11/11/2006 Hudson River Warehouse - Main Floor ------------------------------------------------------------------ The warehouse doors open up into a moderately sized storage area, with many large, solid, metal shipping containers stacked around the room, making it hard for someone walking to find their way immediately to the back, especially if they were unfamiliar with the one correct path. At the back, another locked set of doors lead to the /real/ portion of this warehouse, which currently serves as a Haven for the Brotherhood. While the large main room does have a handful of those large metal shipping containers within it - each one serving as a large room in and of itself - it mostly appears to be a large mixture of rooms, with a few couches off to the side, a handful of bookcases along the walls, a large TV up against one wall, and even a pool-table near the corner of the large room. Within those large crates in this area, the doors open up into more private rooms, which also actually seem to be lightly furnished as well. In the back of this large main room, a set of stairs descends from a balcony above, leading to the topmost section of the warehouse where the individual, personal rooms are as well as the more private and official meeting areas. A few rooms break off from this main warehouse floor, also rather large and offering excellent spaces for training and sparring areas to be set up, as well as a fully equipped and stocked kitchen. Then another room remains in the far back, through a small hallway, and the door seems to be fused shut through a warping and bending of the metal all around it in an impossibly breakable lock. ------------------------------------------------------------------ The faint sound of shoes being dragged can be heard outside the most inconspicuous set of doors into the warehouse, the noise getting slightly louder as it nears. One dark, ivory-clawed and red-stained hand worms into the crack in the sliding door. The light leaks in past the silhouette of a returning Huruma, other hand latched onto what's soon seen as a jacket of a man. Man still attached. And barely alive. It's somewhat clear to those used to her as to what she's up to. Otto, in his shirt-sleeves, necktie loosened, has recently helped himself to the Brotherhood's well-stocked kitchen in order to make himself a very satisfying sandwich of smoked turkey, swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato on rye bread. He's about halfway through this and looking quite at home in the common area, sitting on one of the Brotherhood's couches and flipping through one of the books on the Brotherhood's bookshelf. Hearing Huruma's entrance, however, he looks up, the book still open on one knee. At the sight of the she-cat and her burden, he lifts his eyebrows quizzically but seems not in the least bit concerned for the man's welfare. Or even put off his meal. Huruma tilts her head to Otto as she tugs the man back into her grip, claws puncturing the cloth in her fist. Her free hand slides the door behind her shut again and she strides forward with a curious noise. "Goo'afternoon, Doctor." The man beside her gives a short mumble, and the woman peers down with a hiss as she gives him a mild shake. Shut up, fleshling. Her teeth growl, but smile over at Octavius again. "Enjoying'our stay s'far?" Otto flips the book closed one-handed. "The larder's excellently supplied, though I could not say the same for the library." He spares the victim a derisive, smirking glance. "Business or pleasure?" he asks, obviously referring to Huruma's 'toy'. Huruma purses her lips and glances down again. "A bi'of both, Doctor. Gaunab misses m'usual gifts." A broad grin spreads on her face. "An'if'ou like I cou'always procure some...bette'reading material?" The man's arm gives a mild twitch, and a new bit of blood leaks onto the floor. I'll get that later. Yeah. "'Gaunab'?" Octavius echoes, his curiosity piqued at the indication that this may be something more than brutality for brutality's sake. (Not that Octavius has anything against that, of course, as long as it's not him being brutalized.) Huruma narrows her eyes a little. "Gaunab..." She seems contented by the name. "T'me...'e is wha'Jehovah is t'the Israelites." Her voice purrs lightly in this response. "Ah," says Otto Octavius. "Religion." He manages not to sneer overmuch, though it's clear that he possesses the typical scientist's arrogant contempt for things of this nature. Huruma smirks. She can smell the distaste from where she is standing. "'Owever...'e fails to be so...present." A grin on her mouth as she turns slightly. "'E is unlike Jehovah in th'fact tha'he instead emphasizes--" A claw flicks a bit of blood to the floor with a tiny snip. "--th'praise of nature, an'th'science thereof." Yes, Religion. But one that doesn't fall far from your neck of the woods, either. Otto's expression is skeptical, though in the interest of diplomacy -- play nice, Otto, at least until you're done with them -- moderates his reaction toward an aloof, scholarly interest rather than something less... polite. "Really. Care to elaborate?" (And it's not that he /isn't/ interested, since if nothing else he does intend to learn all he can about Magneto and his followers while he's embedded within their midst.) Huruma examines her reddened hand out of idleness. "Pay certain...heed t'those who control th'nature of things.../th'gods'mong men/." A lidded hiss of air. "Law o'th'Jungle. Forest, urban or ot'erwise. I'm sur'ou understan'th'concept of survival of th'fittest, Doctor?" Her lips smile in a line again, chin tilting and the sinew in her neck twinging with it. Otto's lips twist into a slight, crooked grin. "Of course." And he knows quite well who belongs at the top of the pecking order. "The understanding of this basic principle is one of many qualities that separates us from our soft-hearted opposites." Huruma lets out a small noise of a chuckle. "Ohh...o'course." The man beside her is tugged effortlessly into the air. "Bu'if'ou think'bout it--" She prods an already open gash in his front, forefinger tearing slightly more. "--all of us'ave soft'earts. One jus'needs to b'able t'protect it." Like this guy couldn't. "'S no'so much an understandin'as it is th'bility for physical or...mental enforcement." A mild grin spreads, still watching her hanging prey with slight amusement. Otto shares this amusement, though he'd deny any accusation of soft-heartedness himself. Doctor Octopus has no such thing; just ask Spider-Man. "Just out of curiosity, what exactly do you plan to do with this... object lesson of yours?" He eyes the hanging, bleeding man. "He seems rather spiritless." Huruma smiles like a kitten with one of those dangling feathers on a string. "Spiritless? Ohhh...nono." She extends the claw under his skin, and he gives an awakened squirm of agony. "See? 'E's still go'som'spunk." Another velvet chuckle. "As fo'is duty here...I'm going to bleed him th'rest'o'th'way and perhaps take'im wit'some Mbatata an'avocado." /Yummy/. Otto's eyebrows lift. Well, now. A predator, a sadist, /and/ a cannibal. Octavius absently files that last fact away in the mental folder labeled 'Huruma', along with an additional notation along the lines of 'primitive', 'bestial' and 'savage'. "Ah." He smiles indulgently. "In that case, I won't keep you any further from your lunch." Not the slightest bit of hesitation there at the reference to a person being reduced to the status of food animal. Huruma smiles, teeth glinting with a chuckle "'Ave a nice day, Pwezamkubwajanja...I'll see if I can snag'ou some bette'reading material, hmm?" She tugs the man along as she turns away, a small kiss at the air. "Tutaonana." Goodbye. She sidles off, the man dangling in her hand as she trots up the stairs to the upper floor. Thusly continuing to the privacy of her den. She'll clean up her stains later. Otto returns the farewell with a slight nod, and watches her head up the stairs, his smile taking on a more calculating aspect. Hmm. Savage, animalistic... and potentially quite useful. He picks the book -- which is moderately tolerable, at least -- and resumes his lunch. And nevermind the tang of freshly-spilled blood hanging in the air.