you on the dissappearances?" Bishop asks as he holsters the blaster over his shoulder, "Apologies for arming. We are all on edge lately."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Wiser not to holster them." A faint hint of a smirk touches those lips given very rarely to lengthening beyond that. Illyana does not smile in a world defined by black and white shades of unhappiness. Her boots drip as she reaches for the rail, pulling herself up onto solid ground. "I could draw faster than you could reach, maybe. I might not be me."

Points to be made as she casually leans there. "Nyet. I know less. Some are gone. Have you found any?"

Bishop has posed:
"You have a certain sense of. . . gravitas that I don't believe is capable of being easily duplicated by an imposter." Bishop points out, "So if you are an imposter, bloody well done." He cocks a thumb over his shoudler, "The boat house is fully stocked if you wish a drink. To be honest I would welcome your input. We've turned up very little at the sights of abduction so far, but we are still waiting for some teams to call in. Based on what we found at the sight of Gabby's adbuction, Laura thinks we are possibly dealing with a teleporter.

Bishop leans foward against the rail next to Illyana, looking out over the lake even as she looks back into shore, "I think it's time to make up a list of usual suspects and start kicking in doors until someone coughs up a lead."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
That bare inclination of her head isn't easy to read, but it throws the pale blonde hair around her shoulders slightly in a series of slivers slashed through a weighty curtain. It has to part for her to see, at least. "Drink? Da, if you do not mind. Do not tell Scott." A dry warning, but she still has to get over the roil. Hoisting herself up is pretty easy, palms flat to the top and leg swung over with easy grace. "Where was Gabby taken? We found evidence for a car accident. Deliberate, maybe. No signs of Berto anywhere."

She saunters lightly after the larger man, though that's not telling about anything. The swords she uses with such ease aren't concealed in her wrists or feet, true. They require a little extra work to manifest, but they still have speed.

Bishop has posed:
"She was taken along a path in the woods where she liked to run. We found the scene of the attack, there were at least 5, but possibly as many as 7. They all had the exact same bootsize." Bishop explains as he heads back into the boat house, Stopping to hold the door for Illyana, on instinct. The short flight of stairs gives him more time to share. "Psylocke was able to sense some.. I guess you'd call it a 'psychic echo' she said the people that attacked Gabby were psychopaths. But there was no sign of where they went. Just no trail. WHich is why Laura thinks they were led or aided by a teleporter. Some sort of chemical that would surpress the ability to pick up people's scents was spread, we got a soil sample, hoping we can seperate some of it from that."

Bishop reaches the table he was at and grabs another tumbler. "Scotch? I won't tell Mr. Summers."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Duplicates?" The first word to Illyana's mouth is that, though it comes after a rather dry, long pause. She nods as he holds open the door, given Bishop a low word of thanks. Though she waits for him to lead the way up, her back to the wall in the process. "No path. The might have flown. Telekinesis? Different way out. Especially if they went over and used the forest for cover, maybe?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
A nod, then, for the business of scotch. She hasn't forgotten that. "Da, thank you."

Bishop has posed:
He pours two fingers into the tumbler. Just enough to warm someone up and slides it across the table to her. "If you are old enough to rule a dimension, I figure a little scotch is not going to kill you." Bishop says, "And it's a possibility they flew, But that still limits our ability to track them directly. I have a hard time believing that these assailants that captured Gabby would be capable of both restraining the Honey Badger *and* scrubbing the scene of the attack. I think however they got away, someone had to be dedicated to extration for it to be as seemless as it appears to be."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Enough for someone like her to burn up the alcohol quick if she has the ancestral skill of metabolising high amounts of liquor. Russian winters and payment in vodka generationally have an effect, and consider Rasputin took immense efforts to off? No doubt his granddaughter does as well. "It might if it's terrible scotch," Illyana replies. She holds up the glass, swirling it around. Giving him a chance to speak before drinking, listening with that narrow band of attention onto him and giving not much more. "Might have been two or three to subdue her, rest to clean up. Standard wetworks squad, da? Not so difficult to imagine. They sound thorough if they had a scent suppression chemical?" Big words, but she crunches them without very much difficulty, rather watching Bishop's reactions and his gauged opinions. Man is a professional, it pays to pay heed to that.

"Dedicated extraction then. Say telekinetic or other. You are thinking empowered, not standard. Psychopaths from a psychic echo, that is not something that lends itself to working together. They must have been coordinated." Her expression is particularly cool, hard to measure any response emotionally from. But then this is the demon queen of Limbo: for expressiveness, go find her big brother. The seven foot titan has much more to share. "That limits options, da? Who do you think is behind it? No one left any 'calling card' or whatever it is, the thing that shows they had responsibility?"

Bishop has posed:
"That's where I am running into a roadblock." Bishop confesses. He lifts up his tumbler and throws back his drink, "I am an being honest this is mediocre scotch at best, but it is also free scotch which generally improves the quality by a factor of 10." He clears his throat and refocuses, "I am not familiar with all your 'usual suspects' in this time period. I figure we are looking for the one that can teleport or is a powerful Telepath and Telekinetic, which are powers that often come in tandem, Or someone with the resources to hire themselves a contractor that could coordinate these captures. Mr. Summers says that he feels we can rule out William Stryker, so I am trying to decide who is our most likely candidate. Somewhere, someone knows, now we just have to find them."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Powerful telepath and telekinetic. More of those than range teleporters, da?" Illyana inclines her head to the house for a moment. The house that houses so many that the description might be an unfriendly comparison, really. A manor, a mansion, the school of dreams and locked down horrors. There they are, bound together. She sips her drink without complaint, not quite as fast as Bishop. But neither are there signs she savours it, efficient about draining it in a rather timely fashion. "Then not someone with the Purists. In your time, who? All options can be looked at." A flick of the wrist. "Discarded. Someone with such powers may not be a mutant. They had to know many. Not everyone was high profile."

Bishop has posed:
"In my time. This would have been a man named Trevor Fitzroy. If I where to look back on history of our world. Honestly, we'd be looking for the more advanced Sentinels for something like this." He nods and says, "You know what... maybe that's the first door we kick down. Thank you Illyana. I should call you when I need to brainstorm more often."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Fitzroy." A name settled in thought. She inclines her eyebrows. "Sentinels are intriguing." Illyana flicks her wrist and produces what is absolutely the most boring thing in existence. It is, no more and no less, a dollar bill. Crumpled, a bit dog-eared, and it comes out of nowhere. Something that fits in the palm, put down on the nearest flat surface beside him. "When you want to kick down the door? You crush this into a ball and say my name. I will come, da? Keep it folded until then. Good night, Bishop."

That much said is more than necessary. A promise of the cavalry to come, perhaps. Maybe she knows the meaning of the man on the bill, maybe she does not. But there, strange allegiances could be formed, greenback or not. Without much more, she steps into a suddenly blooming circle that shuts around her so fast it's hard to appreciate what lies beyond.

Mist leaking around broken pillars, a shape of dystopian terror in the mortal realm. Perhaps she's just jumped into the ruins of Yemen.