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On the Rim; (Knights only)
Topic Started: May 14 2008, 06:27 AM (261 Views)
Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
Time of day:Two am
Place in the time-line Early April (Not a Plot thread)



He walked the ledge, not minding that it was twenty stories up, or that a slight rain had begun to fall, making his footing unsure... well, it would be unsure if he was not Longshot.... and if he was walking on his feet, instead of his hands.

Longshot had spent the evening entertaining Alix, and then, much later when she went to bed, a sweet couple of pawns came to attend much darker and deeper desires. The boy had been a lovely caramel colored youth, and the girl of a skin tone that suggested to him the scent of lotus blossoms. They'd left their masks on, as they were supposed to, and together the three of them had played pretty games of pain and blood and the sharp taste of metal on the tongue. They thanked him for the honor, had begged to be allowed to kiss him, but he always asked for Pawns with full masks, never those with just the dominos.

Kissing was far too intimate, and Longshot had never kissed anyone and truly meant it. Anyone but Alix that is, and even then it was the kiss of a small child upon the lips of a playmate. The love was there but the emotional maturity was not. He was far too damaged still from what first Mojo, then Magneto, then the Phoenix had done to him. He was an innocent still, a strange description for someone with his bodycount, but then, Longshot was a strange little man, as evidenced by his acrobatic travels around the outside of the building that housed the Hellfire Club.

From here, he could barely make out the head of the sentinel that stood in Central Park. He didn't look at the metal monstrosity though, uninterested. He was a mutant only because his original, the poor student Arthur Centino, had been, and because that was what Mojo had wanted him to be. The plight of mutant oppression only interested him while he was with the Brotherhood because he was superior and enjoyed being treated as such. Now, he was treated far better. So who cared really about the plots of silly humans and silly mutants?

Not him, that was for sure.
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Spirit
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The rain came down, as if wanting to cleanse out the violence that was about to occur. Spirit was a lover of the rain. When the rain started, she had enjoyed it at first from the balcony connected to her room. Since she had come to this place, she discovered all that Hellfire had to offer, some of it she enjoyed and some of it she avoided. She had kept up appearances, as any young lady of her position should, enjoying the company of a variety of men, but things never went far. The need to keep up appearances only ran so deep. But for all that Hellfire had to offer, the rain wasn’t controlled by any of them, at least as far as she knew. It was something that she had enjoyed before coming to this place, and she would enjoy it long after.

After seeing off her company for the evening, she decided that some time away from herself was in order. It was surprising, for as attached as she was to her physical form, there were many times that she just needed to get away. This was one of those times. And so, she made her way to the roof of the Hellfire Pleasure Club, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. It wasn’t tiring in the least, after all, she weighed nothing in the least. No door opened, she moved silently through as if it were the very air that surrounded them, and the first sight her eyes rested upon was the young man known as Longshot. Her mind went for a second to his beautiful guest, but it wasn’t a thought that remained in her mind long. From what she had learned thus far, Longshot was the playful one of the group. He reminded her in many ways of a child, but she knew better than to think that made him any less powerful. The men and women within the Hellfire Club were a different sort, their powers and talents always something to be respected.

Of course, this casual observation became more focused when she saw how close to the edge he was playing. She walked forward, watching his movements with interest. Every move was sharp and crisp, an exclamation point to the training and natural ability that the man had. “Looks like the this roof belongs to the Night.” She said, saying the word that had dual meaning considering the two that currently occupied it. She was careful not to come too close or speak too loud. While she respected his abilities, she didn’t want him to get surprised and fall to his death. “Quite the skill you have, I’m very much impressed.” She said in that cheerful and sweet tone.
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Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
“Looks like the this roof belongs to the Night.” [Spirit] said

Longshot flipped forward, and had this been anywhere else, he would have let fly with a volley of his flechettes, the throwing blades he kept on his person always, but this was the Hellfire Club. No one would be able to get here without being quickly dealt with.

He landed on his leather booted feet, and casually flipped his long blond bangs out of his pretty face, his hair rain wet and rumpled, which only emphasized the strange youth and almost ethereal beauty of the cloned killer. "And the night belongs to lovers, according to an old song my creator was fond of. He always had music playing while attending us in our sleep vats. I think being in a room alone with a dozen sleeping clones who could kill him in many horrible ways was a little frightening."

“Quite the skill you have, I’m very much impressed.” She said in that cheerful and sweet tone.

Longshot beamed, not at all a modest young man, and he said, "That's nothing what I can do. Just balance and luck. I can do a lot more better things than that. Someday, I'll show you everything if you like. You... " He came close to her, looking at her curiously, "You're interesting to me. If I touched you, what would I see? I am a psychometric, I can read objects and tell about the people who held them, tell their past, their future from it. I collect things, so I have their stories. My own stories... I lost many of them when the Firebird turned my mind to ash. But I have new ones now, better ones. You aren't flesh, not in this state, so if I touched you, would I know your story? It's something... interesting."

He smiled and when he did, the slight creepiness of his intensity and ramshackle thought processes vanished. He looked again like the charming and desirable youth he was bred to be, "Why are you out in the rain so late at night? I don't need to sleep. It's just a habit from when I pretend to be human. But don't you need to? Or is your body at rest enough to give your mind a rest too?"
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Spirit
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Unlike Longshot, the rain didn’t seem to dampen the one living outside her body. That was one thing she missed, the impact of the rain. Even if she created the direct contact telepathic field over her body that would allow the rain to come into contact with her, it wasn’t the same. Souls didn’t get wet from precipitation. All the same, the feeling of the air was something that couldn’t be snatched away from her just because she was a soul. The air was clean, cool, and crisp, the smell still the same as it was when she smelled the rain from within her body. Her eyes still hadn’t focused on the machine standing in the distance, the constant movement of Longshot keeping her attention drawn. He had an untamed look to him, she wouldn’t call it savage though. It was a purity, as if he came from the same line as the world’s great predators.

His words came as a surprise to her. The man before her was open, almost as if he expected her to already know about what he was, and just casually quipping about the past. She didn’t respond to it, however, not right now. She had just begun spreading her wings within the club, but soon she would do more, and getting to know her fellow inner circle members more was on her list of things to do. For now she would just file what he said away into her thoughts for later contemplation. More importantly, his little beaming was enough to almost make her laugh. She enjoyed being around people who were happy, and this man had such an odd joy about it. It was raw and unrefined, but it held an innocence at the same time.

When he came closer to her it caught her off guard a little. She held her ground, but behind the calm facade was a slight uncomfortableness. The smile held up, however, and she tilted her head, reflecting his curiosity. “I really am not sure myself what would happen.” The thought of it played through her mind for a moment. What would he see if he touched her soul? Would it be enough for his powers to operate?

Soon the awkwardness of the situation was broken as the Black Knight spoke of sleep. “When the body rests, souls are free to spread their wings. Truth be told I havn’t slept since the accident. I’ve been in a waking dream that has gone on for years.” She said, taking in the contrast of sensations, on one was the feeling of the cool night air, on the other was the sensory input from her body, snuggled underneath the warm blankets in a dry room. “I’m not sure quite how to explain it, but being around people gives me energy. I’m not an empath by any means, but it is curious how I feel more energized being around places where people are experiencing great emotions. A short time in the pleasure club everyday is like my cup of coffee.” She said with a smile. Some people believed that souls attached to the world were there because of strong emotional energy. Maybe they were right, and the soul acted as a battery, requiring a recharge from the emotions of those still attached to their physical forms.
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Longshot
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“I really am not sure myself what would happen.”

Longshot lifted his hand, three fingers spread just over Spirit's form, "I wonder.... It would be.... entertaining," But then he dropped his hand and spun on one foot, arms outstretched to catch the rain, "Poor Spirit, she cannot feel the rain. It's wonderful to watch as it washes clean this city, and everything catches the light in beautiful sparkles." He stopped his pirouette and pointed at the Sentinel, just barely visible, "Even that thing looks pretty in the rain."

He took a seat on the short wall that he had been walking along and said, "I'll save my exploration of what I will see when I touch you for later, Spirit." He patted the wall next to him and said, "Come, sit with me. Tell me a story of how a pretty little girl like yourself became the White Knight. I don't play chess. I don't know how, but it is very clear to me, that the knights are the unpredictable killers on the board, and this puzzles me. I am a murderer, and there's been those who call me a sociopath, which might be right, though I don't know. I am only what I was made to be, but you, so sweet and harmless a girl, what is it you can possibly do that will earn you your place in the White Court? Show me what you can do besides look ethereal and feed off the excess emotions of the Pleasure Club."
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Spirit
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Spirit’s eyes locked onto Longshot’s hand. She almost took a step back, but he withdrew before she did and she gave a mental sigh of relief. The smile turned truthful again as she watched Longshot spin in the rain, but the smile was short lived. He pointed, and she looked at the symbol of the oppressive nature of the human race. Her smile disappeared altogether, and she stared at the machine with loathing. Such a thing that brought sadness upon so many. It was a symbol of fear, a symbol of a possible future where mankind would lose their innocence, and if they continued down this path, then their hatred would surely need to be purged. She hoped that they were not yet beyond redemption. “What compelled them to take such drastic action. Has the world fallen so far?” She said aloud, but not really directing it directly at Longshot.

Spirit relaxed as her fellow Knight sat. She had to let some things go. The world would balance out eventually. For now she would watch as the world went into chaos, if need be she would do her part. She put the smile back on her face and sat beside the man. Unlike Longshot, she was a chess player, and the role of Knight fit her perfectly. She was unpredictable, especially to those who were not prepared for the abilities that she brought to the table. “Even the most innocent and beautiful of roses bear thorns.” She passed her hand through the short wall, but she knew that Longshot knew of her ethereal form. Her hand raised from the wall, and with an outstretched finger, she gave him the most gentle of pokes. From that moment, all five of his senses were under her direction.

The rain immediately stopped, the humidity disappeared, even the feeling of water on his clothes was gone. The sun shined, and no longer would he see the layout of the city from the roof of the club. All around him, nature bloomed, the location being a contrast. Where had once been a city, now was a meadow full of wildflowers of all types. The scent was that of nature itself and the sun would feel warm and comforting and a slight breeze would push against his blonde hair. This was the world that she constructed. She was nowhere to be seen at first. Longshot would no longer perceive himself sitting on a hard cold ledge, but instead a log, soft with moss was beneath him, itself warmed by the sun. After a couple seconds, Spirit appeared within the waking dream. “I can do a few things, this is just one of them. I would show you the other, but I have problems possessing mutants.” She said, almost apologetically.
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Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
The childlike clone found nothing strange in what had just happened, as he found himself suddenly in the warm sunlit meadow. He rose to his feet and the look on his pretty face was one of pure innocent delight, "Oh, my Lady Knight..." he whispered, "What an amazing ability this is. You have given me a pleasant dream, but you didn't have to, am I right? If you wanted, I could see monsters or flame or feel like I've been buried alive? I'll make it my every waking task to not offend you, in that case. I've never had a nightmare. I... fear what horrors could come from my sleeping mind."

He bent to pluck a flower that grew near his seat and then he said, "It's not real though, is it? I mean, if this rose has thorns, as you say, could it prick me? Could it draw blood?" He looked at her as she appeared next to him and he said, "My own pain has always been a great source of clarity to me. I was trained that when confusion or doubt was overwhelming my directives, that I was to cut, to release the controlling agents in my blood stream. If your thorns hurt me... would I wake up? Or would my living body manifest what has only happened to my mind?"

She mentioned that she had difficulty possessing mutants and he smiled, "I'm not really a mutant, my dear Spirit. I'm a genetically modified clone of a man who was a mutant, not really one of the evolved, just a cheap copy. Perhaps that would make a difference?"
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Spirit
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Spirit smiled as she saw the wonder in his eyes. “You need not worry about nightmares with me.” She said softly. He picked the flower, and the illusion continued playing at every sense. He could feel it in his hand, even if in reality there was nothing there, it had the same weight as a real flower. He commented about the thorns, and the smile faded only slightly. “I can make you think you are bleeding, I can make your body think it is in pain. You wouldn’t wake from the dream, but the illusion cannot manifest in any normal way. If you are cut here, you won’t be cut when you wake. But I can choke a person, make it feel like their lungs are filled with water, cause them to spasm. Muscle convulsions caused by pain, that can do some bodily damage, I can do those things, but I cannot cut a person and it physically manifest as a cut.” She said. It wasn’t exactly something that she found a great deal of joy in doing, but sometimes things had to be done.

What he said next reminded her of someone in a slight way, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She would have to think more about it later. But the way he spoke of himself was the occupation of the here and now. Spirit was a bit of an optimist when it came to people. In general, she believed all were good in some ways and every life had some value. For him to speak of himself as a clone, a cheap copy, it did more than make her curious about his past. “I don’t think it would change the outcome much... but I am curious. You are a clone?”
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Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
Longshot closed his fingers around the stem of the rose as she spoke, feeling the sharp bite of the thorns, his mouth opening in a small gasp of pain that might have held more than a hint of pleasure. He opened his hand, so that the rose fell and he looked at the ruby droplets of blood on his palm and he said, "Amazing.... that I will not bear these wounds when I 'wake up.' I could very easily get too used to being here, Spirit, I think you should bring me back now. I'm not a very stable man, my life was lived in a growing vat, and in the absence of my own memories I steal those of other people. This story you've spun around me.... I don't know if I can take too much more."

She asked him about being a clone and he looked at her, his crystal blue eyes the only part of his pretty appearance that truly showed the depth of the damage within his mind. "Four years ago, an art student from Genosha named Arthur Centino was on a cultural exchange field trip to New York city. When one of his classmates was attacked, he sacrificed his life to save her. As Arthur lay in the hospital dying, a sample of his genetic material was stolen by a doctor named Arize, who was experimenting with cloning for a mad man named Mojo, who ran a criminal organization and was in need of mindlessly loyal, highly adaptable lackeys. I was the first successful one... well, successful in the fact that I lived. I'm highly flawed. Mojo regretted making me by the end."
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Spirit
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It was odd watching the man before her. In a world where mutants were becoming more and more common, being different had become normal. Something about Longshot, however, held something else. In his eyes she saw a damaged psyche, and yet at the same time, there was more. As he spoke, she smiled and nodded, already peeling away the illusion little by little as she listened to the story of his origins. At the end of his words, there was more than a little hint that things had gone poorly for the man named Mojo. What had happened would likely never be known to Cassandra, however. Such things were the business of only one man.

First the air changed, going from warm to cool, then the humidity was added onto it. The feel of the rain came next, as the environment all around Longshot seemed to almost be washed away by the rain. At the end, the only part of the illusion that still remained was the flower, but the pain caused by the blood had faded, as had the crimson droplets. The flower wilted, then like all things, the illusion of life ended. “Clones, I think, are the same as humans. Even though you are different, I wonder if that changes anything at all really. Is it not the differences between individuals that helps truly make us a part of the human race?” She asked curiously.

Edited: wrong post before @_@
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