In Pursuit of Knowledge (pt.1)

May 29th, 2014: Rogue runs to hide in an old Brotherhood base and encounters the Master of Magnetism.

Abandoned Shop, Bronx

Abandoned Book Store.



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Mood Music:

There is an abandoned shop in a rundown city block in the Bronx, 'King Books' it states. Except the second O is long missing. The bookstore has been closed fifteen years and few remember when it was open. The door has not opened in a decade, but there is a metal door in a narrow alleyway that leads into an abandoned shop.

The Brotherhood used this place a few times as hideout, there is nothing suspicious in the shop space itself, but there is a hidden trapdoor unto a large basement. An apartment, medical supplies, old computers gathering dust, and who knows what weird things passing mutants stored there back when the Brotherhood was plotting terrorist strikes in all the major cities of the US.

Someone knows, though. Which is why there is this white-haired person working on the computer. The shop has no power, but the computer is running. So is the coffee machine, although what it is producing after so many years abandoned might be toxic. The man at the computer doesn't seem to care about it. He has a high tolerance for bad coffee.

The hunt for information is one that is perilous sometimes, especially when you are on the dig for archeological finds of gold on a man named Creed. It managed to get Rogue some followers.. For days. Flight, superhuman anything.. It doesn't seem to matter when it comes to being pushed and ridden until your motor burns out. Relentless pursuit will bring anyone down and Rogue damn near falls through the door with it rebounding off the wall and slamming shut behind her.

Leaning her back against it gloved hands seem to be braced in keeping her form upright as her head rolls back and she gulps in a few breathes of the musky, yet fresh air of possible freedom.

Hair of a deep mahogany and white framing is plastered to her face that bares a sheen of sweat, the brown leather half-jacket hangs lamely off one shoulder bearing the dark green bra beneath. Abdomen is bare and cut off shorts leave tattered threads to hang downward over thighs, booted feet bracing to aid her hands in their deft grip.

Alone at last. Won't she be let down…

Alone. Hardly. It might take Rogue a few seconds that there is the scent of fresh coffee in the air, and the hum of a working device where there should be none. Magneto, of course, heard the door open. And not many should have that key. He goes quiet, standing up quietly to steps away from the computer and into the shadows of the room. He scans with his magnetic senses, to determine the newcomer is… probably a woman, and not carrying weapons. Seems harmless enough, but he has not lived to his 90s by being careless.

Utter silence. If a pin dropped it would be heard. That's what seemed to resonate in her senses as her own pounding heartbeat and swallowed breaths come to a stop. Listening, on the other side of the door car doors slam and footsteps pace, trashcans being kicked, dumpster lids being flipped, the thunderous cacophony of heavy feet carrying a body up a fire escape while others yell…

"The bitch gave us the slip??"

"Naw man she just ducked down, we'll find her, she's not far.."

"The boss'll be pissed, you know what he'll…"

"WE'LL FIND HER.. Lance, you know we have means, even if the little bird flies we'll shoot her down…"

A horn honks on the opposing end of the alley. "Let's go, this ain't a picnic!"

Footsteps pause at the door Rogue is leaned against and green eyes have a full ring of the white around them as the door is tried, wiggled softly at first, then violently… Followed by a loud hollow thud of a fist meeting the metal…

"I said now!" The voice barked and made those feet fade away. Just beside her head there is a divet in the metal, where on opposing end that fist had met.

Once she hears the tires pull away her feet begin to slide and grate across the floor to allow her body the moment to begin lowering… My kingdom for a seat…

More footsteps and Rogue freezes, her hand slapping down onto the floor, leaving her in a precarious hovering state, but ready to spring as her other hand comes to her lips, fitted dark green and netted gloved fingers press to her lips, teeth flashing as she nips the fabric and begins to tug it from her hand…

"Not the time, ah'm all out of short cuts." Rogue states lowly, a threat. Too tired to fight with care, she'd do what she had to now that she is cornered…
Magneto scowls at the interruption. Someone was chased here. Another hideout it is not going to be secure for long. "Come down here, woman," he states calmly, turning off the computer's screen, and turning on an electric lantern on a table. Then he reaches with his powers to hold the metal door in place, no matter how much is kicked or how skilled is the lock picker trying to open it.

The men left, a slow and dissipating sound that was like a haunting echo to Rogues psyche. After that final punch of defeat and yell, they will likely go to scout the surrounding blocks before cycling back once again and being more… thorough.

The glove is off and snared from between teeth to be tucked into the worn leather belt low at her waist.

The mans voice brings curiosity. This is a hideout for the ones calling themselves the Brotherhood, not a place occupied by just anyone and if it is a bum speaking to her in such a manner she is likely of the current mind to just slap him with her glove as if inviting a duel…

"Yeah yea, workin' on it, though I do hope you are aware this place is claimed.." As she speaks she is pulling a hair tie from her pocket, descending the stairs slowly while both hands are dealing with the mass of auburn and white hair, the white falling from her grip to remain in place around her tanned features. "And we don't take kindly to strangers." Rogue murmurs as she finally reaches his level and looks up.

There are easier ways into the shop than the metal door, so Magneto is expecting those men will manage to get in sooner or later. How quickly depends if they care about being seen or not. The front of the shop is in a somewhat busy street.

"I am aware," replies the man. The trapdoor to the basement is open, and the man is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He is dressed like a bum, in sturdy old clothes. But he is not standing as one. Rogue might be able to recognize him immediately. There are no pictures of his face anywhere, but her mother knew him. "Who are you?" He asks when the young woman becomes visible for him.

Stopping just before Magneto, Rogues emerald gaze flicks down. Slooowly it begins ascent, going over every detail, as if there is one she can miss - or just taking her time because she can.. For now.

Stop searching for answers, it's all in your head…

Once she reaches his face that half-cocked smile seems to wither just a bit at the edges. "I could ask you tha same, but I bet ah'm right in my guess." Now her stance changes, some form of unsurety there behind that hazed over sheen of a more vivid curiosity, but if need be it is very clear tha she knows exactly where she'll land if it came to blows, just not how hard. "They call me Rogue, and you? A girl /could be wrong." She states, that southern drawl coming forth more pronounced with her returning smile.
"Magnus," replies the white-haired man, not responding her smile. In fact, he is scowling. "You must be Raven's ward," he gestures to the table, "there is coffee and water there. Looks like you need both. What is going on? Who is chasing you?" He aside to check a closet. Safe houses used to have incendiary devices to leave little evidence if they become compromised, but this one has been abandoned a long time. There is nothing.

Just as he is offering she is claiming. Throne, cold water, and a wandering gaze to take in the surroundings, focus on the powered off computer screen. Drinking silently a brow perks at his name, her feet pushing to her toes to rock the chair back on two legs and teeter it there precariously while she watches him above the rim of the cup.

"Well, /Mags/, it depends on tha day and what I've gotten mahself into in that regard." Setting the empty cup aside she is assessing the man who has wavered in everything but his straight line of power. "Raven is my.. mother. What does -that- matter?" Bold, brazen… But most of all tired eyes befall him.
Magnus shakes his head, "of course it matters, but any mutant has the right to use this place. More so if someone is chasing them." He rummages in the closet. "Even if it is inconvenient to me… but it will be more inconvenient to /them/ if they are persistent. He steps back. No explosives, so he will have to improvise. "Lets try again. Why are they chasing you?"

Rogue's head rolls back slightly, staring down along the bridge of her nose to the white haired man with incredulity. "I beg to differ, unless the mutants chasing me for Creed have a damn good excuse." She did not lower her gaze as she said as much, wanting to read the stance it brought to this man, one that was renown all over, and specifically to mutant kind.

"Why are you here?"

Mutants? That draws a sharp gaze towards Rogue. Also, it means lethal force is not going to be used as first option. He asks not questions about this 'Creed', since he is familiar with that surname. "I had business in the city." He explains, not giving details. "This place was convenient to me. I hadn't planned, or expected to meet anyone."

"Yeah…" Rogue states, affirming to that sharp gaze from mags' blue gaze, meeting it with her emerald. "Ya think a child of Raven's would run if she didn't need to?" A small gesture from her hand into the air and a shrug to go with it. C'est..

"But any more ah'm tired, and running out of options."

Rocking back forward the two legs of the chair hit the floor in silence, caught at just the right moment. "Yes, coffee with Old Man Rivers is the highlight of my night too…" Rogue states as she pushes to a stand, looking away to mask the small smirk that came with her jesting jab at Magnus. Refilling her water she heads closer to Mags. "The answers are always in the books, not the closet. You should know that by now."

"That depends on what answers are sought," replies Magneto. Since it seems they have some time, he takes a seat and reaches for his coffee mug. "You are safe with me, at least on the short run. If you are seen with me, however, that could make you more of a target later."

"Then I wouldn't call it safe on any account for me, ah'm rather used to that, so I'll stick with what is comfortable to me." Rogue says as moments of thought return a scowl to her features, a thoughtful frown furrowing her brow lightly before it is washed away with watching the monolithic man take his seat.

He didn't catch her hint, and that is all well and good, if he didn't neither would the enemy. "Even in war ya have to pick your battles.." Reaching to her belt she fishes her offed glove free and puts it back on.

Magneto seems amused by those statements. Hard to say for sure, there is little light in the room and the man seems to lack a sense of humor. His pale eyes study Rogue for a few seconds. Definitely she doesn't talk much like Raven, and something tells him she won't act much as Mystique would. "We could try to leave without conflict, if you wish," he agrees. "But I have to admit I'd like to meet these mutants working for Graydon Creed. And have words with them."

Pausing, Rogue stands at the back of her chair, gloved hands now smoothing over the backrest, thought evident, even as the focus seems to soften some there is still disturbance there. "You know what it looks like to see the threat of death, know it. I know you do." The final affirming words were spoken lowly. Her eyes flickered back and forth, like internally she is battling voices, a conflict, a decision. "I don't think they'll stop, or answer, or…anything. I know, you know as well as they do, death is in their future. They have nothing to lose where they stand now." Rogue has been there before, thought that same thing, but for very different reasons..

"I can be quite persuasive," remarks Magneto. Leaving the empty mug on the table and standing up. "I am afraid I am not following you. But I am hard-pressed to understand why mutants would chase one of their own on behalf of Creed. I am… compelled to find out those reasons."

Rogues eyes follow Mags as he rises, shaking her head. "You stubborn ass, you're worse then an old mule even! I'd give you props for it if it wasn't a matter of life and death." He rose and she sat, plopping her head into her hand and massaging at her temples with her thumb and middle finger in the face-palming expanse over her covered and hair shaded features. "Whether you cripple, persuade or kill them, they're dead anyway. You think Creed would keep mutants alive, even if they helped him?"

"You can stay here if you wish," mentions the white-haired man, his brow furrowing at her comments about his attitude. Well, he has been called worse. And she is tired, so there will be no scolding. "Ah, so you expect they are going to be murderer later. All the more reason to talk with them. Perhaps they can be persuaded to abandon their foolish course of action and leave the country and Creed's reach."

Rogue is exhausted, but when Mags just seems to keep pressing she lets her hand drop to the table just before she stands once again. "Suspect? Nah Mags. /Know/. It's Creed. Don't make promises you can't keep, our kind don't need any more let downs." Heavy boots that resemble the brown hide work boots thud across the floor, as her tired plod becomes a more determined and rolling stroll. Slowly waking again.

Shouldering around Magnus, she heads up the stairs and heads down an aisle of old books, most of them dumped from the shelves, but some…

A flick of her hand over a spine and she sent a couple spilling from the shelf, opening to reveal hollowed husks for weapons housed within.

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