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[psyknife]

[psyknife]

A smirk danced across Kwannon’s lips. “Why, it’s like you took the words right out of my mouth. Not just ‘ice a guy.’ I need you to take care of an ice guy.” She tilted her head to one side, hoping that she wouldn’t have to explain further. Bobby had been a thorn in her side for almost a month now, and it was starting to get on her nerves. “Nothing? Not even if the price involves one of your men’s lives?” It wasn’t a threat, not in the slightest. Merely a test to see if he needed to choose his words more wisely, in case they get taken the wrong way. “I don’t think he’ll be an easy fight, to be honest, but I don’t know the capabilities of your men, so maybe my opinion isn’t the greatest measure.”

"You want us to ice a guy?" Clicking his tongue he'd cross his arms. "Depends on who, I'm not sending my crew or going myself to something that could be a trap."

Still he'd stare into her eyes, turning his hand into an axe, and making a mock swing downwards with it. "That said, nothing's above the old man's health; Shadow's an assassin; we're villains, killing's not above us- so tell me what you want and we'll talk." He'd wave a hand letting her explain what she needed to. what an interesting proposal!

[psyknife]

Kwannon dropped into a squat, her chin resting in her hands. “I haven’t gagged you. Yet. So talk. You could’ve given me this information already instead of trying to negotiate your way out of this. You have my word that if your info is sound, I’ll untie you.”

“No disrespect intended, but if I really wanted to get the upper hand I would do so. Not to toot my own or anything but….you know, toot toot.” As Grayson’s foolish attempt at witty banter fell upon deaf ears, he sighed and continued.

“I don’t want to fight, I swear. I just want to talk. About why I’m here, about who I am, and about how we share a common enemy.”

[psyknife]

It wasn’t a difficult target to hit, given the mallet was controlled with her mind. The tiny little snowman splattered into a white mush, Kwannon wincing at the resulting moisture that filled the air. She gestured for the others and smashed those as well. “Want to switch things up a little? Can you make an ice bat?” The mallet disappeared, a few small knives hovering in place before her. “Put you through your paces a bit, yeah?” Without warning, one of the daggers sailed through the air right towards her centre of mass.

"When it comes to throwing stuff made of ice and snow around? Definitely." As soon as Kwannon gestured, Khione picked up the first tiny snowman and sent it sailing through the air.

Grinning, she lined up a couple of more tiny snowmen.

She's never tried out one of those rage rooms before but maybe she ought to give that a shot, too.

"Ready for the second and third ones when you are!" Khione called out, almost cheerfully. "Just say when!"

[psyknife]

“And the Council allows mutant children to die,” Kwannon shot back, more bitterly than the other points she’d made. Perhaps revealing a bit too much of her own wager in the game. As horrible as was what he described, the means humans would go through to see their kind eradicated, mutants themselves were no better. All flawed, all capable of succumbing to the same vices and prejudices they believed themselves free of. “It is semantics at this point...” She huffed, giving up on that kind of conversation that would go nowhere. They couldn’t change anything in here without the Council crawling inside their own britches and acting like their shit didn’t stink. “But if you are in need of further firepower on your next mission, don’t hesitate to give me a call. It would be nice to work with someone who doesn’t think we’re building all of this and keeping it safe with puppy-dogs and rainbows. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to fetch you another damp rag for your face?”

"There is a difference, War Captain, between capability and culpability." That's all he'll admit to, when it comes to reprehensible actions - he's well aware of all the lines he has and will continue to cross in the course of the great work that is Krakoa's eternal protection. Yes, Beast supposes she is correct, they're all capable of doing what he's done . . . but they have yet to do it. That's a distinction that does still matter, to some degree.

A line not yet crossed is still a line. At least to the person who has yet to cross it.

Then came the question, and he snorted, violently, daubing idly at his bloodied chin, well aware that now he's just smearing dried blood around by this juncture, but it gives him something to do. "We stay because out there is even worse. Yes, on this island, the Quiet Council are our horrifically flawed kings and queens, but out there . . . do you know, X-Force broke up a XENO operation two days ago?"

He stared ahead for a moment.

"They had picked up a mutant heading for one of the East Asian gates, intent on making it to Krakoa. They boiled her in a chemical bath until she was no more than genetic soup, in an effort to construct a liquid lining for infiltration suits, hoping it would conceal them as a mutant going through the gates. That, is why we stay. Because this is the only truly safe place for us."

And I have to keep it that way.

[psyknife]

“And when there’s no ice cream, a little bit of ‘ass whupping’ never hurt either. To the deserved, of course.” At the Council’s behest, of course. Point and aim, and Kwannon would be there, doing what needed to be done. “If you’d really like to help, maybe you could talk Xavier into getting off my ass once in a while and letting me breathe?” Kwannon inquired jokingly... or was she? The last time the man interfered, it was to send Scott after her to “make sure she was getting the job done.” Ever since, he’d fallen out of her trust. “He’s persistent as he is bald.”

"I understand the impulse. Both of them, honestly." Rogue did, all too well. That drive to want to run and hide and live under the radar, away from everyone and everything. Be free. She also got the instinct to help, to avenge, to make the world a better place for the future than it had been in the past.

The two could certainly commiserate here.

Rogue snorted softly, nodding emphatically. "Definitely, or ice cream. I'm a sucker for cookies 'n' cream myself, but no ice cream-- or cookie dough-- is a bad choice."

[psyknife]

“I just need a certain someone off my tail,” Kwannon replied with a nonchalant shrug. “With you and your little friends behind you, that shouldn’t really be a problem. Is that the kind of price you can pay?” Most people who wanted her help weren’t eager to put murder on their lists of owed favours, but she had a feeling this guy was different. “I help out this loved one of yours, you make someone face an unfortunate accident. Sound like a fair deal to you?” And even if he didn’t, she could always take back her help in the ugliest of ways.

Great, now she gave them a time limit, people would see the body on the street. "Shadow, take care of that body please...?" Des would rub the back of his head, he needed the time; and the last thing he needed was cops and randos snooping around.

With a nod his right hand would shoot into the night like a bad out of hell!

Crossing his arms, he'd give her a wide berth but still distance himself from his crew, he ordered to stand at the far end of the roof. "Yet you still have a price, if you're mentioning it not being free- someone I care about needs this, and I'll do almost anything to get that info....so what do you want?" His tail would stand up, partially curious, part ready for her if she started anything.

[psyknife]

@trckstaer: " Come on ! Open your eyes ! " – Wolverine !

Kwannon’s brows furrowed together, her hand reaching up to press against his mouth. Too loud. “Shh,” she commanded softly, a headache already springing forth behind her eyes. “What happened?”

[psyknife]

“I never considered a man that spiteful for something so insignificant,” Kwannon returned the jest, adjusting her arms a bit to better hold his weight. She can see it now: the others giggling and guffawing at the sight of their return, the mighty Wolverine on her back. There were worse things to be embarrassed about than helping out a teammate in their time of need. Even if it involed being in a silly position. “You are heavy, but it’s not unbearable. It’s a good spine strengthening exercise, that’s for sure. You would have done the same for me. How are your injuries healing?”

He snorts. Even battered and bruised, he has his sense of humour intact. Apparently, so does she. That’s good. Makes this whole thing at least somewhat tolerable. That, and they’d won. A good day all around. He’d be fine in a few moments, anyway - just gotta let the ol’ factor work its magic. 

“Do that, and I’ll claw your arms off.” He says. He’s teasing, of course. … Mostly. He still has some pride. 

“How’re you holding up?”

[psyknife]

“And give you the chance to try and get the upper hand? Nice try. You give me answers, then I’ll let you go. What do I have to lose from keeping you here all day?”

“And I would be pretty screwed if that were the case! But you’re not, I can tell. You just want answers. I can give you answers if you just untie me.”

[psyknife]

“Well, what do they know?” Kwannon replied with a shrug. Nothing was impractical if wielded properly. Even an old-fashioned dumpster could make a good weapon in the right hands. As the young woman was now demonstrating. If Bobby were here, he could definitely give her a few lessons on other ways to use her ice, but for now, she was going to have to settle for one psychic ninja. “As long as you’re a good pitcher...” Kwannon turned and walked some distance away, far enough so that she could wield her giant mallet properly. Weighing nothing, she readied herself in batter position, her hand gesturing for the young woman to make the first pitch.

"Lots of people did," Khione confessed, the words fell from her lips as easy as breathing, followed by a shrug of slender shoulders, "but I made my peace with it, so it's okay." It was a cool sight, though - pun very much intended - to see Kwannon heft a glowing pink mallet against her shoulder.

Wordlessly, she holds up her left hand. One of the aforementioned icy knuckledusters appears around her knuckles and then disappears again. The same thing happens with her other ice weapons, though the bigger they are, the longer they take to melt and thaw.

She doesn't know if her organic ice form counts, but that's one of her things, too. Not to mention the fact that Khione can take someone's body warmth with one single touch.

"Um," said the younger of the two, "I can also make tiny snowmen." The temperature drops as she splays her hand, fingers wide, and a row of tiny Frosty's appear, in a perfect line as snow flurries descend from above.

"Hey! You wanna see if you can smash them to pieces with your pink mallet? I've thrown some of my sculptures - snowy and icy - against the wall in my time. It's cathartic. Sometimes you just gotta watch something shatter, I suppose."

[psyknife]

@ghstbrthr: " Do you want me to feel threatened ? "

”I want you to feel whatever is appropriate in this moment. I can’t make you feel anything you don’t want to.” Kwannon propped her chin up in her hands, curious how the man before her could remain so calm. “Do you want me to threaten you?”

[psyknife]

Ben craned his head in her direction, trying to seem sympathetic to her words but at a loss for anything helpful to say. Instead, he gave a careful shrug coupled with a sigh.

“Sounds heavy. For whatever it’s worth, you seem pretty cool to me. Maybe this so-and-so will come around eventually.”

Their teamups had been few thus far, but Kwannon had been atypically patient with his motormouth throughout them, despite her somewhat severe personality. Whatever character flaws she was keeping to herself hadn’t made themselves known to him before tonight.

[psyknife]

No thing was a small thing for her; any minute detail, a speck, would be catalouged in her brain, examined, torn apart and put together again, to ensure that it was then insignificant before being tossed into the trash pile to be swept away from her memories. She couldn’t simply put it aside just because he said so. “If I remember correctly, this was a solo mission. Am I to assume someone else sent you to watch my back?” Or maybe it had been a self-imposed responsibility. Kwannon was sure he’d never admit it if she asked. To save face, after all. “How much further?”

❝Save it. We can argue about the small things once you're feeling better. Wouldn't that be nice? ❞ Dragging himself through the mess and rubble, more focused on getting her out of there, than he was with arguing over whatever it was they were feeling angsty about today. At least the bleeding had stopped, before daring to stain his suit too much.

❝This is our work suit, you should know that by now. What's a little blood? ❞ His wings began to take the reigns, the nearest safehouse was far from walking distance—— hope she likes flying.

❝Ah, someone had to come watch your back, after all. Team efforts are hardly ever accomplished solo, right? ❞

[psyknife]

Kwannon watched in awe as Magneto went to work, reducing the sentinel to nothing but a crumpled piece of metal, looking not much different from a ball of tinfoil. Each sound and creak of metal put her teeth on edge, its whine feeling the air until the circuitry within died. One last remarkable display of life as its lasers blasted its own inner workings in a forced suicide it didn’t even know it was committing. “I should thank you, in some way,” she whispered once the din had died down and the air was no longer abuzz with the taste and smell of electrified ozone. “What kind of guilty pleasures does Magneto treat himself to?” Everyone had one, that one thing they enjoyed that made them breathe a little easier and made their shoulders sag. That reminded them there was still glimmers of good in this world. For some, it was good food or a strong drink. For others, it was a forbidden vice. She was intrigued to discover what he would answer.

A SMOLDERING PSALM.

The air crackled with ozone, the acrid scent of singed earth a testament to the inferno that would have its fill of her-- and a smoking crater left behind.

The sentinel shifts in its entangled web of cables and construction supports. The sleeping giant-- awoken to destroy.

The sentinel, a towering behemoth of steel and cruelty, stood as a monolith against the twilight sky. Its form, a grotesque parody of human anatomy, was a stark contrast to the ethereal beauty of the setting sun.

Magneto grips. Metal churns, twists and screams as it comes to life and he shouts with the effort that drags at his taught muscles. The strain pains every fiber. His mind almost ripped from the concentration it requires. But the hands of the master of magnetism do not tremble. The metal twists into a maelstrom, torterous and loud until it echoes in the forge. The sculpture is grotesque. A sacrifice brought before a god.

" The beast will simply not perish ... "

And yet, as its insides become the outsides and no more code string is complete, the Sentinel shifts and moves, ripping at its own cables that restrain it in the debris. The scrap metal refused to give.

The blinding lights of another charge of lasers-- broken and split through the insides of its own helmet instead of concentrated in its head.

-- @psyknife ||

[psyknife]

Kwannon perked up when she sensed the shadow form creeping up the side of the building and emerging behind her. She wasn’t one to enjoy having her work interrupted, especially when she wanted to prolong it as much as possible to see the man suffer. Her shoulders slumped with a sigh, her grip loosened, and the unfortunate soul plummeted to his death on the concrete stories below. “I’m not special in that regard — many of us have — but if you’re asking about the how, that’s not a secret I’m interested in sharing for free.” She turned slowly to face the person who’d ended her fun. “And before you start making offers, your money means nothing to me.”

It was hours later till they arrived at the city, rolling in trying to find any clue, it wasn't until North Desmond's eye in the sky flew over and saw the woman they were looking for-- He looked down with his hawk like gaze before doubling back to lead Des and crew to her.

Trying to to be conspicuous they parked behind the soon to be crime scene. His crew lined up beside him, ready for their next moves. "Great job North, Shadow...?" Standing close a shadow would envelope them like a wave before sinking them into the ground, and up the same building this woman stood on.

They'd wait in silence letting her do her own thing. And only after would they say anything..

"Don't wanna bug ya, but I heard you know how to cheat death luv."

[psyknife]

Kwannon huffed a laugh; it was nice to hear about someone experimenting with the powers, seeing the extents and limitations of what they could do. It was the active minds that would survive and thrive in this world. “Who says it would be impractical?” Just like that, she formed a glowing pink mallet in her hands and hefted it against her shoulder. It wouldn’t have the same effect as a psychic knife or blade — a hammer didn’t have the precision of cutting its way through down to someone’s psyche — but that didn’t mean it wasn’t useless either. “With a little practice, you can wield your ice in any way that benefits you.” Her fists opened up and the mallet disappeared in a shower of white-pink motes that too, soon faded. “At first, it was. Curving your imagination into the shape you want and making it real flexes the mind in a way I never thought possible before. But practice made it easier. Come. Show me what you can make.” Kwannon gestured, interested to see for herself what the young woman could make.

"That's---that's literally so cool." Pun very much intended. "And it makes sense. I've thrown a couple of ice knives in my time---" 'In my time', she says, as if she's something ancient. "---but I've always wanted to try out a hammer instead. Like Harley Quinn! Made of ice and everything. But that's very unpractical. I switched over to icy knuckledusters instead." A beat and then: "Is it hard to form shapes and stuff? Psychically, I mean."