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Behind enemy lines; Archangel, Psylocke
Topic Started: Oct 13 2011, 04:58 AM (573 Views)
Archangel
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Time of day: 12:30pm
Place in the timeline: September 10th


“Ah Mr. Worthington.”

Warren halted in his steps to look over his shoulder at the older gentleman who was just getting out of his chair, holding out his hand in greeting. The slightly concerned look on the mutant's face became slightly more intense, yet a moment later he was trying to mask it with civility and a pasted on smile that he pulled out when he had to tolerate blowhards like this man. “Mr. Sellers,” he glanced over the elder's shoulder at the table directly behind him, “And Mrs. Sellers, I see. A pleasant surprise.”

“Yes, but fortunate. I meant to call you this afternoon, in fact.” By 'communicate', the ignorant pig of a businessman meant that he would have had his secretary call Warren and relay some sort of bad news. Sellers had been trying to weasel his way into the area of wave power – the ability to convert ocean waves into actual energy. Worthington Industries subsidiary – Jenetech – employed some of the most brilliant and dedicated minds that were making incredible breakthroughs, and Sellers had majority stock in an energy company that was failing to break into the same field. The downfall of Jenetech however, would allow the other company to take over and dominate. Sellers was having a field day with how bad Warren was doing in the world of finance.

“Oh?” Warren said with a touch of feigned surprise in his voice. He had a good idea what the man was about to tell him. Warren suddenly had an urge to dunk the man's head in a toilet and flush repeatedly until Sellers' white head was blue.

“Yes. I'm afraid there's been a hold-up in the zoning permits you requested for reconstruction.” The elder adopted a sympathetic smile that didn't fool Worthington for a second. “You see... there are some irregularities in the documents that gave Mr. Summers and, through him, you the control over the property. I'm afraid we need to talk to Mr. Xavier's attorneys about the matter. It could tie up affairs for weeks, unfortunately, but after that, your permits should be ready to go.” Another false placating smile.

Warren glanced over his shoulder to spy a head of glossy violet hair at a table not far from where they sat and then looked back at Sellers. “I appreciate you letting me know as soon as possible,” he said as he wrestled with himself, trying to keep the smile from turning into a snarl as he fought to keep from crushing the older man's hand in his own. “I'll have my lawyers contact you as soon as possible.”

You dried up, withered sack of hate-filled shit

“Now if you'll excuse me...”

With a nod to the man and to his wife who had stayed where she sat, he took a step back and then turned on his heels, making his way over to the reason he'd really come here.

“Elizabeth,” he said as he approached the table on the opposite side of the White Queen. “Thanks for coming.” He took a seat, casting a glare at the couple sitting halfway across the room, “I'd been in the mood for the parmesan lemon salmon, but I've suddenly lost my appetite. Could be because we're sitting downwind of something extremely foul.”
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Betsy Braddock
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Since that night in June, Betsy had barely been out in public and especially not anywhere on her own. She had started going into work, slipping in unnoticed and using her telepathy to make people miss the fact she was wearing her sunglasses when they pressed on the matter too much. It was vanity; she knew that and also a slight fear of her mutant identity being discovered. There were worse things that could happen to her and if it was any other time then she would not be so tentative about it, but as things stood…The White Queen shivered lightly and rolled down the sleeves of her blouse as she waited at the restaurant table for Warren to join her.

The restaurant was moderately busy with the sound of politely quiet conversation and sound of cutlery on china tinkling in the background. Having arrived early, she found Warren had not yet gotten there himself, so Betsy had opted to wait at the table with a glass of water. Once he was there, she would order a proper drink. Hiding a yawn with the back of her hand, the telepath had to fight the urge to use her abilities to slip through the surface thoughts of the diners gathered, to see what she could see about the Purifiers. Betsy doubted that anyone in the room was one of the gun toting maniacs (although it was not impossible) but the thoughts of the public on this matter was hard to get a good handle on, outside of the usual media frenzy.

However, a voice cutting through the other sounds of the restaurant stirred her away from morbid curiosities as well as waking her up. Avoiding turning around, she simply listened to what she could until Warren approached and rose from her seat to greet him with a chaste kiss to the cheek. No doubt that would set tongues wagging, she thought ruefully as she sat back down.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled, face tired behind her dark glasses. Ever since her attack her sleeping had been patchy at times, but in the wake of the school attack it had dipped once more, as it had brought back painful memories of times she had hoped to leave behind her in the past. It would pass and hopefully soon, as Betsy wanted nothing more than a good night of sleep.

She tried to hide her amused expression as he referred to the rather unpleasant chap across the floor and his shrivelled little wife. Betsy did not need her eyes to know who they were and the dirty looks that they were no doubt casting in their direction. “Don’t let them spoil your appetite. However, we can always get our own back if necessary,” she joked slyly and tilted her head to the side with a smirk on her face.

“So, how have you been?” Betsy asked the question tactfully, as the public setting was not the best place to discuss matters pertaining to anything more personal. After lunch, they might be able to move to somewhere more fitting, but for now it was best kept light.
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“I might actually take you up on that, Elizabeth.” He shot a suddenly amused glance toward the husband and wife who quickly looked away and back toward their own half-eaten dishes. “Imagine the field day the media would have if they learned that Carl Sellers actually had enough of a soft spot toward mutant children that he made a record donation to X-Corps' children's programs.” Propping his chin on a fist, he watched them for another moment or two before looking back toward a much nicer sight – the one sitting across from him.

“I can't help but wonder how many of their own shareholders would want to pull the plug on that man.” Warren shook his head and picked up his menu, glancing at the cover before laying it back down and pushing it aside. Reading in front of Betsy would be tactless... besides, he hadn't been kidding about the fish. The chef really did have a way of making some incredible dishes out of sea food.

“How have I been?” How did he even respond to that question? “Fine,” he lied. “I've been fine.”

He didn't want to unload on the woman who had suffered so much lately at the hands of the same people that had blown up his home. Warren didn't want to seem like a whiny jerkoff complaining about problems that seemed so insignificant compared to hers. So most of his family was gone... so X-Corps had been razed and Mutant Town was practically a ghost town. So his business was being held together by scotch tape and prayers to a God who obviously stopped caring about anything on this little mud ball a long time ago. He still had his sight... he still had not suffered the way Betsy had under the hands of the Purifiers.

“Absolutely fine,” he said again, trying to convince himself as well.

“Listen, I wanted to thank you for coming to the mansion that day and defending our students. Scott and Jean told me what happen. Hell... I've heard the entire story more times than I can count from the kids staying in my building. They had a lot to say about you and your team. You touched a lot of lives and hearts that day... and it meant a lot to me as well.”

Part of him felt guilty for having not been there during the attacks. There's so much he could have done had he been there... but being tied up in business meetings with hateful and fear-filled businessmen had kept him from getting word until Emerson had called to notify him of the situation. Yet Betsy had been there to see the children safe. His family owed her their lives. It seemed as if Warren owed this beautiful woman a lot that he would never be able to repay.

“Do you have any idea what you would like,” he pressed forward, glancing at the menu again before looking back up at her, or would you like me to order for you? I've been told I order very well.”
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Betsy Braddock
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Taking her seat, Betsy smiled a little as Warren spoke about the man who had obviously irritated him somewhat. The White Queen made a mental little note to see if there was anything she could have Sage do about the man…an email gone astray, such a simple little thing that would cause a rather large domino effect. Smiling a little, she shook her head and relaxed in her chair. “Be careful what you wish for, Warren. Remember who you’re talking to.” Sipping her water, the telepath set the glass back down before raising her face towards him. “And please, call me Betsy.”

He responded to her pleasantry just as she had expected; lying through his teeth. Really though, it had been a foolish thing to ask as how well could a person be after experiencing so much? The world seemed to be out to get each and every one of them at the moment and while the Club had made great progress in carving through the Purifiers, there were still many more of them out there, like rats. The more they took down, the more it seemed to assert the others. Blasted martyrs. Clearing her throat as the man thanked her, Betsy put up her hand in protest.

“Don’t. Your people might have some very cut and dry opinions of the Hellfire Club,” Betsy said a touch sourly, thinking of Cypher. “But we’re not the total monsters that we may sometimes appear to be. I don’t think there is one of us, despite what we may have done in the past and will do in the future, who would stand by and allow children to die when we could do something to help. I hope everyone is as well as can be expected after everything...”

The thought of being the talk of the school however was somewhat funny and she had to laugh lightly at it. While she had not really interacted with any of the students, the White Queen had used her telepathy to allow Cyclops to ‘see’ with Max’s ability and scan the devastated school grounds with lightning quick accuracy and then snatch up any fallen person, with no thought to their faction, and make sure they were teleported to the makeshift infirmary.

“I’m glad I made such a positive impact in that case,” she smiled awkwardly at his personal gratitude and leaning forwards, Betsy pressed her hand to his for a second before she sat back and gave the impression that she was looking around the room. The conversation changed, rather naturally given their location, to what she wanted to order. Warren made the rather gentlemanly offer of ordering for her, something that Betsy had submitted to from other men in the past but…

“…Oh, I think I’ll have the veal,” she tapped her temple meaningfully and smirked; when she had arrived, Betsy had made a point of reading the mind of the maître d’. “Apparently the crčme brulee isn’t so good today…But I’ll let you order dessert,” Betsy said, allowing him that at least, as he was just trying to be a gentleman after all.
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Warren raised an eyebrow at the Queen's clear use of her ability, somewhat surprised that after years of actually living with a powerful telepath, he had never really become used to the ability and what someone could do with it. There really was no surprising a mutant such as Betsy Braddock... Christmases must be dreadfully dull for a psychic.

It also resurfaced another uncomfortable truth – she wasn't necessarily subject to the same moral restraints that Jean had enforced so strongly in herself under the guidance of Xavier. This woman was used to using her abilities to get what she wanted, and even though he was quite sure her declaration to be careful for what he wished for was a playful jape, the fact remained that while this woman was far from Emma Frost, she definitely wasn't a Jean Grey or a Charles Xavier. Yet, while he was wary of that fact, a part of him actually hoped he was correct. In order to survive, Warren had a dangerous game to play in toeing the line between what was right and what was wrong, and he needed someone like Betsy Braddock who could understand the pragmatic nature behind what needed to be done.

He let his eyes drop back down to the menu, catching sight of a small yellow stain on the otherwise pristine tablecloth spread over the table. The restaurant constantly had to change out the linen throughout the day, often having to discard many pieces that were no longer suitable. It reminded him of his own life and the sins he'd had to answer for among his peers... and the ones he had yet to answer for. The fact was that no one remained completely innocent and pure; given enough time, even the most righteous man will fall from his lofty position.

Warren looked back up at Betsy, who appeared to be looking around, her shades hiding the fact that she no longer had eyes. He was brutally aware of the absence of the hand she'd laid on his... the spot where her skin had touched his still tingled with a remembered warmth that actually made the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile. “To tell you the truth, while some of our people may disapprove out loud, I'm pretty sure most of them don't always feel as strongly as they let on. Except for a few of our younger ones,” he corrected. Many of the younger ones at the school had their unbroken and untarnished ideals still held deep within their hearts. Given time, that dedication would wane in light of the fact that sometimes, compromises had to be made.

“And I wouldn't be heartbroken if Sellers gave a very generous donation to the rebuilding of X-Corps. I wonder just how vocal he would be toward mutants if he were publicly known to help them fund their reconstruction.” He couldn't help but smile at the idea of helpful retribution. “I'm not afraid to make a few wishes, Miss Braddock. In fact, I might make a few more.”

It was that moment that the waiter arrived, asking if they were ready to order. “Yes... I would like your parmesan lemon trough and the Lady Braddock would like the veal. Thank you,” he said as he handed over the menus. Once the waiter was out of sight, Warren picked up on the conversation again, but taking it a slightly different direction. “Now that the dome is down, I was wondering if you would like to join me in meeting the head of X-Corps to discuss rebuilding. I'm anxious to start the project as soon as possible and she says she's already started on the proper paperwork, but needs the funds before the insurance company will let her go anywhere. I know most of Mutant Town is temporarily moved to Sanctuary, but that can't be permanent, and I would like to have them ready to help when everyone comes back home.”
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Betsy Braddock
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The joke about being careful about he wished for either missed the target or did not go down too well with the X-man before her. The Club held a great deal of power in the world of business and there was a lot that she could have done that did not require her to even use her power for a moment…But then again, it could be that fact that Warren was not exactly enamoured with. If he was concerned about someone overhearing them, then he did not have to be worried there; it was simple enough to buffer away the interest of those in earshot to the point that no one could hear them. No doubt that was probably an immoral use of her powers (but one she had utilised a lot in STRIKE) however it was not as if they were sat there talking of world domination and advocating Magneto’s Dream.

“Ah yes,” Betsy smiled darkly at Warren’s self-correction. It was not that she had hard any of the younger ones making their feelings known, but it was just the way things seemed to be. “I know that one. When I was recruited into STRIKE, I’m not sure what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t getting my hands bloody. I’m not sure if it was doing that that made me see the world in shades of grey or just learning through experience, but it happens sooner or later. It doesn’t mean there is nothing good left…just it needs harder work.”

Smirking a little as he didn’t begrudge the idea of another sizable donation from the two faced benefactor, Betsy cast another glance towards his table. “I’m sure his conscious will prickle at him later and no doubt with X-Corp in considerable need for more financing, he’ll be signing a cheque in his private study at some point. But, if the world knew, he wouldn’t have the money to pump into the charity. That is why I keep my involvement silent, truth be told. My company suffered enough…”

Realising what she was saying, Betsy sat up a little. “But I’ll come for a meeting all the same. I don’t have my diary with me,” not that I can even see the damn thing “so you’ll have to call me.”

“And what happened to Betsy? Please, call me Miss Braddock and you’re going to make me feel like I’m back in bloody school,” the telepath gave another laugh as she tried to steer the conversation to something slightly more pleasant. While she could not see in the traditional sense anymore, she could not miss how worn the man seemed. It was not terribly surprising considering everything that had happened but all the same it was…sad, almost. The waiter had come and gone with all the subtlety and then some that was required in such an establishment.

“So, what else would you wish for?” Betsy asked once the waiter had vanished.
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He couldn't help but laugh at Betsy's declaration that Sellers would be making a very healthy contribution to X-Corps, which really could use the money to help get it back on its feet. Regardless of how big a burden the responsibility of being a telepath must be, Warren had to admit that it proved to be a much better mutant ability than wings and blood with healing properties. How he sometimes wished he had those abilities when going up against the likes of those shareholders and CEO's that balked at the idea that they were under a mutant's umbrella of fiscal protection. Just a few adjustments here and there and he might not have lost Kilgore to Shaw Industries. If only he could get Robert Farrel – the CEO of Kilgore – in the same room with Sebastian Shaw for several hours and inform him that the amazing businessman from Boston was just as much a mutant as Worthington was.

“X-Corps thanks Mr. Sellers for his generous and surprising donation,” he said with a smile. I'd say they'd name a room after him or something, but like you said, the publicity might not be appreciated. Don't worry. I'll give you a call once I set something up.”

When she asked him what else he would wish for after the waiter had left, Warren fell silent. He glanced down at the fleece-white table cloth and then around the room at the other restaurant patrons, marveling at how uncomplicated their lives were compared to his. He was juggling redemption, the rebuilding of a school, babysitting a bunch of heartbroken kids, and a crumbling empire all on top of being part of an emerging species that scared the living crap out of the majority of humans. The worst most of them had to worry about was missing their kids' dance recitals due to an overlong meeting.

His comment about wishing for other things had been knee-jerk flirtation with an attractive woman and nothing more, and other normal circumstances, he might have had something witty to say already cooked up in case she asked. However, when the question arose, the first thing that popped in his head surprised him.

I would wish Jamie back to life so I wouldn't feel guilty every time I looked at you.

He'd killed more people than he could count; in fact, he didn't want to know the actual death toll... the number of bloodied victims that was his responsibility. He was afraid that it would crush him. Warren was doing his best to work past what had happened over two years ago, but something so horrific could not be wiped away overnight. He still hadn't had a descent night's sleep since he had returned from being a horseman. Part of him was afraid that he'd never sleep well again – a small price to pay for countless deaths, but night after night of it added up to death by a thousand cuts.

What surprised him was that the first thing that came to mind wasn't the restoration of nameless innocents, but one individual only – someone he barely even knew. It couldn't have been for Jamie Braddock's own sake that he wanted to bring him back from beyond the veil, but Betsy's. It meant being able to look at her without being reminded of what he'd done to tear a rift between them for so long could be erased. That she could look at him without Warren fearing that her heart broke every time. The possibility of that was important enough to be the first thought that crossed his mind... not the salvation of everyone, but the safety of one individual.

After a silence that was slightly longer than what would have been comfortable, Warren looked back at Betsy and hitched a smile on those features and attempted to cover up the sobering moment. “Now you don't expect me to actually tell you all my secrets right away, do you? I'm afraid I'd be pretty boring company afterward.”
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Betsy Braddock
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“Any time,” Betsy affirmed as Warren stated that he would call her once a meeting was arranged. What with everything, it had been too long since she had been in contact with X-Corps, especially with her brother away, so it would be highly beneficial to touch base with them and to find out if there was anything more practical that she could do rather than simply donate money. What she, along with Brian, gave to the organisation was nothing to be sniffed at, but especially now there had to be something else she could do what with the various resources at her fingertips.

Then, the mood seemed to dip at her gentle ribbing about what he would wish for. The telepath had not meant to pry – ironic really, seeing as she could pry through the majority of minds like one flipped through a library book – but simply return the gentle flirtation…Really, she should have known better. Quietly clearing her throat, the White Queen took a sip of water and traced her finger along the edge of her napkin as a distraction and to show she was paying no heed to the sudden quiet on their table.

Raising her head as Warren apologised, she shook it gently, her purple locks tumbling over her shoulders. “Now I’m sure that’s a lie. You wear modesty well, but try a change from it now and then,” she teased very lightly and set her glass back down on the table. Reaching across, she brushed her fingers against his once more, even though she knew she was repeating the gesture and not knowing how well received it had been the first time, Betsy had no wish to turn it into a repetitive, pitying motion that kept on being played out awkwardly across the table.

Sitting back, she allowed her attention to wander around the room, sighing slightly as she realised they were still a topic of conversation on the Sellers table and she was glad that while they were still obviously there to the patrons of the restaurant, their actual conversation was falling upon deaf ears. Not that she would have let the X-man know, as no doubt it would have been met with a note of disapproval from him.

“Really…Don’t people have better things to do with their lunchtime?” If Betsy had had eyes, she would have rolled them and instead she inclined her head towards the table the other couple were seated at. “I would say it was their boring lives but really.”

Shaking her head, Betsy gave him a rueful smile, trying to keep the mood up somewhat. “I’d say we give them something to really disapprove of. How about we order banana splits with rainbow sprinkles and glacier cherries, then flick them around like children?”
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And there she was again, the tips of delicate fingers gently caressing the backs of his. Warren's eyes lingered on them for a few moments, that hint of a flirtatious smile still playing about his lips as he listened to her response about him playing the modesty card too much. A moment or two later and they began to retreat as she sat back in her seat once more... he let the comment go without a reply, focusing his energies elsewhere. He suddenly turned that hand she had touched and caught those well manicured fingers almost to the second knuckle. He brushed his thumb across her smooth as silk skin, allowing them to slip free of his grasp instead of stopping her. It was a gesture that lasted less than a second, as their skin-to-skin contact was broken almost immediately. He let his piercing blue eyes linger on hers a moment longer before sitting back in his seat as well, lounging as if he hadn't a care in the world while Betsy Braddock looked around the room at all the other restaurant patrons.

She suggested they cause a scene and stir up the lives of these boring rich people by buying banana splits with rainbow sprinkles. Warren had never really been big on sweets, often indulging in them whenever he was injured. The sugar seemed to aid his healing factor... a quick source of energy and empty calories used to repair the damage done to his body. Still... he recognized what Betsy was trying to do – disarm the awkward moment of silence following the strange flirtation that had passed between the two of them. There was something between them that surpassed the hatred she should feel toward him for what he had done to her family... he had felt it the first time he'd met her. They had been friends for a while... something more than social acquaintances, yet they had never really been able to get past that. It had been something the Angel had been interested in for a while, yet circumstances had never allowed him to actually act on it. Even now, with this thing so thick in the air between them it was almost palpable... Worthington could scarcely bring himself to even look at the woman. The guilt threatened to burn everything else present in his mind.

And yet that billion dollar playboy still lurked beneath the ruins of Death.

“As much as I enjoy bananas, rainbow sprinkles, and cherries,” Warren said, his gaze flickering back to Betsy after taking a moment to people watch himself, “How about instead we set these tongues wagging by going out together on the nineteenth? My father was good friends with Mr. Mackintosh, and I saw him the other day and he gave me two tickets to Les Miserables. I had planned on giving them to someone else as I've seen it several times, but I would love to go again if I had some enjoyable company to attend it with me.”

He could have asked anyone, and he was sure she would have no problem acquiring tickets just as easily as he had... or just as good, but that was hardly the point. He enjoyed spending time with her.
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Betsy Braddock
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Betsy lifted her head rather sharply as Warren proposed…a date? No, he was just asking her out as a friend, just the same as their current lunch. Lightly curling her fingers into a loose fist, then relaxing her hand, the telepath opened her mouth to speak, but stopped, at a loss for what to say in reply to the invitation. The last time she had been on a proper date must have been…well, it must have been Gabriel before he had been killed. Steeling herself, she lifted her glass of water to her lips and took a sip, setting it back on the table before focusing in on the X-man.

“I would have to check if I’m free,” the White Queen said with a sincere smile. It was a lie. She was her own boss and with Jonathon now back at the Club she certainly had the time to spare and more than that, her King would likely insist that she did. “I’ll let you know, soon,” she nodded reassuringly and leaning down, picked up the shoulder bag that she had by her feet. “Excuse me for just one moment, I’ll be right back,” giving the man a dazzling smile, Betsy stood and paced away from the table in the direction of the ladies bathroom. Before she had gotten three steps, Katherine rose from the table that she was currently sharing with Anton and fell into step behind her, acting as her ‘guide dog’.

The door swung gently at her touch and the air was cooler within the bathroom. It was thankfully empty. Lifting her bag, Betsy set it on the elegant counter and after a moment, leant against it. Katherine hovered by the door, ready to assist as necessary.

“My Queen, are you alright…?” she asked, the note of uncertainty in her voice audible. Turning her head towards the young woman, Betsy nodded slightly.

“I’m fine, you can go back to Anton if you like, finish your lunch. I just needed a moment.”

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” Katherine asked, almost concerned and the psychic mutant had to smile.

“I am. I’m just being reminded of…well, a lot really. Trust me, I’ll be fine in a moment. Now go on, or Anton will end up stealing your lunch.”

“Very well,” Katherine nodded and there was the sound of soft footsteps and the sounds of the main room increased in volume as the door opened, then were suddenly muted as it shut with a soft thud.

Betsy exhaled deeply and her knees turned weak. If she hadn’t been leaning on the counter, she might well have collapsed for a second. Reaching out, she located one of the sinks and turned on the tap, filling her cupped hand with cold water. Separating her fingers, the water trickled through and Betsy patted the remaining droplets against her face.

When she had been growing up, her big brother had been one of the most important people in her young life. Her parents were loving and caring and made sure their children had all of their needs met, but they were also very committed to their work. They even died at work. So, Jamie had been the influence on the young Betsy instead. After their parents had died they had drifted apart, Brian included, but that had not dulled a moment of the pain that had come with Jamie’s death. He had died at the hands of the Horseman Death, who was Warren transformed. It was not his fault; he had not chosen to be a monster. He had not been in control of his own actions and she knew that perhaps better than anyone after her telepathic battle with Famine and the times that she had returned to the mindscape of Jono to try and help him heal. But Jono hadn’t killed her brother.

Betsy wanted things to mend between Warren and herself, to get past the ugly mess of it all. When they had first met, there had been a sudden spark between them, no matter what darkness he had been in at that time in his life. She wanted it to heal, for both of their sakes. Turning the tap off, she groped for a paper towel and patted down her face and crumpled it up, tossing the thing away. Taking a series of breaths, the telepath picked her bag up and left the bathroom, using the senses of a passing waiter to guide her back to the table where Warren was waiting for her. Placing the bag by her seat, she leant across the table and kissed his cheek.

“I…Yes. The nineteenth, was that?” she asked nervously as she sat back down in her seat.
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Unsure whether he was pleased that it remained a possibility that she would go with him or a little disappointed by the fact that she hadn't said yes immediately. Warren knew how people at their station operated... people like him and Betsy set their own paces and rescheduled events at the drop of a hat to make room for other things. The fact that Betsy had to confirm that she would be free was likely a ploy used because she wasn't quite sure whether she wanted to or not. A very important engagement that she could not miss would have been brought up immediately, so the only other possibility was something she wasn't quite sure could be rearranged to make time for the date.

Of course, Warren couldn't blame her if she were unsure. Considering who he was and what he had done a lifetime ago, part of him was surprised that she was still talking to him. Sometimes Warren wasn't sure he knew exactly how close he'd come to being mentally eviscerated that rainy day shortly after Betsy had been blinded. The fact that he had not made him wonder if he was not the only one who felt something still there between them.

Almost immediately after expressing an possible interest in attending the performance with him, Betsy excused herself to the restroom, giving him a beautiful smile as she scooped up her handbag and rose. Warren rose from his seat as well. “Of course,” he said with a smile of his own, “Take all the time you need. I think I'll get something a little stronger,” he said as he tapped the rim of his water glass with the tip of a finger.

Warren watched her go, a slight twisting in his stomach that he barely registered as he saw one of her attendees sitting at another table rise to follow her. His mouth tightened a little as his gaze dropped from the lady attendee to her companion who had stood as the two women departed. The fellow looked back at Warren, an unreadable look in his eyes. The Angel returned it briefly then went for his wine.

Approaching the bar, he tapped it's glossy wood surface with two fingers which was enough to get the attention of the bar tender. “Yes sir,” he inquired as he closed the distance to Warren. “Do you have any Lafite Pauillac? Ninety-six or earlier?” He could have asked the waiter, but it felt good to get up and move around for a few minutes... much preferable to sitting there waiting for his companion to get back from the bathroom.

“Yes sir. We have a ninety-two. Will that suffice?”

“Yes,” Warren said, scrubbing a hand over his face and looking over his shoulder at the tables holding all these people with very few cares by comparison. None of these other patrons had to worry about the fact that they were responsible for the deaths of millions of people all across the world. While they disgusted him on some level, he could not help envying them to a degree.

“Just have it sent over to my table, if you would,” he said, pushing himself off the counter and making his way back to his table. The male attendee had been rejoined by the young woman who had followed Betsy to the bathroom, a fact that Warren couldn't decide was good or bad. Shrugging, he took a seat and waited her return; he didn't have to wait long. Surprising him by the abruptness of her return, she placed her bag back down, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, something he had not expected after her rush to the bathroom. As she sat back down, she gave him a warm smile and suddenly accepted his invitation. Warren had to check himself to keep him from reaching up and brushing the spot where she had kissed, though he still felt it burn on his skin.

“Yes. It's a bit late. A nine-thirty showing, but I think it would be much more enjoyable than most of those functions we keep getting thrown together at. Shall I pick you up at eight thirty?” He returned her smile, having already recovered from the shock of the sudden turn of events. About that time, the waiter appeared with the bottle Warren had ordered and set out two wine glasses. “You have good taste, sir,” he said as he worked pulled the already-loosened cork out and poured some of the bottle's contents into Warren's glass till it was half full. “Would the lady like some as well?”

After fulfilling her wishes, he mentioned that the food would be out shortly and backed off, leaving them alone once again. Warren took a sip of the wine, enjoying the rich mint and blackcurrant flavor of the dark liquid as he took the opportunity to study Betsy. He decided it was best to move on to something else.

“We're already starting to move forward with the rebuilding process of the mansion. I hope to have it complete by Spring as long as there are no set-backs, however, I'm running into a few problems with acquiring some of the necessary permits.” Being outed as a mutant at a time like this was detrimental and almost degrading in terms of what Warren could get done presently compared to what he used to manage. The right amount in the right hand... a promise in the right ear... these things could open doors in a heartbeat. Sometimes all it took was a smile. Now he was often treated like a leper by half the people in the Forbes community and like a monster who would eat them as soon as look at them by another thirty percent. It made him grit his teeth in frustration.

“I...” He hesitated, knowing that Betsy could help, but also realizing that should she show too much direct interest in the affairs of Xavier's, suspicion could turn on her, and he did not wish to bring similar problems to her door. Even the ambiguity of paperwork and layers of representatives could be traced. Of course he'd considered asking her for a little mutant persuasion, but he could not bring himself to actually do so. He had mixed feelings about such things at the moment. “I'm not exactly sure how to proceed at the moment. They're not exactly denying me the permits... simply giving me a runaround that I've never actually seen before.”

Given that he had been outed as a mutant for the last three years, that was quite a statement.
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Betsy Braddock
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Betsy kept her hands in her lap for the moment to hide the fact that her fingers were twisting around nervously. She was still unsure about this. On the surface, it was something she wanted to explore very much. The telepath was a social person, she always had been. When she was younger it had balanced out her twin brother’s bookish, occasionally grumpy tendencies and now it balanced out Forge’s lacking in social situations. In essence, she had a lot in common with Warren, a sort of mutual, kindred spirit that they both seemed to share and not only that, they both knew it even if they might not admit it to one another. There was still much to get past first.

“Late is fine,” she responded with a slight nod of her purple head, making sure that her dark glasses had not slipped down her nose to reveal the secret they concealed. “After all, when you’re your own boss a little lie in now and then can’t hurt, eh?” Betsy kept the comment very light and brief as she was not ignorant to the troubles that Warren was currently undergoing. “You’ll have to allow me to repay the favour at a later date. I can’t promise Broadway, but we have more parties at the Club than you can shake a stick at. I’m sure there’ll be a night to your taste on the calendar.”

Holding her tongue as a waiter appeared with a bottle of wine, or so she supposed from the surface thoughts that she could pick up on. Her blindness was infuriating at times, especially when she could not risk openly using her abilities and without Katherine and Anton near enough to assist her… “A small glass, thank you,” she held an elegant hand out as the man poured. He retreated with the practised silence of a career waiter. Tasting the wine, Betsy placed the glass back on the table and settled back in her seat.

The conversation, quite naturally considering all things, took a more serious tone. Somewhere in the middle of Warren’s troubles, the food arrived and Betsy remained politely mute, nodding with a sympathetic expression on the visible portion of her face. The Angel was keeping his words relatively quite and no doubt holding back a lot; the restaurant was a very public place after all and you never knew who was listening out, even when you were a telepath.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Warren,” Betsy said with her knife and fork poised over her meal. She did not doubt that all of this was wearing him down on top of everything else and while it was hard for him to be able to push forward, for someone with her contacts…The permits, now that shouldn’t be too troubling for her to take care of. A few words with Sage and there would be no trail to speak of. Was it an immoral use of abilities and her position? Possibly, but when it came to assisting a school…

“Hopefully things will get better soon,” the White Queen stated, her tone carefully loaded. Her knife and fork were still hovering above her plate almost nervously. Eating in public was not something she had done since she had lost her eyes and even though she had gotten used to it in the privacy of the Club or in her own office even, it was still a little awkward. “You’re remembering to look after yourself as well, I hope,” slicing a tiny morsel of meat, she ate it after her mock scold. Old habits and all that… “Something will turn up, I’m sure of it.”
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Warren stared at her for a long moment as he pulled on a slightly larger sip of wine than what was customary. Studying her over the rim of his glass, he was trying to make up his mind on whether or not there was more to that statement that things would work out than what appeared on the surface. Worthington had always been good at reading people... looking into their eyes and working out a person's true feelings based on what he read in a person's gaze. It had infuriated him for years that he couldn't do that with Scott; for most of their teens, his best friend's tendency to keep his emotions as covered as his eyes made him the hardest person to read. Fortunately over the years of working alongside Summers, he had gotten much better at determining a person's emotional state by things other than their eyes. They way they held their mouth... the set of their jaw... the tension around the cheeks and the set of the brow. They all telegraphed in their own way.

Unfortunately, on top of Betsy's infirmity, her years among STRIKE had taught her well to cover her feelings when she wished. He wanted to say there was more to what she had said, but at the same time... dare he hope that his comment had been enough to make something happen so that he could pretend he hadn't just – in his own way – casually asked the White Queen of the Hellfire Club to push things through for him in New York's Civil Engineering department?

He set his own wine glass down and smiled at her preemptive admonishment of him not taking care of himself. In truth, he probably wouldn't have eaten had it not been for his small personal army of staff taking care of all his personal needs. “If by taking care of myself, you mean managed to hire competent people to do the job for me, then yes. You know, there are small rays of hope in the darkest of places if you only know where to look. For example, the evacuation of Mutant Town and the displacement of all those people was a horrible thing, but it happened not long after I had to fire my two housekeepers. They'd been selling personal information about me to the National Enquirer. Fortunately, a couple of the ladies from Mutant Town had not place to go and one of them had some experience. They didn't want to go to Sanctuary, despite one of them having a family there... god they were both really torn up. Anyway, one of them has been a godsend and has been helping the other with the ropes and she's been pretty amazing too. So there have been a few bright spots in all this. It's nice to see them doing so well.”

He didn't mention that another example would be all the unfortunate events that lead to their meeting and forming a very slow, very troubled bond. Perhaps it was all the tentative back and forth after the events of Apocalypse that had him so intrigued by her. His forced distance due to his own guilt... his retreat to Colorado for months on end... did they feed a slow burn that was not doomed to go out after a brief, but very hot flicker?

“I've also found a very capable assistant to help me run my business in my name. I've had him a for half a year or so now, but he's been invaluable during all this. I've been able to focus solely on the mansion and on the kids staying at my place thanks to Emerson. So yes... I'm taking care of myself. Thank you for your concern. While we're on the subject, I know you have people waiting on you hand and foot, so you're needs are being met and that you can see after a fashion, but how are you coping really?”

He hadn't exactly seen much of her in the news or out and about the last few days, so he'd assumed that she'd been staying indoors mostly. He could understand the need for that right now – the public eye was filled with monsters looking to prey on the slightest fall from grace or infirmity. Despite it, however, he meant to make sure she would not turn into a relative shut-in.
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Betsy Braddock
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Lifting an eyebrow, the telepath had to smile as Warren told her how he had a very fine team to take care of him. Of course it was not what she had meant at all, but she suspected it was the best answer that she was going to get out of him. Really, it didn’t surprise her. Brian was her twin brother and while she loved him dearly, trying to get him to take care of himself was like overseeing a sulky child who would not bathe. The X-man did not seem to be of the same cloth as her brother, but they did seem to share a stubborn streak from what she had seen so far. Slicing another tiny morsel of food, she carefully raised her fork to her mouth and chewed slowly.

“That’s good to hear,” she offered as he spoke about the women he had hired from Mutant Town. It was a very difficult time for many in the employment market, regardless of their genetic makeup. “And I’m sorry to hear that.” Betsy bit back a comment about how she did not have to worry about that with the household staff at Hellfire; anyone foolish enough to trade secrets away would end up very, very sorry for themselves. Integrity and loyalty were crucial and while there was naturally a certain amount of backstabbing and subterfuge, there were lines you did not cross and things that you did not violate. They were a family, albeit a strange one.

“How am I coping…” the question should not have been so unexpected, but Betsy trailed off, at a loss for words all the same. Deep down, if she was honest with herself, she was not coping and instead she was throwing all her rage and hurt into other avenues aside from the important ones of getting over everything that had happened. Allowing her knife and fork to rest against the edges of her plate, the White Queen lifted her wine glass to her lips and took a slow, steadying sip. The difficult part of it was if she actually wanted to be honest with him. It was not as if she were totally honest with the other members of the Club about her infirmity as she had to keep pushing on and continue to be strong. Once all of this nasty business was over, then no doubt she would be on a plane, heading back to England and to the safety of her family home to hide herself away for a week at the very least. The last time she had stolen away to hide in the manor, Brian had also returned. It made the prospect of home even more appealing to think that he might appear once again, should she be there.

Her food remained untouched as she sat in silence, trying to piece together an answer that she did not want to give, and in such a public place too. “It’s sort of like viewing the world through the lens of a video camera. You can see, but your vision is somewhat distorted and you have to allow for...well, all sorts of things really. At first I was constantly tripping up as I forgot I had to allow for distance and perspective and such. The step was not as far as I was ‘seeing’ and the like.”

Releasing a short, bitter laugh, Betsy shook her purple head. “I can’t ride my horse, drive my car or even pilot an aircraft. Do you know how frustrating that is? I have been riding since I can remember, I learnt to fly a plane when I was fourteen and driving…well Jamie was dragging me around on his motorbike since I was eleven and then he had the wonderful idea of teaching me and Brian to drive when we were fifteen or so, in this battered old Land Rover when my parents were at a conference in Geneva,” realising that she was straying from the point of the matter, Psylocke took up her cutlery once more and resumed nibbling at her meal.

“I am fortunate that I have supportive people with me, however,” she gave a very subtle inclination of her head towards where her Pawns were seated at their table. “But…I cannot go anywhere without at least one of them. Like this I am not so able to defend myself, even with my telepathic powers. During the attack on your school, that was far from important, but then again I have always had the terrible penance for tossing myself into situations with dire consequences, without giving logical thought to my own safety. Sometimes I’m honestly quite amazed that I’m alive, considering everything, and I am not just talking about my time with Hellfire.”

Lowering her cutlery once more, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with one of the heavy linen napkins. “I’m postulating, I apologise. This is not suitable lunch conversation.”
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Warren shook his head as Betsy apologized for going on like she had and commented on how inappropriate the topic was considering where they were. He, however, would have none of that. It was a relief to hear her open up like that for him... a very unexpected relief. As she spoke, something seemed to slide into place inside his mind – she was going through life having one of her most precious gifts forcibly removed from her. When she'd mentioned being unable to fly her plane, and asked him if he knew what that was like, it was all he could do to keep from actually voicing that he in fact did.

When Betsy had met him for the first time, his feathered wings had been cut off by a man who'd had a grudge on his father for a long time. As Warren Worthington Jr. was dead, it was left up to his son to take the responsibility of the proposed wrong and upon him to make things right. It would have ended with his life – not just his wings – removed. Fortunately, Scott and the rest had come to his aid, but not before irreparable damage had been done. After that horrible incident, Angel had assumed he'd never be able to fly under his own power again, and that was what drove him to drink the night Betsy walked into his life in that most graceful manner she had.


“Don't,” he replied. This time it was him who reached across and covered her hand with his own. “I asked, and I appreciate the brutal honesty. You need to say these things to someone.” Not that he would go so far as assume that she didn't have someone else she could share her total weakness with, but then... the club was full of sharks. That kind of atmosphere didn't really breed that kind of intimacy... it was too dangerous.

But then... what did that say about Betsy herself? After all, he was holding the hand of one of those sharks, wasn't he?

Keeping his hand on hers for a moment longer, he looked over his shoulder at the pawns and then back to her. After a moment longer he removed it, giving hers a final light squeeze before his fingers slipped away. It had taken a moment for the shock of exactly how much she'd just divulged to fade away, but now that it did, he could feel that something was different... as if he'd been invited to a special place that no one had seen in a long... very long time.

Had the last person to share that kind of confidence been Jamie Braddock? The thought made him nearly want to sick up. Of course it had taken him back to his own experience at being forcibly changed... manipulated until he had lost so much; nearly costing him everything – including his family and even his own soul. The pair of them were powerful, formidable people who had been turned into victims and had both lost loved ones dear to them due to this damn war...

“Would it be possible to leave your 'friends' behind that night? Just let it be the two of us? The change might be nice. I wouldn't be the help. Just a...” He searched the table as if looking for a better word, but decided to go with what came to mind, “Friend.”
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