1455/Not Exactly a Seance

Not Exactly a Seance
Date of Scene:	13 July 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Cypher, Magneto

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Cypher has posed:
Doug has his tunes on. He's reveling in the sheer language of it, how he can read the intent and progression behind every note. The Bangles - a favorite. Dazzler. Lila Cheney. Seguing into more modern stuff, the stomp-rock of Dorothy, the Black Keys, Barns Courtney, Franz Ferdinand. All this, with a ball-cap pulled low over his face as he's bopped into Hole in One - a favorite hangout in younger days - to get his fix. If you have to have a vice, it might as well be honey dip.

He buys the big box, he'll string them out for days. He's hoping he can talk the X-Men into letting him program some Danger Room scenarios, and he needs fuel. Then a light static cuts in on his music player, which causes him to squint and pull the earbuds out of his ear. "What--?" He digs money out of his pocket, and pays for the box.

Magneto has posed:
The fellow who queues up two behind Doug midway through his order is at once hard to miss and difficult to place. His ensemble is finer even than is commonplace even in Westchester-- a practiced eye might identify the most expertly of tailored custom work in the understated suit cast largely in greyscale, offset by the darker, blood red of the shirt worn beneath. The man's features are obscured by both the matching wide-brimmed hat that's fashion from some decades hence, and the sleek wire-framed sunglasses that shade his steely eyes.

As Doug gathers his box, and the lady between them steps aside as they prepare her order, Erik places exact change on the counter before he's given a total, and calmly orders coffee, with steamed milk. He scarcely looks to Doug immediately, but then he doesn't need to, does he?

Cypher has posed:
The shadow's familiar. It's always the shadow, at first. And Doug stiffens. It's... odd. He's older than he should be. Squarer in the shoulder. If he had had time to grow up... but then he turns, and his face goes white as chalk. He's got sunglasses on himself, possibly trying to take precautions not to be recognized since his parents still live in Salem Center. Then he calmly moves to the side, clutching the box in both hands.

He wants to run, but running would be stupid, and he doesn't need to read Magneto's microexpressions to figure that out. So instead, he walks to a booth, and he sits, with the box of goodies untouched in front of him. He reaches down to thumb off his music player.

Magneto has posed:
It's safe to say that Magneto observes the trepidation, but at least in these earliest moments of reunion, the Master of Magnetism does nothing to either exacerbate or allay the young revenant's nerves. Instead, he gathers up the aromatic coffee, and stoically joins the intuitive mutant opposite Doug in the booth, seating himself with practiced grace and poise.

A glance or two is drawn as the hat is politely set aside, revealing the older, far older than he looks mutant's shock of silver-white, flowingly coiffed locks. "I had heard on good authority you were dead." Magneto dryly quips. "I see the report of your death was... an exaggeration." Count on Lensherr to invoke Twain without the reference's posthumous embellishment. "You should know better than to fear me, Douglas. How did this happen?"

Cypher has posed:
Doug looks down, and then he twists his finger, briefly. "Well, there's what the rational mind knows, and what you remember. To a thirteen year-old, you were intimidating. Huge, stern. You're still very much all of those things." He looks up, and says, "To be perfectly honest, I don't know. Doctor McCoy and I determined that before I died I was infected by the techno-organic virus Warlock--" His, ah, alien friend "And his people used to convert biomass for energy-harvesting. It may have been a mutated strain in the same way Warlock is... was... is a mutant. Intentionally or not, my best friend packed me a 'cheat death' card." Which is to say, not malevolent.

"Someone who called himself 'Reanimator' was able to activate the virus in my system, then he dug me out of my grave to get a bio-sample. Then he observed me like a science experiment. If it wasn't for the mercy of, of all people, the Juggernaut, I'd probably be dead again." But then he says, "No, sir. Not an exagerration. I was dead. They buried me. And yet here I am." He looks at his hands, and says, "Though I'm still wrestling with the full implications of that." He looks up at Magneto, and tries to get a read on him. Microexpressions. Subtext to speech. What does he really MEAN when he speaks?

Magneto has posed:
"Ah." It's the utterance of a man taking a moment to digest that information, but with none of the shock and alarm or utter disbelief that might normally rebutt that story. No, in that singular syllable Magnus, of all things, seems to decide all that makes a lot of sense. "Of course. You realize that seed still lives within you?" Magneto seems more curious than alarmed once more, peering off at nothing a moment as if he could see those biomechanical nanites before him. The truth, naturally, is somewhat better than that.

"The one who killed you died a difficult death mere moments later." Erik still retains some pride in that fact. "He will almost certainly not be returning." The shades are set aside, and intent blue orbs squint at Cypher. "As far as I can tell you are still yourself." A vital consideration at such times. "And who else would cheat death to battle a flame war." There's some measure of disdain to the sardonic addendum-- but one doesn't need a language superpower to pick that up.

Cypher has posed:
"I do." Doug says. "I..." He says, "Well, with Beast's help, I *asked* it to go into remission. And it agreed. You should've seen me when I first came out of the ground. I looked like something out of an Otomo manga--" He pauses, and then says, "...Like a zombie." He has his hands on the table. "Of course I guess I can't ever discount the possibility, but if that's the price I have to pay for a second chance at life, I'll pay it."

Then he flicks his gaze up, and his own shy blue eyes harden, slightly. "Graydon Creed is the language of death. And if no one else will shut him up, I will. He should have ignored me. His mistake, I suppose." He adds, his expression drawing down a bit, "I don't exactly have the power to strike people down from afar, though coming out of the grave's widened my perspective somewhat." He gestures around. "I can, with a bit of observation, tell you things about every person in this room. Those two," He whispers sotto voce and surreptitiously points to a teenage couple, "He's in love. She's not but she's trying to convince herself she is. She thinks she's pregnant and she's secretly terrified. And to me, it might as well be written in ink on their faces. Marvel Girl accused me of developing telepathic powers... but I'm not reading thoughts. I'm reading faces. Bodies. The movement of their eyes, the way they carry their shoulders, the twitch of their fingers. It's all OBVIOUS to me, if I pay attention."

Magneto has posed:
"Dr. McCoy's expertise in second to few." Something Magneto does not say lightly, and clearly feels should convey some measure of solace. Even if it's not how most would express support or affirmation. "And you are not wrong, most fates are preferable to the alternative." Notably, however, very much -not- all fates.

The Master of Magnetism furrows his brow and continues, "The expansion of your powers and your acumen with them is as likely to be a product of your mutation as a biproduct of resurrection. Those secrets have always been hiding in plain sight, you only now realize there is a pattern to how they're spoken."

There's a clear degree of certitude and experience in that assertion. Well before he was the Master of Magnetism, Erik was a spy hunting Nazis who had gone to ground. Being sure, reading people-- essential parts of a job he was very, very good at.

Cypher has posed:
Doug squares his shoulders, and lets out a soft snort of breath. "I know. But it's like I'm seeing the patterns in EVERYTHING now. The flow of traffic, the movement of birds. And it's not just interpretation, it's also response. When I was attacked by someone, I instinctively knew how to react. And not just how to react, how to respond. It was the language of violence. And I suddenly found myself *speaking* it. Fluently. It's a far cry from when Google Translate could pinch hit for me." He shakes his head. "I have a lot to think about."

Then he says, "But Graydon Creed has made me resolute on one thing. If I'm the Cypher, the point of communication, then I need to speak. So once I've got an identity secured, I'm going to start taking journalism courses online. Among other things. I'm going to be a Mutant chronicler. I'll MAKE the world understand... and even if I can't grow claws or control the weather, I'll use my power to make a difference."

He looks down, and to the side. "...I also know that Magneto's motivations are never one-sided or simple. I'm... happy to see you again, sir. I know we didn't get along all the time, but now, for obvious reasons, I understand why you held me back. I'm not sure I'd change what I did... but I understand you better now. So I'm sorry."

Magneto has posed:
Magneto smiles, but it's a gesture without amusement, a darkened recollection. No shortage of those alternative languages are familiar to the elder mutant as well. Several, not pleasant meanderings of thought for him, either.

"The battle with such men is often one of words, of hearts and minds. Pity, then, that so few among mankind are interested in the evolution of either. If smiting those like Creed from afar would correct the problem, I'd have made the world utopia unilaterally, by now." It's a harsh admission couched in a degree of wry sef-awareness. Not that there are any indications Magnus means to stand down any time soon-- but he hasn't dropped an anvil on Senator Creed, either.

"People who get along all the time do not know one another near as well as they may think." Erik observes rather frankly. "And those who heed sage advice are seldom also teenagers." That poor venn diagram simply gets little connection.

Cypher has posed:
Doug settles one elbow along the booth behind him, and he says, "Well, to be honest, for the time being, it'd be a little like crushing a bug, wouldn't it? You'd draw an awful lot of attention and risk turning him into a martyr if you stooped to deal with him yourself. But as they say, Erik Lensherr didn't teach any fools. I may be flame-baiting him online, but I had an awful lot of time to myself in the medical bay, and they made the... tactical oversight of giving me an iPad to amuse myself." Doug could raise holy hell with a computer *before* he died. Now...?

He looks up at Magneto, and says, "I... can't give you all the information in good conscience, sir. But Creed's connections go deep. Anti-mutant survivalist training camps, scientific research into mutant and metahuman suppression technology, conspiracy theories about ancient manipulators that seem way more credible than I'm comfortable with."

And then he says, "And--Creed's parents were mutants. That's the source of all of this, some... twisted-up attempt to both prove himself to and get revenge on his mother and father."

Cypher has posed:
His eyes flick away. Magneto can read this much from Doug's expression. He doesn't just know that Graydon Creed's parents were mutants, he knows who they are. Or at least, he has some grasp of it, and some grasp of its significance.

Magneto has posed:
"A man of the Senator's reach and sentiments, it would be more like swatting a particularly irate hornet trying to repeatedly sting one in the face whilst blasting forth a positively noxious cloud of pheromones with the obsessive intent of having all similar creatures join in the mad onslaught." The Master of Magnetism has always had an odd gift for apt metaphor.

Magneto sighs, "But you are not wrong. Nature abhors a vacuum. The Senator exists because the belief exists. The hate exists." In ample, voting measure. There's a beat, and Magnus inserts for completeness, "Also, gerrymandering." Lensherr allows himself a darkly amused chuckle.

"I would be quite interested to know if you have more intelligence on the man than I do, calm conscience or no." Yes, the elder mutant is -quite- aware Graydon's lineage is not what one might expect... and the flatscan is deceptively powerful indeed.

Cypher has posed:
Doug looks down, and then says, "Maybe. I don't know. I raided his personal files. He's made enemies. Powerful enemies. Apparently the Batman of Gotham City is leaning on him, hard." He laces his fingers together, and says, "I don't want people to get killed because of him, sir. I'm trying to figure out how to do the right thing. But that doesn't make it immediately obvious." He furrows his brow, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm also somewhat lost. Do you know, the only other classmate of mine I've spoken to is *Kid Omega*. I figured Quentin would be dead in an alley somewhere, but no, he's alive and well..."

"I miss my friends. I miss the way things were. I feel *alone*. And I know that feeling that way is the exact opposite of helping." He sighs, and sits up, meeting Magneto's eyes. "I'm afraid we might wind up on opposite sides, sir. I don't want that. But I know the language my conscience is speaking. I just..." He looks down and to the side again and lets out a huff of breath. "I don't know. My mind is all over the place. I'm telling myself not to look any further than tomorrow. Can you tell me what happened after I--" He closes his mouth.

Magneto has posed:
While the next steps forward may not be readily apparent to Doug, something in the sharing seems to make them become thus to Magnus. Specifically, the mention of the Batman's vendetta against the genocidal 'Friend' of Humanity. "Excellent." Magneto intones, though he stops short of steepling his fingers.

Doug's problems, however, somber the moment of perspicacity. "Finding purpose and moving on can be difficult even with years to devote to the undertaking. You've returned with nothing as it was, yourself included. It will take time, and new avenues of thought. Speak to Charles, help where you can. You should come tour Genosha, I'll see that you're put up in a fine room. Some of them may return to your life, others may walk a different path-- but you've plenty to do to find yours in the interim."

A ghost of nostalgia passes over Erik's features as he appends, "Do not fret too greatly, Douglas. We al must fight for what we believe, but Charles and I have never been forces on -opposite- sides, even when we must clash."

Cypher has posed:
Doug looks up again, and then he nods, once. "I'd love to. See Genosha, that is." He seems to turn inward a bit, not quite finding himself, but perhaps finding another piece of himself? The struggle is palpable. Doubt. Uncertainty. But there is something in Doug that Magneto may have only seen the germination of before, years ago; a stubbornness. The boy just doesn't have an ounce of quit in him. The Little Mutant who Could. It got him killed. And here he sits.

Then he glances upward, and says, "Give me a little while. I need to figure out a couple more things, like how to tell my parents that I'm not dead. My poor mother..." He shakes his head from side to side, and then says, "Then I'll come to visit."

"And thank you, for not telling me. I've changed my mind." He puts his hands on his temples and runs his fingers through his hair. "Maybe it's best that I don't know, right now."