15974/Once upon a Right Wing Conspiracy...

Once upon a Right Wing Conspiracy...
Date of Scene:	16 January 2024
Location:	Lucifer's Penthouse, Melville
Synopsis:	The Friends of Humanity have a lot to answer for. But one Kate, the bloodhound, was saved from annihilation by the presence of a rock star and the subtle machinations of the Devil himself. Hopefully, information will be forthcoming.
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Phantasm (Drago), Lucifer, Psylocke

---

Sinister has posed:
It's not even been twenty four hours since Lux was 'Invaded' by some individuals with an agenda. That they were tricked into being there, is neither here nor there. Names were taken, lists were made, prisoners were held...

Now, it's bright and shiny in the morning. The sun is rising, cresting over the horizon in a cold dawn that paints the world in stark hues, drains the colour from creation. Winter's light has that knack.

But in the penthouse of Lux, the floor to ceiling glass windows are darkened; they corruscade and scintillate with a million stars and have done since last night. It's disorienting, not knowing what time of the day or night it is, or even what day. What hour. What minute...

Nathaniel Essex is vexed. One can tell, because he's wearing his full face and has been pacing back and forth infront of the White-haired woman captured from the previous night's failed raid on Mutantkind. She's not bound, she's not gagged, she's... vacant? That's not quite the word either. The lights are on, but whoever is home is binge-watching netflix in their own mind, munching popcorn and otherwise being about as aware as a cabbage.

"Now, then. I am battling some sincere instinct here, to turn you into a very nubile vegetable, but I'm /resisting/..." he states to the puppet with her strings cut. "You have done something not many people have managed in a while... you pissed me the hell off. I don't take kindly to that. /Luckily/ there are people with a vested interest in my /not/ falling off the wagon, so..."

There is a glance at this point at the fire and with a flick of his wrist, the woman on her chair turns 45 degrees with the seat she's on and zigs straight infront of the flames dancing in the hearth.

To the world in general, perhaps to specific individuals ... "I am going to unravel her memories. I expect that if I am not stopped, or held back in some way, I will overdo things."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick could say it's not often he's invited over to the penthouse, but then he would be lying. And we know how some of the residents feel about lying. But, with a message like the one sent to him, Nick was led to believe two things. One, someone fucked around. Two. They're about to find out. And so Nick's mainly here to make sure the situation doesn't end up getting worse.

And how is he planning to do that?

He has not a damn clue. And chances are he won't. BUT, you got to be present to find out, right?

The door parts open and a rather bleary eyed Nick strolls in, carrying a to go carton of coffee shop coffee. One coffee in hand, two of the pockets containing coffees and the remaining two containing a small assortment of creamers, plastic wrapped stirrers, and sugar packets.

Nick looks over to the white haired woman, the less than thrilled Sinister staring at her, and then to the one who contacted him.

"Just what did she do?"

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer sits upon his throne. It's a black wood, red velvet cushioned masterpiece and carved to look as tho draconic wings extend from the top. Each arm is also carved, one of a serpent and the other of a raven. Normally this would just appear as a man sitting in a chair that just happens to look like a throne. Now? This is the King of Hell, sat upon his rightful chair, watching the goings on in his Penthouse with delight in his eyes. Those eyes which glance upon Nathaniel a few times before he sips at the whiskey glass held in his left hand.

That may be an important note for later.

"You've held back enough thus far, my dearest. Perhaps you should let me know the exact point of beginning to overdo things. Otherwise...I just might miss the mark. And I may do so with abject purpose of my own making..." Lucifer does not like seeing Nathaniel pissed off. And it only swells the already overwhelming feeling of disdain that someone - or groups of someones - would DARE to actually think that coming into HIS domain was actually a good fucking idea.

As if right on queue to sort of quell a bit of the feelings between Nathaniel and Lucifer - Nick Drago has arrived bleary eyed and rumpled tail. Eyes shift sideways to the man who has come bearing coffee and he waves his right hand in some sort of dismissal.

"The audacity to show up. Here. Last night. Interrupting a gathering. And trying to take away mutants because SHE..." He waves his right hand towards the woman. "Sniffed them out. We're a bit miffed. Thought you might like to see the show..."

Psylocke has posed:
There is a certain 'safety' in zealousness. A righteousness of purpose. A focus. A singlemindedness. Anyone who disagrees with the THING is automatically an enemy, the world becomes very black and white and easy.

The white-haired woman stares vacantly, oblivious to her surroundings. To the danger she's in. She's /about/ to be in. None of the words register. Even the sudden presence of flames, of heat, isn't reacted to, except physically, involuntarily. There's no sign she's aware of the new arrival, except that there's a slight change in the way she breathes for a short time. Deeper, sustained breaths. A twitch of fingers.

Then, stillness.

Sinister has posed:
The presence of the Dragon is aknowledged with a look, those red eyes of Sinister's a deep, abiding inferno from the dying of a star. Red giant glow, that is, pure and unadulterated.

He paces a little more, then comes to rest behind the woman in the chair, his hands on either of her shoulders as he too, stares at the flames and lifts her chin against her will to do likewise. Flames are hypnotic after all.

"It's more than that. This one is part of a eugenic order, human nationalist. National /socialist/ in her viewpoint..." National socialist? Nazi "...she's been helping her cadre to scour various hidey holes and scurry places for /useful/ mutation. To harvest. And infuse into their soldiers. She thinks what she's doing is the right thing to do, to take what they have."

Inhaling and exhaling, Sin's voice drops to a murmur. "I've seen that happen before. Mengeler was a clever fellow -- she's been following the same ideal. Right here. In America. And not the ethnic cleansing that Roosevelt privately allowed to happen, either."

He leans down to the woman's ear, whispers quieter there.

"The fire cleanses. All of us need to be purified, don't we? Show us where this began... show us why you follow."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick's eyes drift from the white haired woman a bit too late to see the refusal of the coffee and so the musician drifts over to the throne. Seeming not to concerned about the changes of appearance in the pair. He's had a few months to process this. And to be fair, is this really the weirdest situation he's ever been in?

Either way a coffee is offered over to Lucifer. "So, you're asking her questions before the police pick her up?" He asks, supplying one of the most reasonable lines of thinking one would think of when presented the scenario.

And then Sinister provides more information.

Taking what they-

Glimpses of Stuck come to mind. Foggy memories of him in the background in Hell's Kitchen. Photos shown, giving more clarity.

It is likely a good thing Lucifer didn't want coffee because there is a slight surge of the black liquid escaping from the gaps of the lid to trickle down upon the hand holding it out. Nick bites his lip pulling his hand back. He sets the drink back in the caddy. "One second..." Moving quickly over to the bar before anything can hit the floor. Nick abandons the caddy to instead tug a few of the napkins to the hot liquid resting upon his hand.

Yep. That coffee is fresh.

Lucifer has posed:
There's a murmur under Lucifer's breath and a wave of those fingers on his right hand in such a way. Before Nick can even reach the napkins his hand is dry and there's not a mark of spilt fresh hot coffee upon his skin. "A pinch of cream in the coffee, Nick, and I'll Irish it up when you bring it back." Says the black haired, blue eyed King who really should be holding a septer and wearing a crown with the demeanor and brush he's painting with.

Is this the strangest thing? Likely not. Is it the most diabolical? Likely so. There aren't many moments where Lucifer or Sinister - both or singular - allow others to see this side of them. But Nick is a trusted friend, and perhaps Nick is the one being relied on to ensure that neither the Devil or the Villain go too far in their work.

Psylocke has posed:
There is no reaction to the touch, no resistance. The white-haired woman stares sightlessly at the flames.

The memory comes, rapidly and clear as day.

She is seated in the back seat of an SUV. Her viewpoint is low: she must be a child. Her feet kick as she looks down and plays with a doll. Her parents' voices are a drone; she's not paying attention to them until...

"DARREN!"

She is thrown forward, but the seatbelt catches her as the vehicle screeches to a halt. Her doll goes flying and she reaches for it and misses. The tears come. She's not injured, but shocked.

Her mother's face twists, turning to look at her from the front seat. "Don't cry, Katie, it's okay."

"It's not okay, Marge!" Her father sounds furious. He always does. "They forced us out of our neighborhood, now this?"

Through her tear-filled vision, she sees movement beyond the car. X-Men in their black and yellow uniforms. She can't see what's happening, but one of them soars towards them, gestures at a black clad figure. It's like an invisible hand reaches out and slams against the SUV. Suddenly they're tumbling, end over end. The doll flies past her again, the crunch of metal and smash of glass loud as the vehicle lands on its roof.

"Mom? MOMMY! DADDY?!" but there's nothing except her own, terrified sobs for what feels like an eternity.

Back in the penthouse, liquid fills up the white-haired woman's eyes and spills down her cheeks. Her breath quickens into sobs. But her eyes never leave the fireplace.

Sinister has posed:
The memory plays out -- in the Penthouse, it's illusion, painted on the star-filled glass of the penthouse walls. Three-Dee surround sound, projected by the mind of Essex.

"I will likely need a coffee -after- this..." there's a murmur from the Doctor. Irished no doubt at all.

Every villain has a starting point, don't they? With one, it's when Daddy would not listen. With another, it was the world not listening. And with this one, the unfortunate victim of happenstance. Orphaned to the sadly common problem of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The King of Hell presides so well in this scenario and the Demon of the moment is not one of the Lilim. Sin probably -would- make a good demon, but then what would remain?

"Very good. So they slaughtered your family and left you orphaned. Foster home after foster home..." he pauses "...medical care, provided for free, in the clinics of the red diamond. They took care of you, gave you the vaccines when you needed them, check-ups when your foster care was just using you for a paycheck. Essex corp, you know who they are, don't you? Yes. You took your vitamins like a /good/ girl. Take one now. Let it sit in your gut and take root, my dear."

All of that a whisper in the ear, then another pause. "Show us where -you- began now. I want to see the faces. Show me all of the faces, all of the moments. When did you become Bloodhound?"

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Sometime when someone is in the middle of executing a task, other things miss their notice. Nick is an oddity. Sometimes someone pops behind him and he spins around, ready for trouble and other times-

Maybe spending his time around those who are crazy powerful has made him a bit lax? Or maybe it's the fact he's a Rock star who got an EARLY AM MESSAGE to travel over here when he'd typically be sleeping-

Ahem.

Either way whatever the reason, once his brain sends the message to nab the napkins, that the coffee has vanished from his hand doesn't quite register until he brings the napkin back to the hand.

The musician blinks for a few moments before Lucifer puts in a request for cream in the coffee. Nick nods, using the still-clean napkins to ensure the cup he had grabbed earlier is not wet on the outside. Once the creamer is added as requested, Nick carries it back over to Lucifer carefully, willing himself not to pay attention to the white haired woman until the current task is complete. With a remaining coffee left to disperse, he looks over to the glowing eyed Sinister with full jagged teeth on display.

...

Ok maybe don't interrupt him right this second.

So that leaves Nick to observe the going ons. Another glance sets on Sinister's eyes and teeth. Hmm. Yeah, pretty understandable how Betsy could mistake the shadow man for his doing.

The musing is short lived as Nick ends up watching the memory play out. His frown deepens. While he was given the general ending, which was admittedly upsetting, there's still an inkling of pity as the imagery plays out.

As easy as it would be to just think someone as entirely evil, he's found out several times over that a number of tormentors had been victims as well.

Nick blinks as Sinister's request reaches his ears. Giving a nod, he lingers near the bar. The 'after' leads to a general quandry to when to start. The creamer is separated enough to where it can remain cool until the moment it is set into the coffee. And... quirks aside, he's not a mind reader. Not quite. More a guide if anything.

Lucifer has posed:
Yes. Sow the seed, lover dearest, and see what takes root and sprouts. Lucifer takes the coffee from Nick with his left hand - the whiskey glass hovering in the air. He drinks a good half of the coffee as it is, never minding the heat of it. He's drank hotter. It doesn't bother him. Then the whiskey tilts its contents into the coffee cup until done. All the while, the Devil whispers under his breath. Nothing higher than a faint whisper of words that - to anyone else - won't make sense. An incantation. A twitch of fingers on his right hand.

"Really will be a shame if this rips her mind to pieces and leaves nothing but a shell once we're done..."

Which could lead one to wonder just what Lucifer is doing. In truth, it's a little bit of salt to the wound with a wrap of protection. It will allow Nathaniel to dig and sow and reap...but in the end...the mind will actually remain in tact. Because the Devil wills it. So shall it be.

Psylocke has posed:
"You were made for a bigger purpose than this, Kate. This? This is little."

They are standing in the forecourt of a mansion. In front of them, her brothers and sisters in the fight are training, fighting each other. Her attention is on the man beside her but she's not looking at him as he continues.

"I sense you are ready. Many come to us for differing reasons. Some selfish. But you... your cause is righteous. Sacrifices must be made. You will never be the same person, Kate. But you will be valued beyond measure, and you will avenge your parents, and all the mutants have taken from us."

Now, now she looks at him. With his crisp black suit, full head of hair and confident regard, Graydon Creed, leader of the Friends of Humanity, exudes confidence. She believes him. "Tell me what I need to do," is all she says.

The scene shifts. She is in a room of white, and it is exceptionally bright. She is lying over a table and someone leans over her. He wears an N95 mask and protective goggles. Yet there's a familiarity here, for Sinister. It's the obsession in his gaze. The bright awareness and fixation. He's seen this before, in Betsy's memory-of-a-memory. The scientist who was taking mutant bodies and experimenting on them.

There are no platitudes from him. No reassurance. He injects her and turns away to look at his diagnostics as pain sears through every single nerve ending, and the white-haired woman -- Kate -- screams and screams, both in the memory and in reality, as her very DNA is altered.

Sinister has posed:
"Now, now... no pain. Relax. You are safe. Calm. Warm. Protected. Soldier of Humanity, this is where you shine, isn't it?" Sinister's shark-teeth glint in the firelight, a mouth better suited to a lamprey.

"All of this is the glorious Dawn. The Morning Star. Promise. Hope. Here..."

He lifts a hand, puts it infront of the woman's hypnotized gaze and hands her nothing but thin air. But in the illusion, it's her dolly. The one she lost. The one that was destroyed when she was the victim of happenstance.

"Listen to the dolly. Can you hear mom and dad? All that hate, they turfed you out of your home and then they took your parents. But the dolly, when you hear her, you'll be /ours/. Do you understand? Nod if you do."

He pats the woman's shoulder as he does so, a patronizing thing as he reviews that doctor and the work that was...

There IS a hiss. Sinister snarls. The work that was /stolen/. Somehow.

He inhales deep, red eyes seeking the others in the room, the King on his throne and the Dreamer with his coffee. And back to the flames with a slow, deep exhale.

"You escaped last night. Clever you, got out when we weren't looking, because we are that much worse for being so very -arrogant-. Who do WE think we are? But you'll remember Dolly. And when she speaks, you will listen. Remember. Report. Whisper to dolly when you hear her. Tell her what Creed does. I want to know every cell, every agent, every mission, every target. Dolly will speak to you -every- night, at the rising of the dawn and you will know my Will. Find all of your cohorts. Find every single trail... and /tell dolly/ before you tell -them-."

He straightens up then, exhaling as he stares at the flames.

"I want to turn her inside out. I am /restraining/. And I'll take the coffee black, please."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick glances over to Lucifer to the mention of her mind being torn to pieces. He frowns, "Well we obviously wouldn't want that." Nick replies back, looking back to the scene playing out. This is desperation... losing everything and just looking for something to drive forward with. It's- too familiar.

Thoughts of a smiling Rod in an ER waiting room offering a hand comes to mind.

How fortunate it was that he ran into him instead of someone else pushing something else.

And then, Sinister's words change. It becomes less about asking questions now and mo-

Nick's brows raise as he opens his mouth, "H-"

Bucky.

Bean.

General words of protest come to mind but they have trouble coming out through the parted lips. Fortunately, Sin IS a mind reader and Nick is a very loud mind. Once Sinister finishes and explains that this is a compromise. Nick is still a few more moments before closing his mouth, giving a nod. "...Thank you for restraining." He turns back to the counter, taking the coffee out of its carrier to bring it over to Sinister.

He glances back over to the white haired woman. "...Will she be okay?"

Lucifer has posed:
"Well..." Begins Lucifer. "She's not going to -die-..." A pause. "And I suppose we've kept her in one piece... even if we've surfaced the memories that she repressed all for the sake of....what was it? Revenge? Justice? Vengence?" He smirks. "All of the above."

Eyes shift to Nick for a moment. Noting the man's silence, but also how his face contorts with the sheer -desire- to say something. Yet nothing comes out at first, or second, and then... simple words. Well done, Nick.

The Devil shifts ever so slightly in his chair as his eyes drift back to the scene unfolding in front of the fire. "Sinister, darling, this tripe bores me... can we finish it up please and be done with her? I'd rather like the rubbish being taken out sooner rather than later."

Psylocke has posed:
She slumps, with relief? The doll she reaches for, crushes to her in her mind's eye. The girl that was Katie squeezes her eyes shut and clings to the doll. But when Sinister commands her, she nods. Her eyes snap open. A mere, slow blink.

The instructions flow and are implanted in her. There's no response. It wasn't asked of her. But he knows those commands are sunk deep into her thoughts.

Perhaps, if Katie-Kate were fully aware of what was happening, she would welcome having her mind shattered. Sadly it's not to be, as the Lord of Hell has willed it otherwise. Her mind remains intact, pliable. The fire has been quenched.

Sinister has posed:
"Before you ask, because I know you want to Nick... you did what you had to do today. She'll be alright, as long as she doesn't get herself toasted..." Sinister points the woman at the elevator with a point of a clawed finger. Yes, he was that angry, the monster is barely hiding at all. "Confabulate your escape Kate. I know you're a clever girl. Go to ground and help Dolly save lives..."

He takes the coffee, sighs and with a crack of his neck left and right, rolls his shoulders back, turning part profile to gaze at his Lordship on his throne.

"I think I'm done. We'll find out if they've got other targets and hopefully stop them from enacting genocide. Again. I get tired of that, which is ironic of -me- to be saying."

A sip of the black, a sigh at its flavour, bitter and strong and he smiles faintly. "Ave Inferi, mea culpa est --" and maybe that'll smooth the Luciferian feathers a little, a latin prayer to the devil.

"I'm... tired now."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick blinks as Sinister pre-emptively states that the musician served his purpose today. And in the halo brought about from the morning tiredness, Nick looks over to the now empty coffee carrier.

Math is performed.

"...Really?" How did they know he'd bring coffee?

Annnd 1+3 now equals 5.

He is truly one of Michael's. But that can be forgiven, right?

Psylocke has posed:
Without a word, Kate heads for the elevator. She slows, however, as she passes near Nick, breathing in deeply once again, her head turning as if to sight him... and passing over him like he isn't there.

Her forehead creased, she continues to the elevator, heading down and to her fortuitous escape, leaving the occupants to their stretch of believeable mathematics. And coffee.