15560/I told you...

I told you...
Date of Scene:	04 September 2023
Location:	The Lux
Synopsis:	Mister Sinister has an interesting dream.
Cast of Characters:	Doctor Destiny, Sinister

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Doctor Destiny has posed:
Lucifer let's out a gasp and he rests against Sinister. The breathing deep, ragged. "Why didn't you listen?" Lucifer whispers with a pained tone. The words are light. Blood starts to trickle from Lucifer's lips.

Sinister looks down and he can feel his hand and something resting within its grasp. A familiar weight. Sinister holds a Azrael Blade and stabbed Lucifer.

"I told you?You were losing control," the words are a whisper as Lucifer fights to stay conscience. He fights to stay alive. "Why didn't you listen?" Lucifer asks Sinister.

The smell of sulfer and blood wafts in the air. Sinister feels the rush of power of the blade. "I just wanted you to give me the blade," Lucifer whispers.

The few moments before are a bit of a blur. Sinister can remember a start of a flight. Lucifer talking about wanting that blade black. Then it all gets fuzzy. Did Sinister lose control? What did that lack of control cost him? Well, the warmth of Lucifer's blood may answer that question for Sinister.

Sinister has posed:
Wait, what? A moment ago can be a thousand lifetimes, when your thoughts can race to many a conclusion in a fraction of a second. This scenario of sudden warmth on his hand, this situation -- "Well, you should have asked me a little more vigorously, my dear. That would have been the prudent course of action, I would say... hold still." Not that the devil has a lot of choice right now, given the situation that is currently at hand.

Concentrating, the man's eyes glow with that dying starlight glow that they have when his power flares, the ruby quartz in his forehead flickering. The blade is withdrawn slowly, the mind behind those eyes a clever one if only for the fact he's done a thousand solo surgeries without spilling a drop that he didn't intend to.

There is no immediate rush to cauterize that wound or panic about it, for the simple fact that not one capillary will bleed more than he intends. "It really is a rather unassuming thing isn't it? Looks rather like a paper knife, bought at some stationary shop in old Ealing. Anyway..." he looks back "...what were you saying before all this?"

Doctor Destiny has posed:
A voice starts to run through Sinister's head. "He was going to take away our power. You responded. Are going to let him," and there's a twinge in Sinster's arm. A desire to not part with the weapon at all cost. Lucifer getting the blade should not be a consideration.

When Sinster looks to the left, he will see himself. "You shouldn't let me gain control of the blade. He's going to take it. Don't let him. We have control, but we need it. We could make such beautiful research here," the copy of himself speaks. When Sinister looks toward a mirror, this copy of himself can't be seen. So, why is Sinister seeing it? It shouldn't be there, should it?"

Sinister is there speaking to some shard of himself or some shard created by the blade.

This shard has disregarded Lucifer entirely at the moment.

Sinister has posed:
"Ohhh, now wait just one cotton picking moment you, I've /done/ this dance before. You know full well that I'm the one in charge, -not- you." with a bloody fingertip, he taps the side of his own head, then points to the image that does not reflect "In here. I know I'm my own worst enemy, you don't need to go plagiarizing my own past psychotic moments, to remind me of -that- little scenario..." he pauses a moment.

"Hold on," a frown follows and he looks briefly to his mirror image, then to the devil beneath the oh-so-subtle knife. "Your tattoo. What shape is it, my loveliness? And please don't move too much, the blade situation is being currently a little bit recalcitrant. Bear with me."

But by the looks of things, he's /expecting/ there to be an answer.

Doctor Destiny has posed:
"Are you?" another voice comes forward Sinister can see himself. This other reflection holds a familiar chain and gem. "Are you in control?" A smile pulls at the first copy's face, "Or do you think you're in control?" When Sinister looks into their reflection the symbol on his forehead is different. "Whose mind are -you- part of? Your own? Or are you a fraction of mine?" they ask with an amused smile.

A second later Sinister sees their perspective change they're no longer holding onto the blade. They're next to a copy and the one with the gem is holding the blade, standing with Lucifer. The only difference being, the blade. This Sinister drives it further again. "And I won't be separated from my power or control. No matter what parts of me try," he smiles big. And while Sinister can try to stop this, pull the blade back, anything. Nothing is happening.

During these exchanges Sinister will look over at a copy. For the briefest of moments the copycat isn't a copycat. Sinister sees something in a hood. The character looks like old descriptions of a grim reaper or the headless horsemen.

They're clearly trying to take control from Sinister and Sinister knows it.

Sinister has posed:
Indeed, he does. The lack of an answer from the simulacrum that he's apparently stabbed, told him that story. His Lucifer would have replied and he knows that, with complete certainty. The images, the faces he's looking at, they earn a narrowing of the eyes and then what seems like a complete surrender.

He steps back, his hands held up, palms out and a charming smile paints itself on his features, bedimpled, calm and absurdly cheerful. "Well, that's nice. You know, there's something to be said for the calibre of this, I do admire good craftsmanship." He opens with that, tilting his head in a birdlike manner as those raised palms are moved behind him, tucked into the small of his back. Bodylanguage wise, that's very significant, ne?

His feet square, a comfortable parade rest. "Do you know how many angels dance on the head of a pin, my fine fellow? I do." He nods at the devil. "That's not one. And nor are you. If you're one of the horsemen, this is a -very- peculiar way of getting my attention, although I am quite grateful. I've been meaning to have a conversation at some point."

He clucks his tongue, then calmly begins to move, a circling stroll around the tableau that's been painted infront of him.

"I don't think you're one of them though. Unless they're subcontracting to paranoia and doubt, which /somehow/ I doubt." He smiles again, looking from one face to another. "Ten..." what? Just a number. Yep. Just a number.

Doctor Destiny has posed:
A chuckle comes from one of the copies. "Oh. It's not subcontracting. You're unique," they wave a hand and every other person in the roomf ades. Although, the person still looks like a copy of Sinister.

"You're unique. Unlike most minds I have seen. That's why I'm here," the reflection speaks candidly. "Your fears are real, but they are not buried. You're dulled to them. You're not human. You're not a Mutant. Indulge me, what are you?" and the question is an honest one.

Sinister has posed:
"Oh, I'm a neurosurgeon, a medic, an artist of terrible things, a father, a lover, I hold doctorates in ohhh, just about any 'ology that you can think of, at least in principle. Quantum theory was a right challenge that was. But more to that, I am what I /made/ myself. I didn't grift on other people's cleverness, I found what I needed, worked out how it functioned, improved on it, learned what CRISPR was before they'd even realized that there was a double helix and you, my dear..."

He smiles. "Nine."

And without missing a beat, carries on. "Are in my head. You don't belong there, but I'm /sure/ you'll be very cosy." He tilts his head birdlike again. "But it takes quite a bit to get inside -my- head. Ohhh... Oh!" He clicks fingers as if snapping the lightbulbs out of his thoughts. "I have to be either meditating very deeply or, other scenario, I'm extremely exhausted. You snuck up from beneath didn't you? Clever little subconscious mind-hunter."

Again, a smile. "Did you just stumble upon me when taking a jaunt in the astral plane, or something? You don't have to answer. You probably won't." He narrows his eyes a little, looking down his nose, then beneath his brows, head tilting left, then right, as if trying to view askew, the entire psychomachae in its complexity.

"I am Doctor Essex. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Another smile. "Eight."

Doctor Destiny has posed:
"Thank you for the compliment," the reflection speaks honestly. "And are you counting down before you strike me from your mind. I think I looked at you for the uniqueness and the challenge. I have been doing this for years, but you remind me of a movie. 'A high-powered mutant of some kind never considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die,' based off the works of Hunter S. Thompson, as spoken by Johnny Depp," he looks at Sinister. A smile creeps on his face, "I thank you for the challenge. You are not like the other mutants on my list. I like you. You're genuine. Cruel, unusual, over confident, but genuine," there's a pause for a moment. "My next target you may know of. A redhead, runs a school Any advice?" he asks honestly. The reflection just keeps his gaze level.

Sinister has posed:
"Essentially," Sinister replies, with an incline of the head. "It is courtesy, of course, to any launch. If we just went and shot things out without a count down it wouldn't be cricket, would it? No, no. We might be monsters, but we are at least -civilized- monsters."

"Seven."

The question and the catalogue of Sin's sins, has his smile turning wry. "You think I'm overconfident? Now that /is/ flattering. I usually think I'm just confident enough to make people think twice. Or you know, think /at all/. It's a travesty how little use most brains get these days..." and there's a pause.

"Six."

And the imagination of the individual that wears his face at this point, will feel the subconscious mind get a nudge from the conscious. He's waking up and suddenly, there's a tipping of the scales, but he's not all the way there yet. Sleeping, his psionics are more dormant. Conscious, oh dear. But /politeness/ right?

"Red? That all depends on what kind of effect you're going for. She's exceptionally full of self doubts, pathologically kind at times and has most of her brain locked up behind all the barriers Charles Xavier could think of to erect. She's indecisive, loves too many men for her own good and has Omega level power at her fingertips. So. If you want to blow up half of America with you in it? Push buttons like they're going out of style. If you just want to make her sit up and pay attention? I'd give her Sophie's choice."

He smiles again. "Five? Five. Do you want any other information?" He takes out a pocket watch, checks the time where the hands are spinning like crazy and slides it back.

Doctor Destiny has posed:
"Interesting. Thank you," and a chess board rises from the ground and pauses before them. The reflectin has white and he'll knock down his queen. "We shall not meet agan Doctor Essex," he says softly, honestly. "Not if I can help it. Ta ," and the reflection goes away. Sinister is left with their won thoughts, literally and metaphorically spaeking.

Sinister has posed:
"Checkmate," -- Sinister actually says that word aloud as he opens his eyes in the penthouse of Lux. Staring at the ceiling for a long time, there's a good deal to reflect upon there.

"But now I know your mind, my dear. We certainly should have tea some time." There's a smile again.

"They do not know what's coming