11/10/2006 ------------------------------------------------------------------ The infamous Doctor Otto Octavius (more popularly known as Doctor Octopus) is a heavyset man in his mid-to-late forties. His broad face is hard, set into lines of determination and obsession; his smiles often have a gritted, tooth-clenching quality, and his grins have a nefarious edge. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark glasses, and his straight brown hair is cropped into a short, scruffy bowl cut. Physically, the paunchy five-foot-nine scientist is not especially imposing, and without his trademark tentacles, he doesn't even appear to be all that dangerous. Looks, however, can be deceiving. A dark green three-piece suit clothes the doctor's broad frame, with a black necktie knotted under the collar of the his white shirt and sensible-looking black shoes on his feet. When outdoors, he wears a knee-length black coat with matching gloves and fedora, the brim of the latter usually pulled down low. There's nothing especially eye-catching about the cut or quality of this clothing. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Hudson River Warehouse - Upper Level Since his arrival -- at the behest and invitation of Magneto, no less -- the not-so-good Doctor Octavius has pretty much kept to himself -- when he's actually been about, that is. Returning now from some errand or another, and having long since exchanged the shapeless orange prison jumpsuit for less eye-catching clothing, Otto appears sour-faced and curmudgeonly and has a cigar clamped between his teeth. The long-closed door of one of the top rooms opens again, a small brush of air leaving the smoke-filled doorway. What is smoking remains to be seen, because as Huruma steps out, the form quickly shuts behind her, one hand trailing it. Her eyes flitter over at the sounds of a new pair of feet, lips pulling a small leer. Her mouth opens in a new hiss, and her boots click against the wood as she wanders closer to the stairwell. The giant, man-eating housecat smells an Otto. Huruma ------------------------------------------------------------------ At about 6'5", and strong/muscular, she weighs in at about 225 give or take, and is thus lithe and statuesque, powerful and beautiful. Her skin is a smooth, dark brown, and it tends to make her strong body stand out more as the skin tone often does. Her lighter parts are still dark, however lighter than her norm. Her face is angular, and opinions differ on whether she is beautiful or harsh. Her face is proportioned beautifully, with smooth, high cheekbones, a chin just strong enough, a slightly curved, regal nose, and naturally arched brows. Makeup is worn sometimes, though not needed. The thing that stands out most on her face is the total lack of pigmentation in her irises. Her eyes are blank, apart from the barely visible line on the edge of the iris and the black ink that is her pupil. Be wary of the handful of sharp teeth in her mouth. Her nails are like claws, and she moves with calculating steps, like a cat. Her human voice is velvety and rough, and she has a distinct brogue; a bit voodoo lady. She wears a lot of black, boots, piercings, buckles, spikes, silver, etc. Her dark hair is cut in a boyish-fashion, and is often styled upwards or swept a little back. Considering that, she often looks the part, angry or grinning so madly it seems hard to believe that so many sharp teeth can fit in one mouth. Current: Black leather mockneck sleeveless top(two buckle straps on shoulders), studded belt, black leather side-buckle pants tucked into high-heeled/knee-high combat boots, fingerless gloves w/steel knuckles. Silver hoop earrings, stud piercings all over. Spike collar. Hair smoothed back haphazardly. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Otto, reaching the top of the stairs, takes a moment to study the person in front of him, his own eyes hidden behind dark lenses. There's nothing especially friendly in his expression and though she's quite a bit taller than he is and much more obviously dangerous in appearance, he's not the least bit intimidated. And after a second or two, he starts to walk past her, one gloved hand closed around the handle of a plain brown briefcase. Huruma watches the unfamiliar form ascend, barely sidling aside as he nears. Her ghostly eyes peer over him as he starts past her, orbs watching downward like little lanterns with a sudden new light. Sharp teeth smile slightly and clawed hands perch on her hips. "Goo' Evening." A pause. "'Ou mus'be.../Dr. Octavius/." Her eyes narrow a little in an attempt to memorize his presence. Otto stops when he's addressed and looks up at this... person. And not only is he utterly unafraid of her, but there's an arrogant confidence in his body language that makes it clear who he considers superior to whom. And then, after a second of studying her again, he removes the black fedora off his head and twists his lips into a crooked smile. "That I am. And who, pray tell, are you?" Huruma is not unfamiliar to body language, so his movements get a curious tilt of her chin, and hardly more for now. "M'name is 'Uruma. I'm one of Magneto's...newer Brotherhood." Her voice is a slight purr, growling and velvet. "I was curious t'whether 'e wa'actually goin'to bring 'ou ou'of tha' ridic'lous...incarceration." Her mouth parts slightly, the tips of her teeth brushing over her tongue. A line of red invisible to him draws in her mouth. "Obviously," says Octavius, "he did." He pauses for a second, frowning briefly (he doesn't have enough hands, dammit), then sets the hat back on his head and takes the cigar from his mouth, exhaling pungent smoke as he does so. "Magneto's quite an individual." Huruma's lips give a slight smirk. "Quite...he is one wort'my following." Her smirk bends into a smile. The dark woman perches her back against the wall, bending only a little to lessen the somewhat crowded feeling in the hall. Eyes gaze over the air around him, resting on something not visible as her face twitches in response to the smoke. "...phantom limbs ar'unplesant, hmmm?" She stares back, face rather still. Otto scowls at the reminder. "One could hardly expect them to be otherwise, wouldn't you say?" His chin tips upward arrogantly. "But I have overcome worse obstacles. /Much/ worse." Huruma lids her eyes. "True. So very..." Her face tilts in more of an understanding manner, teeth clicking in idleness and eyebrows lifting. "Then...I /do/ look for'ard to'our comeback, Pwezamkubwajanja." A slight purring growl accents her words, followed by a thin smile on her lips. The de-tentacled terror frowns at her, the expression suspicious. "/What/ did you call me?" Huruma tilts her face to the side, eyeing him like some kind of a feline bird. "Pwezamkubwajanja." Her shoulders roll slightly, the muscles under her skin bunching and releasing. "Swahili..." A small hiss. Give him the basics and let him figure the technical wording himself. "Clever Octopus...I'ope'ou don'mind...?" Purrrr. Thick brown eyebrows lift clear of the large dark glasses, reaching for the soup-bowl fringe of hair. Slowly, he grins, slanted and nefarious. "...No, not at all." He chuckles briefly, then sets the cigar back in his mouth and turns to go. Huruma smiles back, toothy and cat-like in her smugness. "'Ave a nice stay, Doctor Octavius." She purrs again, staying where she is to watch him turn to leave. Her nails dig slightly into the leather around her thighs. Proving interesting, to say the least. Otto smirks, not looking back as he disappears down the hall and into the room set aside for his use. Inside, as he sets down the briefcase and sheds coat and hat, he mutters, "Pwezamkubwajanja," to himself, snorts in a way that's half derisive and half amused, then puts it to the back of his mind as he gets to work.