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At The Door of Royalty; TAG: Sunspot, Saint, Jara, Max C., HFC
Topic Started: Jun 30 2008, 02:26 AM (1,204 Views)
Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
It was a plan. Granted it was a plan that would probably get them all killed as soon as they walked straight through the door, especially since the Hellfire Club didn't get there name by selling cookies. There better not be a trapdoor underneath the enterance which would drop them into a lava pit, that would just be too insane. Then again, they did have "kings", "queens" and "pawns". They obviously had a weird fascination with chess. He fell to the end of the group, keeping silent and looking submissive as he could. He was glad Jara was in front of him, most of the attention of the people they passed being paid to her. A wondering hand was nearly cut off by Kyle barely restraining himself from making a blade and slicing it off.

The Hellfire Club seemed less like a club and some sort of hedonistic group, everyone out for pleasure. As soon as the small group of Brotherhood members made it into the main hall for their "audience" with the Hellfire leaders. Behind the others, Kyle was almost hidden from view, but he recognized Longshot and Max Coleridge, and there were a few others that he didn't know, but they all carried an air of superiority, like the snobs back at home. The blade flew at the pillar was enough to make Saint's arm stiffen, ready to produce a blade to shoot back. Luckily, he was able to stop himself and remember the plan. Act like a servant and behave like you are owned by Roberto. However, he could help.

The blonde with the knife tricks is Longshot, the dark haired, pale man is Max Coleridge he thought, knowing that Martinique would be listening in. Stepping forwards a bit, he moved to the other side of Martinique and Jara, ready to help them if it was needed. Not that they couldn't take care of themselves, but still, safety in numbers, even when the numbers are vastly out-numbered. The whole area made him feel out of place, the luxury feeling unsettling to the British guy who had spent most of his teenage years living in a grotty flat that was shared with two other people. Even the clothes that the people wore looked like they cost more than Kyle would have ever made in his waiter job before he quit. That was always the attraction of being rich, you could buy better stuff than everyone else.

However, money was a petty thing when you had a dream to believe in, one that meant that the opression of humankind would soon be over. That was what the Brotherhood were there for and if the Hellfire Club would stand in the way of their goals, woe betide them. Scanning the few people, Kyle tried to size them up. Longshot had the same type of edge that he had carried last time, and Max Coleridge was still mysterious, although obviously not blind anymore. The other blonde, the one who looked familiar, maybe from one of those sport channels that always had surfing and jet skis on them. The woman by his side looked dangerous as well, they were all potentialy dangerous and Kyle wondered how they were going to get out of there if it all went wrong. They really needed to get a teleporter.
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Spirit
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Cassandra couldn’t help but almost smile as the blade was let loose by Longshot. She knew well, that had her fellow Knight been serious, one of the Brotherhood members would be on the ground in a pool of blood right now. Yet all the same, these people lacked any regard for those that they spoke to. They had lied coming in. Such unbecoming behavior. All the same, the flicker that she saw from Jara caught her attention. Spirit knew the lighting of the Hellfire club better than most. Of course, she giggled very audibly at the words from the woman with the tail.

Spirit gave a playful look back to Longshot. Spirit didn’t share the same kind of playfulness that Longshot had, but she had a form of her own. She walked down the steps once more, walking toward the Brotherhood groups. There was no sound of footsteps, nor sweet scent of expensive design. No, the unbound had no scent and were only heard if they wanted to be heard. “You shouldn’t hide such a gorgeous fur coat kitty.” For a moment, Spirit’s figure simply vanished as she went into her full transparency. The only one able to sense her existence would be Martinique, but considering the leader of the Brotherhood hadn’t reacted when they had first come in proximity back in the lobby of the club, Cassandra was feeling a little more daring. Then, after only seconds of being completely invisible, the pressure would come along the top of Jara’s tail. Spirit’s hand moved along the top of the tail in the same way a person would run their hand along the top of a cat’s. Her transparency dropped, as she stood within the group that had entered uninvited.

“It isn’t proper behavior for uninvited guests to lie their way into someone’s abode. Conduct that is unbecoming of anyone who was even a former member of the Hellfire club.”
She said, her voice soft, a hint of playfulness still in it. To those Hellfire Club members that knew Spirit, it was typical for the woman to never get too worked up about anything. Her voice always had that hint of cheerfulness. She was smiling, and as relaxed as could be.
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Sunspot
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He wasn't surprised by his "warm welcome" in fact he expected it. The tall and strong Brazilian mutant stood perfectly still as his brown eyes met with Max's completely black eyes, his trademark. He then turned to the blond man standing very closely beside him, Longshot. Just as his eyes darted to the man, a weapon suddenly blasted at him at incredible speed and stabbed the pillar behind him just a few centimeters fro his head. A few small strands from his wavy black hair were suddenly sliced off as the weapon passed rocketed by. During the entire event, 'Berto showed no sign of fear or reaction. Normally someone would usually flinch, hurdle back in fear, or try to dodge but he showed none of these. He remained completely still and unfazed, his eyes didn't even blink as they continued to look upon him.

"Lucky shot" Sunspot told Longshot emphasizing on the lucky part as he alluded to Longshot's powers.

Looking back a female figure entered the room and as she sat in the couch, another woman appeared from her as if it was a possession of ghost. He also noted another woman, seemingly appearing through some portal or something like that, beside Longshot and before the Black King, thus they being the barrier between the Brotherhood and the Shroud. Jara and Martinique were heard from behind the tall Roberto as they spoke their mind of the actions of the Hellfire Club. Roberto had spent many days, months and years working on his temper. In his past, he was known to be very hot tempered, impulsive, and brash but he was trying to control that and had done a fairly good job so far but he did have to admit that he was starting to get a little bit pissed off but he didn't show it upon his face as it remained somewhat calm at the moment. A smirk suddenly appeared upon his dark face.

"It is ever so lovely to see you as well, my King." the sarcasm was obvious in his voice and a dim glow could be seen slowly taking over his eyes "No, fortunately I still have Costa International and money in Brazil so I have been well"

One of the reasons he left the Hellfire Club, aside from the fact that he had been "blackmailed" by the former Lord Imperial, was because he couldn't stand the entire concept and presence of the Club anymore. It was nothing but snobbish, rich, impulsive, ambitious, and traitorous people joined together for selfish reasons such as greed and lust. He had a spot on the council only because of his father, Emmanuel da Costa but just because his father gave his position to him did not mean he wanted it. He originally did not care for his wealth or for the power the Club was obsessed with so he would sometimes feel out of place and dirty in a sense by being there. While the Club did have many mutants, they did not use their power and money for the greater good of mutants as it should have been. Greed ran the club, a greed which Roberto did not have.He hoped by being in the Hellfire Club he could make a difference at least for mutantkind but was disappointed by what he found within the Club. As of now, he really did not have any love for it.

Not letting his temper get the best of him, Sunspot relaxed his body a bit and then turned his head backwards towards the Brotherhood members behind him. It was time to start conducting business and to get on with the mission as it was planned. Roberto turned to the side allowing the front of his body to be seen by all so his back would not be turned towards anyone and he rose his arm and hand towards the British beauty behind him and then turned to the Inner Circle.

"You know, my purpose for being here is not just to see your smiling faces at my return. This is our leader Martinique Jason or Mastermind. We are members of the Brotherhood of Mutants and have come here to conduct business you the Inner Circle" Sunspot stated calmly with the hint of his Brazilian accent through his words "We had to put on this facade to actually speak with you since I know it would take too long to go through the proper channels and then who knows if you would even agree. I politely ask that you listen to her"

Roberto knew full well that they would have to continue to act this certain way to increase the chances of the Hellfire Club to aide them but he also knew they would want something in return those greedy bastards. Roberto then stopped speaking to allow Martinique to speak.
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Max_Coleridge
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Darkforce Manipulation, Teleportation
Max Coleridge, billionaire playboy and proprietor of the elite social club – The Hellfire Club, didn’t really have bad days; always ready with a winning million dollar smile and charming manner, he presented an image of a man who’d never had a raincloud of worry cross the sunshine of his thoughts.

The Shroud, the brooding Black King of an international organization that had been pulling the strings of civilization for the last several centuries, was having a bad day. A problem had just waltzed through his front door - and it brought friends.

His strange method of sight bore into the intruders from every angle, searching for the slightest hint of trouble. He gave a pleased grin, which could’ve been mistaken by the visitors as welcoming, as the members of both courts seemed to draw together by unspoken agreement. Taking their cue from Longshot, Erebus appeared among them, displaying a deadly grace and elegance that fit the Hellfire Club perfectly. Then Spirit made her presence felt, discarding the flesh of a black pawn, she emerged in a flowing white gown, a visual clue of the name she chose; a playful ghost who took a moment to torment Jara, pulling the cat by her tail. The only one who seemed to falter was Cameron, withdrawing slightly and smirking at the two Brotherhood women. Mentally, Max chalked it up to Cameron’s youth and newness to the group but it was something he and Slipstream would need to discuss later.

It was an internal struggle not to jump the gun and react before a blind man would have realized that Sunspot wasn’t alone. Thankfully, the English woman provided that opportunity. The outward grin Max wore dropped away into a flicker of confusion. Tilting his head slightly, “Longshot,” he said, his voice suddenly having a biting undercurrent in his tone, “who has joined us?”

"There are many who've joined our little party, My King," Longshot answered, quietly. "A couple of women, including one you have met before in the guise of a Jaguar, and a couple of men, one of whom is the upstart who dared to vandalize your car. They are quite unimpressed by my display, I think, which makes them either very powerful, or very stupid. I would guess the latter." His identifications were said too lowly for them to hear, but his insult rang out loud and clear.

He let the interplay between the English lady and Jara slide pass without notice or comment, but nodded slowly once at Longshot’s evaluation of the group. The muscles in Max’s jaw clenched as the enormity of the can of worms Sunspot opened by letting the Brotherhood simply waltz through his front doors and tour the rooms on their way to the Kings Court, played out in his mind. However, that damaged was swiftly dwarfed by da Costa’s the next words.

"You know, my purpose for being here is not just to see your smiling faces at my return. This is our leader Martinique Jason or Mastermind. We are members of the Brotherhood of Mutants and have come here to conduct business you the Inner Circle." Sunspot stated calmly with the hint of his Brazilian accent through his words. "We had to put on this facade to actually speak with you since I know it would take too long to go through the proper channels and then who knows if you would even agree. I politely ask that you listen to her."

Around them, the noise of the other people in the room quickly fell away to a hush as all eyes stared at what was happening in the middle of the room. They were the center of attention, a place that Max didn’t want to be, not for this; the Club was here to hear the gossip and pick-up critical information, not to be the subject of gossip and not like this. Making little effort to disguise the cold fury Sunspot’s speech stirred within him, Max continuing facing forward but he issued orders to the various pawns gathered around.

“Pawns, remove the guards who allowed these people to enter. Inform them that their services are no longer required and have them escort them to the White Queen for her to remove all knowledge and memory of the Hellfire Club from their minds.” The pawns didn’t need telling twice and many were already gone; you didn’t survive long in the Hellfire Club if you couldn’t feel a killing mood when it was in the air. He also gambled that the mention of mind-erasing would put everyone, even the Brotherhood, on edge; you didn’t bring Emma Frost out to play unless you expected to have blood on the ground soon.

“Now, I want this room clear.” He didn’t raise his voice but his words had no problem reaching into every corner of the room. With the remaining pawns acting as ushers, even the most high-as-a-kite trustfund leech was soon escorted out. Max remained silent until the last one was out and the doors shut.

It would have taken too long,” Max repeated part of Sunspot’s speech, his manner still cold and emotions held in check with the iron grip of Max’s self-control, “And considering the damage your breech of the rules you find inconvenient has just cost my organization… that is the way you open negations?”

Max rose to his feet; as he moved, dark force appeared and wrapped around his body and covered most of his face. Except for visible part of his face, the Shroud was a pillar of absolute darkness. A wave of darkness extended out from him, covering the dais where they all stood in whirling knee deep darkforce.

“If you came here looking for the Black King, you’ve found him. What do you want?”
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Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
The King rose and threw off his guise of... not respectability, but of... acceptable immorality... and took his rightful place as something above the law, above humanity, above this petty world of political posturing and power playing... as The Shroud, a being of such darkness and intimidation, that is Longshot was at all sensible he would've killed the former king who called himself 'Bobby,' immediately, to stop what was sure to come. But he was hardly sensible, and what was to come was certainly going to be an entertainment. His lightning quick assassin's eyes scanned the positions of every member on this chess board as the club was cleared and every dram of whatever it was he had drank or consumed in anticipation for a night of pleasure had been metabolized through his clone's system in anticipation of a pleasure of something much much darker, and much more his favored pain.

Blood was going to be shared tonight, and while he hoped that it would be that of the Brotherhood and their upstart who had announced the private doings of this oh so private place to the not so private public, he would have not been entirely disappointed if it was his own that spilled upon the expensive floor and stained it in crimson and cries of pain. With the perfect pure knowledge of the very young and the very mad, he knew that death was not yet reaching for his hand. To die would be a very big adventure, but tonight was not the night for him to take that journey.

He crouched low in the swirling darkforce, his weapons in his hands, his slender and almost weightless form balanced on the balls of his feet. From this position, as unwieldy and off kilter as it might seem, he would be able to kill at least half of the Brotherhood's number with one strategically thrown blade ten seconds before they even knew they were dead. Let them mock his luck, let them belittle his abilities.

He would dance upon their graves and look absolutely gorgeous doing so.
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Davis Cameron
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Maximilian ordered for the Pawns to take the guards away. They ushered them out of the court. The rest of the Pawns followed suit and led the other revelers away. The Black King had spoken with clarity. He meant every word he said. He demanded respect. One that had once been a member of the Inner Circle should have known the rules and procedures. To do otherwise and with such disregard was pure hubris.

Maximilian stood from his seat and took a few paces toward the intruders. Black tendrils of smoke known as darkforce emanated from the highest of the Black Court. It grew into a shallow cloud that surrounded him up to his knees. The thin wisps of darkness danced and Davis wanted touch it and try to entwine it in his fingers. He knew, however, that would not be conducive to a healthy lifestyle. As if much of what Davis partook of “did a body good.”

Everyone else was “gearing up” for battle. Davis’ power of teleportation didn’t work offensively like some of the abilities of the others. He had been creative in the past and he could improvise again. He was at a loss without the new special board that the Hellfire Club had commissioned for him. It was a sweet short board made of metal. It was highly resilient and it had served him well. At one point, he had been using a regular surfboard to navigate the warp wave. A few rough landings later, it was ruined.

Davie-boy peered around casually. One of the servants had left a silver serving tray on a table nearby. He casually stepped to the table and took the platter in his hands. It was finely crafted and no doubt it was expensive. He held the platter between his palms at the opposite corners. He spun it playfully. “Now you’ve gotten the King upset, mate. I’m sure if one of your lady friends had asked me nicely, I could have gotten you an audience without getting yourselves up the gumtree,” Slipstream said with a wink.
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Jara
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“Through the front door, he says. Great plan, Sunny Boy,” Jara growled behind DaCosta, keeping a vigil eye on their surroundings. There was absolutely no doubt who everyone in their checkered court was talking about. Mainly because she could hear them. The situation was quickly deteriorating. The Hellfire Club was all about secrecy, working their influence through cat’s paws and subterfuge. So it wasn’t all too surprising that Roberto’s very direct address didn’t settle well with them. Jara groaned to herself. And they worried about what she was saying? Get the fuck out.

The White Knight neared them, and seeing how she was the only person in their merry little band making an advance, Jara focused on her, muscles tightening like a coiled spring trap ready to snap.

“You shouldn’t hide such a gorgeous fur coat kitty.”

Creepy banter was all part of the act for these types of people, and Jara brushed it off.

“Thanks, but I only wear it for special occasions. Just give me a reason,” she smirked, flicking her tail. Her bravado flickered in the wake of the woman’s sudden vanishing, the metamorph looking around the room quickly, sniffing the air. Nothing. She got nothing.

The soft caress on her tail didn’t go unnoticed. Far from it. And Jara let out a vicious snarl as she snapped around, slicing empty air with a blade she’d pulled from her sleeve. If anyone made of flesh and bone had been standing there, they’d have been most kindly eviscerated. As it turns out, Casper the Little Too Friendly Ghost didn’t have to worry about that problem. She reappeared right in the middle of their group, speaking in a lackadaisical manner. Her previous aggression evaporated, probably in the wake of the illusionary spectacle. Unstable moodswings also help.

“It isn’t proper behavior for uninvited guests to lie their way into someone’s abode. Conduct that is unbecoming of anyone who was even a former member of the Hellfire club.”

After a show like that, it was probably a good idea to keep quiet and do what the angry socialites say…

“It isn’t proper for people to feign a disability, either,” the Cuban responded coolly. “Taking up all the good parking spaces and bathroom stalls in town. For shame.” Honestly, how did could they even fall for that? Of course, they didn’t have the intel the Brotherhood had. Previous Hellfire members, people who’d had the oh so immense honor of meeting Coleridge in person, or even better, his broody black-clad alter ego. Poor Max. She almost felt bad for him. He was going to have to find some new secrets soon, because these ones were practically tabloid fodder.

“Coincidentally, I am colorblind. Always mispairing socks. Just imagine leaving the house and not realizing you’ve got a red one and a green one on.”

Curiosity wouldn’t kill this cat. A tragically smart mouth had that covered. Then again, when you were getting fashion pointers on the subway from One-Eyed Bob, what was one more character flaw?

Her snark and smart-assed comments could easily be mistaken as nervousness, and in some parts, it was. She could sense the atmosphere in the grand hall changing, quite literally, smelling the aggression coming off from everyone involved in waves.. except for the White Knight. She carried no scent, oddly, Jara concluding that she was some sort of illusion… thing. Look, just because you slept with a telepath doesn’t make you an authority on them. The flood of uber-shadow from Mister Tall, Dark and Cranky didn’t exactly lighten the situation. Seriously, someone needs to give Maxi over there a tampon.

Jara raised her foot in disdain, like she’d stepped in a puddle of something icky and unsavory. Granted her small height, what was knee-high for others felt like it could swallow her alive. And with the room cleared out of all their docile pawns, it wasn’t like she could use one of them as a human shield, or at the very least stand on their shoulders and out of the lightless muck.

“Now you’ve gotten the King upset, mate. I’m sure if one of your lady friends had asked me nicely, I could have gotten you an audience without getting yourselves up the gumtree.”

The shapeshifter leveled her jade stare at the Aussie. Good God, if he started singing Kookaburra, she’d bludgeon him with his silver tray.
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Mastermind II
Unregistered

The hostility in the room was as thick as blood, ironically enough. There would certainly be a lot of blood shed and lives lost if the two factions got into a fight. Martinique knew that most of the Hellfire Club contained mutants with physical powers rather than mental, which would mean she'd be mince meat before she'd ever be able to place an illusion in anyone's head. To think she was so weak made her lose some confidence. But that's exactly why she brought who she did. She knew they'd defend her, just like Coleridge's flunkies would do for him.

Although the Club thought they were better than the Brotherhood, they had ranks, just not as obvious as the Hellfire Club. They were paid well to do what they did. They could rise and fall in promotion. The only difference was that the Brotherhood was subtle with their lifestyle and actually did something innately positive for the world. The Hellfire Club couldn't say they did that, but maybe they could after Martinique's proposition.

She was careful with her words, and was annoyed that Max did not answer her question. Perhaps he knew it himself, that there were obvious flaws in the Hellfire Club that made them look worse than the Brotherhood. Poor fools...

When the leader let the strange darkness encompass their surroundings, Mastermind felt it was the first real thing that came from him. Everything seemed to be like a horrible fabricated movie, so saccharine sweet with their words that the sarcasm was a knife slitting her brain wide open. It really did sicken her. The only real thing about the Club was their power. And that was it, and now the lead actor was showing that power and it made a butterfly float through her stomach, as was her reaction to all mutants with significant power...

She pushed that feeling aside and let her words float from her mouth.

"I do not want to be here as much as you do not want us to be here, Mr. Coleridge! I will make this as quick as possible for our own sanity's sake. I do not like you. You do not like me. We are two different people, besides the fact that you can do something that I cannot," Martinique spoke, staring straight at the dark figure rolling in his black "muck".

With a sigh, she continued, "I need your faction to do a favor for me. I hate humans with a fiery passion, as is with any traditional leader of the Brotherhood. They need to be stopped before they encroach on even an establishment such as this, looking to kill and maim the mutants they have come to fear and hate."

She hoped her words would hit a nerve with the leader, but didn't really expect much. Martinique felt they really didn't understand the true torment of humans and just what they could do to even such an old faction as the Hellfire Club.

"I intend to set the mutant superiority movement in the right direction by destroying a few key pieces of their weaponry. But I cannot just approach these things they have deemed sentinels and fight them with my Brotherhood. Even we would fall to their cruel grasps. Therefore, we need to target the pilots that think they are impenetrable. I cannot gain access to such a unobtrusive organization like SHIELD. They are too careful and meticulous, and the Brotherhood is not. I need you, the Hellfire Club, yet another unobtrusive, meticulous group to infiltrate them. Take as much information as you can about their pilots, and give that information to the Brotherhood..."

Martinique let a false smile onto her face and shook her head, "I know the Club does not work for free. Whether it be money or our own services that you need, you can use us. All we ask is for the information in return. We need to stop the humans before they wreak anymore havoc on our mutant society. What will it be, my good man? How could you pass up an opportunity like this?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at The Shroud, her strands of hair characteristically covering her left eye.
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Max_Coleridge
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Darkforce Manipulation, Teleportation
Whereas Longshot crouched low in the Darkforce, letting the absolute darkness conceal his movements, many of the Brotherhood shifted restlessly from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. Skulking behind Martinique Jason, Jara babbled, taking the opportunity to run her mouth but not really say anything. It was easy to see why she was prized for her combat talents rather than her dubious contributions to the team.

Resolving the problems the Brotherhood had caused would have to come later, the Shroud pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on the brunette in front of him; her speech confirming his impression of the Brotherhood. There she stood, sermonizing about the plague of humanity like an ardent preacher against sin, her one visible eye seemed to shine with a mad gleam that he wasn’t sure she was aware of; she was a shiny example of the Brotherhood.

He surveyed the well-made business suit on her hourglass frame and the intelligence in her gaze; and although she hated humanity, he could see the contradictions in what she said and what she did. Humans made the clothes she wore, the food she ate, the music she listened to, very likely produced the car she drove and the house she lived in. Her fervent hatred of humans was not enough of an incentive to endure discomfort and forego all things originating from them; a dichotomy that was at the root the Brotherhood.

Martinique obviously believed what she was saying, Sunspot as well; although his loyalties changed too often for Max to really tell, he probably believed in the Brotherhood’s goals… at least this week. The Shroud’s attention momentarily flicked to the young man he’d met before, he was just the Brotherhood’s type too: volatile and not adverse to base treachery, like attacking a retreating car in a fit of pique. And lastly, there was Jara. Based on the little he knew about her, he could almost give her a shiny gold star for not falling for that insanity and just mouthing the party-line until it became inconvenient; unfortunately, her alleycat manners and standards kept her with the Brotherhood.

Martinique let a false smile onto her face and shook her head, "I know the Club does not work for free. Whether it be money or our own services that you need, you can use us. All we ask is for the information in return. We need to stop the humans before they wreak anymore havoc on our mutant society. What will it be, my good man? How could you pass up an opportunity like this?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at The Shroud, her strands of hair characteristically covering her left eye.


Whatever he thought of their Brotherhood, it wasn’t betrayed by his stoic expression or his words; when someone is offering to do your bidding, for something you were going to get anyway, that was no time to question them about their sanity.

He regarded her for a long moment filled with silence.

“A good man would turn his back on the Brotherhood and have nothing to do with you,” he paused for a fraction of a second, “and that ‘good man’ would have a knife in his back and be dead before his body could hit the ground. I’m not a good man.”

Her speech about humanity had been long and impassioned but the Shroud’s answer succinct, devoid of warmth, heated-passion or playfulness. In the air, two portals of darkness swirled into existence, like gaping holes into a starless space, one beside Martinique and the other near the Shroud.

“You may trust your fellow Brotherhood members with your life… I do not,” he told her bluntly. “If you do not trust me now, then you will not trust any information you will receive from me and continuing would be a pointless waste of time.” Without another word, the Shroud stepped into the two-dimensional void, closing it in his wake and leaving the Club and Brotherhood members to stare holes into each other.
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Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
The darkness that swirled around the floor unnerved Saint greatly. It was like night had spilled on the floor and gathered around the people, thicker than smoke, yet not a liquid. It was unsettling, and despite his body telling him to flee it, Kyle stayed still, his eyes still on the other group. Safety in numbers, he whispered in his head, a mantra to keep his calm. By repeating it, the panic that had started in him quietened down to a niggling thought in his head, one that he repressed till he could be alone. But right now he needed to stay calm and on the surface, he barely moved more than a few twitches of the hand. He still was silent, not having uttered a word since he had arrived in the Hellfire Club.

Unusually for the normally vocal mutant, but the british teenager had learned that shooting his mouth off could end up badly. So unlike Jara and her sarcastic manner, which was a reminder to the world that sassiness was still alive and well in the mutant population, or Roberto's boasting about his wealth, Saint kept in his accepted persona, remaining subiservant, only having switched his humility to Mastermind where it rightfully belonged. Never one for being a leader, he was happy to keep his place as a follower. Going with the flow was a gift at times, even ones as turbulent as he was in.

As the portal appeared near them, his body stiffened. It could be a trap for Martinique, that once she entered she would never reappear. It could lead anywhere, from Cuba to the middle of the Artic. Going in it would be a risk for her, but as Saint saw it, coming was a risk. Yet the bigger the gamble the higher the pay-out. This was her desicion, and what ever she chose, Saint would stand by her desicion, no matter what it was, even if he didn't think it was right. It would take a big deal to make Saint question whoever lead him, and that was why he was chosen in the first place for The Brotherhood. Once he commited to something, he commited to it heart and soul. That was why he believed so passionatly in the dream of mutant superiority, one that had started from that night those few years ago, where he saw humans for what they really were, the innocence of his childhood naivety washed away along with the rain in a weird sense of pathetic fallacy. Even in the room where there was stood at least five people who wouldn't hesitate to kill him, he still would follow Mastermind to fight them till his last breath if they turned on them. Sometimes for the future to progress, blood must be spilt.
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Mastermind II
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Martinique went into the portal without even a second's thought of hesitation. He couldn't be stupid enough to attack her, as it'd lead to much blood being shed. And what good would it do the Hellfire Club? They couldn't claim Martinique's assets and wealth, as her money was going with her to the grave, or maybe even a shallow amount to her father. They wouldn't want Murderworld, although advanced, it is tacky and unrefined and there would always be the possibility that Arcade would return with fury launched in his mind. In all possibilities, it was worthless for him to kill Mastermind unless he thought she posed a threat to his well being or his empire. Neither of which Mastermind wanted.

It was all terribly dramatic, reminding of something she, herself, would do to impress or sway someone of great value to her. She silently congratulated his efforts with a nod. Besides that, she didn't think much more about the tall erect tower. It was all about business now.

Mastermind shifted her weight onto her right leg and crossed her arms, her hair still shielding her eye. If he was going to be ambiguous, so was she. However, her words were straight forward, not intended to deceive this time around.

"Well... what more do you need to know besides what I have already told you, Mr. Coleridge? I suppose we need to work out my end of the deal, yes? You state your offer and what you need, and I will try to make the deal work. My Brotherhood and I will absolutely not bend over backwards for the Hellfire Club, unless it proves difficult to retrieve information from SHIELD. I propose an equal return for the information which you will give to me," Mastermind shrugged and stared at Max, waiting for an answer.

She hoped he wouldn't try to deceive her, as for once, she was completely open and honest. Although her words were laced with her usual intelligent gallantry, it was all honest.
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Mastermind II
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High above the city street on a platform comprised of darkness, the Shroud waited mere moments before Mastermind stepped through. The wind that constantly raged among the forest of skyscrapers, pulled and tugged to their clothes; his disarranged wardrobe was hidden under his unflappable cloak darkforce while hers whipped against her curves pleasingly. Unlike so many of the women in the Hellfire Club who delighted in leaving nothing to the imagination, she worn an old-fashioned ‘50s style of clothes that he would’ve referred to as Classic; it left everything to the imagination.

He moved closer to her as she talked so that the wind wouldn’t steal away their words. Inclining his head at her blunt statements, “Indeed, the details can be arranged later. There is still the matter of your trespass here and the consequences.” He stood within arms reach of her, “Sunspot took an oath to keep quiet about the Club and is still allow inside as a member. You, by necessity of our deal, I’m going to have to make allowances for… but Jara and the other one can not leave here with the knowledge of what and who they’ve seen here on the way to me.”

The lower half of his face was stoic as he laid out the problem. “People come here because I ensure their safety. Jara and the young man are a threat to that safety.” He paused a moment to let the silence gather around them. “Even if both promised me not to use anything they learned here, I would still expect one of my clients to be found half-eaten in a dumpster.”

“I drew you away from your followers as a courtesy while you considered what will happen to them. Having Emma Frost erase the last hour from their memories seems the simplest solution to the problem… short of death.”

The Shroud took no time to jump right into the "atrocity" the Brotherhood had committed by galumphing right through Hellfire Club's front door. Mastermind was a little annoyed, as she didn't want to spend much more time at the Hellfire Club. She just wanted to do what she needed to do and then leave as quickly as they had come. This extra problem was a mosquito, at best. The Club leader laid out her options, which was only really one option, annoying her that much more.

Although merciless and callous, she did care about her members to a certain degree. Especially since Emma Frost would be doing the act of erasing their memory. Mastermind hadn't had first hand contact with the woman, but she was famous in her own way whether it be through her snide antics or her astounding power that far surpassed her own minute telepathy. With what Martinique had heard about her, she knew that Frost couldn't be entirely trusted...

Martinique tossed the idea around in her mind, letting her head slightly sink to the right as she pondered what to do about them knowing. Frost wouldn't be stupid enough to go against Coleridge's desires, or so she hoped. If she tricked her two members into getting rid of more of their knowledge than what was needed or scanned for information for the Hellfire Club and Martinique found out, well, she would certainly try to have her revenge. Not even the most powerful mutants in the world could do things Mastermind didn't like without their being repercussions.

Deciding that Emma was smart rather than blockheaded, the Brotherhood leader voiced her opinion.

"That is fine, do as you must with Frost. Please, I must ask you, do not go further toiling into their minds, as if there is something the Hellfire Club wants to know about my organization and the people within it, you can ask me," Mastermind frankly stated, emphasizing on 'me', "anymore information extracted and found out, there will be some hell to pay."

She hoped Max knew that the Brotherhood wasn't careful with their doings. If the Club wronged the Brotherhood, Mastermind would have her people come to the estate and ravage the territory to the best of their abilities. It wasn't like anything the Hellfire club wouldn't do. She knew that if she went around blabbing to others about the whereabouts of the Club, that she, too, would face the consequences.

"Also, I would prefer to be in the room while this is being performed on their minds," Martinique slightly smirked, "just to be safe. Now that that is settled, let us go back to the pertinent matters..."

She strolled off, waiting for Max to continue about what he wanted the Brotherhood to give or do for the Hellfire Club.

Beneath the darkness of his hood, the Shroud furrowed his brow at Mastermind’s willingness to give her people to someone they considered, if not an enemy then something less than trusted ally.

“Very sensible,” he said, his voice flat; she certainly was the perfect Brotherhood leader: fanatically devoted to her cause, no matter what the cost.

Max bowed his head slightly, deep in thought. There was never a time at the Club when plans weren’t in motion.

“Off the coast of Montauk there’s an island called Wolf’s Head, it’s a fishing village connected to the mainland by a suspension bridge.” The image of the small town flashed in his mind as he spoke. The town was half deserted already, one of those places just barely hanging on. Max admired determination and unwillingness to accept defeat; however, it clashed with his desire to possess that island and in those circumstances, self-interest always wins out.

“Remove all the inhabitants and will get your information.” His voice was devoid of emotion as he sentenced the island to death.

Mastermind wasn't sure what kind of venture that Max would ask Martinique and her Brotherhood to perform. She thought it might be something done easily or close to it. What came from his lips next simply amazed her at his audacity to pose such an interesting, possibly difficult mission on the Brotherhood. However, she had to remember just what the Club was going to do for her once it was finished. They were going to give her vital information to put a dagger in the heart of humans' evil plans.

Infiltrating SHIELD would be a lot harder than taking care of a small town she'd never heard of. Although the Hellfire Club had it more difficult than the Brotherhood, the Brotherhood still had to be careful how they went about doing such devices in Wolf's Head. One wrong move and bam, the government would be on them faster than you could say terrorism.

Mastermind didn't know if he intended to give her more precise directions or if he planned to leave her hanging, to figure out how best to handle the quest he had given to her. Intending to find out, she asked him.

"It sounds decently fair to me, but... it’s quite a huge step to take over a village without at least someone knowing, don't you think?" Martinique smirked and raised her eyebrows hoping to get an intelligible plan from him rather than having to create her own.



“I don’t require a mystery, for the residents to vanish without a trace, only that they be gone and no one likely to move in and take their place.”

He had warned them to leave, but in the four short years he’d been the Black King, he learned not to underestimate the depth of stupidity of some people. They seemed to crave misery and he would give it to them. As the fate of the people of Wolf’s Head island was decided on the roof of the Hellfire Club, the wind kicked up suddenly, whipping around the two people in a fury.

“They are like any other group of people; remove the head, the person of authority that they look to for guidance, and there will be utter chaos,” he said. If Max Coleridge was vain (as all proud men are), the Achilles’ heel of his vanity were his eyes, useless black orbs that reflected nothing. The eyes are the windows of the soul, a phrase that Max hated for fear that it was true, in his case, and that what dwelled in him was a void.

The Shroud was deep in thought about the Wolf’s Head project when the wind snatched the glasses from his face. He flinched; startled, as though someone had suddenly torn away his mask. Instinctively, his hand shot out and caught the glasses before they tumbled away and darkness spread lower over his face.

“I suggest you have those of your people who can pass as human, go into the town and remove the police first.”

He gingerly held the solid black glasses in his hands a moment, as if judging them and finally decided to slip them into his breast pocket. He was clearly uncomfortable without them but he liked the idea that they were a crutch for him rather than a tool, even less and wouldn’t or couldn’t back away; a strange compulsion for a man who spent his life in the shadows.

“Without anyone for them to run to, it would be strictly a mop up operation.”

In the Kings’ Court, all the Brotherhood were still clumped together in a group, just as the Shroud and Mastermind had left them. That will make things simpler, thought Max as his omni-directional sight looked through the building. A portal formed under the Brotherhood delivering them to the White Queen. Wordlessly, he opened another for Mastermind.

“You’ll retrieve your information when the island is clear,” he stated simply. “We have a deal.” Before Mastermind’s gaze, a telephone number appeared. “To avoid complications the next time.”

Mastermind put to mind his number and nodded with a small smile of approval. She would remember what he had said to her and would use it wisely to quickly and efficiently do the task allotted to the Brotherhood. Without much more of a word, Martinique dispersed into the portal to await the next step, cleaning her two ally's brains, before being allowed to leave.
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