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Walkabout Sauerkraut; Open
Topic Started: Apr 25 2011, 06:38 AM (388 Views)
Nightcrawler
Unregistered

March 29th, 1 pm.

Kurt had been in Sanctuary for some time now. Given a lavish room far beyond his personal tastes, a place reserved for men and women of the most important natures, Kurt had been indulged far more than he expected. He had wanted to live as any other mutant would here in Sanctuary, but alas, the positions of power would not allow it. Magneto had taken care to treat him well. Kurt had been given nearly unlimited access to all administrative areas, allowed to sit in meetings regarding the running of Sanctuary, and had witnessed much of the gears that turned this place. There were still many things Kurt had yet to see, but now he had an idea of how it worked. It was... amazing.

Kurt had thoroughly examined the educational systems. As a teacher himself, it was something he personally needed to see and even participate in. There were many children in all ages, all learning the very subjects that were taught in the mansion. He found it rather unusual, actually, how very similar this place was to Xavier's in terms of structure. Perhaps their differences were not so great.

The demon had taken to daily walks through different areas of Sanctuary. Sometimes he was accompanied by the pale Absolon, guardian and sentinel of Sanctuary's operations. Kurt found the man to be great company and the man honestly seemed to take some of Kurt's suggestions to heart as Kurt did his. When Absolon was not around, however, he was accompanied by two guards. Everywhere he went they followed. Understandably, he did not take any jaunts out of their field of vision. He was not going to be making any attempts to escape from this place. Not when there was so much to see.

Kurt's tail swayed behind him as it always did in pleasant moods. Crouched on the back of a bench, Kurt indulged in a bit of lunch. A light meal to get him through the day until yet another lavish meal for dinner, Kurt just enjoyed what there was to be had. Nothing more than a traditional sausage from a hot dog stand, Kurt had it lathered with condiments to the point that it was overflowing. Well, the only condiment being sauerkraut. He was German, after all... Indeed, he was a messy eater, but walking around so much had him famished. On either side of his bench stood his ward.

"My friends," he addressed them both. "Do not let me stop you from getting a meal. We have been walking around for some time, at least get a drink." He looked towards the guard at his left, a lovely young woman with skin that absorbed light. "Unless you would like me to buy you one."

Truly, devils never changed.
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Alphonse
Unregistered

Alphonse's life had changed in one afternoon. Two people, two words and some lunch had opened up the Brotherhood and as such, Sanctuary. The Russian was constantly amazed by the city, it's luster, the parks and stores, the schools teeming with young children, learning about the gifts they had and the world that, it seemed, would never truly accept them.

Alphonse had taken to strolls, meeting new people, learning about the world he now lived in and of course, trying to convince himself this was now home. He was on one of these strolls when he noticed a large park he had never been to. Curiosity pricked him and soon the Russian found himself walking along the sculpted paths. Trees dotted the path while flowers and hedges made for a lovely scene. Not exactly what one expects at the base of a group of terrorists.

After a while, Alphonse stopped at a stand and got himself a soda, comforted by the fact they had coca-cola here, his childhood favorite. Continuing his walk Alphonse noticed something rather curious. A blue furred man was sitting on the back of a bench, his tail slowly swaying. He was enjoying a hot dog and while his presence and appearance where not a surprise, he had seen stranger, it was his company that caused Alphonse to stop and stare.

The man was being escorted by two guards. How strange. Unable to push his curiosity away Alphonse found himself making his way to the blue furry stranger. As he walked over sudden realization hit him. This was Nightcrawler. An X-man. The enemy. Alphonse couldn't remember why he was here, but it only made him that much more curious.

"Privet drugu" The Russian greeted the man. "My name is Alphonse." Alphonse was trying to be friendly, he hadn't met the man and had been told Nightcrawler was the enemy... but he figured he might as well try to get to know him. He glanced up at the guards who where watching him like a hawk. Like he was going to do anything.

No harm had ever come from saying hello, right?
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Buford Hollis
Member Avatar
Mechanical Hyper-Competence
Buford was on one of his days off. Ever since Sanctuary came online, and the opening day kinks were worked out, he had reserved a few days of leisure every two weeks. He needed them. His staff was under orders not to contact him unless it was a true emergency. There were enough people with enough training and natural talents that he didn't need to be running it everyday.

He missed the Big Pig which was in storage a few thousand miles away in America. Safehouse underneath a front wrapped in an enigma wearing a sweater made out of mystery. If he thought he could risk it, he'd go and take it out for a spin right now, but finding safe places to hide his prized possession

Wearing blue jeans and a colorful Hawaiian shirt, Buford was just enjoying his day. Most of his fellow Acolytes wouldn't be caught dead in public looking so casual, but Buford figured it might help his image. He didn't know this during his days as a trucker, but he had a taste for being a politician, a public figure. Maybe he wasn't good at it, but he liked doing it.

He noted the visitor. He had been briefed about Mr. Wagner's stay when he first arrived. It didn't quite sit right with Buford. He grimaced when he saw the man. Grimaced more when he saw a man, not a civilian, a Brother talk to him. If it were up to him, Buford would limit Wagner from any contact with Brothers. Just a precaution. Let him see how nice the facilities were and how happy the civvies were, but keep him away from the important stuff.

"Don't get too gabby, Kaono," Razorback said, walking up, "Wagner." He nodded towards the furry blue mutant. They had met in passing during Apocalypse. Different teams for the Horsemen, but still, they knew each other by sight.

"You like what you see, Wagner?"
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Nightcrawler
Unregistered

His flirtations were immediately dismissed with a corner-of-the-eye glance and a furrowing brow. Kurt shrugged. No harm done. He wasn't going to flirt his way away from his two guards, though he was quite sure he would succeed if he put forth the effort. A devil's charms were never to be tempted with, for sin was always ready and waiting, and usually willing.

Tail swishing behind him as he perched upon the back of the bench, Kurt dug into the sausage and sauerkraut, enjoying the ripe flavor of shredded and fermented cabbage. It reminded him only lightly of Bavaria. It was nothing like his family's at the circus, a recipe closely guarded even among the tricksters. Once, he believed his mother had told him the recipe, back when he was young, but alas, he could never remember what it was. The sour herb was still a delicacy, however, no matter where he was. It was not appreciated back at the mansion, sadly.

As he dug in and chewed another bite, his pointed ears picked up something spoken in the Russian tongue. Flicking his glowing yellow eyes towards the person, mouth full of bread, meat, and sauerkraut, he stopped chewing for a moment when the man introduced himself. Kurt nodded and resumed chewing with a bit of haste, so as not to appear rude for not immediately responding. But, before he could even do that, another man -- this time someone he genuinely recognized -- walked up next to the former.

Buford Hollis, the Razorback. Acolyte of the Brotherhood. A mutant with some form of technopathy, one known for a giant truck...

A few of the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end...

Swallowing his food, Kurt cleared his throat. "Guten Tag Herr Alphonse, Herr Hollis," he greeted politely, holding his meal in one hand. "Wie gehen Sie Ihnen? Hrm... Pardon me. I have reverted to speaking in my native tongue because I have only myself to talk to half the time," he looked for a moment towards his guards then back to the two members of the Brotherhood. "How are you both?"

"You like what you see, Wagner?"

Kurt's brows raised. It took him a half-moment to realize that the Acolyte meant Sanctuary itself, not anything in particular. A smile grew on his dark visage as he looked off into the distance at Sanctuary. "It is quite the spectacle. That, coming from a man who is well acquainted with spectacles, is quite the achievement. I am afraid I have yet to see the entirety of it so far, however. Much of my explorations are... limited in terms of speed and it is far larger than I ever imagined. Not to worry though! I intend to see the entirety of it in due time. Absolon has been very generous in where he says I go for the day. I quite enjoy my little excursions, though it would be lovely if my company joined me in conversation once in a while."

Kurt spoke casually, perhaps a bit too casual. He was not guarded as the enemy might expect, but this is just how Kurt was. It was the same for when he was addressed by Magneto himself. No fear, no defenses. It would have always been like that if they were not trying to fight each other on the battlefield.

"Perhaps you gents could redeem the quiet? I would greatly enjoy hearing your perspectives on this magnificent place."
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Toad
Unregistered

Toad's tongue searched his pocket for his windproof lighter, a cheap zippo knock-off purchased at a stall somewhere along Saint Mark's, while his fingers fished another for a cigarette. Even to the citizens of Sanctuary, it probably looked stange, since Toad looked strange to pretty much everyone, everywhere, but he wasn't about to let stares make him put down the bag he was holding just to appease them. The Brotherhood had taught him how he was was a gift, not a curse, and he'd flaunt it. Halfway through lighting the long menthol, he caught sight of the man he'd been looking for ever since he got back, Buford Hollis. Although he'd never say anything of the sort for fear of rejection, since he'd joined the Brotherhood, Toad had taken to seeing the older man as the kind of father he'd never had. "Oi, Mr. Hollis," he called. Buford Hollis hadn't ever asked for the honorific, but Toad instinctively gave it.

He didn't even remember exactly how it had started, only that Razorback had been around as Toad lamented the loss of his Triumph Bonneville, rebuilt basically from the ground-up, then torn back down to right about where it started during the hurricanes that ravaged New York. He could've fixed it up again, of course, but there was no need for a motorcycle in Sanctuary and, while he wasn't as attentive to rules as he should be and thus wasn't sure, he got the feeling it wouldn't be exactly kosher to bring it. Toad was a petrol-head and a wizard with fixing up machines, but, well, if he was a wizard, Razorback was a bloody archmage. The older man had something to teach him and didn't look at him like he wannted to gob in his face just because of how he looked or dressed, which made him basically the closest thing to a father Toad had ever known. He wasn't touchy-feely enough to say anything, ever, but he always tried to bring a little something or do a little extra to please him.

For example, today, like a good wannabe-son returning to his self-appointment-father-figure from a venture outside of Sanctuary, he'd brought a few things that were hard to come by. "Just got back, I did," he said, pushing off with powerful legs to approach the group in longer strides than his short stature should allow, "brought a few gifts from the land of sun and spiteful stares." The cigarette stuck to his lip, strangely, even while he spoke. "Price of fags in New York is bloody murder, I tell you," he said, refraining from laughing at a pun whose punch-line probably only he understood. His free hand drew a couple cartons out of the bag he held, a slight stretch of his longfingered hands capable of holding both simultaneously. "Figured you for a Marlboro man, Mr. Hollis, but I wasn't sure so I got some variety." Tobacco took a lot of room to grow, and especially given its limited necessity (not to mention, since he wouldn't mention it, the spiteful stares the a little bit too up-and-up citizenry often gave smokers, or at least Toad), cigarettes were something of a luxury in Sanctuary for smokers.

As he found himself next to the group, Toad actually noticed who else was present, largely for the first time, having previously focused solely on Razorback. Some silver-tongued Russian, that bird whose power to suck the light out of a bloody room was metaphorically quite apt, and a fuzzy blue bloke. Wait. "Oi, aren't you the bloody Nightcrawler?" he asked with more curiosity than hostility. The sound of Sam Cooke singing was clearly audible from the headphones hanging about his neck, although it was not unduly loud since the Brotherhood had encouraged him not to damage his hearing. Toad actually listened to authorities he trusted, it turned out. Similarly, if Magneto saw fit to let the (former?) X-man into Sanctuary, far be it from little Toad to complain. He didn't exactly trust anybody who helped humans when they wouldn't do the same (and probably would do the opposite) if things were turned round, he figured he might as well make nice, if superficially. Well, Kurt was German, wasn't he? He thought he'd heard that, and he figured Germans liked beer. Didn't need a lot of trust to just offer a bloke a beer. "Brought a few beers back, too," he said, "Something Belgian and some kinda Pilsner, but on the cheap side, sorry," he shrugged. He hoped Buford wanted a beer, but who knows, he might be working. Razorback had a lot of responsibilities which was something Toad, having been actually trusted enough to be given responsibilities for the first time, was just beginning to appreciate now that he'd joined the Brotherhood.

That said, Buford Hollis was a big guy, and Toad figured he could knock back at least a beer without it doing a damn thing to him. Toad had a pretty high tolerance, himself (somebody in the Brotherhood, he didn't remember who, had theorized his mutation gave him some measure of resistance to most toxins, including alcohol), he figured that Razorback could drink his tiny ass under about half-a-dozen tables with ease. Even if he didn't want the beer, though, at least Toad had some cigarettes for him; if Razorback hadn't really been drinking, recently, that Toad saw, he'd been smoking like a chimney. Now, though, he just wondered what he was walking in on.
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