11/16/2006 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. The books range widely in their topics, as people are able to find everything from novels such as Tolkien's or Piers Anthony's series, to extremely detailed books on biology and genetics, and even other historical novels such as Dante's Inferno and Niccolo Machiavelli's 'The Prince'. 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. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Dr. Octavius must be pleased with his quarters, since he rarely leaves them these days. Of course, a feverish desire to end this half-complete, /handicapped/ state of existence probably has something to do with his spending nearly twenty hours out of twenty-four in self-imposed seclusion. But even mass-murdering masterminds need to eat sometime, and that's what brings Octavius clumping downstairs now, having shed suitjacket and vest, necktie loosened and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. The dark glasses have been exchanged for a pair of high-tech goggles, the slightly green-tinted lenses each large enough to cover the whole eyesocket. His expression is focussed on something other than the here and now, as if despite being away from his work, he's still thinking about it intently. On a couch in one of the container-rooms to the side, sits Toad's slumped form. TV remote in one hand, and a slice of pizza in the other. The other three quarters of the pizza Hawaii lie on the other half of the couch. Some music channel shows on the TV a good few feet before the mutant, and even though he looks to be in the middle of changing the channel, the man finds himself dumbfoundedly staring at the music clip of someone or another rapping. And people in the background doing their usual things of... pointlessly shaking things about. Toad sneers with a mixture of disgust and.... utter confusion. "... Wha'?" Rap music. Yet another in a long, long list of things that Dr. Octavius despises. The noise filters past the doubleplusungood doctor's mental calculations and pauses his trek to the kitchen. He stares at the flickering screen for a few seconds before curling his lip in a sneer and declares it, "Filth." Filth? Yes, indeed. I mean, even the Toad can agree on that one. Said mutant whirls around on the couch at the voice, cracking a wry grin at Dr. Octavius' appearance. "Oye, doc." He greets, the piece of pizza eventually finding its way into his mouth, at least half way. Remainders of that half are wiped off of his face with a swipe of his sleeve. "You doin' alrigh'?" Although the tone of his voice doesn't particularly give away whether he means to hear an answer or not - or would care at all - one would guess he isn't interested by how his eyes begin to trail back to the TV. It's like a trainwreck. The sneer remains planted on Otto's broad face. Unlike Toad, he is not susceptible to the fascination of the grotesque -- not that kind of grotesque, anyway. "Fine," he says in answer to the mutant's question, a moment before his stomach growls noisily. The sneer twists into a scowl. While no ascetic (not with that waistline), there are times when Octavius gets annoyed by the demands of the flesh. Which reminds him why he came down here in the first place. Food. And not pizza. He resumes his stalk toward the Brotherhood's larder. No pizza? That's all fine and dandy with Toad, who promptly flips the pizzabox closed with an elbow, and hops effortlessly over the other end of the couch with it, to amble after Otto. It's boredom that drives him to follow the doctor, intertwined with mild curiosity. "'Aven't seen you down 'ere a while." Just an observation, is all. Perhaps trying to strike up a conversation. "I've been working," says Octavius without looking around at the other. By now, he knows his way around the Brotherhood's pantry quite well, and there's not the slightest bit of hesitation or self-consciousness in his manner as he gets out sandwich materials. It might as well be /his/ kitchen, judging by the way he acts within it. "I'm afraid it leaves me little time for socialization." He inserts a calculated hint of apology in this secondary remark. No apologies needed here. Or any hint of one. The Toad is more than used to not being... socialized with, and with the pizza box in both hands, Mortimer jumps onto a kitchen's chair before the pizza box is shoved onto a table. "Oh, yeah. Mus' be real 'ard work to do all tha'..." His brows furrow for a moment, pondering the rest of his sentence, "... technicky... things." Another pizza piece is dragged out of the box, interest turning to that once more, instead of the undoubtedly more interesting individual nearby. Rye bread, mustard, various sliced meats, lettuce, tomato... it's going to be a sizeable sandwich, though likely nothing impressive to anyone who's seen the Blob at meals. Dr. Octavius eyes Toad for a second and then smiles in a thin, superior sort of way. "Difficult, yes, for those who don't have the inclination. Fortunately, I have always had rather a knack with such things." "See, I never had tha'. An... inclination?" Toad muses to himself, before working down another pizza slice. The latter word sounds like a question because he's not quite certain whether the word means what he thinks it does, so after swallowing a mouthfull of pineapple and ham covered junkfood, he pushes on, "Y'think I could do things like tha' too?" Again, his attention goes back to the pizza in his hand, showing little interest at to what the answer could be. Otto's lip curls. "I doubt it," he answers bluntly, while carefully spreading mustard. Honey Dijon. The good stuff. A dab gets on his thumb and he licks it off with hardly a pause. "Advanced robotics is hardly something one can pick up in an afternoon's idleness." Ahh, sneery intellectual superiority. Toad huffs, and gives a chuckle, straightening as much as he can in a crouch, still perched on his chair. He rolls his eyes with a wry grin. "Well, o'course 'at'll take a few years, but I wasn' talkin' abou' /a'vanced/ things. Just..." The half of a pizza slice in his hand gets flailed around a little, "Things. Bu' nevermind, I'll just stick at wha' I'm best a'. Like you an' your robotics." And there goes the second half of the pizza slice, his sickly and coiled up tongue lashing out to pull it between his jaws in a fraction of a second. "And what is that, exactly?" Octavius asks in a tone of passing interest. The tongue action does not go unnoticed; he simply chooses not to remark on it. "Li'l things." The Toad answers with a hint of pride, swiping a sleeve past his mouth again. "The li'l things that people tend t' overlook. Bu' I bet you a thousand pounds, Magneto'd be nowhere withou' me." Of course, Magneto realises this. That goes without saying. In Mortimer's mind, anyway. "Plus, I stand my ground in fights, which always 'elps." All of the former information is proclaimed almost as if he's reassuring himself of these things, more than the Doctor. Otto, cutting a small tomato into careful, even slices, pauses to give Toad an appraising look. "To be sure, bravery and loyalty are traits any leader would value. But it must wear on you, surely, to have your other contributions overlooked." Toad's eyes narrow for a moment, as if raking his mind to find what exactly Otto is referring to. "We all 'ave to make sacrifices, don' we?" The green teinted man reaches for another slice, closing the box afterward and leaning back to stop the junkfood vertically into his mouth as he awaits an answer, dangling it above his mouth. Otto smirks a bit. "To be sure," he says again. "Subsuming oneself to the needs of the cause and the higher good, one cannot be too focussed on prizes or accolades." He grins over at the long-tongued mutant. Halfway through chewing down the pizza slice (whole - hey, you learn a thing or two when living with the Blob) the Toad glances askew again, to face the doctor. "'s tha' a g'd th'ng, or b'd?" The man mutters through his food, befole gracelessly gulping the rest down. The box gets shoved to the middle of the table with two cheesey fingers. The doctor lets out a throaty chuckle. "Oh, good, indubitably. Especially from your esteemed leader's point of view." The sandwich is definitely taking shape, and quite a work of art it is, too. Toad's expression falls at the chuckle, trying to determine what, exactly, the doctor is so joyous about. Alas, once it becomes clear that the act probably wasn't prompted by mockery, Mortimer can't help but offer a single and reliefed chuckle in return. "Yeah, I s'pose." There's a short pause, before Mortimer moves a hand to scratch uncertainly at the back of his head. "Why'd you ask, though? About wha' I do?" "You mentioned something about sticking to what you're best at," Octavius replies, placing lettuce and tomato just so on top of the stack of sliced ham, turkey, and swiss. "It piqued my curiosity. You may call it 'little', but can hardly be insignificant if Magneto esteems you so highly." His tone is perfectly reasonable, though that little smirk remains. And it's the little smirk that worries Mortimer, squinting as he pulls off of the chair to saunter over and take a look at the sandwich. "Hm." Unable to think of anything to counter the Brotherhood's guest's potential jesting, the subject is changed. "'Ow 'bout you? When's the las' time /you/ worked for someone? No' counting now, o'course." Otto's smirk twists into a grimace. "Quite recently, as it happens." He sets the top slice of bread down, then wields the knife, slicing it into halves. "It is not my preferred modus operandi." And yet it seems that's all he's been doing for months, doing work for /others/ like a common mercenary or /minion/. It curdles his soul, truly. "Still," he continues, taking a more philosophical tone, "when circumstances are less than ideal, one does what one must to get by." Toad quirks a brow, obviously not having expected such an answer. Surely, doctor Octavius isn't as great as the Master of Magnetism himself, but the mutant had thought Otto... more, somehow. "Ah, it's no' all that bad." He adds, after giving an approving nod at Otto's latest creation. "At leas' when something goes awry, you can blame your employer for i'." He notes with a smirk, before turning to wander off towards the doors leading outside. Enough for now, more things to do today. Little things. Otto's glare is sharp, full of anger and seething hate. Toad's not its intended focus; he just happens to be there and in the way. The cutting knife lands in the sink with a noisy clatter, and without further word or even farewell, he takes his plate and sandwich and stalks back toward the stairs. Toad's pace slows, until finally he comes to a halt and looks over his shoulder with brows furrowed in confusion, lips drawn tight in wonderment. What'd he say? Alas, after a few seconds of staring, the mutant finds himself losing interest in the matter, and juts his shoulders up in a quick shrug before he continues on his path, the heavy doors giving a whine as they sink back into place, and the space inside is left empty once more. [...] Hudson River Warehouse - Dr. Octavius' Quarters ------------------------------------------------------------------ The space set aside for the use of Dr. Octavius is comfortable enough in its furnishings though is not especially inspired in its decor. It has, in fact, more the air of a workspace rather than living quarters; the fact that the room contains bed, dresser, and other such items seems completely incidental. The central feature is the large work-table set against one wall; it's very well-lit and, usually, covered in papers and electronics, the fruits of fevered genius. ------------------------------------------------------------------ The chill and dreary day serves to be even harsher on the outskirts of the city - the breeze from the Bay bringing with it the smell of tainted seawater and drives the rain just a little rougher against the walls of buildings. Its in this patter, in this half-light afternoon gloom that Mystique slinks back into the warehouse. Her movement around the crates are precautious - not wanting to find the alpha male of this building today, wanting to escape any potential conversations with him in lieu of seeking another man to talk with. Lips press together in unvoiced displeasure as her objective is not located downstairs and it's with a graceful stride that she takes to the stairs. A pause outside someone's personal bedchambers before knuckles rap a beat against the door. The sandwich is long since eaten, washed down with well-sweetened coffee (brewed right here in the twisted scientist's quarters, since those twenty-hour workdays more or less require it and he can't be bothered trotting downstairs every time he needs his cup refreshed) and Dr. Octavius is once again hunched over his worktable, shirt-sleeves rolled up and high-tech goggles covering his eyes. Without looking up, he calls out a curt, "Enter." The object of his attention appears, at first glance, to be part of someone's spinal column -- has the not-so-good doctor taken up a bloodier field? But, no, the "spine" is mechanical, a construct of electronics. Ebon hair tucks behind a completely Caucasian ear, matching the rest of her features, before Mystique responds to that curt reply. The door opens, a silent sashay is taken into the room, and cunning blue eyes rest on the portly form of the man. "Doctor Octavius," she greets formally. "Could you spare a moment of your time?" A pause before a cool smile rushes along her lips. "My name is Mystique." Otto finishes carefully, delicately, using a hair-fine instrument to set an equally hair-fine wire before straightening up and turning to regard her, brow furrowed, mouth set into a tight frown. "Mystique. Ah." He sets the tool down on a square of black cloth, in line with several others, and rotates the stool the rest of the way around, arms folding across his broad chest. "What can I do for you?" His impatience at the interruption is not entirely obfuscated, but obviously he's making an effort to be... accommodating. Moving right along, surely, though the woman takes up a casual lean against the nearest wall, her arms crossing beneath her bosom. That smile smooths away, fading into neutrality. "It pertains to your associates during the entire Ryker's incident. I understand several were incercerated to the Raft, though I'm looking for one in particular. A woman of some beauty who bears the name of a flower." Smooth speech halts, looking for confirmation. Thick eyebrows lift above the green-lensed eyewear. "Red Lotus," he says, nodding once. "What is your interest in her?" "I've been informed she would prove to be a useful ally," Mystique grants to him in return for the name given to her. Still her cool eyes remain on those goggles. "Might you be able to tell me what Red Lotus is capable of?" Otto rubs his chin slightly. "Primarily physical enhancements, though I suspect she's capable of quite a bit more. She uses blood as a conduit for her powers." He smiles crookedly. "She's quite vicious." "Blood as a conduit." The statement is repeated with a faint narrow of her eyes - Mystique growing briefly thoughtful before a single, slender eyebrow flicks up. "She'll be interesting, then." Spoken as if it's already assured that the potentially future accomplice will be set free. Again that oily smile slides onto the woman's lips as she pushes herself from the wall. "Anything else of note?" "She possesses a healing factor and is resistant to telepathic intrusion," says Dr. Octavius. "And she's rather mercenary in her views, as I recall." His mouth curves into a bit of a sneer at this. "I don't doubt you'll find her useful." He pauses a beat. "Was there anything else?" He unfolds his arms, laying one against the edge of the worktable, preparing to turn himself back around. "Ah, a woman of my own heart," Mystique murmurs in a throaty purr while that smile warms to become more personable. "No. You've been helpful, Doctor Octavius, and it's appreciated." A fluid step is taken towards the door before a glance is cast back over her shoulder towards him - a moment of hospitality. "If you're finding everything satisfactory, I'll let you return to your work." Speak now or forever hold your peace. Otto smiles. Bares his teeth, anyway, in a way that's not altogether pleasant. "For now, everything is... satisfactory, yes. You may relay that to Magneto." With that, he turns his back on her and takes up his tools again. His impatience to restore his other limbs -- his /self/ -- is palpable. Mystique's brow arches again - her expression not altogether pleasant with that word, 'relay'. Indignance is placed to the side for the sake of maintaining a working relationship and, so, without another word towards the human, she closes the door softly behind her.