7491/An Alien, a Mutant and a Weapon Cache

An Alien, a Mutant and a Weapon Cache
Date of Scene:	05 August 2021
Location:	Somewhere on the grounds of Xavier's School for the Gifted
Synopsis:	Michael Erickson comes to the campus of Xavier's school in order to retrieve a cache of weapons and a SHIELD SUV, he meets Monet and they discuss recent events... and her ignorance of them.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Monet St. Croix

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Michael Erickson has posed:
    Only a day or two has passed since the assault on the mansion - and, that failed, the assault on Jean's family. The mansion grounds, one assumes, are in a state of repair, as is the mansion itself; having long since stopped burning the bombed-out wreck of a SHIELD-issue SUV sits broken and mangled in the parking lot. You know. For when the gubmint returns to claim it.

    Arriving in a taxi at the gates of the school is a man - a man who, only days ago, showed up with the SHIELD agent driving that SUV, in Shi'ar combat armor and facing off against his own people. His face was veiled at the time by the armor's visor, and so he is, perhaps, known only as his human visage. Just This Guy. At the gates. So instead of making a show of his existence, he just rings the bell.

    You know. Like human people do.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
The school is still in disrepair from the recent attack and it is definately not business as usual. Monet has been helping with the evaulation of the damage in preparation for the eventual cleanup and repair when the gate buzzer notification reaches her.

Where ever she was on campus doesn't matter really as she takes to the air and is descending at the gate a moment later. So there's a guy at the gate, she approaches cautiously but without obvious suspicion on her face.

"Bonne apres-midi," the Monegasques Mutant greets the fantasicly fit ... farm-hand? "May I help you?" she asks him in French-accented English though the gate.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    There's a guy at the gate. Random blandly handsome white man, early to mid 30s, flopped brushback hair with shaved sides. Could be hipster, could be scruffy Nazi wanna-be. Who knows.

    But at least he speaks French. "Hello," he says to her in said language, Parisian by extraction but with a /strange/ accent. "My name is Cal'hatar of Chandilar. I came here with Agent Jessica Drew of SHIELD the other day in order to assist in repulsing those who came to murder Miss Jean Grey." A beat. "I came to get the car, or what was left of it."

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Monet's own accent is decidely /not/ Parisian. She switches fully to French as she is addressed in her native tongue. "I see," she says as she glances over her shoulder at the vehicle. She then says, "That is not a location I am familiar with and I thought I was well travelled and learned," showing that while she's a resident at the school she isn't privy to all of the secrets some residents of it are aware of. She then asks, "Where is that then?" as she opens the gate for the man with ties with SHIELD to enter.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "It is the throneworld of the Shi'ar Empire," he explains as he enters - then pauses by the gates, as if expecting a negative reaction. "It was my people who sought to kill Miss Grey, but I elected to assist Princess Neramani instead. She is, or perhaps was, here to visit with Professor Xavier when this took place." Standing there a moment, he looks past Monet to the house, expression suddenly grave. "I was not able to return immediately. Was everyone safe after the attack? It is my hope that you did not lose any of your fellow students."

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Appearing nonplussed by this statement, Monet says, "Ah, I see," and then asks, "You are not, yourself, royalty then are you?" And is everyone safe? "Oui," she replies, "It seems that the only deaths were among the attackers."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Nobility only," he says with a shake of his head, now walking off across the grounds if not stopped. "I am from a lesser house. And good. I know that Agent Drew and I crossed a few names from the ledger ourselves." Someone, apparently, doesn't like the folks at home. "And you are, miss?"

Monet St. Croix has posed:
"I am Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese St. Croix of Monaco," the young woman says to introduce herself, holding herself as steady as if she was a member of the royalty she can trace herself back to along her maternal line.

Following him as he departs the gate and walks away from the vehicle, Monet asks Michael, "So, what else is it that you are looking for Cal'hatar the Lesser Noble?" She likely butchers the pronunciation of the Shi'ar name, but she at least gets close.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Cal'hatar will work, please," he says, looking back to Monet as he walks. "Or the earthly name I use, specifically, being Michael Erickson. I was surveying the structural damage. Where did the corpses of the dead infantry go? I need to collect all the weapons left behind, as they are of my people." A beat. "It is good to meet you, Miss St. Croix."

Monet St. Croix has posed:
"Michael," Monet acknowledges giving it a French flair as she says it. "I wasn't here and don't know what was done with the bodies," she states before asking, "Do your people leave their fallen behind?" in a tone of voice that is unabashedly laced with contempt for the idea... not for the man or the people, she wouldn't know if it applies... but definately for the concept. "I should hope not of course," she says calmly in an attempt to be somewhat kind about this.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "They were being beaten rather soundly," Michael points out. "But by and large they try not to. I expect that Her Highness took most of it away." A nod to the distant traffic loop. "I am here for the remains of that wrecked SUV, and its contents which are my personal property."

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Nodding, Monet continues to escort Erickson around the grounds. "I think," she says, "That it's best for you to take possession of your property then and depart then. An official requst for information from our headmistress, or whomever is holding the position this month, for more information is the best way to find out information. I simply do not possess the answers you seek." No apology, just a statement. As a noble-being, this should seem a familiar stance of any of his peers.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Of course." He continues, untired, to the traffic loop, where the SUV is in ruins. Twisted, burned out, a shell of a machine where it was struck by the fearsome bolt of Black Cloak's powered lance. "Mmmm," he murmurs as he inspects the vehicle, peering inside. "Total loss, it would appear. I apologize for my sudden arrival, but I felt that it would be better to check on the school and remove what trash we were responsible for." Squinting into the back, he looks for what he was hoping would remain - and, though scorched, the large athletic bag remains intact.

    "Right, then." Michael turns to look at the dark-haired beauty, brows raised. "I apologize for being distracted. And for my people. If I can be of any assistance, please let Miss Grey and Professor Xavier that I am available." He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and produces a sliver of printed card. "My card." There, along with the words 'MICHAEL ERICKSON, SECURITY CONSULTING', is an address that puts him squarely in the middle of the Murray Hill neighborhood of Manhattan. "Thank you for putting up with this inconvenience, Miss St. Croix. Truly."

Monet St. Croix has posed:
With a slightly dismissive shrug, Monet says, "Not a terrible invoncenience, Michael," as she slips the card into a pocket (yes, a woman wearing clothing with pockets... how shockint!). She smiles and nods at the bag as she says, "See you found what you were looking for," knowingly in her ignrance of the bag's contents.

"Will you need any assistance with the SUV?" Monet asks with a tone suggesting that she feels she'd be eminently helpful in the endeavor.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    See? An evolved species, or on the way. They're finally making clothes for women with pockets. "It's a load of Shi'ar weapons," he tells her. "What I brought to kill my countrymen with. They belong to me. The vehicle I am taking back to SHIELD." A nod to the lady, and he steps back; something under his shirt glows a pale violet for just a moment - and then, suddenly, he is gone. In his place, amongst a billowing flash of purple light, stands a towering figure made from red chrome; sleek and sculpted, like a metallic anatomical model, the face of its 'helmet' set with a long, v-shaped visor which glows with the same violet glow. Long raptor-like claws tip the fingers, though they disassemble and retract like something from a big budget Hollywood film as he flexes one hand. << Still getting used to that, >> the armored figure muses, speaking with a resonant version of Michael's voice. << Will you try and get a message to the Princess, Miss St. Croix? >>

Monet St. Croix has posed:
She decidedly doesn't step back from the transformation. No, of course not, any sign of an aborted retreat is obviosuly just a trick of the pale violet glow. Right?

After a moment's pause (of course not to collect herself), Monet says, "I can see that would be something that would take getting used to," and, "I'll do what I can regarding the princess for you, yes."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    << It is somewhat important. >> He looks to her, considering. << Please let her know that I have joined the Fraternity of Raptors. Without their consent. She will understand. >> Those long claws return, curving and wicked; they bite into the roof of the car as the suit's fingers close about it, getting form purchase. << Thank you, Miss St. Croix. If you're ever in New York City, you are welcome to seek me out. I can answer whatever questions you might have about my people. >>

    And with that, long, bladed slats slide out from somewhere in the suit's arms, forming stylized, elongated wings; they provide no apparent propulsion as he launches into the air, nor do they seem to grant any lift that would help the vehicle be pulled from the floor - but they do, and it is, the gleaming man and the SUV alike soaring off into the air at alarming speeds. That's going to make a website, at /least/.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Monet smirks as the armor allows Michael to depart. She also flies away from the gateway, under her own power, so as to return to the tasks she'd been at when Erickson arrived.