Mystique
Villains 
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107 
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Post by Mystique on Jan 15, 2017 5:49:47 GMT -5
A couple of weeks had gone by since the explosion of the ferris wheel, and Mystique - as Mrs. Locke - had done her duty beautifully and answered all questions posed by the press. Plans to rebuild, investigations, reparations, everything had been addressed and everything had been painted to make Artie Cade look like a hapless victim to senseless terrorism. Was she wrong? As far as cleaning up her own mess went, she couldn't have been prouder how well this was all going. In the two weeks since the explosion, she had the press eating out of her hands. No one questioned her when she claimed that Wilson Fisk was the one to blame.
And now, the time had come to tie it all together.
Mystique had carefully organized access to Fisk's home and snuck in. She shifted into his form and wore one of his nicer suits and eventually called the press herself. She told them that she wanted a press conference and she told them what time and where to meet her. Everything had to be done today, before that Irish hitman that worked for Fisk caught wind of what was going on. He was the only wild card in her plan, and the best solution to that problem was to simply not give him time to act.
A small crowd of reporters, photographers, live microphones for radio, and news cameras gathered in front of the community center in Hell's Kitchen. Another in-character move for Fisk, to show some of the progress he'd made in one of the roughest parts of town. They murmured, wondering what they were gathered for, until the hulking figure of Wilson Fisk finally showed itself. Photographers immediately got to work snapping pictures and the microphones all clamored to be in front of everyone else so their radio station could get Fisk's words the clearest.
Fisk raised his hands and they all settled down. He calmly looked out at them and let them take in his presence before speaking. "I don't suppose it's any secret why I've called you all here today. I wish to break my silence about the tragedy at the Coney Island Amusement Park. As I understand it, there have been a lot of accusations thrown my way. Some representatives have claimed that I'm the one that ordered the attack that claimed the lives of innocent people. I stand before you here today to tell you ... it's true."
The reporters roared with questions, but they quieted again when Fisk raised his hands.
"It is with my sincerest apologies to all that were injured by my bomb. Arthur Cade and I have made no secret of our business rivalry. I ordered the attack in a moment of hot headed passion at the risk of losing the progress I've made in Hell's Kitchen. It was a brash decision that has destroyed the lives of hundreds of people, and I would hardly be the leader here in my home if I did not own up to my mistakes." He let that sit for a moment before going on.
"What Mrs. Locke, Mr. Cade's representative, said was right. It was an act of terrorism. It was an act simply meant to install terror, and it was wrong of me to perpetrate it upon the people of New York. Let it be on the record that I admit my guilt, and I would like to cooperate fully with the law to see reparations move forward for the good of our fair city. I know I can't make everything right with an apology, but there's nowhere else we can start. Thank you." A pause, then, "I'm not taking any questions."
He exited, a chauffeur he'd hired helping him into the back of his limo. The reporters all scrambled to follow him, of course, but he was long gone.
He was on his way to the police station. After making an announcement like that, there was nothing he could do but turn himself in. They pulled up and he did just that, walking very casually into the station to give himself up for terrorism. Because of his name and social position, they didn't dare question him or rough him up. They simply handcuffed him and transported him.
Mystique, of course, was glad everything was going so smoothly. They took her in for processing, and she got to the second part of the plan that could possibly fail. The weight. They looked at the scale, and all she had to do was give them a death glare, and they moved on. Because of Fisk's social stature. She was glad she was wearing one of Wilson Fisk's personal suits from his own home, too. During the processing, they took the suit and examined it. They'd be able to confirm it belonged to him and that it wasn't a duplicate. They gave her prison clothes and she put them on, quietly letting them lead her to her cell. Her one request was that they let her have a clock so she cold know what time it was. Since she was Fisk, they let her have one.
All that was left was to count down the time.
She could hear the other prisoners screaming and yelling obscenities. It was eerily reminiscent of times in her past that she thought would stay in her past. In Fisk's form, all she could do was clench her fists and grit her teeth, but she wanted to scream. She sat in her cell, staring at the clock, watching the second hand tick, tick, tick, tick.
The time couldn't come soon enough, but come it did. Right on schedule, a guard passed by her cell and stopped. Must have been the goon Artie paid off. Good to see he was punctual, and good to see Cade made good on his side of the bargain. Unfortunately for the guard, though, Mystique wasn't about to make this as squeaky clean as she might have normally made it. After all, she needed to make it look like Fisk escaped.
She reached through the bars of the cell and tapped him on the shoulder, beckoning him to enter the cell. He was getting paid, so he decided it might as well be worth it. As soon as the bars closed again, though, Fisk's colossal hands tore into the poor man. By the time Mystique was done with him, he had a broken neck, broken ribs, broken face, broken arms, broken legs, and he was almost unrecognizable. She stopped to admire her work, a smirk on her face, before shifting into what the guard used to look like.
She casually walked out and continued the patrol, maintaining the casual gait until she reached an alarm. She glanced around and pulled it, blowing the whistle she'd pulled from the guard's body. "IT'S FISK! FISK IS OUT! HE'S ESCAPING!" From the sound of the alarm, there were already a few guards pouring in. They looked at the empty cell and the unrecognizable dead body, and immediately they all went on high alert. Clearly Fisk wasn't going to be as docile as he was letting on.
During the confusion, Mystique slipped away and started heading toward the eastern side of the building. The alarms, the guards, the screaming, it was all too much for her. She started it, and she thought that would be enough to survive the flashbacks, but it wasn't. She needed to let it all out, and she let it all out on any guard that happened to cross her path if he happened to be alone. She left a trail of gruesome bodies in her wake, and otherwise paid no mind to the blood on her hands.
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 15, 2017 16:56:27 GMT -5
Artie had been listening intently to the radio broadcast of the more than noteworthy performance of Mystique posing as Wilson Fisk, the man who split New York with him. It was perfect. Flawless, even. Artie could feel a surge of glee roiling in his chest as he continuously and diligently checked the time. It had to be perfect. Just right. He compared his watch with the clocks on the wall of his office. Everything had to be just so for this to work as smoothly as he had plotted it all out. Mystique knew that time was a factor, and he trusted that she would hit her marks correctly...and hey, if she didn't? It was her skin.
Rising as the broadcast concluded and he began to time the booking process, Artie was glad that Laura was too busy with the bar to be a part of tonight's endeavors, and Barbara was away on business. It was his stage now. He didn't need either of their protection for this. He needed unrecognizable men. His men. He nodded to the gathering of coat-and-hat thugs he had in his office and they each went to their respective duties.
"And Ratso," he said to one of them, a weaselly, shady looking man, "Make sure the car is right at the drop off point. There's a car on that side of the street in front of ya, you switch out yours for that one and I'll make up the difference later. No mistakes tonight."
Ratso nodded and headed out of the office along with the others.
Artie began to prep his attire for the night's events: a black pinstripe suit, plain black overcoat, a large hat in a similar shade, gloves, a scarf around his neck and mouth, dark glass in his lenses of his tin mask. And the finishing touch: the rocket launcher he had devised based on a bazooka, but with enough firepower to get through, say...a jail wall. He loaded it onto his shoulder and skipped as best his limp would allow toward the garage after a few of his boys, whistling 'Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf.'
The timing had gone to plan. The massive, unmarked service truck they had long ago confiscated took alternate routes toward the jail, Artie repeatedly checking his watch as they drove. No need to speed too quickly. Time was on its mark and so were they.
"Hey uh boss..." one of the goons whispered, "...why you gotta wear those glasses and all, kinda dark isn't it? People might-"
"Look, Rock," Artie replied as he leaned close to the man, who winced away despite his vastly superior size, "When you're runnin' your own outfit, and I wouldn't hold my breath for that, you can make your own fashion choices okay? Besides, helps me be less recognizable."
"Why not just send us to do it? We coulda taken care of it."
Artie didn't respond right away, instead looking ahead at the approaching jail.
"I wouldn't risk wasting this one opportunity." he hissed.
Across the street, Artie looked to see that Ratso had indeed gotten his car to the spot across from the jail. The plan ran thusly: Mystique knew which section of the jail to be at when they struck, she'd hopefully by now killed the guard he'd tipped off, so that was done and now nobody else in the police force knew about the scheme. Then it was a simple matter of blowing the wall off. In the ensuing mayhem of the prison escape, his men taking point to keep any escapees off of 'the Kingpin,' Mystique would run to Ratso's car, get in, drive a block down, switch to the other car waiting, shift into a different persona entirely. Someone random. The cops that followed the van Artie was in would get their own reckoning. If they took two alternate routes to meet at the hull of the Wingman, the freighter that Artie was currently holding in the harbor, then both cars could be loaded onto the ramp in quick enough time to keep them there before eventually transporting them for scrap.
No evidence. No witnesses. Nobody would see anything but Fisk's violent gangsters busting him out, and him making a clean getaway. No one could be the wiser.
As the truck pulled up toward the jail and crashed the side gate, Artie opened the side door on it and leaned out, hid long black coat fluttering in the night air. He hoisted the rocket launcher onto his shoulder and aimed it at the westernmost wall. He was careful to line up his shot. Oh so careful. He grinned beneath the scarf hiding his face.
"Boom."
It had taken a matter of two minutes to crash the gate and line up the shot. And then the wall of the jail was no more, blown clean away into rubble. Prisoners began to file like ants out of the hole and Artie nodded.
"LIGHT 'EM UP!" he ordered, reloading his rocket launcher and still hanging onto the roof, firing again onto the grass and concrete, making the bodies in the way fly up into the air some feet.
His men stepped out and began to take shot at any of the prisoners who made toward them or got too close to Ratso's car, which ended up being only a handful in total. But best to be sure.
Then the cops came out too. Mostly ail guards trying to detain prisoners.
They got theirs too.
Artie kept his eyes peeled for the form of Fisk...or, rather, Mystique. The plan was thusfar working flawlessly.
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 15, 2017 18:00:50 GMT -5
It was a madhouse inside, and Mystique was taking advantage of it. To her unfortunate brain, she was stuck in the past, and the guards weren't simply guards. The longer she was inside the closed walls, the further into her past she was stuck, and it was making her frantic. That was a bad thing when trying to escape. Still, she managed keep it all together, and she only needed to kill any guard that got in her way. She finally made it to the agreed upon side of the prison and she found a small nook to hide in. If everything was timed out right, it would be 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... BOOM!  He was early. Good enough for her. She peeked, and the wall was suddenly not a wall anymore. Scores of prisoners ran to what they assumed would be their freedom, but they only met an unceremonious end. When the guards started showing up to stop the prisoners from escaping, Mystique stepped out of her nook, now in the form of Fisk. The guards ran outside, not to find the prisoners, but to escape from Fisk. He was quick on his feet for one so big, and he was not letting anyone get too far. As soon as he was outside the rubble, he grabbed one fleeing guard and crushed his skull like a watermelon. The next found his eyes gouged out. The one after that had to suffer feeling his spine separated from his skull and ripped from his back. And the entire time, Fisk didn't seem to show any remorse or mercy. Despite the explosions around her, Mystique glanced up at the truck and saw who she knew to be Artie Cade manning the rocket launcher. If there was time to stop and admire the sight, you could be sure she'd be admiring. If there was time to grab him and act on the feelings that sight gave her, you could be sure she'd do that too. As it was, they were in the middle of an escape. She had to bottle it all up and save it for later. Fisk casually strode through the dead bodies and the explosions and made it to the getaway car. He slid in, hardly paying all the blood on him any mind. Not right now, anyway. Right now, it only helped the image. In accordance to the plan, he drove down to the other car and stopped. This was the fastest shift Mystique had ever attempted. Not because she didn't usually shift quickly, but because she had the added problem of being covered in blood. She got out of the car, and she was a woman yet again. They wouldn't be looking for a woman at all in connection with this escape. She took the prison clothes and managed to get all of the blood off of her, and shifted herself enough clothes to cover up any blood she couldn't get off. She slipped into the other car and took off, driving as though there was nothing wrong. She circled blocks, checking her rear view mirror to make sure there were no cops following her, and sure enough, no one bothered to pull over a woman. Once she was positive she was in the clear, she drove her way to the docks. She could hear the sirens behind her, and she grinned. They were looking for a man that wasn't even there. It was some of her best work, and she was proud of it. When she got to the docks, she pulled in and casually drove to the designated ship, stopping the car and walking toward it. The biting ocean air washed away all of the flashbacks and all of the shadows of her past. She was reminded that she was free. She was never going to be stuck in that prison. Cade had come back for her. Cade had come back for her. It was a realization that, the more she thought about it, the more she was pleasantly surprised. It would have been so easy for him to leave her in jail. It could have been his way of getting revenge for blowing up his ferris wheel. But instead, he came back for her. Though he didn't know it, he rescued her from her own nightmares. She had to thank him. It was part of the plan, and he stuck to the plan, but a thank you was in order. She smiled to herself as she climbed up onto the ship, ducking out of sight. |
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 15, 2017 18:24:11 GMT -5
Once Artie saw that Mystique had gotten into Ratso's car and the pair drove off and turned the block, Artie allowed himself a chuckle. It was all going smoothly. All of it, to the last detail. He'd spent so much time with his death traps he'd almost missed this part of the life.
"IN BOYS!" he shouted as his men piled back into the truck, following their boss who jumped back in first. As the doors closed, the truck pulled away. And sure enough, here they came...
The cops with their lights were quickly trailing out of the jail lot in pursuit. Artie had told his cops to take the night off. These were most likely Fisk's men. Or cops who were too stupid to pick a side. Either way, they were chum for the sharks.
When the fetching woman had arrived at the docks, the designated pair of men in their black hats nodded to her and waited for her to get on deck. She must have been the woman Artie had told them about. Nothing further than that, just that a woman would be coming with a car, take the car, put it onboard and wait for the boss and the others to get there. Both cars were scheduled for scrapping.
So were the goons in tow. Orders were orders. And it was done in a timely manner, the car driven up and onto the ship steadily.
Artie kicked open the back windows of the truck and leaned out with the reloaded rocket launcher aimed at his pursuers, firing at the base of the street and blowing the frontmost cars off the ground by what had to be a decent handful of feet, given the angle. The others behind them veered and swayed and that gave Artie and his men the advantage of space between them.
"Feels like old times, eh boys?" Artie chuckled as he reloaded the weapon.
"Like old times, Mr. Cade." the driver chimed in with a laugh.
The police were once again on them in a short amount of time as they made their way closer to the block away from the docks. They had to be entirely disposed of so that nothing gave hint of Artie's destination. With a growl, the boss himself fired another rocket, which blew the two remaining cop cars into the sides of the shops on either side of the street. One of them burst into flame which ignited the entire place.
Artie cackled wildly and slipped back into the truck, letting his lovely toy rest.
"Ya did good, boys, ya did good." he said as he patted two of them sitting near him on the back, "You'll get what ya deserve for a job like this."
The truck veered a hard left and drove to the docks, moving the truck steadily into the ship's hull via the ramp it had extended. It was pure luck that Artie kept at least two ships that could transport vehicles proper, and he'd stalled some of his own trafficking business to accommodate this particular plan. But that wasn't as important as framing Fisk. As the truck put on its brakes, safe inside the ship, Artie stepped out first and dusted off his dark suit. The debris from firing the weapon had left some stains on the suit, but it wasn't his usual white so he was hardly as bothered by it.
"Well, it's been a hell of a run..." Artie said as he turned to the car again and drew his dual pistols from inside his coat, "But it's a new world, boys. And you've done your part."
The men inside the truck, being betrayed, reached for their own guns but were quickly snuffed out by a hail of precise gunfire from either side of the truck: the two men who had pulled in the previous car, which was still sitting prettily next to the now bullet-riddled truck of bodies.
That was Artie's signal for the ship to make ready to depart. And so its chains were loosened and it moved slowly out into the water.
Artie watched the boarding ramp for the trucks close up slowly and then breathed a sigh of relief....it had worked. All of it. Seamlessly. He limped toward his two remaining thugs and handed them large wads of money before he moved up onto the deck by way of the ladder nearby.
Once up on deck he removed his hat and his scarf, breathing the cool night air, looking out over the water. At Lady Liberty herself. What a joke she was. And she didn't even know it.
He looked around to see where Mystique might be, but decided perhaps to wait for her to emerge herself.
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 15, 2017 19:04:06 GMT -5
When there came a ruckus from outside, Mystique poked her head out to see. Artie was here with his truck. She decide to hang back and see how he handled the situation. After all, it wouldn't do to have loose ends. She blended herself in with her surroundings and watched silently.
It frankly didn't surprise her that he betrayed his crew, but it did get her a little worked up. She was still coming down off her high from murdering guards and watching Artie wield a rocket launcher. Luckily, she had enough self control not to throw herself at the nearest man to relieve the growing heat she felt.
And before she knew it, they were moving away from the dock. It was over. They'd done it. Everything had gone perfectly. Well, as perfectly as it could have gone, given the unforeseen flashbacks Mystique had suffered. Even now, she debated whether Artie needed to know about them. She decided she'd see how their conversation went. After all, it was highly unlikely that they wouldn't have some kind of conversation while they were in open water.
He went up to the deck, and she followed quietly behind him. She stopped and admired him from afar, still blended into her surroundings. He wasn't a hideous man. At least, she didn't think so. Despite the scars, he might have been quite handsome. But she wasn't really one to judge scars. Her hand went to cover her forearm while she shifted to show herself, stepping forward to join him.
"Well, I would call that plan a rousing success," she said, a grin on her face. She shifted to the face he had been used to talking to. The one she had when they first met. It was the one she chose to identify with, and therefore was the most comfortable with. After pretending to be Fisk for several hours, she desperately needed that kind of comfort. "It was a genius plan."
She walked over to the railing, looking out over the water. She wanted to leave it at that, but it didn't feel right. She turned her head, looking at him through the side of her eye. "Thank you for coming back for me."
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 15, 2017 21:38:47 GMT -5
Artie was startled at first at Mystique's approach, but looked up at her and offered a smirk beneath his mask.
"I have my moments," he said with a mock slight bow, "Welcome to life in the New York underworld."
He turned around to see one of his men coming toward them with a tray and a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Artie chuckled, pleased his timing was even better than he had presumed, given what Mystique had just said.
"I don't leave my closer associates behind," he said as he popped the cork and poured the champagne into the glasses, handing one to Mystique, "That's my record and I'll stick to it til I'm cold in the ground."
He clinked his glass with hers and sipped, looking out onto the water once more, waving the man away.
Artie thought for a moment. Mystique was a useful companion for him to keep around. But more than that, he sensed she'd had...possibly an even harder familial past than he had. Something about her always seemed to be caging a sadness he couldn't quite put his finger on. When he turned again and made sure the man had gone, he looked back up at Mystique.
"I don't want to see the mask," he said as he took another sip of his drink, "You've had a long day of being someone you're not."
In truth, he didn't find her bluer form so shocking. He'd had to look at and shave around and clean a face that was half scars and exposed musculature. Nothing could make him uneasy now. Sometimes he saw his own face in his dreams, or it took over the still good side of his face...well, better side. Artie had never thought of himself as particularly handsome. Mostly bravado, if one could even call it that. Or mocking himself between closer associates when he would knock on his tin mask. Oh what a laugh it would get.
"I've been inside those very walls myself," he said as he looked into the night sky and lit a cigarette casually, "I remember...wondering if my boys would come for me too. Loyalty isn't easily gotten or kept around here, not in this dirty town. But you did your part tonight. You did more than your part, the way I see it."
He hadn't fully anticipated that Mystique would kill so many people on her way. In a way he found it admirable. So few in his employ wanted to get their hands that dirty, certainly not right away.
"I guess what I'm saying is, I..." he started to say, unused to the taste of those words in his mouth, "...you're more than welcome. And I hope maybe you'll want to stick around for a while..."
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 15, 2017 22:37:48 GMT -5
Mystique accepted one of the glasses of champagne and took a sip. It was good to hear that he already considered her a closer associate. This was their first job together, and - as she had found out - he had reservations about her going back to Barbara's penthouse that first day. She must have done something right if he came back for her. It brought a slight smile to her face as she looked back over the water.
It was silent for a moment, but then what Artie said next almost shocked her. He wanted to see her without her mask? Her initial thought was that perhaps he meant he wanted to see a different face. That's what most people meant, after all. But he'd followed it up by saying that she'd had a long day of being someone she wasn't. She couldn't help it. The first reaction was a chuckle she couldn't stop. She thought he was joking. It took her a long while to realize he wasn't joking.
It wasn't easy, letting her true self show. It was something she still struggled with. All her talk of mutant pride, and she still had a hard time looking at her own reflection. The human face she wore now? That was beautiful. Her blue skin? Far less so. But Artie ... He just didn't mind, did he? She remembered when she first shifted, she thought she'd see a reaction. A gasp, a cry, a scream, anything to show fear of the monster in front of him, but he showed nothing. Why had that not sunk in before?
Quietly and slowly, from her head down, she shifted to her true form. Everything about her changed, including her body language. She was suddenly a little more closed off, more guarded. She especially hid her left forearm from view, but she knew there was no skating around that issue for long. "I took off my mask, now I want to see you without yours." It was only fair, after all. She had seen him without the mask, and his scars were extensive. They were downright gruesome, but they weren't enough to scare her away. She wanted him to be aware of that.
She let him talk, holding the glass of champagne close to her chest as she leaned against the railing. It was more complimentary than she expected it to be, and it brought a smile to her face. She wasn't sure what to say, but she felt he needed to know the plan was close to being ruined, and it would have been her fault.
"I haven't been in a prison since 1940," she said at last. "Back in Germany, they ... Well, with Hitler's rise ... They locked a lot of people away." She glanced at her arm, the series of numbers tattooed in her forearm barely visible in the dim light. "I thought putting myself in the position, knowing I had the power to get out ... I thought that would be enough to keep the nightmares away. But I wasn't in a prison in New York. I was at the final stop after being carted from camp to camp to camp to camp. Dachau to Breitenau to Sachsenhausen to Auschwitz. In my mind, I was right back where I was before I came to America. If you hadn't come back for me, I'm not sure I would have made it out."
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 16, 2017 0:08:13 GMT -5
Watching Mystique shift her form was always a curious sight. It seemed so methodical, so natural. Artie couldn't help but find it fascinating. And he found her beautiful. Her golden eyes were a sight not to be missed, nor her red hair in such stark contrast to the blue of her skin. He found himself running his free hand down her cheek to tilt her head down more toward him. He offered a smile, half of it leaking underneath his mask as it always would.
Then she asked. That question. The one he'd never recalled hearing. It was such an...unprecedented request. No one had ever asked him to take off his mask before. Barbara didn't seem to mind his scars so much, but had she ever outright asked him to remove it...? He couldn't recall. Not in that moment anyway. With a slight nod, he removed the spectacles' arms from hugging around his ears and let the tin mask attached to them slip down into his hands as he quickened the movement. He looked at Mystique, trying to keep the still more normal side of his face in a softer expression to contrast the lipless, lidless side, his left eye looking like it was bulging out of its socket and staring.
He sipped at his champagne as Mystique talked, making sure to block the left side of his mouth with his tongue as he had long ago learned to, to prevent liquid from trickling out from between his teeth. He finally began to understand this woman. This mystery. She'd been through horrors even he couldn't picture accurately, he was sure. Which was saying a good deal. He watched her eyes carefully as they recalled...it was all very telling to him. He was not unfamiliar with reading people, being able to read his targets well had been an asset when he was in the freelance assassin business. But now he wasn't, was he? No, he was Artie Cade. He was one of the top crime bosses in the city, and now his territory would only increase.
When Mystique had finished, Artie moved his hand onto hers, as gently as he could until he felt it was time for him to speak.
"Mystique," he said, "I'm a lot of things, but you stuck your neck out for me like you did today...and regardless of whether it's for the payment or for whatever else it might be, I promise you'll never see the inside of a cell again. Not for anybody, and especially not for me. That's my word on it."
He released her hand and looked back out onto the water as the ship continued to move out deeper into the water.
"I've done some bad things in my life," he said as he sipped at his champagne, "I mean, that's just what I do. But that...even the Rabbit Hole isn't that. What he did. And all because, what, you're not them?"
He smirked slowly.
"They missed their mark with their master race," he said half to himself, "Closer thing to perfection is standing right here next to me on some dump of a boat drinking good champagne...that's what I see, anyway."
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 16, 2017 0:50:36 GMT -5
It was such an odd thing. A human not shying away from her appearance. More than that, so casually accepting it and embracing it. Mutants in the past had no problem accepting her, and it wasn't unprecedented for humans to accept her if she kept her mutation a secret. But this was rare. It was something she didn't know she desperately needed. Maybe it was where she was in her life, but this was a form of acceptance she never thought she'd see from a human. She couldn't stop herself from leaning into his hand as it trailed down her cheek, her yellow eyes finally meeting his. Then he removed his mask.
The sight was shocking, of course, but then again, so was the sight of a blue skinned woman. She didn't react to them. To react to his scars when he didn't react to her appearance would have been hypocritical anyway. It took her a moment to fully take in the sight of the scars, since it had been so long since she'd last seen them. They weren't nearly as gruesome as she remembered them being. Very delicately, she mirrored his motion, brushing her fingers along the scarred tissue. She didn't know how much pain the exposed musculature brought him, and didn't want to cause him any pain. She did, however, want him to know that she didn't mind the scars. She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to his scarred cheek before taking another sip of her champagne with a small smile. "If I'm not allowed to hide myself, you shouldn't be either," she said in a half teasing voice. "I'm sure you have your reasons for wearing the mask, but I'd wear your scars proudly."
She wasn't sure what made her open up about how many concentration camps she'd been prisoner to. All she'd had to say was that she had been a prisoner of the Nazis. Maybe it was being in this form. Her own self. Maybe it was how vulnerable she felt. She resented it a little bit, but at the same time? She acknowledged that she needed to feel vulnerable. She was just worried Artie was the wrong person to feel vulnerable around.
Until he spoke. His hand was on hers, and he spoke words of comfort, like they were old friends. She didn't have anyone like that in here life. There was no one around that could tell her that she was safe now. She was a terrifyingly strong woman. The escape tonight proved that, with the body count she'd left behind. The problem was, she had been strong for so long, she didn't let herself be in a situation like this. To hear someone - a human, no less - tell her she was free ...
And to follow it up with a claim of perfection. That was a word that had never been used to describe her. In all her many, many years of living, she had been described many ways, but she had never been described as the closest thing to perfection.
Her hand covered her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. They weren't tears of sadness, but tears of joy. Tears of relief. She couldn't stop herself now. She had no words she could say to accurately describe what she was feeling. "Artie, I am very old." Information she hadn't planned on telling him yet. "In all my years, I have never, ever heard someone call my true body perfect."
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 16, 2017 1:46:55 GMT -5
Artie had remained uncharacteristically silent when Mystique mentioned she was certain that he had his own reasons for wearing his mask. He did, in fact. But it didn't feel like something to be brought up at the moment...his daughter. He felt like he could tell Mystique anything, this seemed a different side to her. Perhaps after a day and night of such vigorous doings it loosened them both up...that seemed logical. After all, that's the natural desire of the body: to want to be tired and relax after intensity.
But not saying anything didn't mean that the caress and even the kiss didn't make his entire mind race. She...she kissed it? Nobody kissed it. Why would she....?
He was certain that the shock of it showed on his face for a brief moment before he sighed in bliss. It was just so...touching. So deeply moving that anyone would validate him in such a way. But he did not say why he had the mask.
And then Mystique welled up herself at his last remark...no one had ever called her true form perfect? That couldn't be right. He was crazy and even he could see the beauty of it. Perhaps most only saw the rough edges and not what was soft under it. He could certainly relate to that. After all, he hadn't expected this out of Mystique...let alone himself. Not on such a night. By now he would usually be already drunk and firing his guns off into the air off the boat.
But the night was quiet. It was only the two of them there now. Or so it felt. The rest of New York could stay in their short little comas.
"Mystique..." he said with a smirk, playful but gentle and sincere, "If you don't believe anything else I ever say, at least believe that. Give me that as a courtesy compliment, huh? I won't hear an argument about it."
After a moment of looking back out at the horizon where the black water met the dark skies, Artie allowed his free hand to slip around Mystique's side, only in a gesture of comfort and companionship. After all, considering what they'd just pulled off...
"We wouldn't have pulled off tonight if you were anything less than what you are and as I said," he spoke up, "And you're not. So there you have it."
He permitted himself a small chuckle before he paused and thought if he should explain his mask. He looked at it, dangling off the side of the boat in front of him, entangled in his fingers that held the champagne glass. He took a sip and began.
"I don't wear the mask for vanity, really..." he said, having never really fully admitted this to anyone short of Barbara, "Well it's for my daughter, Laura, mostly. She gave me these."
He turned and gestured to the scars and exposed muscle to illustrate before looking back out to sea.
"It was a long time ago," he continued, "She didn't mean to....well, she...that's a long story. But she doesn't like to be reminded of that time and so...I decided it was best to cover them up. For her."
It was true. All of it. Artie would destroy the entire planet if it meant he would retain his daughter's love. She was what meant most to him in the world. And yet, as the years went by, he found that he had room to care for other things as well...and others.
It was a curious sensation, he was never quite used to it.
"Heh. Perhaps that might seem silly or overindulgent," he went on as he lit another cigarette as best he could with such a cluttered hand, "But she's a good kid, a good kid...you'll meet her tonight, I shouldn't wonder."
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 16, 2017 2:24:58 GMT -5
The reassurance that he meant what he said meant a lot. Mystique had gotten good at reading people as well. She had worked as a spy on more than one occasion, and she worked as a detective in the past. She knew when people were being sincere. Artie meant every word he had said. It was nothing short of a miracle to her. This man was a puzzle. Nothing less than a riddle she almost itched to solve. At every turn, there was a surprise. "You know what? I do believe you." It wasn't very often she got to say those words to anyone - much less to a human.
There was a concept that was becoming increasingly present in her mind. This was a human, and she didn't cringe at his touch. His arm was around her waist, and she didn't mind. From the first impression she was given just a couple of weeks ago, if this had been then? She would have slapped him across the face for daring to touch her with such familiarity. But now ... Well, they had shared something rather special. However twisted it was, it was theirs.
From the corner of her eye, she saw how precariously he held his mask, half wondering if she should offer to hold it for him. Before she could say anything, he began to tell her why he wore it. His daughter gave him the scars. That made sense. Even from the rumors she'd heard before she met the man, Arthur Cade didn't seem like the vain type. The mask wasn't for him. It was for his daughter. And from the tone of his voice, he didn't tell this to just anyone.
When he concluded his story and attempted to light a cigarette, she decided to show him he'd more that earned her respect. She gently took the mask and held it for him so he could have a free hand to smoke, only holding the mask as delicately as she could. As she turned it in her fingers, she got an idea that she would have to look into.
"I do hope I can meet your daughter," she said after a moment's silence. There was another pause, and you could see the gears in her head turning. She was trying to decide how much baggage she wanted to lay at his doorstep in their first real conversation. He'd dared to tell her about his daughter. She thought it was only fair she tell him about her son. She took a deep breath and looked at him. "I wish you could meet my son."
She looked back down at the mask in her hands and took a sip from her champagne, thinking how best to tell the story. "My husband was ... well, he was not exciting. You might have noticed that I don't like being stagnant. It got to a point in our sex life that we discovered there was little chance of us having children. He wasn't a great lover anyway, so I sought other lovers. I met a mutant and we hit it off. It wasn't long before I got pregnant. Christian was so thrilled, he spared no expense to have the nursery set up ... but I knew it wasn't his. He didn't know I was a mutant, and I didn't know what my child would look like, so I ran." She trailed off for a moment, yellow eyes looking over the water. "I gave birth to him in a church... January 30, 1933. The day Hitler was appointed chancellor of Germany." Tears welled up in her eyes again. "I heard talk that they started building these camps for undesirables. I knew I would be targeted. I knew I could get out of Germany, but ... Kurt looked just like me and he looked so much like his father ... He could never have gotten past any border. We were on the run for months, trying to find anyone that could smuggle him to France so we could get to safety, but there was no one that wanted to take a risk on two blue mutants. I didn't know what to do. I took him to a church I trusted and I left him."
She grew very quiet and looked at her glass, unceremoniously downing the rest of its contents. Tears threatened to fall again, but Mystique tried to speak through them. "I like to think he's dead ... It makes it easier, I think. I regret that decision every day, though. Not that it turned out much better for me anyway."
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 16, 2017 2:50:38 GMT -5
This was quite a story to weave...so much of Mystique's most dreaded memories were tied to the Second Great War. And to that German madman. And for Artie to consider someone beyond insane was certainly something. That war was a mistake for all parties involved, strategically speaking. In Artie's experience dealing with the US military, too many of them saw their various...doings as necessary. Perhaps that was so. Artie could see that, especially after Pearl Harbor. But then there was the German, that little Führer man...and all he'd done. Being a gangster and a businessman, Artie still had some grasp of the ethical while also grasping the strategic. Gangs had their rules, who you could hurt, who you didn't touch, how valid your reasons had to be for the former. But then there were situations like what happened to spark the war...idiotic.
He thought about Laura, nodding to Mystique's interest in meeting her.
"She's a bit standoffish at first..." he said, idly pointing to his scars with a chuckle, "Takes after her old man like that maybe. Heh. But maybe a bit less...showy with it. She'll like you. She likes...efficient people. And you're nothing if not that."
He considered his claim....he realized that yes, they would likely get along. After all, Laura liked Barbara. And she was certainly a punctual sort when it came to their dealings.
Artie was drawn out of his thoughts by Mystique's taking his mask...it was so very considerate, he thought as he smoked. And then her final claim. That she liked to think her son was dead...
Since Artie's adoption of Laura, it had changed him as a person. A lot. One of the things that made him understand her suffering and not wish her to suffer further was his own childhood trauma. That pain. That grief. The grief of his mother, even when she inflicted the pain and grief back at him. And why make a kid's life any worse than it was? And he'd gotten to raise Laura...well, the best he could or knew how. But Mystique hadn't even seen her boy. His look steeled as he gazed up at her.
"I have had dealings with the US military..." he said carefully as he took another drag from his cigarette, "...if you'd like, I could perhaps have them send along records of whatever sort they might be able to conjure up....see if we can find any leads. You'd be more than a bit shocked or perhaps...even annoyed at the sort of records they keep."
It was a matter he did not take lightly. Not only was he loathe to mention his military involvement in making weapons for them...though he didn't specify that...he also wasn't sure if that would work. That would be a long thread to follow, census numbers to look over, names to determine....and who knew what the church did.
"I know I'm not...great at being comforting..." he said as he held the cigarette on the rail with his glass, keeping his hand around Mystique's waist, "And maybe I'm overstepping a boundary here, but as someone who's raised a kid from a pup into...less of a pup, I can't imagine what it's like to have a wife to carry it all out first. I got the easier job of it. But if there's a way I can help you find him, I will."
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 16, 2017 14:25:30 GMT -5
A smile spread across Mystique's face, despite herself. Despite the tears she tried not to shed for her lost son, she was smiling. There was something about Artie that was ridiculously easy to talk to, and it felt natural. That was the remarkable part of it all. The fact that this human - this man - that barely knew her was offering to help her find a child that may or may not still be alive ... it meant the world to her. Humans - mutants - people didn't often do that for other people.
She ran her hand along his scarred cheek again, eyes meeting his. The tears were still present, but she wanted him to know it was okay. "I won't ask you to go out of your way, Artie ... but if there's anything to find, I might like some closure." She smiled a soft, genuine smile before leaning in and kissing his forehead. She lingered near him before pulling back and looking out over the water once more. Somewhere across the ocean, there was a chance her son was alive. That was the first time she'd had that hope in almost 14 years, and it hurt a lot less than she thought it might.
"You're strangely easy to talk to," she said, gaze still far away. "I tend to be a very private person. I'm sure you understand that. But ... there are certain parts of The War that I can't go on ignoring forever. Telling the stories out loud does sort of feel like I'm putting it in my past." She finally looked at him again, a smile playing at her lips. "I am the victim of an unfortunate amount of tragedy. That's what happens when you live as long as I do. One of these days I might tell you more stories, but I think we're due for a happier conversation. I do thank you for listening, though."
She stepped closer to him and slid an arm around his shoulders. It was the damndest thing. For the first time in a long while, she was happy. She couldn't rightfully place why or what made her so happy, but for once she had the feeling like things were going to get better. Maybe not like a fairy tale, but she'd been accepted for who she was. It was something of a weakness of hers, and if she didn't know better, she'd say it was reminding her of someone.
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Post by Artie Cade on Jan 16, 2017 20:05:38 GMT -5
A grin spread across Artie's face, now not disrupted by the mask, as Mystique put her arm around his shoulder. It was thusfar proving to be a closer kinship with this new woman than he had anticipated. Too often he became accustomed to using and then losing people...whether by his own hand as he had just done or other more mysterious circumstances to the average eye. Usually 'more mysterious circumstances' was a way Artie preferred to word the phrase 'pulled apart in the Rabbit Hole.' Treachery wasn't uncommon in a gang, but he sensed that he and Mystique had cemented a loyalty to each other tonight.
And it was a nice feeling. He remembered it when Laura had come with him and when Barbara had agreed to be his business partner. Now, of course, Barbara was more than that but even so. It was a rare thing.
"If you told anybody else in this ratty little town that," Artie said with a chuckle, "They'd call ya crazy. But I'm not entirely unreasonable, I like to think."
He leaned on the railing and finished his cigarette before tossing the rest of it out into the water.
"I think it's important to start off any kind of business..." he hesitated at the following word in his mouth, "...relationship...with a bang. Like tonight. No flaws in the scheme, lots of fireworks for the boys, wrapped up all neat with a bow by the end."
He chuckled again.
"Mystique, I think with your help we've got quite something going here," he said as he found himself leaning on her more, "And after we drop off the truck and the car for scrapping, we'll head back to the Wicked Suit for drinks on the house. The way I see it, we-"
The other of his men had approached with news, and Artie had caught him out of the corner of his eye. The man had tilted his hat up and was looking with a rather disgusted expression at Mystique.
Well, that dime turned in Artie's brain. He tossed the champagne glass overboard and drew his long knife out of his sleeve and limped over to the man, reached him swiftly and plunging the blade into his shoulder, dragging the man over to Mystique as if he had a naughty schoolboy by the ear.
"If youuuu have something to say to Mystique here," Artie hissed through his teeth, "And I THINK YA DO...then you'd best say it."
Artie swiveled on his leg to allow the man to be facing the woman, bent to Artie's level from the dagger and wincing in intense pain.
"I-I-I'm so-sorry, miss....!" the man stammered, "D-didn't mean to offend....!"
"Good boy." Artie said as he pulled the knife out and the man held his shoulder and crumpled to his knees, "Now what is it?"
"J-just that uh..." he said, "W-w-we're coming up on the scrap y-yard, Mr. Cade...sh-should we get ready to offload?"
"Sure, sure," Artie said idly as he wiped the knife on the man's coat lapels, "And don't disturb us again unless it's an emergency. Got it?"
"Of course, sir!" the man said as he walked hurriedly back to the main cabin of the ship.
Artie retracted his knife and cleared his throat,
"So sorry about that," he said as he lit a cigarette, withdrawing another and offering it and the lighter to Mystique, "These boys have no manners. Gotta teach 'em."
That grin spread again.
In truth, Artie would prefer not to savage his men like that. But at the same time, it was demonstrative to the rest of them: don't mess with crazy Artie Cade. Don't look at him funny. Especially don't look at his closer constituents funny. It had happened many a time with patrons at the Wicked Suit and his daughter. She was usually quick enough to dispatch them before Artie got involved, or wisely carried him off when he had instigated something. But more often the former. The knife he had used on the man had been used so precisely that it was hardly a deep wound. He'd be fine. A few stitches to the wound and his pride and he'd be good as new.
And better for it, knowing now how to treat Mystique.
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Mystique
Villains
Raven Darkholme is not a woman to be trifled with.
Posts: 107
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Post by Mystique on Jan 17, 2017 1:43:12 GMT -5
The kinship she felt with Artie was frankly remarkable, and surprising. She hadn't expected to feel so close to someone so quickly, much less someone that nearly killed her. But here they were, sharing a drink and talking like old friends. Though, how easy it was to talk to him, it was almost like they were more than that. It was foolish to think that, she mused, but wouldn't that be something. Wouldn't they just be a pair, if it ended up that way - however unlikely it was.
She'd had a gentle smile on her face as Artie spoke that quickly disappeared once one of his men showed up. Initially, she'd meant it to mask any tenderness, lest someone misconstrue it as a weakness to either of them. When given the nasty look, though, her eyes darkened, fists clenched, and teeth ground together, ready to put the petty human in his place. For enough years, she had seen that same look, and she was done letting people look at her like that. She was ready to teach that pathetic ape some respect until-
Until Artie made an example of him. She watched in silent awe as Artie stood up for her, forcing the offending man to apologize at knifepoint before sending him on his way and offering her a cigarette. No one had ever done that for her before. For full seconds, she stood there, completely taken aback by all of this. He really, truly didn't care that she was a mutant, did he?
She bypassed the extended cigarette and leaned in, pressing her lips against his in a passionate kiss. She couldn't control herself, exactly. In the back of her mind, she was still working off the adrenaline from the escape, but there was the lingering memory of him firing a rocket launcher. His simple act of - well, you could call it chivalry - was the catalyst that sent her over the edge into a heated passion. But it wasn't just lust in the kiss. There was the slightest hint of gratefulness. What she was grateful for, it was hard to tell, but it was unmistakable.
When she finally did pull away, she accepted the cigarette and smiled at him. "No one has ever done that for me before." With all the awkwardness of a nervous schoolgirl, she turned and lit the cigarette, grateful for the cover of night. Her skin was purple with a deep blush. "You're really a surprising man, Artie."
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He was early. Good enough for her. She peeked, and the wall was suddenly not a wall anymore. Scores of prisoners ran to what they assumed would be their freedom, but they only met an unceremonious end. When the guards started showing up to stop the prisoners from escaping, Mystique stepped out of her nook, now in the form of Fisk. 