15288/Log 15288

Log 15288
Date of Scene:	03 July 2023
Location:	Royal Palace, Hammer Bay
Synopsis:	Magneto.
Cast of Characters:	Magik, Magneto

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Magik has posed:
A swirling, bone-white disc yawns open in the heart of Genosha.

Roughly human-sized, it hovers vertically a foot above the ground. Heat radiates from its depths-- and while it's only faintly perceptible against the skin, it has a curious way of sinking deeper, heating those nearest to it from the inside. It's subtle, bare, but by no means gentle; a light scolding for the soul rather than scourging or scouring. Black, heeled boots meet Genoshan soil; a heartbeat later, a blonde woman clad in black leather with red highlights edging the X-shaped cutout in her tactical crop top steps out of the portal, and the portal snaps shut behind her.

She takes a deep, hungry breath of Genoshan air, eyes lidding. Her membership in the X-Men was always as much about familial ties as any fealty to dreams of mutantkind's future, if not moreso; still, the sheer gravity of setting foot in a place for mutants, carved out of a hellhole of oppression by mutants isn't lost on the woman who now rules the hellish domain that stole her childhood.

The Royal Palace looms large, maybe a few minutes ahead of her on foot; with nothing but a map to go on, she purposefully angled for somewhere near the Lord of Genosha's throne without entirely broaching his privacy. If this means appearing in the middle of a crowded street, so be it.

In fact, she'd prefer it that way. More witnesses, more eyes on her hopefully means a more immediate response when she sets eyes on the nearest person and utters:

"Magik, of the X-Men has come for an audience with the master of Genosha," in crisp, exacting tones. "Do me a favor and see to it that I'm properly announced."

And whether that means emergency services called, psychic bands accessed, or any of the myriad of other options present in a posthuman society, Magik is less concerned with the details than she is with approaching the Palace, intent on making good time to the meeting that she's only just decided to schedule.

Magneto has posed:
As Magik walks through the opulent corridors, they guide her towards the throne room, a place steeped in regal splendor and cloaked in an air of authority. She is accompanied by a couple of mutants acting as courtiers, their footsteps echoing on the marbled floor.

As the doors to the throne room swing open, revealing its breathtaking grandeur, a figure stands at the centre. Bathed in a soft, ethereal light that filtered through the windows, there stands Magneto, a commanding presence amidst the majestic surroundings. Adorned in his signature attire of red and black, his suit clung to his powerful frame, accentuating his formidable presence. The crimson cape billows behind him, adding an air of regality to his already imposing stature.

Something on a metallic table holds Magneto's attention. The room seems to hum with a magnetic energy, echoing the aura of its master. Upon the table, an intricately detailed map is unfurled, its parchment etched with lines of destiny and unspoken secrets. Magneto's gloved hands hover above it, his eyes are focused and intense, as if deciphering the hidden patterns woven within.

As Magneto notices the presence of the younger mutant, Magneto's hand swiftly turns the map over, shrouding its contents from prying eyes. The gesture is almost imperceptible, a deft movement that conceals a world of knowledge and intrigue. Silence envelops the throne room, broken only by the gentle rustle of Magneto's cape.

Magik has posed:
"Magneto," solemnly reverberates through the throne room.

It was a silent walk, save for the *klak!* of Magik's heels against marble-- at least on the X-Woman's part. Maybe the courtiers offered pleasantries, maybe they didn't; either way, Illyana's only here for him, so why waste precious time?

"Once, when I was a child, someone told me a story: once, there was a man who thought he could overcome fate. He schemed; he marshalled his allies; and for a time, he succeeded in binding Death itself to protect himself from its touch. When the gods came to set things to right," she recounts over the soft, steady rhythm of heels on marble, "he tricked them -- and the universe itself into giving him more time. He lived, and lived, until he was old and grey; until he'd outlasted everyone he'd ever thought to preserve himself for, leaving him to reflect on his own cleverness in lonesome satisfaction."

Raw, magnetic might subtly pushes and pulls at every inch of her slowly approaching form, coursing from its master in rippling waves. She fords these natural forces without hesitation, eyes locked upon Magneto.

"And when he finally died a second time - when his schemes were exhausted and his allies were gone - he learned that for all he feared the inevitability of Death, it was but a gateway to a blissful eternity of rest-- once he'd earned it, of course.

"Once he'd pondered in every detail the deeds which necessitated making fools of the gods, so that he could pass into Eternity free of mortal fetters," Magik continues, low and intent and just loud enough to be clearly heard.

"All that stood between him and his rest was a boulder, a mountain, and the hubris which demanded he lose more of himself to indignation as he rolled the boulder towards the peak-- until his focus slipped and the rock along with it, casting all of them back down to try again."

Half a dozen feet from the table, Magik stops and offers the Lord of Genosha a brisk bow -- a show of respect from one peer to another rather than the deference of a lesser in the presence of her superior. As she straightens, she loosely clasps her hands behind herself and meets his gaze once more.

"What do you suppose the moral of it is...?"

Magneto has posed:
Magneto leans in, his gaze fixed upon Magik as she weaves the tapestry of her childhood tale. When she finally concludes, a hushed silence settles between them, pregnant with anticipation.

"That story," Magneto begins, his voice resonating with a tinge of solemnity, "brings to mind the fable of Sisyphus. This unfortunate soul, burdened by the wrath of gods, faced a punishment that transcended his deeds in life. The essence lay not in his actions, but in his eternal penance---a penance where he laboured to push a boulder up the mountain, only to witness it cascade back down whenever he neared the summit."

His words hang in the air, blending with the currents of thought. A pause follows, pregnant with the weight of wisdom.

"The gods, in their unfathomable wisdom, devised a punishment of unrelenting futility. To condemn one to an eternity of fruitless toil is a stern rebuke indeed. Yet, there are those who, in their ignorance, question why Sisyphus does not simply relinquish the task, abandon the boulder. They fail to comprehend that Sisyphus, ever mindful of divine retribution, dare not defy the gods' decree. However, this does not imply he surrenders his hope, his aspiration to conquer the futile enterprise."

Magneto's words hang in the air, a delicate web spun from ancient lore. His gaze, now filled with an enigmatic blend of empathy and sagacity, locks with Magik's, bridging the space between them.

"Should your tale bear semblance to the Greek myth," he continues, "its moral is unequivocal: refuse to succumb to the disappointments life thrusts upon you, or to seek escape from the clutches of failure. Embrace the strength that emerges from perseverance, for even in the face of insurmountable odds, there lies within us the tenacity to strive, to persist in the face of adversity."

Magik has posed:
"My story is the Greek myth," she replies with a faint smile.

"And to take from it that perseverance is a virtue -- that one should accept struggle and failure as the price of survival -- is entirely reasonable," Magik offers, crimson lips spreading ever wider.

"Commendable, even, were one to base their life upon it," falls a notch softer, owing both to gravity and increased proximity.

"But I've always thought that Sisyphus was an idiot, and a coward-- yes, he found a way to bind Death; to cheat the rules and steal another round of life in defiance of the gods... and what did it get him?" she wonders, falling silent for just a beat -- just long enough for emphasis.

"If one wants to defy the gods -- to write their own rules for how the world ought to function - then there's no room for clever tricks, schemes, games-- there can be no half-measures in life and death, lest one is willing to suffer being crushed beneath the combined weight of ego and boot heels, forever."

When her explanation began, there was a healthy breadth of space between Magik and Magneto; somewhere between then and -- well, now, that changed. By increments, along the edges of perception, it changed, and now Magik's practically eye to eye with the ruler of Genosha.

"I've been wondering, lately -- as you struggle to stave off the deaths of millions by way of inevitable tribal hatred filtered through the ignorance and ambivalence of billions -- whether your turn towards... ..."

Her left arm traces a broad, sweeping arc, indicating the opulent symbols of rulership around them.

"... this has cultivated an appetite for half-measures-- for scheming, conniving, and plotting around those who hold the world in their palms rather than taking their hands from them," she concludes. There's nothing gentle about her voice, either; there isn't even much warmth to it. But it is sincere: what could easily be mockery when cast in such cooled, exacting terms and tones carries the grim and unmistakable edge of raw, honest curiosity devoid of pretense.

Magneto has posed:
"Mmm," Magneto responds, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "I was beginning to ponder whether your purpose in journeying this far was solely for philosophical discourse. Although, I imagine traversing the distance from America to Genosha is a mere trifle for someone of your capabilities."

A momentary pause lingers, his thoughts taking shape before he continues. "However, it appears to me that you are implying a more uncompromising approach, one that requires a certain ruthlessness. Regrettably, I find myself with little inclination to pursue such methods at present. You may have concluded that my actions thus far have been insufficient, but what I am constructing here holds great significance, deserving of preservation."

A wistful note laces his words as he emphasizes his point. "In case you failed to discern it on your path to the palace, Genosha stands as a sanctuary for our mutant brethren. As its ruler, I assure the safety and well-being of every mutant who resides within these borders, so long as I refrain from enraging the leaders of the outside world. Make no mistake, they yearn for the moment when I commit an act they can label as terrorism. They yearn for an excuse to dispose of me as the sovereign of Genosha. However, they are well aware that they cannot take such action without justifiable cause. They fear the repercussions that would follow any act of aggression on their part."

Magneto's words hang in the air, a delicate balance between conviction and caution. The weight of his responsibility as a protector of mutants is evident in his voice, as is the simmering undercurrent of defiance against those who would seek to undermine his vision.

"In time," he concludes, his voice carrying a resolute determination, "my methods may evolve, but for now, the preservation of Genosha and its inhabitants remains paramount. The delicate dance I perform ensures our safety within these borders while keeping our adversaries at bay. Rest assured, my response to any provocation of war would be measured and decisive."

With a steady gaze, Magneto awaits the understanding and acceptance of his stance, cognizant of the intricacies and complexities that shape his leadership in this perilous world.