Blue Team: London Regroup

August 24, 2014: The X-Men's Blue Team has been spread across the globe, dispersing devices made by Metal in an effort to locate potential targets in the event that another mutant-killing virus is released. They meet in Betsy Braddock's apartment in London to debrief, regroup, and catch a bit of R&R.

Betsy's London Penthouse

From Betsy's Player: "Probably silver, gold, eggshell white, black, .. typical rich shit."



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Mood Music:

London, England. 21:35 GMT.

The last rays of sunlight begin to disappear over the western horizon, but the city, like most of the major metropolitan cities on Earth, never sleeps. Cars, busses, and pedestrian alike roll along the main thoroughfares below, honking and beeping at each other. The night is young.

In the distance, Scott Summers can see Tower Bridge, not more than seven blocks away at best. It's been a long few days for the X-Man, having travelled the globe in a private jet rented for him by Professor Xavier. He's gone solo for this mission, and it's taken him to many places. San Diego, Honolulu, Melbourne, Tokyo, Red Square, Koeln, and a small village in the Highlands that is compromised mostly of mutants. The journey has ended at this very apartment, a luxury suite resting upon the top floor of an eighteen-story mid-rise, in London.

Out on the balcony, Scott stretches out his hand. The small, moth-like mechanical device buzzes to life, wings flapping in the air as it rises from his hand, chirping a few times.

"Alright, little buddy," murmurs Scott. "Go get 'em." He watches the device as it flies off into the city, then folds his arms and rests against the wall. It's a beautiful evening here in London… and the others should be arriving soon.


Full coverage for when she's in London, lest she wants her brother to loom all over their operation. Truth be told, STRIKE should have been in on the mission, yet Betsy was sure that he had bigger and better things to fry. ~You stopped moving, Carebear.~ Betsy sends out, way across the way at Scotland Yard. She was far away from her penthouse, but the telepathic mind has reaches even beyond a few miles, possibly spanning across countries. Her own hand extends as she releases the last of her little mechanical mothra, eyes towards the sky as she watches it fly up and out, her hands tucking into her pocket as she turns to listen to any reply of Scott.

~Just know that I'm watching you, ol' Sport. Stay out of my closets. My shoes won't fit you. I'll be there in a split second to make us all dinner, there's something I have to do first.~

Typical Betsy, going off on her own.


Not wanting to be too conspicuous, Warren Worthing zips down the street in his bright orange convertible. Zero to one-hundred is no problem for him, and the car turns the corner, barreling down toward his destination. He turns off into the underground garage and parks, hopping out in the dim light. He chooses a spot exclusive and isolated, which parallels his feelings and situation, until he met his friends and grew as a person. With that in mind, of course he accepted Scott's invitation, although made it seem like it was Beast's idea in his head. He beep beeps the car locked and walks to the elevator, rising to Scott's apartment with a DING. Maybe Scott DID remember what he said, that he was trying to be part of the X-Men again, so Warren tries not to look TOO serious as he comes into the apartment, "I could have flipped the bill for this," he offers, to nobody in particular.


Telepathic contact. It's not something Scott is at all unfamiliar with, but it's always a little awkward when it's your first time with someone you aren't too familiar with. His eyes flutter, and he squints, pushing away from the wall reflexively. The squint, well… that's… because she called him 'Carebear'.

~Carebear? Really?~ His thoughts come back unguarded, and the squinting of his face turns into a full on smirk. ~Too late. I've already gone through your underwear drawer.~ The thought is particularly dry and glib, because quite honestly, Scott Summers would never even think of doing such a thing. Call it friendly banter amongst teammates.

Scott's mental voice becomes suddenly distracted, and it's all because of that -ding- on the elevator door. He's already inside, opting to close and lock the patio door because one can never be so safe, and he's halfway through the apartment when Warren steps out. "Yeah, well, Betsy's apartment was just too convenient to pass up." His mouth curls into a grin, both pleased to see Warren and pleased that he answered the call. "I'll take you up on it again, don't worry." Once he's closed the distance, Scott offers a hand to shake. He's truly happy to see Warren here… he hasn't spoken with him directly yet, but from what he understands, he believes that the best thing for his peer is to have direction. Something upon which to focus.

Typical Scott, always assuming things about people.

"Elizabeth is on her way," he offers. "I haven't heard from Remy or Rogue yet, but…" Conspiracy enters his tone. "That's not entirely surprising."


~Bullocks, Scott. You don't have the cajones.~ She turns out of the mainway of Scotland yard and begins to walk, hands within her pockets and hood drawn up. She doesn't look too out of place, yet as long as she isn't seen, she doesn't care too much. She notes the distraction, so instead of going to where she was headed at first, she slips in between two buildings and leans against the wall to wait and listen for more.

Nothing. She wasn't worried about Scott so much as she would her shoes, so with a step forward, her body melds into the shadows in which she traverses into her penthouse, right on cue. "And I'm sure.." She says loudly, from the corner of the room, "That my place looks a whole lot better than Daddy Warbucks' bachelor pad." A slight grin slips into place as she steps out of the corner, her coat soon peeled away and tossed upon the back of a chair. "I'm sure Remy and Rogue will be on their way when they can. I can always relay information to them real time without them being here."

A smile was given towards Warren, and soon a lift of a hand in a wave for her greeting. "So good to see you Warren."


Shaking Scott's hand, Warren Worthington looks curious about the whole thing, as he's not sure what to think, how he fits in, or why. Not that it matters though, because a promise is a promise, "Just like old times," he comments, smoothing over his last statement. He smiles just slightly at thoughts of his old pals and their adventures, he's built up in his mind as carefree and awesome. "You'll have to fill me in," he says about the invitation's purpose. Turning his head, he looks over as Elizabeth glides in out of the all-concealing shadows, lifting his hand to wave at her in return, still smiling in the nostalgia zone, "Hey, come on in," he tells her.


"Mutant-killing virus," Scott notes, giving Warren the condensed version. "I'm sure you saw it on the news. The one that hit Syria. 'Ro and Remy managed to come across some technology on site, and we've used it to create a tracking device." He gestures over toward a table, upon which sit a number of pyrex cubes, each of them bearing the moth-like mechanical device that Blue Team has been dispersing across the planet. "If HYDRA is going to deploy another, we're hoping that these devices can help us locate them before they go off."

Betsy's arrival is met with a rueful grin. His thoughts had been curiously silent in regards to whether or not he has the cajones. One does not need 'cajones' to do something inappropriate. It's not a telepathic message, nothing pointed toward her directly, but it's there in his mind, a lingering thought. Scott, apparently, only knows how to take a joke so far.

"Do you have a clever nickname for everybody?" he asks. Of course, he already anticipates what kind of answer he's going to get. The good humor from his face slows only somewhat; Scott's never too far from business. "Did you hit all of your targets?"


Betsy didn't need an invitation, in fact, that statement stood where ever she went. She comes and goes as she pleases. A little smile towards the men and she was off towards the kitchen, drawing out the pound of beef from the kitchen that she snagged from the market, already cut and seasoned to perfection, rolls and various cheeses added to the counter top for anyones choosing. However, when it came to drinks? They were on their own. Wine, coffee, tea, whatever was there for the taking, yet Betsy herself preferred water for now. She was still nursing a devil of a hangover.


That word was blurted towards Scott mentally while she kept silent, the bottle cap soon twisted off whilst she takes up the chair where her coat rests, shoes soon kicked off and bare feet upon the arm rest. "Yes I do." She states plainly, then gives a quick nod. "Canada, Iceland, Greensland, Mother Russia. I placed an extra in Scotland Yard because I do know of a few mutants who work there. I even went home. I believe that was me being selfish at that point. If there is any where else I need to do a quick drop, just let me know."


Standing there quietly, Warren Worthington is doing nothing new. He doesn't add his only little quips to the discussion and doesn't respond to Elizabeth's nickname for him either. Warren doesn't look too bothered by it, though what he really thinks can't be deciphered, as he seems concerned about the deadly virus Scott reminded him about. He looks over at what Elizabeth is doing, not saying much about that either, though glances back at Captain Planning, probably waiting for his next comment about events, since that's what Scott does. Luckily, Warren looks interested in hearing about what they can do about this problem together, instead of being disinterested, as is usual.


Scott helps himself to a cup of tea. The hot water is poured into a mug, and he elects not to take anything with it. Instead, he raises the mug and offers a little, "When in England…"

~I am not a 'dog'.~

"'Ro, I understand, is taking care of Africa. So, I suppose, once Remy and Rogue are finished with the south… we wait." He tests the tea for a moment, wincing a bit as it's still a bit too hot, and sets the cup down on the counter. One leg comes up and over the bar stool, and he leans in a position that puts him in easy conversational distance with Betsy and Warren. "It's the waiting part I dislike the most," he remarks, and reaches up to remove his glasses. His eyes are pinched shut, the skin of his eyelids a bit raw, and he pinches the space between his nose for a moment or two, massaging it. "But." The glasses go back on, adjusted until they're fitting perfectly, at which point he can open his eyes without fear of blasting Braddock's place to bits. "Either the little bugs find something, or one of our internet nodes is compromised. Either way, that's what we're looking for. That'll be the alarm."

He glances toward Warren now, curious. He's being awfully quiet… which could be a bad thing. "Warren, have you received the vaccine yet?"


~One word. Sleep study. You're not so wholesome when you're dreaming, Carebear.~

Ok ok, she was done messing with Scott. It was time to be serious. "Africa is a big place. She may be there for a while if I'm correct, but Ororo does work fast and diligent where she can." She had to give her friend that. The woman is methodical. It was her turn to shift in her seat a little bit, a slight nod given to both of the men, her gaze flitting from one to the other.

"What can we do in the meanwhile? I don't like sitting and waiting. Maybe there's something on the side that we can take care of while we wait."

It was then, that she shifts her glance towards Warren, a curious gaze written all over her features. "What do you think?"


Captain Planning sure has had a lot of planning done and Warren Worthington doesn't look disappointed with his comments. He looks across at what Elizabeth is doing as he thinks stuff over and he looks like he's thinking stuff over, though snaps his glance back at Scott very quickly after a question comes up, "Vaccine?" he wonders aloud, "No, I haven't Scott. I'm feeling alright," he tells him, feeling fairly dismissive and disinterested once again about whatever Scott is talking about. He looks at the floor, perhaps trying to remind himself about what the heck Scott is talking about, to snap out of his disinterest. To do that, he asks a question, "You have protection against this thing…?" he asks, "If we have a vaccine, I think we should start delivering it," he tells Elizabeth in answer to her question, "Do we have enough?"


Scott's eyes, behind their glasses, remain upon Warren. However, there's a peculiar redness running to his face. A blush, clearly, and one he tries to conceal by lifting the mug of tea, blowing on it for a few seconds before taking another sip. He only looks away when Elizabeth answers, and pivots about to glance her way.

Thank goodness for those glasses, they sure do well to help conceal his expression.

"Yes, but the mutant concentrations there are very precise," he answers in regard to Africa. "From what the Professor saw in cerebro, it's not as much about size as it is density. She'll do well, but we have to make sure the satellite connections stick. Still too much of the continent without internet access, even in this age."

Scott turns back to Warren, halfway through snatching up a piece of cheese. He studies the winged man for a few moments before popping the cheese into his mouth, and there just might be a look of concern on his face. "I'd advise you to have it administered, anyway," he offers. "This virus works fast. Too fast. We can't risk any of us being infected, especially if they hit somewhere heavily populated and close to home."

He doesn't want to admit that Westchester might be a target. The X-Men have no intelligence that says it could be a target… those concerns were fantastic and fear-driven. He's got to keep reminding himself of that. New York City, however… well, that's a whole other subject.

"It's completely voluntary, of course," he discloses. "But… Hank won't be happy about it if you say no." He continues observing Warren, curious about the distracted nature being displayed. For now, he says nothing of it. He's been criticized in the past for being too forward, too direct. He's trying to improve upon that.

It still itches the back of his head like an incessant bug. So much so that he forgets to acknowledge Elizabeth's restlessness.


If Elizabeth felt any sort of shame in a moment, she wouldn't have now. Nope. She has no shame about not taking the vaccine, though she should have been ashamed. "It's not a bad idea to actually disperse the vaccination to those concentrated areas of the world. But I'm unsure if we have enough or not. I'm sure between you and me Warren, that money would be of no object." Her shoulders shrug and a sip of water was taken, thought about, and taken again until there was nothing left in the bottle. Drat.

~Don't think I didn't see that.~

Is what was broadcasted next, however, she does continue her little spiel, all the while standing and moving to the fridge to get another drink of water, and an extra one for Warren. "I'll go with you to get vaccinated Warren. I haven't had mine yet either. I'd love to say that I was busy but.." She was too busy hiding away and getting drunk. Drunk ninja party. What fun! "I haven't had a chat with Beast in a while either. So it would be good for the three of us to catch up, no?"


Regarding Captain Planning for a moment, Warren Worthington doesn't say anything about Scott's "advice", not for a moment anyway. He looks like he's trying though, to not just be the guy with the wings in the back, not just the quiet tag-along, "I wouldn't say no," he tells him, frowning slightly as if wondering why Scott would think so. He glances back at Elizabeth finally, "Alright—-" he begins, not realizing that she was just trying to be casual and charming with him, "Maybe we can have more produced and get it to where it needs to go," he comments, "I think we should do that," he adds, then pauses as if trying to think of a response to what Elizabeth had asked him, "Yeah, what does Hank think about this whole thing…?" he wonders.


It's the moment where Scott gets the distinct feeling that he's being flirted with. Perhaps a little slow on the uptake, which one can easily thank Omaha, Nebraska for, with a pinch of being far too committed to The Cause to kick back and live a little. This is why he turns to watch Elizabeth as she goes to the kitchen, and for just a small, small moment, he lets himself do just that — live a little. Soon enough he's chiding himself for it. She's a teammate, dammit! - he tells himself.

And quickly considers that, if she's telepathically communicating with him, there's a distinct possibility that she noticed that.

"Well," says Scott, sitting up a bit straighter and suddenly filling every inch of space with words. "The thing is, we can't just go in and do something like that. There are international laws to acknowledge, and dispersing a vaccine that hasn't been tested and cleared by, let's see… the CDC, the State Department, probably the President himself, not to mention the foreign governments that would be affected - quite honestly, Federal Courts and the UN would probably consider it not too different from dispersing the virus. Especially if it has any adverse affects that our physicians haven't identified yet."

Captain Planning doesn't wear but one hat. It seems that 'Lieutenant Law' is a badge he likes to wear on his shoulder, as well.

"There is a chance that Red Team may be putting the vaccine in SHIELD's hands," he offers, now seeming to settle himself down a bit. "But, I need to speak with Roberto and confirm that."


Betsy mosey's over towards Warren to offer him a water bottle, whether he would take it or not, it would be left nearby for him to grab as she hops back into her seat. And for the record, she noticed that, but she wasn't one to pick and point out faults when it becomes -that- personal, so she leaves the poor Carebear be. For now. Sparring will be fun after all of this is over.

Listening to the two now, her lips pucker briefly as she rips the cap from the water bottle to settle it upon her knee. Eyes shift left and right again, then a shake of her head is given. "When it comes to something like this. We really shouldn't care about sanctions or politics, just about saving people. Nothing more, nothing less. But I see your point, Scott. But if the vaccination works on us, how can it not work on them the same? Some of us are more.." She gestures a little.. "..than others."

Potent was the word. "Now if SHIELD gets the vaccination, innoculates the mutants, what are we doing when it comes to finding -who- actually spread this? Yes, it's possibly Hydra, but who within?"


Squinting at Scott like a reporter, Warren Worthington doesn't seem to take the political comments very well, though he should be used to them, considering his recent elevation in his family business. "We're really not going to deliver aid? Us? The X-Men?" he asks Lieutenent Law rhetorically, though he finally shows how he feels about politics compared to superheroics, "I guess I'm back to being lost in a conversation then, cause I don't get it," he bitingly replies. He looks at the ground again, as if reconsidering what he said based on the wise words of the Elizabeth, "I guess if it's an issue of who is delivering the aid, I can stay here. They might think I'm acting as an agent of my business," he states, then glances back at Scott, as if waiting for some reassuring plans to come out of Captain Planning.


Well, perhaps Scott Summers was wrong! We'll hope so, for he's thinking about Jean Grey now. Poor guy is about as tactless as can be when it comes to women; the conversation he'd had not long ago with Mimic is proof of that.

Scott looks between the two as they counter his concerns. In an odd way, he seems thankful for the distraction. It gives him something else to think about, something far more important in his mind. "Guys," he says, resting his elbows on his knees and gesturing openly to both. "I get it, I really do. Believe me, I want nothing more than to mass produce this thing and get it out there. Saving lives. It's what we're all about. But." He leans back, reaching for the mug of tea again.

There's always a 'but', isn't there?

"If it backfires. If something goes wrong. If the wrong political backer or…" He has to keep himself from saying 'Fox' here. "… 'news' 'caster gets wind of it, it could mean a lot of trouble. Especially for our friends in Red Team, who've already opened the door and reached out to SHIELD." He extends his hands again. "They have the resources to do this. We have to trust in Roberto and his team, to pull their strings and get them to take care of it." He points toward the ceiling with his right hand finger, while reaching for the mug of tea with his left. "If it works, we forge something. A partnership, something we've never done before. And maybe, just maybe, we won't have to operate in the dark so much any more."

He moves to take a sip, but pauses before doing so, lowering the mug to his knee again. "If it doesn't work," he concedes, "we ought to be ready to do it ourselves. Law be damned." It hurts him to say that, but… remembering the pain, so fresh in his mind, from when he first learned about Syria? It pushes him beyond his concerns about breaking international law, but not without a significant weight behind each syllable.

The mug comes up to his lips, and he drinks through the frown on his face.


Quentin Quire has arrived.


Elizabeth drops a look towards Warren, it was a slight frown there, and a little grin that disappears the second it surfaces. "Stop being so goddamned stand offish, Warren. Your bugging me, mate. Take off your jacket and stretch." He would probably know what she meant, to further it, "Looks like you have a stick up your ass." Ba-dum-tiss!

"But images be damned. Something already went wrong. Women, Men, children all died for nothing, possibly from a sick experiment or gods know what else." The irritation in her face showed, even as she stood up from her chair again to begin pacing and sipping at her water. She extends herself then at that moment, her senses reaching beyond the large penthouse they were in. She wasn't as so much paranoid, but she was looking for something else to take her mind off of her current moody state.

"The thing about us Scooter, is that we're probably going to operate in the dark far longer than we actually hope. Sure, they'll accept us, call on us when they need us and us them, but could we really hope to be brought into the light after all of this time?"

She doesn't say much to his last words, cause.. Law be damned. Someone was going to make the move, and even if it wasn't her, it was going to happen whether any of them had a say so or not. She could feel it. Speaking of feel, she stops dead in her tracks, her head whipping towards the window , her footsteps immediately carrying her towards the balcony to open both doors with one hand. She listens quietly, her head turning slowly to glance towards Scott and Warren, a few steps taken back to move out of the way from whatever was heading in their direction.

"Someone is coming, and it's not Jean nor the Professor." With those words, whether they knew it or not, Betsy shielded their minds just in case by bringing herself in and focusing upon the two.


Psylocke's warning is the first hint of his arrival. The second is the rush of wind outside, just a single whorl of displaced air as it swirls over the house as suddenly outside the balcony there is a man floating in te air. Like something out of Bram Stoker's writings he hovers there in above the floor, a man in a suit with dark hair and glasses. A surprise it may be but at least it's not an attack as the man floats there he lifts a hand to lightly mime rapping his knuckles on a door.

"Knock knock." He says lightly and then settles down on his feet. Brow furrowed and expression distant he looks at each of the room's occupants in turn. It's only when his brown eyes find Cyclops is when he smiles, a faintly rueful nostalgic thing as he says with a measure of amusement. "Summers. Been a while."


Warren Worthington raises his chin a bit and actually smiles in amusement, because Scott is right, which Warren didn't think was possible in his rush to be mega heroic and humanitarian, "Yeah, you could be right, Scott," he tells him, "Always thinking of the bigger picture," he comments, "I guess we have to think about how our actions might effect everyone—-" he adds. Then he looks taken aback when Elizabeth calls him out in front of Scott, though gives her the eye wondering what the hell he did to piss her off so much. He takes his water and goes to sit down somewhere, saying nothing about being embarrassed, the stupidass virus, or any other god damn thing that's been said. Although his wings have been mostly motionless this entire time, they move slightly as he sits down, then pull against his back. He looks at his water and cracks it open, then he has a drink. He glances at Scott's pal.


She's right, of course. The irony here is that Scott Summers is partly responsible for the X-Men staying in the shadows for so long.

'I just don't think they're ready,' he once said, while meeting with the Professor and much younger teammates, many years ago. He hadn't considered the legal ramifications of so willingly helping to form a band of mutant vigilantes. Not then.

Scott looks over toward Warren, and the left edge of his frown quirks up into a half-cocked grin. "Well, it's got to —"

That line of thought is broken with Betsy's alert. Scott slowly and decisively sets his mug of tea down, and stands up from his bar stool. Just in case. The gust of wind has him leaning forward and considering just how many paces it is to that satchel near the couch, where his tactical visor has been stowed.

And then, there's Quentin Quire, smiling at him like it was fifteen years ago. "Warren Worthington, meet Quentin Quire." He motions from one to the other, a distinct expression of tentative friendliness in his cadence. "Went to 'school' with each other back in the late nineties," he explains, before walking across the way to greet Quentin. He'd probably be looking the guy eye to eye with a shade of distrust, if it weren't for the ruby lenses that conceal his eyes.

"Quentin." The unspoken virtually bleeds off his body, so thick that it might not even take a telepath to read the 'What the hell are you doing here?' bouncing around in his head.


Rogue has arrived.

Remy LeBeau has arrived.


Nary a telepath was getting into those pretty little heads of theirs. Not even Betsy. She tormented Scott for the night and had planned on giving Warren the business as well, but once Quentin arrives her nose turns up, he was another one of those teaching sorts. Great. Scott Jr? Let's hope not!

She was still all silence now, her body turning slightly to step away from the two to head towards the door. It seems like he wasn't the only arrival in play, there were others felt yet she made no mention of who they were, only shooting out a quick .. ~bring booze~ into the wind.


Stepping forward to meet Scott part of the way, this guy in front of the X-Man looks like some sort of older shadow of that crazed hellion Summers must've known those years ago. Whatever may have passed, however, right now is all anew and so Quentin extends his hand to the other mutant. "Good to see you, though wish it could be under better circumstances." And if his hand is taken the young man gives a firm and steady shake, two good ones, then he releases and steps back.

"I think I remember him." He looks towards Warren and gives a nod. Then his gaze falls on Elizabeth and he adds, "Definitely would have remembered her."

That having been said he steps back to look at the others, "I heard things were going down. I don't start til Monday so figured I'd come to see what I could contribute."


Warren Worthington fixes his posture and gives attention to the conversation again, "Yeah Scott, I remember him," he says with definite confidence, though if he's lying, it doesn't show, "Hey Quentin, how's it going? Remember me? The guy with a stick up his butt?" he asks with a smile.


South America's heat was nothing like the southern American heat, rogue is dealing with some major humidity hair (picture 80's comic Rogue) and she is none too pleased about this, let alone sight seeing in Europe. These people are snobs, no southern charm, and their food was not anything like 'home'. Rogue was displeased and well over the sight seeing after the mission.

The address to Betsy's apartment here in London had been acquired and Remy is being carried by the woman as she cuts across the sky, which flight in this London weather is doing no better for her hair, or her attitude. Remy being Remy also got him wrapped in his shirt like it was a strait jacket to keep his handsi-ness all upon his onesie. She tied it nice-and-tight, so he could feel all cuddled up, snug as a bug while she toted him by the back of it like a remanded child and paused to hiver before the loft apartment window.

Rogue doesn't knock, not right now, any hospitality has been drained and is invisible behind the brunette and white streaked afro as she flings open the window and tosses Remy in.

"Ah dun know how many time Ah gotta tell you," Low lip puffs out to forcefully huuf/blow hair from her face. "Time and place. Which means nevah me, sugah."


An *unf* followed by a tumble and Remy is sitting up in a crouch. "Not so rough, chere. Remy only touched de one time. No reason to behave like this.. " He grins around at those present while freeing himself of the straight-jacket tie of his own clothing he'd ended up in, "We late to de party?"


Quentin is greeted with an outstretched hand, Scott's grasp firm and somehow bordering between friendly and professional. The demeanor with which Quentin finishes the greeting is met with a curious eyebrow, for this certainly is not the Quentin he remembers from school. Perhaps those fifteen years did the man some good.

"If there were 'better circumstances', they wouldn't need guys like us, huh?" Scott steps away, briefly letting his expression grow crestfallen when Quentin makes his remark about Betsy. Guess some things just don't change.

"Mutant killing virus," he says to Quentin. "Hit Syria." No doubt Quire is well aware of it, so, he's getting Cliff's Notes (tm). "We've got some intel on its dispersal method, so, we've been hitting major centers of mutant populations around the globe, trying to…"

Scott turns to watch as Rogue and Remy make their entrance. He folds his arms across his chest, while beneath his ruby glasses, an expression mixing disapproval with humor forms. "Better late than never."

Dry as a desert.

Momentarily leaving the 'briefing' aside, he walks over to offer a hand in helping Remy become unbundled and upright. "I take it South America went well?" he asks.


Betsy tsks, she was a little off her game, she was assuming they'd come in through the door, but thankfully, the balcony door was open. Shaking her head a little she disappears from sight, only to re-emerge with a comb and a brush, possible hair spray for good measure, which was soon set down upon the table in full view. Now, it was time for her to do the most daring thing ever, approach Rogue. And she does so with ease, her hand snaking out to loop a finger into denim shorts, attempting to tug her by the belt loop towards the comb, brush and spray. A lady is a lady, of course, and a lady loves having her hair did, even if she had to do it herself.

Quentin's comments towards her wasn't missed however, her lips bunching up with a bit of thought. "You would have?" Certainly! Everyone remembers Betsy! Remy's comments get a little chuckle as she points Rogue towards the comb and brush, then gestures towards the counter top in which food stuff sits. "Shredded roast beef and cheese with rolls. Drinks in the fridge, kettle on for the tea, or coffee if you choose. Wine in the fridge, s'well as water. Help yourself, open house." It did seem like a party.

While Quenten was being briefed, Betsy settles upon the arm of the chair, folding her arms about her body to settle and watch, and glance towards Warren, "I'm not mad at you Warren, you were making me uncomfortable standing there like a militant."


Looking across the way towards Warren, Quentin grins a bit as he steps to the side, "Sure thing buddy, didn't I sell you a fake ID one semester?" Though before Angel can answer he's already moving back from the windows and the balcony when Remy and Rogue make their entrance. He tosses them a short snappy salute as he answers Scott's words. "I got a small run down," He furrows his brow as he looks about the room.

Looking back towards Cyclops he asks the question that naturally to him is the most important question for this particular situation. "Do we know who is responsible yet? Locking things down is all well and good, but can't let something like this pass."


Warren Worthington almost chokes on his water as he takes a drink and then laughs at Quentin, though if it was a joke or not, he doesn't really care. "I doubt that!" he chuckles, "I'm a strict militant. We don't buy fake IDs," he tells him. His wings move for a moment as he leans back on the couch, then smiles at how clever this rebel Quentin guy is still, though he doesn't really know him at all.


Well, it is no wonder London did not take to Rogue all too well. Betsy's grip gets a sharp yell as she is jerked in through the windown by the cut off shorts, landing with a snapping twist of her hips to free the womans grip from her, the scoff and narrowed eye'd glare from mossy greens evident. Cowboy boots upon her feet scuff across the floor as she drops into a seat that Betsy had half-drug her to, leaning forward to pick up the comb and try and brush through…Ok, that got lost in her 80's do… Brush to the rescue? Slowly she is taming the beast, leaning back in the chair in a slumping repose she looks like she belongs on a cowgirl-up ad, abdomen bare save for the green camo cut off cami that is 'fashionably' tattered.

Rogue is still getting used to this 'team' thing, at least one such as the X-Men, the Brotherhood does not operate like this, and she was always the loner even then, so for now she looks over the new faces and remains silent.


"Merci, homme." Remy says in regards to Scott's assistance in attaining freedom. He is pretty sure Rogue stretched his favorite shirt.

"It went good, we let dem things fly like instructed. Caught some sun, even got lady rebel in to some short shorts but she ain't a fan o' Remy's monkey talk. I even told her it the monkey don't scratch, it don't bite, swing from no tree an' she up and tied me up. Not a fan I 'spose. Not yet." The grin remains etched across the Cajun's features as he acknowledges Quentin's salute with a two finger wave of those customized gloves on his path towards the kitchen. Also a quizzical who-the-fuck-is-this-guy look given to Scott and Betsy. Warren he's seen in passing, briefly here and there. Remy has been around the X-Men on and off for some time now as a potential member but only recently has become a fully fledged member.

He's after the wine. Hopefully it isn't terrible but knowing Braddock's tastes its probably better than his own.


"Pretty sure it's HYDRA," Scott offers for Quentin's benefit, while finishing up with Remy's dis-entanglement. "Don't worry about it," he quips, before casting a second look Rogue's way. Bit of an enigma to him, but he can't help but be entertained. Remy probably deserved it, after all.

Noticing the Cajun's look, he flashes back one of those 'long story' expressions. "Quentin, this is Remy, and Rogue." He gestures toward the two while heading back to reclaim his seat at the counter, and his mug of tea. He shakes the little mug around, feeling a general lack of warmth from its contents, and decidedly goes into the kitchen for another tea bag and hot water.

"We've been dispersing those devices in an effort to locate any other dispersal devices." Short for 'weapons', of course. Scott gestures toward a table upon which are set a number of pyrex cubes. Contained within these cubes are small, moth-like machines. "Sniffers. Programmed to seek out explosive signatures matching the ones used in Syria." He walks back around the counter and reclaims his seat once again, holding the mug with both hands. "Only one who's not accounted for is Storm, but she's got a lot of ground to cover in Africa." His ruby glasses pass between Quentin, Rogue and Gambit, knowing there's still more to debrief for their benefit. "Once everything's in place, we'll need to consider our next move. But, for now, we've got a bit of time to relax." He forms a grin, looking between the two, especially noting Rogue's disheveled hair. "I think we all deserve it."


The light scream from Rogue had Betsy laughing. "Oh chin up, my darling. I know where and where not to touch you." She'd suffer the woman a wink, but she could tell Rogue was all too frazzled to join in on the joke. She keeps her eye on her though, watching as the comb was tangled in that mess of hair, her lip twisting to fight off the urge to help, her gaze soon tearing away from Rogue to Remy now. He headed in the right direction, she was tempted to take up a bottle herself but she was still coming down from the excitement of the gathering, settling for her water which she picked up and finished with a few big gulps.

"Don't drink it up, Pepe. Save some for me." Later of course, perhaps before bed. As Scott makes the introductions, she eases up on the shields that cover him and Warren, then goes to make herself a sandwich. If no one was eating, then she would. It was the best beef found on this side of town. "I'm not too sure if everyone here likes Gala's, fashion week is almost over but there are a few run down bars we could hit, or catch a bit of dance. Either way, I do have family to visit if you all fancy an hours ride out of town." Or a shadow shift, but sometimes, riding around with the top down boosts morale.


Another wave is given in the direction of Remy and Rogue as Quentin acknowledges their names. He frowns and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his suit and causing the lapels to widen roughly. "Hydra. Didn't know they were into anti-mutant stuff. Always thought of them as sort of anti-everyone."

He spares a glance towards Rogue and Psylocke dealing with the trials and travails of wild hair and its needed attentions. Quire crinkles his nose and gives a nod. "Good, very important we make sure we're all sufficiently pretty when we deal with the terrorists." His tone is fairly neutral even as he pushes a hand over his close cropped hair.


Warren Worthington seemingly finishes off his water and is messing around with the bottle as he listens to the chatter bounce around in the room. He glances over at what Remy, Rogue, and the Hairdresser are doing, looking like he might say something, as he forgot to say hello when they came in. He doesn't say anything though, just glances toward a nearby trash container and tosses in his plastic bottle.


Rogue leans forward, propping one elbow on a knee as she continues de-humidifying her afro, finally getting it brushed down to a tolerable state (and finding the comb!) her arm drops to hang lazily from the knee with the brush flipping between her fingers. As Remy talked on Rogue rolls her eyes and points the brush end accusingly at him. "Ah'm a fan of keepin' ya alive. Don't make a gir change her mind."

At that moment she stands and only pauses to listen to Scott speak, staring at his visor and silently recalling a sunglass booth near Hyde Park that would look soo much… "I say we just cut through all this. Like a dog chasin' it's tail almost, find the base and.." The paddle side of the brush slaps into her other palm as she moves into the kitchen and sets the brush and comb on the counter, looking for the biscuits and cheese… Real biscuits right? Not that sad excuse they call crackers in the USA.. Ain't no biscuit. Though in response to Psylocke Rogue gives her the faintest rise of a brow… "Yeah, everywhere." even her headspace is not safe, and right there is a fair warning, but is followed by a smirk that carries her gaze from Psylocke to Remy and then to Quentin, narrowing lightly.

"Ah don't think I got your name… From you, Ah think it'd be best you joke at my expense once ya know me."

Now the movement from Warren catches her attention and a moment of focus as she leans against the kitchen counter, facing out towards the gathering area. "And who're you?" Familiar perhaps…


"What dis? Nicki Minaj Fusions Moscato? Why Lizbet? Why… " Remy shuffles /that/ bottle out of the way and pulls out a white labeled Le Pin, Pomerol. A two thousand dollar bottle of wine in some regions, fortunately already open so he won't feel so guilty.

"Quentin, heard de name now I got a face for it. Nice to meet you, mon ami." Pouring himself a glass and kind enough to fill another for the hostess as well, even if she does call him Pepe. He's quiet in regards to everything else (for now) as he goes content just watching the others while he begins to sip at his drink only giving Rogue another of his rakish smiles in response. Warren looks absolutely bored and figures it may be jet lag or does a man with wings have an immunity to such things? Remy sure doesn't.


Ruby glasses. They're a wonderful thing, especially at prevent anyone from seeing the way Scott simply stares at Quentin and Rogue during that little… exchange. Still, he reaches up to pull some stray curls behind his ear. Seems he's gone a bit too long without a haircut, and let's disclose something right here, that gesture was entirely incidental. Not on purpose at all.

"We're a big percentage of 'everyone'," Scott offers for Quentin's benefit. Rogue is next to get his attention, and he visibly draws a deep breath in and lets it out, stifling a sigh by sheer force of practice. "If we find one of these devices, we're that much closer to finding their base of operations." Sheer force of practice also keeps him from answering with something snarky. This whole affair was his call, and Lord knows he's got an ego to protect. Internally, he may have responded differently, but, well, Scott Summers seems to be growing up.

"I wouldn't mind a bit of dance." Yes, believe it or not, Scott Summers just recommended that they find one of those run down bars and dance. No, it's not his thing, not particularly, but he's just put Blue Team through the wringer, and he may be about to ask them to do a lot more. A respite from duty might just be what they need.

Besides. What brings a group closer only makes them stronger.



"Everywhere? Are you for certain?" Betsy asks Rogue, surely the woman knew she was playing now, and standing so close, Betsy leaned in and then away, knowing full well the extent of Rogue's bubble. As Remy pours her a glass, she reaches over to take, figuring the sandwich would go down well with a glass of wine before she starts to feel like she's bursting at the seams. She was apparently done with the conversation as a whole, business talk aside and the mentioning of a dance from Scott had her eyebrows shooting upright.

~Oh this I have to see.~ She shoots straight into his pretty little Carebear cranium, eyes boring into his head, just -thinking- about searching out memories that would come up of him doing a chicken dance or the Dougie. Which, the latter would gain him cool points in her book.

"So that's the plan. Blow up all Hydra bases and go out for tea, biscuits, and dance. Sounds like a jolly good time for me. We just need access to Cerebro and a bottle of jack for me." Surely she was kidding. Right?


"Quentin, call me Q." For the time being Quentin had been listening to Rogue and to Cyclops. When she mentions her desire to go in there and find the Hydra base and apply suitable force he turns towards Summers and tells the man, "She's got the right idea. Proactive. Like the shampoo." And thus he links his two trains of thought before turning back to the woman whose ire he's earned. "Sorry, I tend to run off at the mouth when distracted."

Yes, Quentin Quire just apologized to Rogue. He even meant it.

Turning again to the room as a whole he opens his hands, "But really she's spot on there. Countering their efforts are well and good, but we have enough strength here we can make sure they don't do this again." He pauses and gestures towards Remy with a grin, "Remy's on the same page too, I can just kinda tell these things." Then Betsy makes her comment, "Exactly. Do we have any idea where they're holed up?"

There's a pause and then he asks, "What's cerebro?"


The finely mannered Warren Worthington stands up as Rogue wonders who the heck he is, "Hey, nice to meet you," he says to her, "Warren Worthington," he says, extending a hand of introduction to her, "Do we know each other from the school? I was in Los Angeles for a while, so I'm sorry," he tells Rogue with an easy smile. Tilting his head, he looks surprised as Scott promises to dance the night away and boogie, "Are you joking, Scott?" he wonders. His wings ruffle in confusion, if they can. Maybe Scott watched a John Travolta movie or something.


The lean inward from Betsy gets Rogue to back away and almost step into the extended hand of Warren's as he introduces himself, instinct driving her back further to nearly be scaling the countertop, her one hand held up and back with gloved fingers splayed as her other hand is clenched into a defensive fist but wrapped around the head of the Miaj bottle. One knee is up on that hard surface and her eyes hold the wildness of a cornered animal for a moment in time before an exhale has her slowly unballing fingers and setting the bottle down before she breaks some(one)thing - but her head shakes. Gloved or not she is not taking the risk.

"Nice to meet you." Is all she says to Warren, staying poised in that awkward pose until he withdraws his hand. The mention of a night out and dancing as well as drinking sounds so tempting…. Fun. Risky. Nevermind smashing HYDRA, that's all fun and games, right?? "Ah'll stay here, see what this country offers for television shows."


"I'm up for anything long as we walkin' or riding there. No more flyin' tonight." Remy turns that easy smile towards Warren then Rogue, "'either way I say we get out. Though, bustin' up some HYDRA base probably take more planning than just showing up and bustin' some heads. Fun as dat sounds." Another drink, the glass is tilted side to side so he can watch the liquid swish about.

His brows rise up as he watches Rogue get all 'no touchy' and can't help but chuckle. "You de team lead, Slim. You wanna dance, I say we go dance. Not be up all night with you all though, got some things to do back home. But I be around for this HYDRA slap we got goin'. Be more'n happy to help out there."


"No, Warren, of course I'm not joking." Scott snaps a bit back Warren's way, which he completely feels apologetic about (well, perhaps not completely). He might be able to pass it off on that little voice in his head that doesn't belong there, egging him on.

Elizabeth gets a 'look' when Quentin asks about Cerebro. Even without visible access to his eyes, that 'look' is pretty damned clear. "We don't know, Quentin," he answers, only looking away from Betsy after that. "If we did, we'd have a team out there by now."

Scott is halfway through reaching for one of those sandwiches - he's probably going to have at least one beer, and he wants some food in his stomach - but Rogue jumps up on the counter and he pulls his hand away reflexively. "Easy, Rogue," he says quietly and with a comforting tone. "If you're sure, but as far as I remember, the BBC is pretty dull." Then, when she backs down, he goes through with snatching up aforementioned sandwich. To Remy, he says, "Sure, but. Before we go." He walks out a bit, putting himself in the center of everyone, like a goddamned Quarterback.

"There are a few locations I'd still like to check out. North Park, San Diego. A place called… 'Logan Square' in Chicago. And it may be good to check in with Red Team. The Burning Human festival is going on, and needs some extra scrutiny. I'll take any volunteers who'll go with me."

Following this, he grins, and raises the sandwich to take a bite, adopting a more casual stance. "But," he says between chews, "that can wait 'til morning." He looks to Elizabeth. "Lead the way."

~Don't expect any 'twerking'.~


Betsy gives Quentin an incredible look. It was one mixed with disbelief and a wonder if he was really that daft. "Wha.." She couldn't even. She shook it off with a shake of her head, then turns around as Rogue performs acrobats upon her counter top. The drawer was soon opened and a sheet of paper was taken, ripped in half and written upon, her hand soon reaching into her back pocket to pull out a Black Amex card, and keys soon shifted from the other. "Here, my darling." She offers up towards Rogue, items placed upon the counter top as such. "The key with the black band around it is the one to get in and out. The key with the red band provides extra locks. Pin number is on the paper, stock up the fridge as you see fit. And if you like, shopping is on me, lest you fancy what's in my wardrobe." There was a pause, she had to think about that one. "If you see something that looks great, get me a pair, in purple." One would think that she'd be afraid to leave Rogue with most of her dough, but she's got a lot of money to shake a stick at.

As Scott puts himself at the center, right after that look was registered and she gives an awful shrug. "Logan Square for me it is then." She states suddenly. With Rogue taken care of and Remy wanting to head home, she moves towards Scott to slip an arm around his own to tug him with. "Logan Square, then we hunt for a night club." A glance was given towards Quentin, a hand held out as well. "Might as well come with, bruv." Whether he takes her hand or not, or if Scott decides to stay behind and do more shop talk, she was off. Doing that lil shadowy thing again.


Looking over the other folks, Quentin gives a calm hnh of sound. He then looks back at Elizabeth and then says, "Suppose it won't kill me." And with that he steps towards the woman and takes her hand, ready to flit the night fantastic away.


With a squint, Warren Worthington looks confused as to why Rogue recoils away in horror, like he smells or something more vile than that. He smoothly turns his handshake into a casual finger-point, "Yeah, same here," he replies. He then rubs his neck, as it has been a rough night for him, "Someone's playing a trick on me…" he mutters, "Yeah, I gotta be going. I have something to do tomorrow. Later."


Quentin's apology was heard, but she did not acknowledge it openly, she at least doesn't glare at him when she finally casts him another glance. "Proactive is for your face and supposedly cures acne, HYDRA is more like worms." Don't ask for elaboration, she's a farm girl.

When Warren leaves so quickly her mouth opens, closes and she slowly descends the counter top to accept what Betsy offers before she has two men on her like she is pimping. Almost makes her want to turn down the offer for shopping on her… But she silently has a girl moment of glee and heads for the same entry her and Remy came in on, stepping out and flying off.

"Catch ya'll later!"


Of course, just as everyone is leaving is when Ororo finally returns. She lands on the balcony just as Anne Marie is flying off. "I apologize for being so late. However, the moths are deployed all over Africa in the places we agreed upon." She had time to get out of the outfit she wears as Storm and into more suitable London clothes, though she is dressed as elegantly as always.


Remy is left standing there with that two thousand dollar bottle of wine, "I'll jus' eh," A shrug and the Cajun wraps the Le Pin in his forearm like it's an infant and wanders to the couch to sprawl out on it. Where he'll cover one forearm over his head/eyes and the bottle in the other. It's just as he's closing his eyes that Storm will wander in, "Bit late, ma chere. But come, sit wid Remy, share a drink you can tell dis sleepy Cajun a bed time story." He won't be awake long and everyone else has wandered off.


Scott looks a bit surprised as Elizabeth takes his arm. Then, Quentin is joining them, and the others? Well, the others seem to be hanging back. He looks to Rogue as she takes off, then to Warren as he leaves as well. Then, Remy seems to be taking up a place on that couch, and in comes Storm. "Ororo," he says, "We're, um, going out. For a drink, and some dance."

Yes, it's true. And it was all Scott's idea. He glances from her to Remy, then back to Storm, and does a little 'nod-nod' his way.

And, beneath his glasses, there's a bit of a helpless gesture.

Dig the hole, Scott Summers. Dig the hole.


Looking over at those in the room, there is a glimmer of laughter in her blue eyes that only just barely touches her lips. Scott is offering drinks and dancing, which is so not like him and Remy is asking for cuddles, which is very much like him. "Remy, my friend, you will have to work a little harder then that to get me to lay with you. Go to sleep." She shakes her head with a roll of her eyes at her friend as he goes to snooze on the couch.

"Well, I neither drink or dance, but if you need a designated driver, I would be happy to join you."

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