Owner	Pose
Mystique	Montauk Point. A cozy stretch of state park nestled on the eastern tip of Long Island, this place is perhaps best known for the lighthouse that has towered over all nine hundred acres of the coastland since it was commissioned by George Washington's Congress. It continues to see its fair share of traffic to this day thanks to a myriad attractions meant to draw in tourists and New Yorkers alike. One might not expect such a place to be a locale for clandestine conversations. But then, Mystique has a natural gift for making the clandestine seem casual. Winter season always sees a decrease in traffic in these parts; not to say that there's -no one- here, but the coming and going is not nearly what it could be now that snow and frost coat the lush green hills rolling out past the shoreline of Montauk Point Light. It's here she sits, comfortably swaddled in what at least -looks- like a white fur coat, a wide brimmed, eloquent white hat largely covering up a bundled mane of raven-black hair. A pale leg peeks out of the slit of a knee-length black skirt, providing flimsy protection she does not need against the elements. Eyes hidden by sunglasses, she just sits comfortably at a bench next to the towering edifice of the lighthouse, and watches the ocean horizon, quietly humming Dvorak's 'New World Symphony' to herself as she waits. For her casual, clandestine company.
Illyana Rasputina	Casual, clandestine meetings typically don't call for teleportation circles erupting in broad daylight, so Illyana Rasputin arrives on foot at precisely the appointed hour. A black leather coat with a dark red fur trim and a matching fur hat seem to be her armor against the cold-- at least, until she takes a seat beside Mystique and the heat subtly, constantly radiating from her body is apparent. One leg crosses the other, briefly baring pale flesh bordered by knee-length black boots and a black mini. "Such a cruel winter," she eventually muses after an initial bout of silence, eyes fixed forward and shielded by big, round shades. "Every year, it feels just a bit more like punishment for our collective sins against the world which suffers us."
Mystique	Live long enough, and you develop a certain contentment in the sanctity of silence. Raven Darkholme, at least, seems rather unperturbed by the quiet that settles comfortably between herself and Illyana Rasputin when the blonde settles in next to her with perfect punctuality. The only asterisk to that comfortable silence's reign is the bold strains of Dvorak that still thread melodiously from ruby-painted lips as Mystique feels the heat thrum from her new(est) infernal friend. A small smile coaxes the corners of her lips, sly as a fox, when Illyana brings an end to the silence with an observation on cruelty. The humming ends. "Tsk tsk. Such a bleak outlook, dorogaya," Mystique remarks, her voice today rich and sweet as honeysuckle. "That dour disposition of yours is very cute, but I prefer to think of things more positively. Nature doesn't give a single damn about us, and never will. We'll freeze to death and the world will continue to spin on, indifferent." Is that positive? Mystique seems to think so. Maybe she takes some comfort in believing that. Gloved fingers lace together, stretching up over her head in a luxurious motion as she speaks. "That's why you have to rein nature in with a strong hand while you live, because it certainly won't do you any favors. No different from dealing with human nature, really." She lets that thought settle in silence for a few precious seconds, reaching the apex of her stretch before she remarks with a languid, vaporous puff of a sigh, "But you'd know all about that much, wouldn't you? How goes the headhunt?"
Illyana Rasputina	"Ever the optimist, aren't we?" The Russian answers the shapeshifter's prediction with a wry twist of her lips and voice alike, and lets her speak her mind undisturbed with little more than a sidelong wandering of cold eyes along a luxuriating figure. Inevitably, her gaze lands squarely on Raven's; the question presses those pitch-black lips into a thin line of annoyance. "I've found myself short on suitable candidates, barring the Juggernaut," she flatly answers, shifting her attention towards the water. "The mercenary Deadpool was a thought; I have yet to successfully navigate the labyrinth of his automated phone system, however, though I am given to understand that I'm currently at level 43, and nearing entry to a new contact zone." All of which she then releases with a drawn-out sigh and hidden, lidded eyes. "There was a white-haired woman in Madripoor who seemed promising... and every attempt I've made at divining more about her has met resistance," she then continues. "These things take time, I suppose."
Mystique	"Seeing the cloud in every silver lining is the way to a long and luxurious life." But let it not be said Mystique, for all her overflowing optimism, can't see opportunities when they arise. Illyana's annoyance is a subtle thing, but all the more palpable to a mutant whose gift is to know the body intimately down to a genetic level. Behind dark shades, decidedly yellow eyes catch the briefest glimpse of Illyana's cool, meandering gaze before it shifts towards the horizon; the faint pucker of bright red lips in a blown kiss is the Russian's reward, before her initial answer is met with an amused snort. "You'll never find a blunter instrument than Marko, that's for certain," Raven concedes lightly. "A nice get. Good work. The only difficult part will be making sure he stays charging in the right direction... unless you don't mind a little collateral." Her tone suggests that she, at least, doesn't; but she's trying to be -considerate-. How kind, is Mystique! The shapeshifting mutant wraps her arms under her chest, hugging against her ribcage as her stare, too, turns back to the ocean. Her expression briefly sours at the mention of Deadpool. "Congratulations on wasting forty three levels of your life," she remarks, flat voice ruined by the slightest sour aftertaste. "I expect suitable compensation if I'm meant to corral that brain-blendered lunatic." Kind -and- friendly! Her interest piques for a moment, as Illyana mentions a 'white-haired woman'; but instead of offering direct commentary on -that-, she instead decides to say: "Time, and knowing the right circles. Luckily for you, Raven is here to take your hand and show you a whole new world of mutant resistance." A fox's cunning smile touches on her lips. She turns her gaze back on Illyana, past those mutual layers of shaded lenses. "There's plenty of promising prospects who will be and believe whatever you'd like them to, for the right price. I have a couple in mind, in fact... including one who might just help turn our fortunes around. I think you'll like her. Her fashion sense is right up your alley, at least." A second passes. And then: "Don't worry, dorogaya. You're in good hands, now. All you have to do is ease into them."
Illyana Rasputina	"There's more humanity beneath the dome than you would think," Illyana says of the Juggernaut. "He wields Cyttorak's blessings far more than the opposite-- or so my impression goes." Thanks to the supernatural delta between Illyana and the winter air, her next breath -- like all the rest -- flows from her lips like the remnants of an indulgent drag and dances outwards. "I promised to broker a deal with his patron for more power in return," she then adds, softly; flatly. It's a distant concern through the thicket of now. "Until then: a little excess destruction is a boon. I want them afraid-- I want them desperate enough to reveal their worst, truest faces to the world before we trample them. By the end, her jaw readily sets in a steel-clad line. Cold fire seethes behind dark lenses while Raven speaks of possibilities-- of turns of fortune and good hands waiting to receive her. "I am open to meeting her," she succinctly answers. "And anyone else-- just as long as they're capable of being ''loyal'', for the right price." Besides the added emphasis, the distinction comes with a pointed cant of her head and gaze towards Raven. "For the right cause," she adds. "As long as they'll follow us into Hell to bathe in the blood of the damned... I'm willing to keep a ''very'' open mind to your friends," the X-Woman promises.