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Soulless Spirit
Topic Started: May 7 2008, 03:05 AM (330 Views)
Spirit
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Time of day: Late night
Place in Timeline: One day after Sleepover.


It was the little things in life that one could find true indulgence in. Even with as fine and elaborate as the Hellfire club was, it was the people inside that really attracted the young woman’s attention. Spirit sat on a black suade couch within the public area of the Hellfire Pleasure Club, her eyes closed. She let her other senses partake in the world around her. With her condition, it was pointless to have some form of alcohol, the fact that she was underage certainly wouldn’t have been a problem considering who she was within this organization. Her eloquent white clothing and symbol upon her dress designated who she was to the masked pawns, but what she wanted they couldn’t just hand over.

It was the people in the room that she was here for. People came here to be happy, and Cassandra’s form needed nourishment, which their happiness provided her. All around, people enjoyed the luxury of what was presented to them. No matter your pleasure or desire, it could be found in this place, for a price. The young woman was still growing used to the atmosphere of the place, such a carefree place had a way of bringing people together. Even in the outside world which was riddled with strife, inside this place people left their worries behind, enjoying the company of like-minded people. Strangely enough, it was places like this that gave Cassandra hope for the future of humanity, mutants included.
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The man in the corner was not here for happiness. His membership in the Hellfire's Pleasure Club was stolen, as was his clothes, his identity for the moment. He was a puppet man, and his strings had been cut. Specimen 73826 had returned to the Mojoverse determined to kill Mojo, only to find the place incinerated. Longshot had been there first. His 'older brother' there first once again.

It didn't matter anymore.

He was not 26 anymore. He wasn't even Jonathan Harker. He was just rebuilt cells meant to be a weapon.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about Mina then? Why couldn't he stop thinking about Meghan? He wanted that life, the life his original had had. It wasn't fair to have these memories, these emotions and know that they weren't his. It... hurt.

But the Pleasure Club... well, this was a place where the hurt was wanted, where it was needed, where it was turned into something almost pleasurable... And at the moment of pleasure... well, it was next to impossible to remember anyone else's face, much less the wife who was not his wife. When the guilt came back later, there were many ways to fall back into oblivion. Liquor... drugs... sex...

Jon, as he was thinking of himself now, sulked in the corner of the bar, in a booth, stacking shot glasses into a pyramid. Placing the last of them, he pointed his finger like a gun and a perfectly controlled lightning bolt crackled out and the glasses shattered.
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Spirit
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The sound of the shattering glass attracted the attention of a few pawns, who moved quickly over to the table to clean up the mess that Jon had created. They were here for the pleasure of the customers, and within a few moments, had given him a new set of shot glasses and offered him liqueur that could cure even the worst woes. The pawns were not the only ones who noticed the man, however. Apart from a few sideways looks from people nearby, Spirit opened her eyes and looked over to the momentary disturbance. With all the merriment being had in the club, there was one man who seemed to be solemn.

Cassandra stood up, carrying herself with the poise of someone who had never lived without, a person who had lived her life from day one being preened to be a leader. As she walked, she took in the features of the older man. She reached the table as a female pawn wearing a black mask offered the man a pamphlet full of the Hellfire club’s selection of premium liqueurs. “Is this seat taken?” She said, motioning to the seat next to the man.
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The 'pawns' disgusted Jon, though he'd taken advantage of their subservience in his time here. They bustled around cleaning his mess, and as one offered him a drink menu, he muttered, "Do you like this? Being a slave for the rich and the pampered?"

"We aren't slaves, sir," the pawn said, her accent marking her as southern, tempered with an elegance that was obviously taught here, since all of the pawns had that same bland gentility. "We are employees. We are chosen from thousands of applicants, and trained to be what it is we need to be, but yes, a certain level of longing for servitude is required."

Jon picked up one of the shot glasses he'd been given to replace the others, and with a strange unearthly skill, he walked it across the backs of his fingers, not spilling a drop of the gold sticky liqueur inside. He shot it back and said, "I was a slave. I'm a weapon, you know. Or I was. Now... What am I?"

"Whatever you want to be here," the Pawn said, "You just have to decide, I think."

“Is this seat taken?” An ethereal vision in white, a chess piece on her breast. Too young for the bar, but old enough that the pawns immediately bowed to her.

"My Lady Knight," said Jon's Pawn. "May I introduce-"

"Jon," he answered, quickly waving off the pawn, "You're the White Knight?" The inner circle then. Not something normally broadcast or advertised, but membership had its privileges... even when one's membership was stolen, "Please, have a seat."
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Spirit
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The pawn took this as her cue to leave as Spirit sat down. “It is a pleasure to meet you Jon. As the young lady said, I am indeed the White Knight, but, you can call me Cassandra.” She said with a friendly smile. He had shared his real name, so she thought it fitting to share hers, at least her given name. “It isn’t often that I see someone with such a long face in this place.” She said in a sweet tone. She looked out to the crowd, enjoying themselves all, even the pawns could find enjoyment here. This was the life that most wished for, only a few were privileged to indulge in it. At the same time, she knew that there were things that even this place couldn’t bring. Spirit knew that all too well.

She returned her gaze to the young man. “What are you searching for?” She asked, watching his facial features. The question made sense to her. A man who wasn’t partaking in the condiments of this place added onto the look on his face. Everyone had a reason, and reasons helped to understand someone. While it was the place of the pawns to see to the happiness of members, it was Spirit's own personal way to see to it that people were happy.
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“It is a pleasure to meet you Jon. As the young lady said, I am indeed the White Knight, but, you can call me Cassandra.”

"Cassandra," Jon said, "'Unheeded Prophetess'... or 'She Who Entangles Men,'" He didn't know why that knowledge was in his head. Some mission required it, perhaps, or Arize had simply plugged in some random information into the learning computers that had been attached to their hibernation chambers. He knew how to play an accordion for the same reason. Just knowledge to make up for not having a life. "You hardly look old enough to entangle men... yet. I imagine you will though, I imagine you will."

“It isn’t often that I see someone with such a long face in this place... What are you searching for?”

"Redemption," Jon said, shooting back a few more shots, one two three quick as you please. He would very quickly process the liquor, his metabolism genetically twisted to make him so much more than a normal man, hell, so much more than a normal mutant. "I remember being a hero, a good man, and even though I know that wasn't me, that those are not my memories, really, it... it's what I want, God, it's what I want so much. I want to be what he was. What Jon was." He waved his hand distractedly, "I'm sorry. I'm drunk. Give me five minutes and I'll be sober again."
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The man was going through the liqueur quickly, and it was having an effect. She found it odd that he connected meaning with her name, but people always dropped simple hints of their personality in speech, at least that is what she believed. As for the comment on entangling men, if only she were that simple. She relaxed a little, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the table, then folding her hands and resting her chin on top.

And then he spoke of redemption, memories, and a person who he wanted to be. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but at the same time, people were complex, and she was just scratching the surface of this man. “No need to apologize, Jon. I think we are all searching for redemption in our own ways.” She started, and then looked out at the crowd. “I think we are all searching for who we are, who we want to be too. The only question is what is stopping you from being a good man? What is stopping you from being Jon, from being a hero? If you want something, you have already made the first step in getting it.” She said with that idealistic smile on her face. She knew well what it was like to want something, to want it and feel like it was out of reach. But inaction only led to pain, the pain of never reaching the goal. It was useless.
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"What's stopping me?" Jon snapped, "Because, in order for one to be a hero, one must have a soul, a conscience. I'm not certain that I do," The fingers of one hand, came to the ring finger of the other, where a slightly lighter ring of skin showed that a wedding band had been worn. He rubbed the band restlessly, and looked down at what he was doing with a frown, "I am not sure that the man I was grown to be is allowed to do that which the man I was grown from used to."

He smiled, "I sound like a lunatic, don't I?" He laughed, but it was not the hysteria tinged sound of the drunk. It was... sheer amusement at his plight, at his own over the top self pity. "You know, the man I was was once considered the life of the party. He was well known for his practical jokes, his sense of humor, his adventurous spirit." He shot back another gulp of something potent and terribly expensive and said, "He'd have taken me down in an instant and then... well, he would have laughed and said something sarcastically biting. Smug bastard he was. But damn good at his job... not as good as me skillwise, but he had more heart than I ever will."

Jon sighed and said, "You shouldn't have to listen to my drunken emoting. You're the great White Knight, one of the elite. You are an important and impressive girl to have reached a rank like that so young. You hardly should waste your time with broken toys like me."
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There was more behind this man than met the eye, something he wasn’t sharing, but at the same time, he was hiding in plain sight. Spirit leaned back from the table and crossed her legs. Spirit’s beliefs about the soul of every living thing alive aside, the man also didn’t know what made a hero a hero. It was something much more than what he said. He already had what it took, he just needed to find it. “You are the only one keeping yourself from being a hero, Jon. You can become anything you want, and it certainly doesn’t require a conscience to be a hero. A hero is someone who is courageous and has the ability to change things for the better. He is someone that others can look up to...”

Spirit could only listen as he talked about the man that he wasn’t. It sounded more like he needed to stop living in his shadow and strike out on his own. If he wanted to be a hero, it shouldn’t be because that is what this other man was, it should be because it was his own desire. Her cheerfulness changed slightly, and that confident look of a leader born came over her eyes as he wallowed in self pity. “You are right, to have attained this position at such a young age, it took many things coming together. I hold more power than most can dream of. So who are you to say what and who I should be spending my time with?” She snapped at him in a voice that was elder to her age. But it softened, and the gentleness returned. “We are all broken Jon, part of living is learning who you are and making yourself whole.”
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Jon looked at her, and said, "I have memories in my head of a man saying much the same stuff. A Professor who found an irresponsible teenager with a little too much electricity and a lot too little common sense and turned him into a superhero, a symbol of just what good a mutant can do with their powers in defense of a world that hates and fears us. That people with power have their choices. We can be great evils or we can do great good. But it's never quite that simple, is it? Every good does evil for someone else. I could kill a mass murderer only to discover that it orphans the seventeen cats he owns. A stupid example maybe, but you see the point. I remember the Professor's words, and it hurts me to know how far from them I am right now."

She snapped at him then, and he held up his hands, "Hold up, your knightedness, or whatever I'm supposed to call you. I'm not saying anything about what you can or can't do. I'm glad for your company, I really am. You're cute, and clever, and you keep those freaky pawns from hovering over me. I've never really trusted people whose faces I can't see."
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“We all have to start somewhere Jon.”
She said, after he spoke of the pain from being far from his goal. All goals could be thought of as destinations. Each goal led a person to adopting a new goal, thus the journey continued so long as that person continued their life. It didn’t do any good to wait and drag out the journey. It only slowed the process down. “Besides, if it is for the good of the world, then it shouldn’t matter what you have to do. This world has bad people in it, so long as they exist to snuff out the happiness of others, there can be no peace. Those who impede peace cannot be allowed to continue what they do.” She said. It wasn’t right to publically say what she felt. Inside, not only did they have to be stopped, but they had to be eliminated. Their ideas spread like the plague, and the only way to stop the ideas was to snuff out those who carried such beliefs.

There was a sigh that escaped her lips as the man held up his hands in his defense. Sometimes people needed gentleness, other times people needed a kick in the pants to get them moving. “Please, Jon, call me Cassandra.” She straightened up a little in her seat, but looked out amongst the crowd, some of them wearing physical masks, but they all wore masks in their own way. “People need masks. Everyone does. We hide behind a facade that we think the world wants to see, but inside, there is our true selves that we keep shielded from others. We all have our reasons, but we all have our masks. Even I wear a mask. I assume you do the same.” She said, then looked back to him.
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“Besides, if it is for the good of the world, then it shouldn’t matter what you have to do. This world has bad people in it, so long as they exist to snuff out the happiness of others, there can be no peace. Those who impede peace cannot be allowed to continue what they do.”

Jon nodded as he finished the last of the shots that had been set before him. "Yes, well, all of the people I have killed needed killing," He gave a wink, as if he was joking. Of course, he wasn't joking, not entirely, but neither was he being entirely truthful. After all, the men and women had made someone hate them enough to hire Mojo to have them killed, but did that make them bad. Mojo's morality was something lax and as flexible as the amount of money that exchanged hands. And, as his tool, as his best weapon once Longshot had gone rogue, 26 had served his purpose, and he had done it well.

26 was not the only clone besides Longshot, not the only tool, but now... after what had happened in the Mojoverse, they were the only ones left. The only monsters, the only puppets without strings. He wondered what the girl would say if she knew. How old was she anyhow? How come she talked as if she was so much older and wiser than he was? Sure he was chronologically only three years old, but unlike his damaged brethren Longshot, his emotions were of a grown man, his mentality, not an overly psychopathic and selfish child.

But she was right, wasn't she? That was a mask. He wore the mask of Jonathan Harker... once an X-Man, once a hero.

"I'm sorry, I think I shouldn't be here," he said, suddenly, looking around. "I don't belong here. I need.... I need redemption, and I won't find it degradation," He flicked out a few restless sparks. "I don't know where I'll find it, but this place... it seems to bring out the parts of me that're dangerous."
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The mystery of Jon continued to expand. Her eyes lowered to the sparks that flickered to life. In the life being had in the club, the others didn’t catch much if any of it, but Spirit saw, watching with unflinching eyes. How much hidden meaning was in his words? What was he hiding behind that mask? Behind those words? But for the first time that night, she felt happy for him as he told her he didn’t belong. “You are taking your first steps, Jon. This place isn’t for everyone.” She said with a smile as she leaned in towards the man. “And quite honestly, it is the last place for someone seeking redemption.” She leaned back once more and looked out amongst the crowd partaking in the decadence that was provided by those of high living.

Spirit stood up. It was surprising the kind of things she missed, the feeling of her muscles stretching for one, the sensation that came from something so simple as movement. All her senses except for one carried over to this form of hers in entirety. It was feeling, touch, that was lacking. She could still feel it, but it was a numbness, almost like a tingle. “So, Jon, where will you go now that you know that the Pleasure Club isn’t the place for you?”
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