2012-08-28 - Prime Anti-Mutant: Shorter Than I Expected

Hearts aflutter! Well, with fear and stress in all likihood. A new kind of Sentinel has arrived, and the devastation and horror it has left behind is bone chilling.

Fantomex has been speaking with Professor Xavier in private a lot lately, and has been keeping to himself more-so than usual. He typically at least had classes and would hang with Alex, but hasn't seen the young man once since he assisted Hank with the operation.

Right now, Jean-Phillipe is sitting cross-legged on one of the stone benches in the Memorial Garden. His eyes are closed, hands resting on his knees. It could be a form of meditation as he is barely breathing, and one thing Wolverine would likely notice quickly...there is a scent of leather, but there is no natural scent coming off the man.

Logan may not have been back at the mansion long, and -inside- the mansion less, but since the roving ronin rolled back up, he's noticed a lot of things. New scents, another instructor with a shady past and unnatural abilities, and more recently, more disturbingly, several of those kids were injured by an apparently superadvanced killbot -- at least it's a different one than this guy, right? "Bub." Wolverine doesn't bother to approach stealthily, a cigar chomped between his teeth as he grunts out the greeting.

There's also the crushing of underbrush as he crosses the treeline into the garden, the little passage through the hedge worn by repetitions just like this, one might imagine. "We got trouble?" Camping down by the lake doesn't mean the surly little Canuck doesn't hear things; more than most. Sure, he may not even know Fantomex, but he doesn't waste time -- crisis is a hell of a time to measure a man, and they don't have a lot of time to waste.

Logan doesn't offer introductions, just a broad hand and a wary look over that burning cigar. This guy knows who he is already.

"You smell horrible," are the first words Jean-Phillipe says with a very heavy French accent, Parisian specifically. His eyes open, blue in color. Alert too, and not the least surprised you are where you are. There was no twitching of surprise or tenseness of the muscles at your arrival. Though Fantomex does unfold himself, setting his feet on the pathway in front of the stone bench and raising his arms above his head to stretch out. "You are Wolverine." A blunt statement as the Frenchman studies you openly. "Shorter than I expected."

"Here I was hopin' to impress you with my subtle and distinctive aroma." Logan notes drily, with no small amount of gruff could-care-less in the rumbling tones. He pauses to take a deep haul from his cigar, intense dark eyes analyzing the Frenchman directly, warrior to warrior; he knew what this guy was the minute he saw him move, automaton or not.

"Everybody says that." Another thing that, at the moment, Wolverine seems to give approximately zero shits about. "You got any other good ones, or you feel like answering my question?" All legend of his temper aside, there's no indication that Logan is even ruffled, perhaps impatient; definitely focused in on whatever plight has befallen the school. He maintains a polite distance along the path away from Fantomex, drawing another pensive puff of his stogie.

Jean-Phillipe is unusual though. He switches demeanors like it is nothing, from meditation and stillness, to laziness and watchfullness, and then....he laughs. His body language is relaxed and playful, he speaks with his hands with are flung about like any respectable Frenchman. "Trouble?" He is grinning beneath his mask, eyes alit with michief. "Perhaps the end of mutant-kind, doesn't it feel like that movie, what was it? Big Trouble in Little China?"

Gloved fingers snap however on his right hand, "Luckily, you have me! Jean-Phillipe to the rescue!" A goved hand over his heart as he poses dramatically. "And actually..." and there it is, a sly look in those baby blues of his!

"You could help me with a little wee something. Your skills would be...useful in something that needs to be done." Fantomex's tone though is still light-hearted and a touch challenging. Is this really just a game for him? Or is this all just an act?

Everyone's got their own way of coping -- dealing with a world they know is crazier than most. Maybe one they don't even fit into as well as the rest of the poor schmucks stuck in it. Wolverine doesn't seem to care a whole lot how Fantomex sees the fight, though it's a sure bet how well the X-Man /fights/ it is relevant indeed.

"Yea, yea. Apocalypse then, Now, and ever after. Nothing's a cliche when it's happening to you." The Canuck observes, blowing out a thick cloud of aromatic cigar smoke, the scruffy mutant watching it drift off towards the treeline almost wistfully; like he might like to join it. "You got the solution to this particular end o' the whole damn world, I'm all ears."

Sure, he has ideas of his own, concerns and hypotheses-- but Jean-Phillipe seems to be just so excited about his. Every little bit of intel can be the difference between life and death.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Rumors, dark whispers in the recesses of things that go bump in the night." Dramatic? Damn it, Jean-Phillipe is going to have fun with this! "Join me Friday," Jean-Phillipe finally says in a definate manner. "There is a place I wish to get into. I can do it alone, but it increases the risk. This place, holds information of the darkest kind." It is a satallite research facility for Weapon Plus, and Fantomex has only been able to confirm there are lights on from a distance so far.

"Already got the onsite recon you need?" Wolverine was point man for a covert military outfit that dealt with the world's most effed up shit for some time, after all. He's still got it-- some would even say he's the best at it. Logan doesn't say he'll do it, or what he's told.. not directly; but it's clear from every element of his reaction there should never have been any doubt since he walked up here in the first place, really. Then there's the punctuating statement, "The intel we need's in there, it won't be for long."

The burning edge of his cigar is cleaved and extinguished with one impossibly fast flick of his wrist, a flash of metal and a staccato *sniktsnakt* the only indication that one of the triad of claws within his fists extended at all, as he drops the butt into a waiting hand. "Least there's only so much of me the sons of bitches can shut down." Apparently, being torn to shreds without an active healing factor is not a dire concern to the Canucklehead; surprise, surprise.

"That's the problem, you get close, you are in for good. I have some intel though," not a lot, but some vague information. Fantomex's eyes then narrow however, not at the claw trick, but at the words. "You will need the mentality, and those claws. These men will not take prisoners, they will kill. The facility is not small however. It is one floor above ground, but intel says at least five floors below ground. And I will be bringing X-23 and Firefly." X-23 could be understable, but Firefly?!

Jean-Phillipe then shrugs vaguely as if to silently say, 'What can you do?' His tone is light and careless sounding, "One can only hope, Firefly keeps it together. Her powers will be very useful, as long as she does not fry what we wish to retrieve." He becomes thoughtful. "I do not doubt mine, yours, or even Laura's mentality in handling this mission and doing what is required of us to succeed. My only concern is Firefly, if she is pushed too far. That will need taken into consideration when planning the inflitration. I am not," and he waves a hand dismissively, "familiar with small group tactics." It's easy enough to figure out, the thief is used to solo-tactics.

"Soon as it's time, that don't bother me." Wolverine concedes simply; he's still willing to go in and have a look, before the team is exposed. Like the thief, it's the kind of thing he's more sure of solo than with most anyone riding shotgun -- saying something indeed with the training level of one's average X-Man. Generation X, on the other hand.. well, that's a little murkier, to the Canuck, and it shows plainly on his face and in the questioning tones. "The girls?"

Sure, Laura is a fighter, a killer, a weapon honed much as he was; he knows that, doesn't make him any happier unsheathing it though. She's still just a kid. "Like you say, bub, these bastards are playing for keeps, an' they're trained and equipped specifically to kill mutants. Now I ain't sayin' Laura is a pushover, but depowered and in unfamiliar territory, it's all about experience and improvisation." The doubts are there, but it's passing; he doesn't even really disagree that it's necessary, so much as that it tastes like /shit/. "But Firefly? Really? What's she do when they shut down her powers?" That part's a bit incredulous. The unspoken bit hangs heavy in the air: You know, the things she's in school just now learning how to use. No, he doesn't like this plan one bit. "Not gonna be able to do what needs to be done worryin' about babysitting the whole damn time. We'll go over the specs, I ain't saying we don't need support.." But hell if he's overexposing either of them. "Laura can keep Kensington safe, an' we'll work out exactly where and when we need them."

"We can get a look tomorrow night if you are up for it, and plan for Friday." But Fantomex's eyes narrow thoughtfully, "Non, there will not be a Sentinel there. But perhaps other things as dangerous." He then smirks beneath his mask at your protectiveness, as if finding something just utterly /fascinating/ about it! "You sound like Professor Xavier."

But, Fantomex then moves to sit down on the stone bench, relaxing...it appears so anyway with his shoulders rolled forward. "They have potential, the two of them in theivery and co-ops; just not sure about Firefly's mental strength against death. They both still need training, especially Firefly. Security systems are a wiz for her powers, and she listens to Laura. Take them in the danger room if you have time, put them through a trial run to test their potential." Fantomex said this more seriously than anything else in this conversation.

"I honestly like these kids. Sure, sometimes I want to break their arms and give them concussions when they do not listen and learn what will save their lives in the future, when they narrow their perspective to only what is straight before them and close off what is going on around them. But, I honestly like them. I never really liked people before, until Alex and these kids. I will risk their lives because it needs done, and they need to grow. But I will not do so foolishly." And that, is perhaps more insight in Fantomex's true personality - if this isn't yet another layer - than anyone has gotten other than perhaps Professor Xavier.

"Heh." Logan chuckles, a monosyllabic huff of air and grunting concession. "Better not let Chuck hear you sayin' shit like that." The Wolverine takes a few steps up the path, nodding once, twice as he listens to Fantomex speak. What the Frenchman says does make sense, even echoes some of his own observations and experiences. "Not a hell of a lot left to like in a lot of people." Logan glances once more towards the woods, then turns fully towards the mansion, stalking more than walking towards the backdoor.

"Lotta people work to make sure it stays that way-- people it ain't ever pretty to fuck with." Yet that is precisely what he does, and what they aim to do. "I'm just here to make sure it's real un-pretty for the right son of a bitch." Which appears to be Wolverine's version of 'good night', in this circumstance.

Fantomex stands and stretches once more as he grins wickedly beneath his mask. Logan is already around the building corner and through the back door before Fantomex says to himself in an almost singsong voice, "If only you knew, Weapon X." It is time to play the game for keeps, his blue eyes narrowing. He won't lose.