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Post by Beriadan on Sept 20, 2024 22:19:16 GMT
The sun was dying in the darkening sky. Collapsing beneath the weight of the night, pressed gently but firmly beneath the horizon like an unwanted sack of kittens beneath the dark waters of time. Nigel sucked in smoke from his cigarette as he watched the occasion, as in awe by the glowing orange spread as he was every other night he saw it. The world was a bloody beautiful place. Pity about the people.
He was waiting, non-chalant and blasé about it, but also keeping his beady little eyes out for a certain someone someone. Many mutants could keep their identities a secret. Many lived lives off grid and out of the way. Some lived prominent lives, and died for the pleasure. Others were prominent people who didn't reveal their true nature.
Nigel was waiting for the latter.
"Isn't that a bloody beautiful thing."
He smiled to himself, staring across the river at the firey blood that spilled from the disappearing sun. It wouldn't be too long until she showed up. Nigel worried about missing her. A woman like Derisee Allard wasn't hard to miss.
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Post by Countess on Sept 20, 2024 22:52:56 GMT
The sun is setting in the always bright sky of New York City. As one light disappeared, so many others lit up in response to stave off that darkness. There's a reason they say this is the city that never sleeps, and boy do they have that right. Desiree is one of them, taking to the night as if they were born in it. Not that this place really had a night... No, not even in central park can you escape the constant electric lights of the city. She likes it that way, constantly alive and buzzing. There is something safe about it. Or maybe distracting.
Tonight is a distracting night, one among many. Des is dressed to kill in a little green sequined number for a night on the town. Just something to get back in the saddle after another week of Dying Tony Stark and the Rejection of her Childhood Crush Who Shall Not Be Named. She lives a charmed life, so much better than the vast majority of others, human and mutant alike.
Desiree is impossible to miss, not because of her very eye catching dress, but her power. It slips under the skin so quietly as she approaches, digging in her purse for some lipgloss she thinks she's forgotten. It is uplifting, like clouds parting the sky after days of rain. She feels like sunshine in a city of electric, fake light. She just so happens to stop near Nigel, still digging, a line between her brows to signify her petty little annoyance. "Putain..." she swears in French. That color goes so well with jewel tones. She looks back, and he can see her doing mental math. A moment of hesitation- an opening.
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Post by Beriadan on Sept 22, 2024 14:28:46 GMT
"Êtes-vous en train de me parler?""Are you talking to me?"
Nigel looked up at the green clad woman, in a stunning dress and bringing with her a wave of pleasantness. He smiled at her, adjusting his glasses as he straighted up, staring across at Desiree with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Tu ne passes pas une bonne journée. J'en mettrais ma main au feu, yeah?""You're not having a good day. I'd bet my life on it, yeah?"
Nigel produced a cigarette from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. He watched her as he lit it, a curious glint in his eyes. "Tu veux en parler?""Do you want to talk about it?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 22, 2024 17:55:54 GMT
Des looks up from her rummaging, peering about before settling on Nigel. Like a true Parisian, she knows a non-native speaker when she hears one. Her face scrunches ever so slightly, then she lets it go. [FR]" No, I am not, just having one of those weeks," she says, speaking fluidly in her native tongue. She looks at him, eyes not smoothly moving up and down his body, but zeroing in on specific aspects. Hair, glasses, shirt, hands, pants, shoes, back up to his face. Of all people, a charlatan like Nigel would know a read when it is being done to him. [FR]"Months? It seems to be dragging out. Certainly no one's problem but mine, for the time being," she says with a prim sniff, snapping her purse shut.
[FR]"Careful, with an offer like that, I may just like burning you," Des says, chuckling a bit darkly. Yes, she thinks she has an idea of who he is already, [FR]"Nothing worth ruminating on, oh stranger in the dark of New York," she says a bit sardonically. [FR]"All of it is petty, little things that are enough to make my life all the more bright, if only so that I may compare how fabulous everything else is," she says, shrugging. Des watches him take a drag of his cigarette, a smile curling. He seems... interesting. She cannot put her finger on it just yet...
Perhaps a little more of a read. She focuses on him a little more, letting the rest of the city melt away. What exactly are his intentions here?
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Post by Beriadan on Sept 24, 2024 11:28:48 GMT
A bit of curiosity and a lot of curiosity. That's what Nigel's main feelings were as they swirled around his being. Beneath that, a confidence and an ego, sure, but also a heart with a drive. Perhaps even a motor of desperation, but no signs of ill will or nefarious thoughts. Not for her, anyway.
"Oh, right? It's pretty bloody rare to hear a positive spin in New York. Rather refreshing, if you ask me."
Nigel exhaled, giving her a wry smile. She was a special case, that was for sure. Spora had been right on the money. He didn't check her out as she did to him, instead watching her eyes with a calculated, level gaze.
"Mind if I swap back to the Queen's English? Not that I dislike the French tongue, no offence meant. Name's Nigel. And join the club. Every week unveils itself in a more pungent shade of shit than the last. Still, as you say, mustn't grumble, yeah?"
He took a deep inhalation of the ragged fag-end, still watching her. There was a sense of something else oozing from his mental pores. Perhaps it was a tinge of sarcasm, a bit of irony. Des's issues paled in comparison to what Nigel was used to. Yet he didn't go in hard, no sudden jabs or underhanded comments. It was just a statement that revealed a bit of what he knew about her, perhaps. Yet he wasn't immune to her power, either. Nigel was feeling elated in her presence.
"Pity. It's a beautiful evening to feel like that. I always top mine off with a walk and a pint to drown my sorrows, but I guess you're not really a lager girl, right?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 24, 2024 12:35:17 GMT
Focus wanes, feeling nothing she could be suspicious of. She is by no means a mind reader, nor is she a true empath, but merely someone who can dip their toe in the water before jumping in. This one feels like he looks: a nerd with a purpose. His curiosity is infectious, because now she wants to know what makes that heart so... faintly desperate. That, and she loves a good ego. It tastes like honey to her. Even more so when she can inflate it.
"The city insists upon itself," Des says, a bit dry. It is nothing like her home, most things skin deep. Yet, here she is, letting it sink into her skin. "By all means, I know French is a more difficult language to grasp," she says, acquiescing, if only to stop hearing the butchery of her mother's tongue. His accent isn't as nice to hear in English, rather than French, regardless.
"A pleasure, Nigel, I am Desiree. Now- don't put too many words in my mouth, I didn't say we shouldn't complain," Des gently corrects. "I said it wasn't anyone else's problem... yet," she says, chuckling.
As she relaxes, more of her power is eked out, like a tap that is slowly but surely being opened. Elation in yellow is a part of it- but it is paired with motivation in gold. The two combine for her signature color: the heavenly light of inspiration. What was once insidious is now becoming clear for anyone who looks for it. She is influencing him, though not in a truly manipulative manner. It simply is this to be in her presence.
There- a nugget of something hinting at the Real Nigel. Curiosity, ego, determination, desperation, and now... irony. Des finds herself willing to abandon her plans before, if only to pick apart this stranger, layer by layer, and see what lies beneath. More entertaining than loud music and sweating bodies pressed up against each other, right?
"Only one way to find out, Nigel," Des says, grinning. He has one shot here. Only one.
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Post by Beriadan on Sept 26, 2024 19:57:27 GMT
Nigel gave her a knowing smile, a faint twist at the corners of his mouth. "Fair enough."He walked backwards a few steps, and the sounds of the city faded, and winked out. They were in a bubble of silence, just the two of them. Muse would hear nothing save for her own breathing, the rustle of her dress, the beating of her heart. Nigel took a drag of his cigarette, then nudged his head. "I know a bloody good wine bar not far from here."He gave her a nudge of the head, a small motion to follow. Nigel was doing all he could to maintain control. Knowing about what Muse was capable of helped. Barely, but it helped. "And we have a lot to talk about, yeah? Just you and me. Nobody else can hear us now."
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Post by Countess on Sept 26, 2024 21:11:20 GMT
Des watches Nigel only until sound simply... fades. The city, alive and well around them, disappears from her hearing. She glances about, as if trying to make sense of it. Amazing how one doesn't notice how loud it is until most sounds are gone. Des shifts, suddenly worried she has gone deaf, but no- she can hear the plastic sequins of her dress, the gulp of worry, the drag of his cigarette, even her sigh of relief.
"Neat trick," Des says dryly, walking in step with him. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. Her curiosity is greater than her fear, for now at least.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Des says with a sigh. She should have known there was an angle. It occurs to her this may have not been an interesting chance encounter. "You know, you could have scheduled a consultation," she adds, rolling her eyes. So what if the waiting list is... months long.
Des' power is now cautiously focused on him. Instead of an aura, it is now a net she has cast on him. Maybe he can feel it, maybe he can't, but she is making sure he regards her favorably. It is insidious, this feeling, wanting to cater to her, wanting to please her, wanting her to be happy. It is not mind control, not truly, but persuasion. It is the same power that got her a townhome in Soho, the same power that keeps her safe from those who might want to harm her. It doesn't force anyone to do anything they wouldn't normally do.
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Post by Beriadan on Sept 26, 2024 21:21:08 GMT
If it hadn't been the warnings he had been given, Nigel would be hooked. Intoxicated. This woman's power was ridiculous. He lit another cigarette as they walked in the utter silence. Nigel nodded at the word trick, and there was a layer of sound that rose as if the volume had been slowly enhanced. The waters of the river, a gentle and relaxing sound.
"Yeah. It's alright. I mean, we can't ask for the powers we get, but as far as mine goes, it does the trick. Like yours, right?"
After a moment of quiet walking, stopped outside a small red building, set into the riverside concrete. Nigel paused, looked at Desiree, then opened the door inside.
It was a dive bar of sorts, a poorly lit expanse that was decorated straight out of the eighties. Nigel motioned at the barman, clearly a pro, and pulled back a chair for Desiree to sit, a true gentlemen.
"People like me don't schedule consultations, love. Not when it goes through official channels. Too much of a trail, see? Oh, don't worry about speaking your mind here. Nobody else can hear what we're saying. Well, unless I want them to, so feel free to order more booze. I won't say no."
The wine was poured out, a small amount in each glass, the bottle left with them. Nigel raised his glass. Soft jazz was leaking into the silence, the rest of the bar drowned out.
"Here's to... an evening. Or a minute. Whichever you give me. Let's just enjoy it, yeah?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 26, 2024 22:03:38 GMT
Curiosity killed the cat... but satisfaction brought it back. Not everyone knows the full rhyme, but Des does. It comes to mind now, almost like a warning. Des nods at his assertation, pondering it slightly. She's always thought who a person is has much to do with their power, in a Chicken or the Egg kind of way. Is she who she is because of her power, or is her power what it is because of her?
A conundrum for another time. For now, she walks in relative silence, finding it... unsettling. Des knows she is the kind of person that doesn't need to fill every fucking moment with talking, but... it leaves her with her thoughts, and right now, her thoughts are troubling.
"Bloody good wine bar, indeed," Des says with her prim little sniff. She nods her head in thanks as she walks into the dingy little place, nose scrunched slightly as if she had stepped in something rather disgusting. In a sense, she had. A dive bar. Ugh. At least Nigel is acting the consummate gentleman. Not that she deserves anything less, of course. She is careful not to accidentally touch him as she takes her offered seat.
"People like you. Tell me, just what sort of person are you? Who are your contemporaries?" Des asks him, a bit of an edge to her voice as she cuts a little at the mystery he has placed before her. The jazz is a nice touch. She wonders how loud this place is without his influence.
She wonders if he is a mutant like her. This better not be about that accursed school. Cesspool of bullshit of hypocrisy.
"Here is to an evening," Des murmurs, gently tapping her glass against his then lifting it to her lips for the smallest of sips. She sets it down, letting it air.
"What's the pitch?"
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Post by Beriadan on Sept 27, 2024 20:06:27 GMT
The wine was good, despite the surroundings, and Nigel allowed himself to savour it. He lit up a cigarette, blowing the smoke away from the table, studying Desiree with that level gaze he wore. Nigel avoided the question entirely, instead nodding towards her.
"Your power is a dangerous thing, you know. I'm a fairly level-headed guy, I like to think, but there's something about just being in your presence. What's the word? Intoxicating? Like everything is bloody elated."
Nigel took a small swig of wine, enjoying the moment. The pitch was easy. Either they were in, or they were out. It was the moments in between that he enjoyed the most.
"I bet you could walk right into the oval office and sit on the President's knee, and nobody would bat an eye. Or straight into a high-security prison. I can feel myself drawn to you, all the negative thoughts that I might have just... drowned out. It's fascinating. Terrifying."
"I'm a mutant. Like you, like our friends at Xavier's little school. Teaching the little kids that it's all going to be fine, that the world will accept them if they only sing kumbaya and turn the other cheek."
"But you and I know that's bullshit, otherwise you'd be sitting opposite me in am X-man suit and not this complimentary number."
Nigel stubbed out his cigarette as he spoke, talking more in a few brief moments than he had the rest of the walk. His eyes didn't leave hers. She would feel waves of confidence, anger, resolution. Nigel leaned back.
"To be blunt, Des. We're looking to do some actual good for our kind. Mutants. For as many strut around in tight suits teaching the kiddies that they won't be tortured at the drop of a hat if the government decrees it, there are ten fold actually going through it. My contemporaries and I want to do anything we can to stop this genocide."
He shrugged as he reached for his glass, eyes not leaving her for a moment.
"Someone like you could save more lives than any of us combined."
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Post by Countess on Sept 27, 2024 20:57:03 GMT
Good isn't as pleasing as Great, and it certainly isn't what Des usually wets her tongue with. He seems to be trying however, so she isn't going to outright complain. Not yet, anyways. She is also going to wait and see how this goes before fully throwing herself into Nigel's mercies by drinking. A glass, perhaps, but she's never been the type to truly dull her senses on the regular. It makes for poor control of her powers, and she typically wakes up with far worse than a hangover. Her night at the Lux immediately comes to mind. Then Nashville. Why bother with the lot of it?
Des listens to him, chuckling darkly. "Whatever do you mean? Is that what inspiration feels like to you? I've been told it is different for everyone," Des says, very diplomatic in her approach to this. Dangerous- he doesn't know the half of it. Even now, she is making sure that lovely feeling of being around her is delicious, but not too rich as to make him sick. "No different than taking a sip of this wine, taking a drag of that cigarette, non?" she asks, moving slightly closer to him. It is just a lean, nothing more, her hair spilling over her shoulder.
"Who says I haven't?" Des asks, a mischievous look in her eyes. "Or, maybe Nigel, you just like me," she says, planting that seed of doubt. Gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss. "Is that really so hard to believe? Am I not your usual type...? I bet you go for the smart ones, the unassuming ones, the ones that when you find their niche you cannot get them to shut up about it. Maybe you just haven't found my.... niche yet," Des says, voice just a little tinged with innuendo. She aims to play him like a fiddle, still wanting to peel those layers back.
"I should have guessed. Mutant," Des says, withdrawing ever so slightly. It is a tell- one she cannot hide. There is a reason she surrounds herself with, by and large, humans. She doesn't trust her own kind. For good reason. Nigel isn't just inspired, he has that much more control over his powers. A double edged sword. Des knows what her power does, and she is a liability to anyone she is with. It wasn't humans that killed her team.
Another tell- her nose crinkles in disgust at the mention of Xavier's. "Yes, they do have that embedded into the curriculum, don't they? Lucky me, I learned quickly how wrong they were," she murmurs, feeling who he is run through her like electricity. Their eyes are connected, souls bared to the each of them. For the smallest of moments, he, too, sees into her the way she does him. Fear. Guilt. Guile. Then, she looks away.
"I think I've changed my mind. You like a person with a mission. That is your type. The activist, the crusader. Someone you can sink your teeth into and find meat, not gristle. Someone of substance. Someone who has something to stand up for, and stand they damn well do," Des says, smiling. "I'm not that girl, Nigel. I am very sorry to tell you, but Xavier's taught me many things, but one is far, far more important than the rest..."
Des swirls her wine, pausing for effect. Damn, she love a touch of melodrama. "I am a coward, Nigel, but I am a survivor."
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Post by Beriadan on Sept 28, 2024 12:19:22 GMT
Nigel saw her shrink away at the mention of mutants. He wasn't surprised at all. A person like Desoree, withdrawn from the ongoing war, slipping into her own life... of course she wouldn't want to dive back in. Still, this was the battle he, Spora and the others faced on a daily basis. The fervour of the enemy, the apathy of the ally. He drew in from his cigarette for a silent moment. "I could talk to you about cowardice."He looked beyond her, into the annums of time. A faint frown crossed his face as Nigel tapped into his memories.
"I hid away myself. Right in the heart of the beast. The Mutant Relocation and Rehabilitation Department, a very hush hush sector of MI6. The UK hates mutants more than your average Joe, and my job was to root them out. I knew I was a mutant at this point, but I was scared of stepping up. Making myself known."Nigel shrugged to himself. Pain radiated from him, anger too, at himself more than anything. "Turns out, my cowardice helped murder and imprison hundreds, thousands even. The whole time I thought to myself, Nigel, it's not you, so don't think about it. Survive. Keep going."He looked at her with eyes deep with hurt. A small smile still on his lips didn't betray the pain that welled up inside. "Then I found out I had sent my own sister to the gallows. Not personally, and not on purpose, I guess, but... I had a role in it. My cowardice, my self-serving sense of preservation..."Nigel leant back, sizing up her reaction. He didn't expect anything from anyone; that way, you'd never be disappointed. "But that's my story. I don't expect you to get the same bleeding heart as I do for other mutants. It's just so you know that you're not the only coward here. As for survival... they're coming, Des. Sooner or later, they'll come for us all. My role is to make sure we put up one hell of a fucking fight when they do."Nigel nodded his head towards Muse. "You could have a role as well. We need someone with your talents. We could all survive together, until the end."
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Post by Countess on Oct 4, 2024 16:29:12 GMT
Desiree's eyes leave her wine glass to look at Nigel as he speaks, his pain and hate slapping her hard. It isn't unpleasant, emotions of all kinds are like a fine wine themselves. This one in particular has only blossomed with age. She takes a deep breath, drinking it all in. This is the root of his ego, so much like Tony she thinks.
Shame. Guilt. Looking back at their actions, their allowances, their cowardice... and seeing how it has made so many others suffer. As much as the confidence is real... it might have started as a little lie, to stave off the pain of costly mistakes. In those two, it took root and grew. The lie became reality, perhaps. God, she wants to know the answer. She doesn't want to guess.
Empathy is the most powerful tool. It makes Des a fool.
Gently, without thinking, she reaches out. It is simply what she does, who she is, and in this moment of him being so unguarded, so too is she. As smart as she is, as many times as she has been burned, there is always going to be that foolishness that overcomes her jaded ideals of the world. It is the hurt look in his eyes that does it, really. She knows, in her small way, what that is like.
The contact she initiates changes everything. That elation from before is nothing compared to this. A lifetime of winter, only to finally behold spring. It isn't just that shaft of sunlight, it is truly seeing the wonder of it all and being able to understand it. Nigel could do anything, be anything, his problems miniscule in this moment, his powers amplified and controllable, his limbs and body perfectly in tune with his wants and direction. He knows where to go, what to do, how to say it...
"This is my power, Nigel," Desiree says softly, leaning in closer to him. Her hand moves away from his to cup his cheek. She gets to his ear, lips a scant breath away. "You can do anything. You always have been able to anything. I just make it a little clearer, a little easier, clean the muck of our day to day lives to the side so you can well... and truly... exist as we were meant to," Des tells him.
He made them alone in the bar, but Des has made them alone in the world. "It is the power that killed all the people on my last team, my only team. I don't just make you, better, Nigel. I make everyone better. Their best, even. That is why I don't work with people with powers... not usually. I am a liability, darling, for people like you. All the good you can do... the moment I am with your opposition, they, too, will benefit from me. Think of how creatively they will find ways to torture us, to find us, to kill us, if only I were there at just the right time...
"I refuse to be the spark, Nigel."
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Post by Beriadan on Oct 4, 2024 21:35:30 GMT
As Desiree touches Nigel, everything went quiet. Gor twenty miles around them, sound simply ceased to exist. Voices, cars, the wind through the trees. Nigel stared at Desiree as he felt it. The screams, the laughter. The irregular heartbeats, the fearful voices and the fast breaths. His eyes widened. Everything came to him, every sound, every vibration.
Slowly, against all his basic instincts, Nigel reached up and gently took hold of Desiree's wrist.
"Careful, Des."
His hand was shaking, or more aptly, it was vibrating. Hard and fast, and she would realise... it was his entire body. Nigel smiled, and carefully pulled her hand away.
Noise rushed back all at once, even around their table. Nigel slid backwards on his chair, and took a deep breath.
"I don't know what the extend of my powers... one sec."
Silence fell again in a dome around them.
"I don't know how much sound I can absorb. Certainly never tried that much. Yeah, I can see your point."
Nigel picked up a cigarette. He was still vibrating, slower now, but the embers danced erratically through the air before her as he took a deep, deep drag.
He was silent for a moment as he took a drink, careful not to spill any as the glass trembled in his grip.
"Shit. I told you it was a dangerous ability."
Nigel looked up, and grinned.
"Doesn't change a thing. Liability? We're all ready to die for our cause. Shit, Des. Do you think we're the good guys? That we're in it so we can show the mutants who their saviours were?"
He placed the glass down carefully, took another drag of his cigarette, and shrugged.
"The lot of us sorry bastards have already tossed our lives away when we decided the cause was worth more. And don't talk to me about creative ways of being killed. Trust me, mate. I know first hand how fucking cruel they can be. I don't need a picture painted of what more they could do, and they don't need your magnificent powers to do it."
Nigel rose from his seat. He placed his hands on the table, staring across at Desiree with soft, yet intense, eyes.
"Someone's got to be the spark. It's coming, sooner than we want to admit. The line has already been drawn, in the dirt of Batten Park, with Magneto's blood. The blood of our brothers and sisters."
He rose, taking a deep drag of his cigarette.
"Either we blow their world straight to hell, or they do. You have a chance to be on the right side, Des. We're all gonna die soon anyway, so why not for something that matters, eh?"
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