8332/The McCoy Affair: A Few Good Grapes

The McCoy Affair: A Few Good Grapes
Date of Scene:	15 July 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Film Freak, Beast, Jubilee

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Film Freak has posed:
A local branch of the Genovese Family, operating out of Yonkers, had recently lost a gambling match to whom they suspected was a Mutant. In reality, it was just a bad bet with great odds for a lucky card that cleaned up big and left town, but the Mafiaso in question was paranoid, vain, and superstitious.

That means, if you're an Italian mobster, that you are prone to a poor decision. Luckily for Burt Weston, poor decisions in the Mafia were a fat paycheck.

After Hank McCoy, a local luminary in the Mutant community of New York, had been selected for the hit, they had contacted a fixer, and set the mobster up with Edison as the man for the job. Burt Weston had gotten the proper access, and a favor had been passed for a marriage between a pretty rival gang and an eminent man of commerce loyal to the Genovese, in exchange for the use of that gang's vineyard for the hit. Foolish wasted blood, but that was the romance of Mafiaso culture. From little bottles of wine, came a great romance and a future as high as the sun could reach, looking down on the vines.

Film Freak, as Poe's Montressor, had invited Hank McCoy to Di Sergio Vineyards, a local spot of high society that Mutants rarely traversed unless they were members of the Hellfire Club. Film Freak had contacted Hank as 'Arthur Nathans', taking the name of an overseas ornithology professor known for his studies of fowl migration and avian culture, and their relationship to potential mutations such as Professor Xavier's telepathy.

Arthur Nathans was fast asleep in his bed, but Film Freak was here in the United States, having taken his name and arranged himself as the ornithologist in question. It was mid afternoon, and a wine tasting party was already started, one of the standard fare of New York high society for this interest or that, carousing about eating French crackers and tasting nouveau rich inspired wine, with an eye towards the kosher salts and Greek spices inside the turkey slices of cured meats available alongside the wine, to cleanse the pallette.

Today was a meeting of international politicians related to philanthropy of small communities, so the combination of wine and food flavor was particularly important.

A long, winding drive to a tent covered parking lot led to the vineyard's main building, a stable off to the side containing horses, and acres of field behind the affair along with processing buildings and deep vaults.

Film Freak waited outside the winery, at a patio table, enjoying a flute of white wine and eating a toasted tuna sandwich, dressed in a proper brown tweed professor's coat, shaved bald and wearing sharp, piqued reading glasses.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy is taking a day off. He tried to yesterday evening, but then ran into trouble at the coffee shop. So. Hawaiian shirt on, he's fully intending to relax today. And so hey, vineyards? Quite unusual in NYC, but he's curious, so he'll come on down, waving and looking around as he wanders on up.

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak takes a peckish bite from his sandwich and sets it down on a small plate, rising to his feet and slipping his left hand into the pocket of his tweed jacket. He waves with the right, smiling as he walks towards Hank, before extending his slim hand.

"Hello, Mr. McCoy. Thank you for making the trip out," he says, in a British vicar's accent.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy considers the man. "Thank you. Arthur Nathans, I presume?" he smiles, taking the offered hand in his own larger one. "Thanks for having me. Today I could use the day just to have a little fun. So the party's inside? I'm not late am I?"

Film Freak has posed:
"Arthur Nathans it is," comes the astute and pleasant reply, giving Henry a smooth gripped shake, not the least bit intimidated by the X-Man. "You can call me Artie, it's what they call me around campus."

He turns about and gestures with his hand, walking alongside McCoy and ducking forward to step inside first, then opening the door, treating McCoy as if he's a guest of honor that needs introduction.

"You can't be late if you're the guest of honor, can you?" comes a churlish smile from Film Freak. "This is a winery, good sir, the value ages with the mere passage of time."

Inside, there are various men and women in casual but elegant wear, expensive suits and bowties and cocktail dresses and khaki knits, for men and women.

"Ladies and gentleman, I would like to introduce our guest of the occasion, Henry McCoy," Film Freak announces, as those inside pause, but in a friendly, non-differential manner, smiling and nodding with a gentle murmur of greeting.

Film Freak swivels to look at Hank, another small dip of his head as he gestures at the inside of the small manor. "Henry, this is the committee for the restoration of Westchester. They are a small group of philanthropists in the local arts and sciences community."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy looks down at his casual outfit, and laughs. Underdressed, but he'll live. Practiced at being introduced, he nods to people, and gives a friendly wave to the group. "Glad to be here. Happy to help if I can with your projects. It's useful that Westchester County can maintain some of its character, even as our neighbors to the south never stop expanding." He'll then grab a sandwich himself, and smile to 'Arthur.' "Great. What a pleasant day."

Film Freak has posed:
There are affirmative smiles and laughs, at Henry's politics and poise. Film Freak has deliberately selected an ardently pro-Xavier group, so McCoy will feel at home. He wants this to be smooth and sweet, with this community of socialite artists and scientists, an entrepeneur of literature each, so they will all feel as if Edgar Allen Poe had graced these halls and taken this man from this Earth. A perfect veil for his ploy, making a Mutant suffer over a poker debt and a four to complete a wheel on the river.

Film Freak, of course, knows that no proper plan is complete, without a decent prop.

"Westchester County has inherited all the problems of every community threatened by the urban sprawl, but also has received the gift of a character so distinct that you cannot see it, Mister McCoy," he says with a crooking smile, shifting about as he taps his nose, "Because the beauty of the gift is just at the tip of your nose."

He chuckles and gestures for Henry to follow him.

"I mean, of course, Xavier's School for the Gifted," he says as he walks through the crowd, people talking about highways, pastures, horses, newspapers, and of course, the occasionally drifted conversation about the hated Sentinels, dropping quiet out of self-conscious and nervous shame of being without the X-Factor.

"I've studied the X-Factor, Henry, and I've found it fascinating that you can see evidence for all manner of this phenomenon, far before we understood it in human beings. Perhaps before it existed. Water fowl, for example, have the most magnificent migration patterns, that all show evidence of some manner of group memory that we can never understand, although we can predict and chart and compute."

He steps through the main living room, and into an ante chamber, where a cask of wine is present, in a wicker woven basket. It's a rare vintage, not from this small winery owned by the Italian Mafia. No, it's from Sicily, marked as being from 1852. A rose colored imbibement, inside a jade bottle, with an old label glued on with browned paper and sepia ink. It's conspicious among the rest of the small kitchen. Film Freak walks past it, before turning about to face Beast.

"Imagine being able to understand everything about something, except how it works."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy does eat the sandwich in a few quick bites as Arthur speaks, nodding and paying attention. A glass is nabbed as he follows. "That is the dream of every scientist. To crack the code and be able to predict everything. Some of my own students are gifted with great powers that can help make the world a better place. Others just wish they could live normal lives. I wish I could give it to them."

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak knows the trade of science profusely, having developed his own art within his mind his entire life. The science of pleasing a parent that would've killed him, had it not been for the invention of a God he can never see, one man, one Owl, that knew how to turn a murderous parent into a best friend for a prodigal son.

How did a man from such wealth and privilege, so above the common man in terms of the necessity of running the state's pagan sacrifice of blood, reach down to him, a child, in just the proper way to make him a man?

Was the method merely chance selection, or was it an insight into the pathos of a family, one the Owls saved from mediocrity, to make him what he is now? A survivor, a real man, a once toy that has found the love of society?

To seek God, is to seek science, of any form, whether it be Film Freak's commitment to this form he is in at the moment, an extrovert suffering in a mental Hell that he descends into to master the character of Montressor, or Hank McCoy's vision of all the things around the one quintessential code that makes him who he is.

To see God, not seek him, is to die, Film Freak knows this. He knows, by instinct, that the Beast's quest, can only end in his death, at knowing just how mortal the truth makes you.

"So many things exist around the code," comes Film Freak after a long silence, pondering all those questions, pulling the cask of the 1852 vintage out of the wicker basket and corking it with the corkscrew, a healthy and resounding pop coming from the lip of the bottle, the mouth open with an austere scent of century old draught.

"What do you see, from the elements around the code, Henry, that indicate the truth of the condition of the X-Factor?" Brick, by brick, by brick, building the wall that he plans on trapping the Beast behind, in the vaults of the winery, deep in the catacombs where the old barrels are stored for decades worth of aging.

"You realize," he says with a grin, as he pours the wine into Hank's glass, "That illuminating the code, would be the equivalent of removing that last speck of black paper that you've illuminated space around, to take away the shadow that makes the subject a definition?"

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy pauses to check his phone, and smiles. "I have a guest, but she's running slightly late. Looks like she's pulling up now. She teaches Gymnastics, and apparently had a summer class." Nodding as he speaks, he rumbles a quiet hum, and finishes his glass, which coincidentally will leave room in the class for what 'Arthur' is opening! "I wish the science were so romantic as that, Arthur. I run DNA in computers, I take statistical samples. Science is nothing if not modern. Though I assure you it's not so clear cut. Look at me. I turned blue and fuzzy because my knowledge was imperfect."

Jubilee has posed:
"Sorryyy," Jubilee chirps as she hastens in the door, looking for Hank. In a black sundress adorned with windswept sunflowers and black heels, she makes a light, quick clacking sound as she joins him. "Did I miss anything exciting?" she asks, fretting with her upswept hair to make sure it isn't escaping.

Film Freak has posed:
The presence of a second target complicates matters for Film Freak, but he is undaunted. An arrogant professional would insist on a contract negotiation due to difficulty, but Film Freak's sense of frailty shapes his priorities and considerations, not his sense of self-worth. With the armor of a character, and a movie with his bastard tough guy father, he can get anything done.

Film Freak, as Arthur "Artie" Nathans, ornithologist and philanthropist advocate of Mutant rights, bevels about to face Jubilee, offering her a neutral, slightly put-off look that blends his derision towards an unwanted protector for his intended contract kill, with the character's own misplaced religious fervor amid the sciences.

"You only missed a pre-freshman orientation as to the philosophy of the sciences and humanities, dear. Although I admit, it was one you would find on my side of the pond." He turns aside to offer her his right, bowing his head with condescended meekness in false form as he pours himself a glass of the bottle in his hand, and hands it to Jubilee. A modification of his plan would indicate that the new plan is simpler and safer, with two corpses behind a vaulted wall and himself sober.

"Romance, dear Henry, is where you find the heightening of technology and the simplification of society from our grasp on it."

To grasp that quandry, is to die, and for it to be removed, is to be a ghost. What is the eternal door hiding, opened by what key, in that lock you toy with for your entire life?

A musician would wish you to turn aside and walk away, and a thief would wish you to cheat with someone else's hand holding the danger.

Film Freak was content to make an art of being a locksmith.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy does wrap an arm gently around Jubilee once she arrives, giving her a side hug as Artie lectures. He looks, and thinks carefully about what the man is saying. "Interesting you say that, Artie. Many folks think simplified lives, free of the old routines, lose character."

Jubilee has posed:
Jubilee feels chastened to some extent in the beginning of the spiel, but as Arthur lectures her, so to speak, she loses track of the condescension and becomes more aware of the beauty and flow inherent in his words. She is taken in by them, but still keenly aware that she is being somewhat chastised as a child. A child with an extravagant IQ.

"Why Arthur," Jubilee begins in an appropriated deep Southern accent, with a smile as she fans herself coquettishly with an imaginary fan. "That's the most eloquently I've ever been both dressed down /and/ inspired."

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak offers a tell, that he's a confidence man, by an appraisal of the strategy they're using on Arthur Nathans, a man that he's playing as a homosexual male academic. There's a brief, quiet look, his smile slim and frozen in a poker face, as he attempts to determine if they're acting together in a conspiracy, instead of him merely responding foppishly, as the character demands.

The perfect way to spot an actor, is always a cooperation against intention, if it could be devised. There's something about an audience, that requires either synergy or preparation, one for the businessman and the other for the playwright.

The third is, of course, for the improvisational comic, which Film Freak then flows into seamlessly, having had an experienced dagger in his sleeve.

After the pause, there's a quick jerk to his lips. "I'm sorry if I've left you bare of wit for the occasion," he says, with a little plastic flex of his face at Jubilee. "Your friend looks like he's making you comfortable, however."

The bold dance into the trio, as his gambit, to mark himself as an unassuming platonic, to the pair, to save his character assertion.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy squints and looks between the two. He holds Jubilee a bit closer, his hand resting on her side, holding her right agaisnt him. He pecks her on the top of the head, and looks to Artie. "She survived on her own. No parents, no money, nobody. She's got wits. But let's move on. Is this wine.." he gestures to what Artie has been opening up. "To be auctioned for the cause?"

Jubilee has posed:
Jubilee opens her mouth to protest, but when Hank quiets her, she figures it's probably for the best. From what she's seen so far of the loquacious fellow, she's pretty certain he is planning to split both of their skulls with an axe and seal them up in the wall of a wine cellar, or beneath the wooden floorboards of his house. The good news, however, is that his death is sure to swiftly follow.

Jubilee considers the wine referenced by Henry and looks to Arthur. "Oh yes, please do elaborate on the wine! Would you say it's to DIE for?"

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak spots from the bluntness of the pair, he has to make a new assessment of the situation. The more clever of the two in terms of his cover (which is of course the man with the actual orientation that Film Freak is feigning) and the fellow literature afficianado (who is of course the one that would make sense of an actual attraction, fitting the piece of fiction he's using for the character of Montressor), has spotted him.

"I just thought I'd share with my two lovely friends, a fine vintage. I would never die for wine, but I would die for a story attached to it."

He slaps the cork back in, scrubbing the mission, and putting the cask back in the wicker basket.

"Some things, however, come better with age, as do some people."

There's a slim stretch of his back as he adopts an upright posture with a slick stretch of his pilates build, arms behind him, as he rolls onto the balls of his feet and back to the arches.

"So, my handsome friends, I was recently talking to a friend that owns this little vineyard, about some puzzling incidents, and perhaps you could enlighten me."

Film Freak is still in character, but there's visible tremors passing through him, as well as a flinch on his left eye for a moment, as he fights the urge to swap out of the now inappropriate inspiration. Instead of bricking Hank McCoy into a vault with pieces of logic, he is attempting to claim something of a payday for this job, by figuring out the circumstances behind his hiring.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy was just having a day off! Why can't he ever have a day off? At least he's far less aware of Artie's real intentions, than Jubilee seems to be. He's tuned out to that. Another squeeze of Jubilee, and he smiles at the fidgety host. "Well I appreciate the offer, it is why I came," he says with a wink. "Never mind some fine wine. And what better to go with fine wine, than a puzzle?"

Jubilee has posed:
Perhaps it is all a part of the charm of the place. Jubilee arches her brows as the character twitches. It all makes more sense this way. "Do we /know/ the story of this wine? I can only imagine that a dusty old bottle has a dozen stories to tell. What makes this one special?"

Film Freak has posed:
"The wine is a vintage from Sicily, the birthplace of the noblest of criminals, the cad bigot in the humble poverty of a country tailor, and of course, the neighbor of the world's first vineyards. It was made in eighteen fifty-two, out of support of the Confederacy in some British tin banker's funding for his idea of cavalier support of Britain's trade worlwide, of course a deluded fantasy of singularity among a system of equals." Film Freak lowers his chin, chuckling. "There can be no equals, when you consider yourself higher than another, hence Britain's slow decline into inferiority, a fate of any who decide to do business without touching the soul of the matter."

Film Freak is, of course, clearly English himself, but has the cheekbones of a Crow Native, however heavily hidden in the hard ancestry of an English infantry wolf.

"It is a rose white, preferred by the less sallow but more jovial classes of the Italian Jewry among the peoples of southern Italy, and this green bottle indicates it was produced on special vintage for a marriage that resulted from a poorly aligned vendetta - the ones that occur from the death of a rose, not the creation of a tradition. There are two, you see, in Italy, vendettas of marriage. The classical, the creation of a tradition, is the refusal to marry between houses in the event of a romantic liaison. The latter, is a vendetta created solely by the Mafia, to avenge the impoverished in the matters of something previously held so high in bearing."

"God, you see, came into the hands of the common man by way of need, the Mafia rising from the Camorra gangs of the Italian cities. Instead of the priests of Jupiter deciding who held the swords, it came to the pioneers of culture, the man in a villa working a field, like this vineyard we stand in."

Film Freak casts his eyes to a pewter crest on the wall across from the table counter the wicker basket and cask rest on, where there depicts a pair of Arab scimitars crossed below a communion wafer. "By God. Righteous truth by means of conviction. The proper meaning of bigot, in the etymological sense."

Film Freaks snaps his head to the side as he returns to look at the pair, his eyes rolling down and back forward for a moment, as he shifts out of character and his mental space returns at full power, showing a retreat from his preternatural focus, to a shy introvert that suddenly looks as if his suit is too large for him.

Now Burt Weston, he smiles meekly and lets his arms hang unsurely at his sides, his gaze rising to Beast. "Hence the matter at hand, with this particular puzzle, Mister McCoy."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy nods firmly, as he listens to the story, and these little bites of entwined history. "Have to be honest, I'm not sure I could tell a sherry from a chardonnay. I'm just a consumer of alcohol. So why don't you take us to this puzzle, or is it here?" He looks around.

Jubilee has posed:
It's in the cellar! Jubilee wants to call it out. But it might undermine the fun of the mystery. And this man seems SO intent on building his mystery. "Ohh yes, a bottle borne of a poisoned love -- a doomed marriage. It sounds so...exotic and dangerous! Jubilee is getting into the spirit of the story now, and she seems eager to look into it more deeply.

Film Freak has posed:
Burt Weston points to thin air.

"See this? This is what was going on, before."

Burt Weston then slowly takes his finger, moving it while his eyes track an invisible point, then he stops it, pointing elsewhere.

"See that? That's where we are now."

He clears his throat without shielding his mouth, nervous.

"To be blunt with you, I was hired to kill you, Mister McCoy, but I see that's not going to work out. Honestly, I thought my boss was a little nuts for ordering this whole thing, and he told me exactly what happened, and I think I can make some money by explaining to him, what happened, instead of just doing what your lady friend knows I was going to do, what with the murder and all."

Burt extends his palms. "So, let's go over this, this is a Mutant issue, you happen to be a scientist, Mister McCoy, and you, Miss, are very perceptive."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy pauses when Burt blurts that out. Setting the glass down, he takes a step forward, placing himself between Burt, and Jubilee. "Is that so? So you put up this entire charade, renting this mansion, bringing those people in, inviting me here, buying all the wine, hiring the guests, all to be foiled because Jub thought you were creepy?" He snickers. "I feel like there's a catch here. We'd better go." He then turns to leave, his hand on Jub's back.

Jubilee has posed:
"B-but I wanted to--"Jubilee squeaks as she is guided out. Then, turning to Henry, she frowns. "Don't you even wanna know who's trying to kill you? Want me to burn down the creep?" Jubes is backpedaling, but getting nowhere as she reaches out with grabbyhands for Arthur. "I'll burn 'im like TOAST!"

Film Freak has posed:
"Hey, hey, come on, at least tell me how betting against the home team always makes more money! How does the X-Factor do that?"

Burt shouts after them, pleading.

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy looks back. "Squares overbet the home team, so bookies have to skew the odds in order to balance the books." he winks, before stepping out of the wine cellar with Jub. "And Jub.." he says, before leaning in grin "Anything he tells us is what he wants us to know."