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At The Door of Royalty; TAG: Sunspot, Saint, Jara, Max C., HFC
Topic Started: Jun 30 2008, 02:26 AM (1,203 Views)
Mastermind II
Unregistered

Time of Day: 8 PM
Date in Timeline: May 1


(OOC: I hope its not too much of a jump to say that Jara, Saint, and Sunspot all got in Martinique's car and they left for the HFC thanks to Sunspot's directions... Just trying to speed things up)

The three Brotherhood members and their leader loaded into her unassuming Toyota and jetsetted forth on the highway with only the Pleasure Club in mind. Martinique's mind was buzzing with questions for Sunspot, but she didn't want to be rude and sound like a small, naive school child asking ridiculous questions about the sky and the grass and the birds and the bees to annoyed parents. Instead, most of the ride, Martinique was perfectly quiet, sometimes asking an awkward question to try to break the ice like "The weather is quite nice... I am sure it will change soon though" or "How was your day?"

Her questions were not sincere at all, by any means, as social behavior was not in Martinique's nature. She was simply trying to be nice to the Brotherhood members she had selected for the six hour journey and to cut the awkward silence in half. Often times, Mastermind would turn up the radio, which boasted an unintelligent top forty pop music channel, only to annoy her, which she turned back down. This happened a variety of times on the trip to the Hellfire Club.

Their leader was terribly relieved when they rolled up to the Pleasure Club building. She looked at Sunspot, who she let have the front seat, and questioned him.

"We have finally arrived. How do we go about entering this Club without creating too much of a fuss?" She asked the seasoned Club veteran.
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Jara
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Her little domestic dispute with a certain smart-ass British telepath was all but forgotten at this point. Despite her mind’s wandering tendencies and troubling quick jumps in her train of thought, Jara knew there was a time and place for everything. There was business to attend to. Business that didn’t involve any God-forsaken flame throwers popping out of walls or really cheesy artificial maniacal laughter echoing down funhouse corridors…. Hopefully. You could never tell with Martinique. But at least the woman was close enough to swat her head clean off her shoulders if she tried any of that “oh, I was testing your capabilities and survival instincts!” bullshit again. Pardon me for not wagging my tail at the thought of a joy ride and fetching my lead.

Or maybe Marti was. Because it took every ounce of will to stay put in the cramped back seat of that singado Toyota and not jump out the door screaming bloody murder. Yes, cramped. Jara thought it was cramped. Little Miss Five Foot Three on a Good Day. Being within mauling distance of three perfectly healthy and tasty looking people did nothing to soothe her nerves or assuage that unorthodox dietary palate. It would have been frighteningly simple to just lean over and take a little bite out of that Saint boy, glancing at the entrée sitting next to her. Hmm, but he already looked a bit wary. He might see it coming. El brasileño up front didn’t, though…

And then she’d be flamed, broiled, skewered, and lobotomized, just because she didn’t stop to get Taco Bell before the meeting. Honestly, ferals got the shitty end of the mutant powers stick. One of the long periods of silence was punctured with a theatrically-drawn sigh, Jara doing nothing to hide her wee bit of displeasure at the car ride… and she regretted it.

See, it’s already enough that she’s trapped in a small space with three other living beings whom she considered as food. But that air space was stagnant. Sure, Mastermind might’ve had the AC going on, but all it was doing was circulating their scents and mixing them together. It had all the effect that waiter does at a Chinese restaurant when he passes by with his tray of smoldering Canton steak. After that little insolent sigh, Jara could taste it, too.

The Cuban shapeshifter quickly cranked the window open, leaning against the door and breathing in the smoggy city air outside. The scents in the car almost instantly flooded out. Crisis adverted. Lunch postponed. She entertained herself by singing along with the radio, even long after Martinique had turned it off. Jara wasn’t doing it out of spite. Heavens no…

Hours later, the Pleasure Palace came looming into view, its pretentious façade and ostentatious architecture simply impossible to mistake or not recognize. Jara had no qualms about the rich. Just against the Hellfire Club, whose queen was a two-bit blue-skinned iguana turncoat and whose king dumped her into a Jell-o wrestling pit for the viewing pleasure of their guests on the lower levels, even though she’d saved their rook’s ass from impending incarceration and incineration, though maybe not in that order.

Imbeciles desagradecidos,” she muttered under her breath. While Martinique and Roberto talked in the front seats, Jara shifted uncomfortably in hers, trying to stretch her back in vain.

“Can we please hurry it up? My ass went numb two hours ago, and I’d like to get feeling back into it before it falls off. Muchas gracias,” Jara added, giving them both a Colgate commercial smile in the rearview mirror.
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Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
Kyle couldn't wait till the Brotherhood got themselves a teleporter. Seriously, he would trade a few minutes of feeling completely spun out than being trapped in the back seat with Jara ever again. She was a lovely girl, but whenever Saint sat near her, he always had the urge to move away. She seemed always to be ready to pounce. Even worse, she looked like she had been eyeing him up halfway through the drive. Not in the "Hey, lets have a good time way", more like in the "You know what, I can't decide whether to have you with brown sauce or ketchup" look. The rumours had been flying around by the more loose-tongued members of the group about Jara and lest just say they weren't the most complimentary. However, it got even worse when she started singing. Talk about a choir of cats being strangled.

If the Hell Fire Club had appeared in the distance at that time, Kyle would of taken his chances by throwing himself out of a moving car. Lets just say that putting a bunch of people, let alone mutants, in a car together for six hours with only one very brief petrol stop was bound to cause trouble. Kyle remained silent in the background, listening to everyone. He wondered if the Max Coleridge was the one that he had met. Not that he had exactly been bad to him the last time they had met, well as long as he didn't mind read Kyle, the popped tyres wouldn't be remembered. Whatever they would encounter, it would be a blessing following the car journey. Next time, he would have to bring an MP3 Player along to null the annoyance, maybe even a bit of Portishead if he could find some. Anything to get rid of the Cuban mutants dreadful singing. That Sunspot better be telling the right directions to Martinique if he didn't want a blade through the spine, which Kyle sitting right behind him, could definetly help with.
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Sunspot
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It seemed he did have a role here in the Brotherhood. They were searching for the Hellfire Club, an organization he himself had been part of for years and had left a few months ago. It was only obvious to ask Roberto where they were, it was the most logical decision and it appeared the British woman driving the car was smart enough to take. The tall and muscular Brazilian sat in the passenger seat of Mastermind’s car. He felt somewhat cramped in the car but had to support it. His brown eyes would look out of the window as he thought of the task at hand. He had plenty of time to think so he allowed himself to fully analyze their options when dealing with the Hellfire club. He was so deep in thought that Roberto sometimes did not even notice the awkward silence for the majority of the six hour trip.

While usually talkative, he did not really see a need right now as he was trying to think of what should happen in their current mission. The Hellfire Club was not an organization of weak and stupid individuals who would not notice anything happening in the Palace so it was for certain that something had to be done. Luckily, Roberto had an idea before he entered the car to leave for the mission and he was just finalizing it in his mind during the trip. To not seem rude, Roberto would answer Martinique’s questions with short answers but he did have a lot in his mind to think of. Every few moments, Roberto would feel glares from the backseat of both its occupants. A small smirk would appear on his face as he would realize this. True, he hadn’t actually been with the Brotherhood long enough to actually know anyone completely but he had been there to know enough, such as the powers of the others. He took those abilities to mind as he evaluated personalities. The Cuban woman’s personality definitely matched her own personality. Many said that his own powers and personality matched well to, both as fiery.

To be exact, Roberto da Costa had left the Hellfire Club almost a year ago so it was obvious and certain he would be remembered. That would have to be worked into the plan as he was almost sure that he wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms. Perhaps he was thinking too much into this strategy unneededly. He knew the palace and its occupants well enough to know the best thing to do in each situation. His eyes darted to the Pleasure Palace as they had finally arrived to their desired destination, based on Roberto directions. Memories suddenly entered his mind of his time in that place. True, he had mostly been in Los Angeles but almost all members, especially those that had been in the Inner Council, had come to the palace a couple of times in their “careers”.

The dark skinned Brazilian smiled and chuckled as Jara made her comment.

Calma gatita, por pronto no se va a sentir de esa manera. So just wait a minute and hold it so it won’t come off. Sim? Obrigado ‘Berto said showing his mastery in Spanish and his use of his native Portuguese.

It was necessary for Roberto as a child to learn other languages. Not just for personal use but because as the to-be-heir of Costa International and his father’s wealth, he would have to communicate with other countries and would need to learn their native tongues. Brazil being surrounded by majority Spanish speaking countries, Spanish was the second of the languages he first learned, the first being his native Portuguese. It total, the solar powered mutant was able to fluently speak in five different languages, not to mention the other languages he was knowledgeable of but not fluently. He turned now completely to Martinique as he prepared to answer her question.

”At first one might think it would be extremely difficult to enter but in reality, its not. We use the simplest, safest, and less noticeable way, going through the front door. Now, you might think that would be most dangerous way to enter but in reality it is not. There are sensors, cameras, and various traps all over this place that focus on infiltration and prevent anyone from actually sneaking into the building. As said, the easiest and most “discreet” way is through the front door. In the main hallway and almost throughout the palace, there are nothing but lower ranked members who the Inner Circle has them remain ignorant of what is really going on. We will go through the front door and will be stopped by a guard who will instantly ask who we are. I will introduce myself as a Black King and for this entry to work I will have to introduce you three as my servants. The guards are kept way ignorant of who left and who is still there but are still active in different branches so they won’t suspect anything from that. The ones that will see us enter do not know of my desertion of the Club so they will believe me to be a Black King. There won’t be any fuss as we stroll around until we reach the Inner Council chambers, where I will be instantly recognized and have to warn you in advance, won’t be welcomed in open arms. Though, by the time we reach them, it won’t even matter what we made our disguises to be or if we’ve been found as we have reached who we wish to speak to. So, sound like a plan? Or do I have to start from scratch and take another six hours to come up with another plan?”
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Max_Coleridge
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Darkforce Manipulation, Teleportation
Overhead, Max looked down from his penthouse, peering at the club patrons through portal of darkness that many believed was a shadow. Eight o’clock was still early by club standards but a fair number had already come for the forbidden pleasures found within the club’s walls. If these walls could talk, an apt saying in regard to the club but their walls would never talk; it was one of the tenets they treasured, even more than wealth or power. The club never talked. To their clientele, scandal equaled death and the club’s iron-clad assurances that what happens here, stays here was enough to bring the rich and powerful flocking; that is, the rich and powerful with a taste for things a little dark and dangerous.

In the rooms below, the club could cater to virtually every vice imaginable. Max opened portals and gazed down into the casino, where the gambling addicts couldn’t wait to throw their money to him, and lounge, where fortunes were pissed away on booze and drugs. Max looked down at them and sadly, and with a little disgust, shook his head. Once their fortunes ran out, that’s when he really had them; they’d drunk the sweet nectar provided by the club and would do anything to keep it coming. Hellfire Club… it was engraved on plaque at the front door but people still thought that it was the club who lead them to their fate, in reality, mankind (and mutants) happily damned themselves.

Moments later, Max Coleridge joined the club goers in a center area called the Kings Court, with an attractive pawn at each elbow to guide him to his accustomed spot in the center of the room. Only those of the Inner Circle knew or suspected that he could see or at least had some means to detect his surroundings.

Arriving at his area, he kept the hand of one of the pawns and twirled her in time to the strains of barely heard music drifting through the air. Ending the few moments of dance with his arm around her waist and her bent backward into a dip; her little domino mask not concealing the pleased grin that was reflected in the pure black of his blind-man glasses. She was a black pawn and it occurred to him, and not for the first time, that the black court had the more attractive pawns; probably because Emma could never abide anyone who matched her beauty, or God forbid, surpassed it.

“Your usual, my king?” The other asked, the hope for attention too, plain in his voice.

“Yes, I will do,” Max said, flashing a million dollar smile and bringing the other pawn back to her feet. “Is there anyone of any consequence here tonight?” he asked.
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Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
“Is there anyone of any consequence here tonight?” [Max] asked.

"Besides me, you mean, my king?" chirped a playful sweet voice. Longshot joined his king in the center court, placing a hand on Max's arm, gently, to alert him of his location. He was acutely aware that his king could see, or at least had some means of seeing, and perhaps that was something that should be unusual, or perhaps something suspicious, but Longshot, like the child he was, like the damaged toy he was, completely doted on the Black King. It was very likely that the Clone, whose aging processes were still undetermined, would stay beside Max forever if he was allowed to, and would serve him devotedly, as long as Max was conscious of making Longshot at least believe that it was his own choice.

Longshot was deadly, pretty and clearly insane, but he was also very innocent in his madness. It was easy to win his heart with shiny baubles and sweet words.

He was dressed casually yet stylishly, a black and grey patterned long sleeved shirt, tight black jeans with a studded belt and matching bracelet, his long blond hair streaked with blue in a fit of vain decoration. Tonight his companions was a strangely matching, yet contrasting set of pawns. One male, one female, both almost equal in height, taller than the slender clone. The woman was a beauty of the white court, with skin like the darkest chocolate, her white domino and pawn's skimpy attire contrasting exquisitely. The man was so pale as to almost seem like an albino, his hair white, his skin like cream, but he was of the black court so his just as revealing leathers emphasized his pallor in a most attractive way. Surely Longshot was amused by the dichotomy, and he certainly looked pleased by his choice of evening's... entertainments.

Well, that and the fact that he had partaken of some of the clubs much less legal offerings for the night, and his blue eyes were clouded with more than madness... aw, the benefits of being young, wicked and lucky.




Longshot's outfit
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Mastermind II
Unregistered

When Martinique asked Roberto a simple question, he responded with an almost complex set of plans. She could hear the intelligence of ages radiating from his foreign voice, casting a cool confidence into Martinique's mind that this would have to work. Mastermind never stopped evaluating members and she realized this da Costa could be even more potentially lethal than what she had originally thought! If he could keep his annoying behaviors at bay, he'd have a place above the other members of the Brotherhood.

Sunspot mentioned that they had to pretend to be his "servants" in order to pass through safely without any strange eyes being put upon their presence. Mastermind didn't want him to play surrogate leader, as it secretly played with her ego, but she knew she had to make this sacrifice in order to penetrate the building without getting hurt.

"That sounds like a better plan than any, Mr. da Costa," Martinique nodded to him and then glanced at her passengers in the back seat, "I hope you heard him well and clear, as that will be our plan. As much as I would like to let you fight back, if someone within the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club hits you, refrain from hitting them back. It is all about appearances, as you might know, and striking back could hurt our frail chances of getting a word in with the Club."

And with that, Mastermind carefully exited her car, leaving it unlocked for a potential get-away if needed. For the first time in quite awhile, she took up a spot behind Roberto, leaving the other two to fall in behind him as well. She hoped they would follow her lead and not act suspicious in any way. Their guise could be quickly lost if any of them made the wrong facial expression. Mastermind particularly worried about Balam's appearance. The lass, as lovely as she was, was an animated soul, unafraid to speak up or cast a glance. She would really have to make an effort to keep her and her biting tongue back from lashing at a wayward Hellfire Club member.

The group entered the building with Sunspot leading the way. Their first obstacle was just as he had predicted; a meatheaded bodyguard with his huge arms folded glared the group down with an extreme fervor. Martinique wanted to make it easy and just disguise them as being invisible, however, she listened to Sunspot's word of warning stating there were many cameras. Her illusions were ineffective against security cameras...

Instead, Mastermind stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for Sunspot to use his cool words on the towering guard.

(OOC Note: Sunspot-mun, feel free to swagger your entire post up to the inner circle of the Hellfire Club--unless we are facing other obstacles--I'm sure the rest of us can post according RPs that we all made it up to the Inner Circle :D )
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Davis Cameron
Unregistered

OOC: Sorry about not getting to this, I was on a wee vacation.

Davis Cameron awoke and the light outside his window had already dimmed with the night. He looked at the clock on the wall near his bed. It was well past the afternoon and well into the night. What a morning after this is, he thought. There were things to do and business to take care off. Davis knew that sleeping all day and not being productive would make the other members, especially the kings and queens, rather cross. He rose from bed and hurriedly took a shower.

Davis emerged from the shower feeling a bit more refreshed. He no longer smelled of alcohol and smoke but his mouth still tasted vaguely of vomit. He didn’t remember getting sick last night but that must have been rather late. Davis caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His body was still moist from the shower and his towel was wrapped around his waist. He pursed his lips at himself in the mirror and flexed his arms. Despite, coming down from the night before he felt really good; Davis felt that tonight was going to be a great one as well.

The Ozzie stepped to his wardrobe. He slipped on some briefs and rummaged for a suitable outfit. He stepped easily into a pair of expensive jeans that accented his assests. Davis pulled on one of his white shirts. It could have been one of his favorites because he had many like it. He tousled his hair and stepped into a pair of brown leather boots. Davis liked to dress nice but the clothes do not make the man. Davis was proud of his body and felt that the clothes should be the accessories, not the other way around.

Slipstream exited his quarters and sauntered to the “gentlemen’s club” area of the Pleasure-Drome as he affectionately called it. The house lights were low but there was mood-lighting and music to set the arousal of any of the clientele that the Hellfire Club normally catered too. A group of pawns were sitting together admiring one of the dancers. This dancer was exceptional, in many manners other than dancing. The lights played across her skin. Sex was just one of the earthly delights that the club offered.

Davis extended his hand to an attractive White Pawn. She was café au lait with green eyes. Her lips came together in a pout and her eyebrows arched seductively. “Join me,” he said. It was as much a request as an order. The pawns were rarely known to refuse the will of an Inner Circle member. She took the surfer’s hand and stood up. He took her by the elbow and together the walked to the King’s Court. On the way out he stopped by the bar and got a cocktail.

They entered the grand hall to find the Black King and one of the Black Knights together with their escorts. Attractive as she was, Davis’ escort did not match the quality of those of either of the Black Court members. If anything matter within the Inner Circle it was status. No matter, Davis would be more selective next time. “You look ravishing; good enough to eat,” he whispered to the escort as they neared the other members.

“Good evening, My Lord. Good evening Master Centino,” Davis said acknowledging the King of the Black court first and the sycophantic Black Knight second, as was only proper. “Tonight is shaping up to be a beaut, no?” Davis took a sip of his cocktail and smiled to the other members.
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Sunspot
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A small smirk appeared on the Brazilian’s dark face as Martinique told him that they would be using his plan. Of course it was the best one to use for the simple fact that Roberto knew more about the Hellfire Club than anyone in the Brotherhood considering the fact that he was a former member. He took one look to the palace and then turned his head towards the other passengers in the car with now a more serious look upon his face. In one second his expression and personality changed completely. Sunspot was ready for business and as such he needed to show it. Saying no words, he briefly closed his eyes and opened them with a new “fire” within them, the same one would get when they were about to do something important that needed no screw ups.

Roberto opened the door of the car and walked out of the small car feeling instantly relived as he finally had a chance to stretch his legs. He turned his body completely towards the building and then jerked his neck left and to the right thus stretching out the muscles within. Afterwards, the tall and muscular Brazilian turned behind him to the others and the look in his eyes was everything. Without needing say a word, his expression said “Remember the plan”. He placed his hands then in his pockets and changed his posture as that of how someone who believed himself to be superior and wealthy, as a Black King of the Hellfire Club would act. He stood before the guard who was about his own height but larger than him, though Roberto was muscle, this guard was just meaty with flesh.

“Hold it right there. I don’t recognize you people and I’m certain you aren’t welcome here. For your own good simply turn back where you came from. This isn’t the place for you”

Roberto instantly flashed an expression of irritation and frustration for the guard. His eyebrows furrowed and he gave a death giving glare to the guard. It was a look that would even frighten a hungry lion. Roberto suddenly gave a growl that irritated nobles or wealthy give when they don’t get what they want. His next words were cool and serious only showing a hint of anger.

”You incompetent fool. Do you not realize who you speak to? You speak to a Black King, so for your own safety your next words better be “Forgive my ignorance. The Pleasure Palace welcomes you”. Or do you wish for me to explain to Max about your rudeness?”

The guard gulped at that moment obviously realizing that Sunspot was serious. His usage of Max Coleridge’s first name only gave more of an impression that Sunspot knew Max personally thus persuading even more that he was who he claimed to be. At the moment, it seemed that he had persuaded the guard but then the guard looked towards the others behind Roberto.

“Y-Yes. Forgive me King for my complete ignorance. You are indeed welcome here. There is no need to tell Mr. Coleridge about this event, is there? You can come in but who are they King? If they are not of the club they cannot enter right now”

Roberto did not give a glance back or even show signs of thought thus giving even more of a disguise of the “lie” he was creating. Technically it was a lie but he was telling the truth he was Black King, WAS being the key word there. His persuasion continued.

”Oh them. They are nothing but my servants. Fear not, they won’t cause any ruckus”

The guard seemed to understand and nodded as he instantly stood aside and opened the doors allowing the four mutants passage inside. Roberto still saw brief glimpses of suspicion in the eyes of the guard as the door was being opened but he knew that he wouldn’t risk anything should his story be true. Roberto then proceeded to walk into the building with the rest of the Brotherhood walking behind him. He hoped they were playing the part of else their entire plan would break apart.

The inside of the Pleasure Palace was just as he remembered it with the obvious stench of the Hellfire Club all around them. The place was filled with expensive furniture, paintings, and the architecture was even very Hellfire Club-like. The people wandering inside where the obvious rich and stuck up though it was also obvious to someone like Sunspot who knew the inner workings of the Hellfire Club that they were low ranking members and as such unimportant, despite how they thought of themselves. Many eyes darted to the Brazilian not just because he was just entering the Palace but because as of the way he allowed people to see him, and that was the Black King of the Los Angeles Hellfire Club.

His brown eyes looked around the Palace as he walked by the random crowd of people towards where the Inner Council was. They were already inside and knowing the Inner Council, even if they saw him, they wouldn’t do anything to him yet as him being back here was intriguing to some. Roberto was obviously an attractive man so he would sometimes encounter a woman who would try to draw him towards her but he was playing the part of a Black King so he would ignore or insult them for approaching him. His “servants” also received similar attention from others. The Hellfire Club was a very selfish organization known for its members to follow their ambitions and greed be it for power, money, or sex. One of the reasons he left as he was not interested in that lifestyle. Who cared if his father was in it and he should also take its place?

A few whispers were spoken too, whispers which would cause anyone to anger if they were heard but Roberto maintained his cool and continued forward hoping the others would react the same because now that they were so into the palace, they couldn’t afford to fail. Walking up the steps, all eyes were on the four as it was obvious where they were going now. Into the Inner Council chambers. There were many who thought of them as idiots and others who feared their bravery especially since a majority of the Inner Council was powerful mutants. Sunspot showed no fear though as he was still playing the part and Roberto da Costa didn’t have a reason to fear, well he did but he didn’t see it that way.

Another guard stood in their way who once again told them they couldn’t enter. It was now for certain that someone there had been monitoring them so they would know they were outside the chamber so there was no point hiding the fact who he really was though he still had to add something to his words.

”My name is Roberto da Costa, former Black King of the Los Angeles branch of the Hellfire Club. I have come seeking an audience with the New York Inner Council. It is something of grave importance. Please I wish access to the chamber”

“An audience? What are you crazy? You must be if you think they’d agree to see you. Listen for your safety I think it be best to go back” the guard suggested but Roberto remained before him.

”I have nothing to really worry about, besides I believe they’d want to talk to me so unless you want any problems with me, my associates, or perhaps the Black King himself, you’d open the door”

The guard looked at Sunspot for a long time before shrugging and sighing. He then reached out and began opening the door to the chambers but his eyes remained on the four standing there.

“I hope you know what you’re doing”

The door was open and Sunspot took his first steps into the chamber and into his past.

"Ola, Roberto da Costa's come back home
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Max_Coleridge
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Darkforce Manipulation, Teleportation
JP between Max and Longshot


“Good evening, My Lord. Good evening Master Centino, Tonight is shaping up to be a beaut, no?” came the accented tones of the White Rook, and Longshot rolled his slightly unfocused eyes.

"Longshot," he corrected, "Centino is a dead man who had the misfortune of being cloned into me." He disentangled himself from his pawns and faced the Rook, in a nonthreatening, but definitely confrontational fashion, "You're fairly new, so I forgive you this once." He reached up with one of his three fingered hands, and patted Slipstream's cheek gently, "And you're far too pretty for me to stay mad with for long."

As he turned back to Max, his attention was drawn at the commotion by the guarded entry to the Inner Circle's area of the floor, "My King, it appears we have company. A Black King he says." A throwing flechette was suddenly in the clone's hands, "Should I dispatch of this... pretender?"

Max had taken a seat in the middle of a custom-made horseshoe shape leather couch, black, of course. The pawn he’d momentarily danced with lingered nearby, while the other pawn eagerly returned with an amber-colored drink and placed it in his hand.

Far from being an ominous Inner Council chamber, where the members dressed in their finery and plotted the downfall of nations, it was a room much like the others in the Pleasure Palace, except much larger. Men, women, and those it was hard to telling the difference, laughed and mingled in this Eden of forbidden delights. To one side of the room, a naked fish-woman with luminous, flowing yellow fins and the vibrant sheen of a gold fish swam behind a glass wall; eyes of awestruck members glued of her every move. The King’s Court was a raised area in the center of the room cordoned off behind velvet rope, except for the ramp leading up.

A ghost of a smile hinted at Max’s lips as Longshot corrected the White Rook; he was impressed that young clone had grown so much in his short time with the Hellfire Club. When he’d first arrived, he would’ve been plucking out the young surfer’s eyes while he was explaining the difference between him and Centino. Frankly, Max was surprised Davis knew that name; possibly someone had told him with intention of causing trouble.

His glass was halfway to his lips when a voice said, "Ola, Roberto da Costa's come back home.” The sheer surprise of the arrival and the words caused Max’s façade to momentarily slip and he raised a quizzical eyebrow at the statement that this had ever been Bobby’s home.

He grinned wickedly, “By all means, Longshot, convey our regards at Bobby’s homecoming,” he said and tasted his drink.

Longshot smiled, and though it was a pretty smile, there was something very very very ugly about the intent. He gave a theatrical bow and said, "As my king commands," He turned in a swooping pirouette that spoke of his hollow boned agility and his flechette streaked out to slam into the decorative support pillar centimeters from Bobby da Costa's head. The blade had seemingly traveled an impossible route to get there, a lucky shot perhaps. The star shown in his eye as he took his place before his King, several flechettes in place between his long elegant fingers. Whatever had been in his system is now gone. He was a killer, and he enjoyed it. That was never more obvious than at this moment.

“Bobby,” Max said, woodenly turning his head to face the newcomers’ commotion, his solid black blind man glasses reflecting their images back at them. “You’re a pleasant sight,” Max lied through his teeth, “at least, I assume. I trust you haven’t fallen on hard times since your departure from the Club,” Max said, stiffly polite.

He bent forward to place his drink on the table before him, the black signet ring with a crown plainly visible against his pale skin; he wasn't really a daylight person.
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Spirit
Unregistered

Another day in the Hellfire Club, with the time that Spirit had spent here, she had changed her normal behavior slightly. While she still enjoyed many hours of the day just enjoying herself in one of the many lounges within the club, absorbing the free energy that came from the living, the unbound woman had taken a new fancy in possessing a pawn every now and again, returning to how it felt to be alive, all the senses that came with being alive, especially touch. Something as simple as the feeling of silk playing across the skin, oh how she had missed that sensation, or the gentle caress of another. While she often asked the pawn before the possession as a form of courtesy, there were times when she didn’t. Not that it mattered, the pawns never remembered it anyway.

This was one of those times, as the White Knight walked in the body of a black pawn, her green eyes hidden behind a pair of blue that was deeper than the ocean. She had been there, not far from the entrance when the “Black King” made his entrance. Behind the black mask she couldn’t help but be curious. Being a part of the Inner Circle meant that you had access to information, information on the most important of people, mutants included. It was of little surprise that she knew not of the Black King as he called himself, but that didn’t mean much. The one she did notice, however, was Mastermind. The leader of the Brotherhood, how interesting. A fellow illusionist no less. It would be an odd thing, however, that while it was Martinique’s face that had given her away, it was Spirit’s own mutation that would make her stand out. Not to anyone but the telepath. Being within just 20 meters was enough to tip any telepath off that there was what most considered a paranormal being around. Psychics could always detect a ghost close by. This was no different.

All the same, Spirit began following the group, not afraid to come fairly close as they all proceeded to the Inner chamber. She smiled, although it wasn’t really useful as her face was hidden behind two masks. Her eyes traced over each person in the group, setting a moment on Jara, long enough to bring a rosy hue to Spirit’s cheeks. Another thing she missed that came with having a physical form. All the same, she was thankful for the mask. She did her best to size each person up. Then again, that really wasn’t her strong point.

As the group with the former Black King were blocked, Spirit just waited. Soon the door was opened, and as “Roberto de Costa made his entrance, Spirit moved by, walking over to a couch that sat close by. She sat down, and as she did, she exited the black pawn, who rested silently for the moment. She stood, clad in her white flowing dress with the symbol of the Knight on the neck of her dress. She walked up the steps, looking back at Martinique for just a moment, and the White Knight stopped beside her Black counterpart. She looked for a moment at the White Rook, whom she hadn’t had the chance to get acquainted with. It was common, just as when she entered, to only know other members by the formal introductions that came with being inducted into the Inner Circle. One thing she knew about the man, however, was that he was to be respected, as were all those who gained a place in the Inner Circle.
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Maria Siegel
Unregistered

Stepping from the elevator, Maria moved confidently into the room, her deep blue eyes surveying the room and it's occupants with a commanding gaze. She had been there only a few days but her naturally adaptable state of being meant she had slipped quickly into the life she had been offered. The utter opulence and completely farce of the life style amused her greatly and she had carefully chosen and gilded the mask with which she observed all those connected to the Hellfire Club. It was a game, like all the others she played, but this one held slightly less risk and bestowed more rewards of the material kind.

With the slightest casual movement of her head, Maria shifted strands of dark hair away from her face as she strode across the room, moving with the supple grace of a dancer despite the silver heels she was wearing which pushed her five nine height up by three inches. This evening she had forgone the attire of an assassin for the more glamorous attire suitable in the Hellfire's Pleasure Club, all in black of course, a shade she favoured anyway but was practically required of her as an unofficial member of the Black Court. Currently her toned curves were emphasised by a knee length pencil skirt, laced down the centre, a boned camisole, with a fitted short jacket over the top. Moving towards Max's table, her gaze searching the surrounding crowd, looking for danger but finding only the pleasure of a stunning pawn of the White Court, her dark skin contrasting the white of her barely-there costume. She was with an almost albino pawn of the Black Court, who held less of Maria's interest. An predatory look transformed Maria's smile as she caught the pawn's eye who returned her appraising glance with one of her own and Maria made a mental note to keep a track of the particular girl.

Maria felt the atmosphere of the room change as accented tones announced that Roberto Da Costa had come home. She had no idea who this was, but her gaze snapped instantly the the group currently entering the room, lead by a tall attractive looking man. Not open to wasting even a second, Maria stepped into a freshly formed portal of shadows and re-appeared almost instantly at the side of the blonde assassin Longshot, both of them assuming positions in front of Max. Erebus was no armed as the man by her side was, but then she didn't really need to be. If her powers proved ineffectual, they at least granted her access to where her large array of weaponry was currently stored in a matter of milliseconds.

"Cute trick" She commented with a smirk to Longshot as he released his flechette into the column above the 'visitors' head. She turned her head almost imperceptibly as Max spoke. He played the role of the blind man as flawlessly as she had played the role of a quiet book store employee, pulling the cloak of deceit firmly around her entire form as Max did so deftly now. She knew he could see, though she had never developed the darkness his eyes held, she was able to see in the same way he was. Despite the slight turn of her head, Erebus' attention remained on the intruders, waiting for an excuse to spill their blood. Pretty their little group might be, but it wouldn't diminish her satisfaction when she slit their throats.
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Mastermind II
Unregistered

Martinique was good at pretending to be a servant to Sunspot. It wasn't hard at all, just keep your mouth shut and look like you have only business on your mind. The formula worked well and el rico suave managed to sneak them all up and up until they reached the coveted Inner Circle chambers. The smell of rich elegance was thick in the air; there were many egos here, further boasted by their powers. It was an imposing sight to see, one that almost made her sick to her stomach. For a second, she wondered why she wanted to work with the Hellfire Club...

But she remembered the best interests of mutants, whether snobbish Club members down to lowly Morlocks. If the kniving Hellfire Club could get her the information she needed to take out a key piece of mutant killing machinery, it would take one more step towards finalized mutant superiority. Baby steps, Martinique reminded herself, mutant superiority wouldn't happen overnight. And through the process, she'd have to deal with assholes of a different color.

These assholes of a different color just happened to drink expensive wines, dress sickly respectfully, and entertain gold diggers. Fancy that, it reminded her of a place where her hated half-sister would run to... Martinique's thoughts were cut short by a mutant "dazzling" Sunspot with danger. Typical of the Hellfire Club...

Mastermind knew she had to uphold their vagrant display of bullshit if she wanted to stay here long enough for them to hear her out, therefore, she had to keep herself back from flawlessly ripping open the young man's mind and playing with his deepest fears. This was not the time for that. She was about business and dressed for business. It was time to make herself known amidst the pack.

The woman about her age and the young man who had blatantly assaulted, but not battered, Sunspot stood so that the Brotherhood could not stand before Max Coleridge.

"Fancy that, would you? We are the Brotherhood and yet we were not the first to cast a move. I earnestly did not expect that, no offense, Balam," her British voice was pumped with confidence as she smirked back at her female Brotherhood member whom she expected to lash back at the pretty boy, "perhaps the regal Hellfire Club is losing its glamorous spurt and doing things only the Brotherhood would do?"

Mastermind crossed her arms, staring right over the shoulder of the woman before her, her eyes glaring at the pronounced leader of the Club. She wanted a response from him, regardless of how fake and for-appearances it would be.
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Jara
Unregistered

Six hours of silence, badly upholstered seats and God forsaken Kelly Clarkson poprock, and that was the best anyone could come up with? Let’s tralala through the fucking front door?!

“Great plan, chicos. Maybe we can bribe the security staff with cookies too,” she muttered, Roberto’s kitty-cat comment having already scratched a nerve. Surely, Martinique would come up with something brilliant and spellbinding and tear-inducingly breathtaking with that genius IQ of hers.

That sounds like a better plan than any, Mr. da Costa," Martinique nodded to him and then glanced at her passengers in the back seat, "I hope you heard him well and clear, as that will be our plan…

…. Excuse me?

Jara’s jaw dropped for a moment, the look of dumbfoundment almost tangible on her face. Please, not you too, Marti. Her li’l ol’ heart couldn’t take it. In her moment of desperation, she glanced over to Saint, eyes pleading. Please say something…. No response from the peanut gallery. Joy.

With a melodramatic sigh, she regained her composure, expression rearranging itself in its usual haughty look.

“Zero retaliation. Remain inoffensive. Understood,” she affirmed, though the sneering curl in her lips made the gesture look a little less than sincere. They exited the car, Jara giving her door a little more shove than necessary.

“We need a teleporter,” she said aloud, the thought addressed to no one into particular as they filed up the steps and assumed an order unconsciously. Roberto in the front, with Martinique assuming the traditional woman’s submissive role directly behind, but allowing neither of the remaining Brotherhood members any position closer to that forefront. Jara placed herself behind the illusionist and to the left, hopefully prompting Saint to take the right flank. Some people might have felt a bit of relief in knowing their back was covered, but around these people, your allies were just as likely to stab you.

Sunspot worked his magic with the doorman, wielding that arsenal of pomposity and arrogance that all the born-rich seemed to know. All fine and dandy, but the entourage had to convey their own image too. Jara kept her position while those two had their exchange, but not for a moment did she ever look the doorman in the eyes, or his face for that matter. It was all about the body language, and such a forward gesture was always a contest of dominance, whether among animals or people. She kept her gaze downcast, letting go of every tensed nerve and fiber and stood there, body relaxed and making itself look small, unassuming, and meek, her hands clasped together before her. As long as she wasn’t hissing or spitting, her feline qualities weren’t obvious; now wasn’t a time to front displays of power, social or otherwise, and she focused on that fact. Sure, she had a mouth, but she also had some tact.

She’d raise a stink in the inner chamber. Oh, she’d earned that, at least. If holding back from snapping the doorman’s neck had been taxing, the interior of this infernal building was its own lovely circle of Purgatory. Alighieri would’ve had a field day conjuring up fitting punishments for these God forsaken hedonists. Jara ignored any attentions lavished on her, avoiding physical approaches by weaving around their wayward hands and pulling away in an almost teasing manner, her steps sure and fluid, almost choreographed. Unless they wanted to be a scratching post, she wasn’t interested in their games or fantasies or whatever the hell it was that people wasted their time on in here. By the time they’d reached the inner chamber, Balam already had a few scents and faces memorized, fully intending on meeting up with these individuals later and demonstrating why some people needed to be left the fuck alone.

Too bad the reception in there was no better. The doors were barely behind them, and already someone was taking pock shots.

While Jara had no hope of reading minds, her physical senses were advanced far beyond that of any human. The meek and docile routine took the backseat to sharp observance, keen eyes flickering to every bit of movement, ears focused on distant conversations, olfactory senses honing in on threatening scents—chemicals, gunpowder, combustion residues. She tried keeping her hackles lowered, but her tail was poised stiffly behind her, the subject of a few murmured admirations. Mhmm, yes, very pretty and look follicle hydration.

An imperceptible hiss met her ears, Jara jerking her head up in the flechettes’ direction and looking at a grandiose column in anticipation. Bam. There they were. She couldn’t help but growl at the affront, frowning in disapproval. It seemed to be some sort of signal, as another two individuals moved into formation, both literally appearing out of no where. Oh joy.

"Cute trick" [Maria] commented with a smirk to Longshot as he released his flechette into the column above the 'visitors' head.

“In that case, you’ll love what I can do,” Balam muttered, olive skin giving an odd sort of flicker, just as quickly resuming its normal tone. Was that fur? Or just the ridiculous art lighting in here? Either way, she was in no mood to be toyed with, regardless of whose presence she was in. Tearing her eyes away from the little throne area, she regarded Sunspot and Mastermind, wondering whether Roberto would continue speaking for the group and keep up the ruse. Luckily the Brit spoke up. Thank God. Roberto, as lovely a man as he seemed, wasn't exactly winning this crowd over.

"Fancy that, would you? We are the Brotherhood and yet we were not the first to cast a move. I earnestly did not expect that, no offense, Balam."

Rather than take it as an insult. Jara smiled brightly, showing off her pointed canines. "None taken. I can behave myself, so long as no one is bleeding."

Then things might get messy. And we can't have that. Noooo.
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Davis Cameron
Unregistered

Davis fumed at the fact of being reprimanded by Longshot. Davis was relatively new to the Hellfire Club. He had learned some details on his own but others he had to ask and pry out of pawns. One pawn, or perhaps it was a servant, had told him that Longshot’s name was Arthur Centino. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. Now Davis looked like a fool in front of the Black Court. Another thing that made Davis furious was Longshot caressing his face like he was a simple child. The Aussie’s jaw clenched. He was unable to do anything. The Club may have dealt in vice but it was steeped in custom as well.

Davis released his arm from the pawn escort. He sipped the cocktail and leaned against an ornate pillar. For a moment he was contemplating what decadence he could delve into that night but a guard came into the room and announced the arrival of another Black King, former actually, Roberto da Costa. The first thing Davis thought was that this man had come to usurp the throne of Maxwell Coleridge.

As da Costa entered with his entourage, Longshot launched a blade at the visitor. For one thing, this was an unannounced visit. One doesn’t simply demand congress with the Inner Circle. There were certain channels to be addressed. Apparently, Max was familiar with the former Black King. His attitude was polite and courteous but there were also tones of mocking and sarcasm. Or at least that was the impression that Davis perceived. It must have been a disgrace to be a former member of the Inner Circle.

When the intruders entered the room Davis could tell that they were not on a mission of well-being. They were ready to stir the muck if the need arose. Davis hoped that things didn’t take that direction. He didn’t bring his board with him to the King’s Court. If he needed to teleport, he’d be sore out of luck without it.

The group that had arrived seemed to be about as diverse as the Hellfire Club itself. Davis didn’t care about the men. He could care less. The women of the “Brotherhood” were extraordinary. The one with the British accent was curvaceous while the Hispanic girl was svelter. Davis loved the exotic looking women. He wouldn’t mind a rut with either one however. Hey, exotic was something that you couldn’t get your hands on at home right? He pursed his lips slightly and gave a half grin. Doubtless these were mutants. He wondered what tricks they had up their sleeves.
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