om_main | Damon, Manuel, and Shinobi, Backdated 02/05/14

The three mutants who should probably be kept as far from each other as possible get together for drinks and plotting.

Seated at the bar, and impeccably dressed despite the fact it made him stand out like a diamond-studded Bentley at a demolition derby, Shinobi nursed the first drink on what was likely to be a very extensive tab. He nodded to the bartender and a few of the waitresses and other regulars he recognized, then turned his attention back to his plus one for the evening.

"Charming ambiance, don't you think, Manuel?" he inquired lightly. "Truly, one cannot appreciate society's greatest achievements without spending a little time acquainting oneself with its dank underbelly. Think of it as aversion therapy, if that helps."

As subtle or clever as this trial might have seemed to Shinobi, the effort was wasted on Manuel. He had felt the other boy's expectant curiosity as soon as they'd stepped out of the car, felt it even more now as each of his responses were observed and evaluated, and he understood what was happening enough to resent it. Still, he managed to keep his scowling to a minimum as he sat perched on the next bar stool in the row, considering the drink in front of him and the dirty glass it had come in. He had yet to touch it. "What a philosophical view on filth," he retorted flatly, obviously unimpressed, then quickly dismissed the subject. He doubted complaining would earn him any points in this little game.

"So. Just who is it we're waiting for?"

"I am capable of truly staggering depths, sometimes," Shinobi replied haughtily, though his expression soon dissolved back into an amused smirk. Manuel, of course, did not appreciate what was happening in the slightest--but Shaw would have been very surprised if he had. It was still necessary, however, and, while he hadn't exactly manufactured the scenario solely for the sake of enjoying the other mutant's irritation, it would have been less than honest to claim he did not find it just a tiny bit amusing. "You really oughtn't frown so," he advised Manuel. "It causes wrinkles. And your face might freeze that way, and that would be a tragedy."

He drank without reservation from his own, less-than-antiseptic glass. "As for who we're waiting on, it's a friend of mine. We used to live together, in fact. I think you'll like him--he takes everything too seriously, too. But he's clever, and he's capable, and he's just what we need to make our little project a success."

If anything, the amusement Manuel could see on Shinobi's face and feel from inside his head only made his frown deepen. "If you want to see me to smile," he advised, "Don't limit your sense of good taste to your wardrobe." He started to lean his elbows on the bar, thought better of it, and straightened again. Then he he considered what the other boy had said and appeared momentarily thoughtful.

He could only assume that another contributor to the 'project' meant another mutant and, while he sounded like a capable ally, he also sounded like potential competition for Shaw's resources. But that thought, obviously, had no place in their conversation. Instead, he nodded faintly and inquired, "Your former roommate?"

Shinobi drained his glass with a contented sigh and motioned for another. "Hai, I suppose that would be boiling it down to its barest essentials," he nodded. "We shared a room, when he studied at Xavier's--two problem cases in one tiny cell. I imagine the idea was to either limit the amount of questionable influence we could bring to bear on the other students, or else ensure that the only ones we dragged down with our questionable behaviors was each other."

He grinned at the Spanish mutant. "Damon was determined not to like me, either," Shinobi told him. "And, if you asked him now, I expect he'd still assert he has very little use for me or my eccentricities. But he knows I have my uses, and I appreciate that he has his. That, perhaps, is as close to friendship as one could hope for in our situation, neh? Less touchy-feely than unapologetically mercenary. Still, I expect I might actually go out of my way to help him out, if circumstances ever required it. In short, I trust him, to the extent I am capable of trusting anyone who isn't currently dating me."

Manuel chuckled, the sound amused and melodic and just a bit sharp. "If Lensherr or Xavier thought your influence could be contained with such minimal efforts, then I may have to reconsider my opinions of them." Not that they were all that high to begin with, but he was in their debt and had few enough other prospects for that to be basically irrelevant. He let the faint smile his laugh had necessitated lapse and then shrugged before speaking again, "But I hope you aren't expecting me to disapprove. I know better than anyone how fickle emotional connections are. At least when a relationship is based on mutual benefit you will always know where you stand."

Without fanfare, the raven haired teen lowered onto the barstool on the other side of Shinobi. Dressed quite a bit more appropriately for the bar, it was still noticeable that even the jeans, faded t-shirt, and leather jacket were designer quality, and perfectly fitted to show off his lean, but dangerous physique. "This is all so touching," he announced, then proceeded to flirt with the bartender until she set a glass of bourbon in front of him.

"Mawkish sentimentality is one of my many vices," Shinobi acknowledged, draining the last of the contents of his glass and signalling for another. "I'm touched that you noticed. Manuel," he went on, indicating the new arrival with a wave of his hand, "this, obviously, is Damon, owner and sole proprietor of X-Factor Investigations. Damon, Manuel; he's one of the more recent additions to the student body, with a gift that's simply delicious--and, I suspect, the imagination to put that gift to good use."

Having never seen Damon before, Manuel didn't realize that he had arrived until he announced his own presence, inserting himself into the conversation and claiming a seat on the other side Shinobi. As if to make up for this, he watched the (apparently disinterested) young man with attentive eyes and keenly attuned empathy for several seconds before he nodded. "It's a pleasure," he answered smoothly, "Damon."

Underneath the Joe Cool attitude, Damon was all suspicion, calculation, and uncertainty. It was clear that though he liked Shinobi, he didn't trust him, and when he turned his gaze on Manuel, the stranger received even more of that distrust with a slight narrowing of his eyes. Damon studied him thoughtfully, trying to figure out what power he could possibly have that would be of interest to Shinobi. "Likewise, Antonio."

He cut his gaze back to Shinobi, as though already bored with the meet and greet. "So what's the deal? The only time you ever come into one of these places is when you're looking for entertainment, and if that was the case, you'd already be flirting with half the room."

"They know me too well to take me seriously anymore," Shaw laughed with an airy wave of his hand and a wink for the bartender as she deposited another round in front of him. "And just what sort of greeting is that for an old friend, anyway? It's possible I was simply pining for your company, you know." Not likely, and they both knew it. But certainly not unthinkable.

He was quick to drop his pretensions of coyness, however; neither of his two guests had much patience for that sort of thing--not in the present context, at any rate. "As it happens, I have a project in the works, one with which Manuel and a select handful of others will be assisting me. It's potentially a very profitable venture for all involved, though not without certain very specific demands. I think it would suit you perfectly."

The knowledge that Damon was uneasy and suspicious of this entire situation -- and of him in particular -- was of little comfort to Manuel when the other boy was intentionally calling him by the wrong name and so promptly dismissing him. As if he were as inconsequential as any other stranger in the room. He bristled, but likewise looked at Shinobi, waiting to hear the reason that he should be willing to tolerate this seemingly intolerable boy.

"I've got a job, Shaw. You know that," Damon told him, taking a sip of the bourbon. "Not that I'm not interested, but I'm not giving up X-Factor, whatever it is."

"Yare yare, I wouldn't dream of asking you to, mon ami," Shinobi hastened to reassure him. "What I propose is more a sideline occupation, albeit one with the potential for enormous benefits both for ourselves and the unique community to which we belong. You're of Old World lineage," he went on, "tell me, are you at all familiar with the Hellfire Club?"

"Some exclusive club in New York and London. Only those with the most money get in," Damon reported. They'd only been rumors Giuseppe would mention in passing. "Our family didn't quite hit the mark, despite the fact that we were among the first colonists."

"The exclusive club," Shinobi corrected with a small smirk. "And you're only half-right: money isn't really the sole, or even the main, qualification for membership. The Hellfire Club is about power--acquiring it, holding it, growing it. Using it. Unfortunately, I find the current leadership tragically lacking the kind of vision necessary to lead the organization in the right direction--a direction favorable to gifted individuals like you and me and Manuel here. I think it's time for some new blood to take the reins."

"So you're keen to put yourself in the seat of power," Damon surmised, watching the other teen intently.

"Not exclusively," Shinobi said with a touch of obviously false modesty. "I'm sure you've noticed my occasional penchant for questionable decisions. I see it as more of a cabal, of sorts. Or an oligarchy, if you prefer. Two groups, in fact, sharing few obvious connections and using completely different methodologies, but pursuing the same overall set of goals." He spread his hands. "I would like you to be a part of it."

"You want me to be part of your exclusive power club oligarchy. Hold on." Damon tipped the rest of his bourbon back, swallowing it down clean, then held up his fingers to the waitress for a refill. "Okay. Go on."

Shaw laughed. "Oya oya, is it really as astonishing as all that? I cannot see why. You have the presence and the disposition to fit in perfectly amongst the social elite, and I've already arranged for a senior member to sponsor your admission. And for our plans to come to anything at all, we'll have need of what you can do. But perhaps showing would be more illuminating than telling." He raised his glass to Manuel with a sly smile. "If you wouldn't object to a small demonstration, my friend? I think it would help put us all on the same page."

Manuel had heard all of this before; Shinobi Shaw was proud of his grand plan for the Hellfire Club and for the unlikely bevy of young mutants he had recruited to the cause. But he didn't mind listening to it again and temporarily foregoing a role in the conversation if it meant he could focus on the newcomer and his outwardly dismissive but inwardly calculated responses. Still, he wasn't surprised when the conversation came back around to him. He had been asked along for a purpose, after all. His eyebrows rose faintly in acknowledgment, then he smirked and shrugged in silent agreement.

It didn't take more than a few seconds of listening to the occupants of the crowded bar, both audibly and empathically, for him to find a suitable demonstration. A couple not far off from them was engaged in a mild disagreement and sowing the necessary seeds to turn it into screaming match took almost no effort. The tones in their voices changed, the woman's becoming sharper and the man's becoming louder. It wasn't long before the woman shot up from her chair, yelling at her boyfriend that he was 'unbelievable' and throwing the remainder of her drink directly into his face. She stalked toward the door, hitting it hard and slamming it harder. In the momentary silence that followed, before the normal din of the bar returned, he gave them both a purposeful look and said simply, "Such a temper." The hints of violet in his eyes were nearly invisible in the dark and already fading. "Women."

Damon's eyebrow arched upward, and he glanced between Shinobi and Mask of Zorro over there. He wasn't quite sure what he'd just witnessed, but it was obvious that Manuel and his mutation had been the cause. He could see why Shinobi found it helpful. "Well. That's something."

Though he knew it was probably inappropriate, Shinobi grinned at Manuel's most effective demonstration. He drained his glass as he turned back to Damon, the warring couple and their troubles already largely forgotten. "I am not a complete novice when it comes to the fine art of manipulation," he said, waving to re-gain the bartender's attention. "But trading in favors, wealth, and secrets is an uncertain game. You'll understand why I prefer to stack the deck in my favor beforehand, neh? An assurance that the other players will do exactly what we want them to. Arigatou, Manuel."

Manuel smirked in response, his own qualms over the damage he might have caused to the couple apparently nonexistent. They were just baselines, after all. Given the knowledge and the chance, he had little doubt that they do far worse to the trio of mutants sitting unknowingly in their midst. And if they happened to be among the more enlightened of their kind...well, they would work it out.

"My pleasure," he said simply, then turned his eyes back to Damon, curious but knowing that it too soon to ask about the specifics of what the young man would bring to the table. He wasn't sold yet and invasive questions from a stranger were unlikely to sway him toward a 'yes'.

Damon inspected Manuel carefully for a moment, obviously more cautious of dismissing him as readily as he had. Then he turned back to Shinobi. "You know, all you really had to do was ask me to imagine the look on my father's face when he finds out that I'm a member of the HFC."

"I was hoping to appeal to your self-interest first, then move on to spite if that failed to pan out," Shinobi laughed. "But whatever helps get you motivated is perfectly fine with me! The others will be so pleased. Well," he amended, "Lydia will probably be pleased." And smirky. "Felix may require consolation. I'm sure we can all play nice for the sake of the greater good, though, neh?" He raised his glass. "Kanpai, gentlemen."

While Manuel didn't join Shinobi in actually laughing at Damon's comment about his father, he did allow himself to appear genuinely amused. He could relate, after all. Spite hadn't been his primary motivation for participating in these schemes, but achieving the wealth and the power that had long been nothing more than a sham in his prestigious lineage had the potential to be a delicious perk should he ever cross paths with his parents again. He savored the notion silently, then interjected, "Perhaps your manipulation needs more polish than you thought. But at least you have us."

Resisting the urge to cringe, he picked up his own glass from the bar and raised it. This was business now and if a toast was required to smoothly seal the deal he supposed he would have to manage. "Salud."

Damon had his glass halfway to his lips before he cut a sharp look sideways at Shinobi. "Felix? That little red-haired drug addict? You asked him. Before you asked me? Sorry, are my skills just not good enough for you?"

"Felix still lives at the school," Shinobi pointed out--quite reasonably, in his own mind. "That makes it much easier to get a hold of him when I need to discuss things like recruitment into secret societies." He inclined his head curiously. "Drug addict? Sou desu ka? That's certainly an interesting revelation; I don't think I've ever seen him ingest anything stronger than champagne in the time I've known him. But I hardly watch him every moment ..." It was odd to think that Philip hadn't noticed, though; that sort of thing was supposed to be right up his metaphorical alley. What an unusual development.

But he soon shrugged it off; chemical dependency was hardly anything he was in a position to criticize, after all. "In any event, I thought why have just one means of subverting the wills of useful or inconvenient people when I could have three? I prefer having the odds decisively in my favor." And having each of them serve as a check against the others, naturally, but that hardly bore mentioning.

Manuel knew Felix, perhaps even liked the bizarre waif in his way, but the accusations weren't about to ruffle his feathers. Honestly, the prospect wasn't even that surprising; not half as surprising, in fact, as him actually agreeing to be part of this. But he took his chance to avoid completing the toast, instead setting the glass back on the bar and musing absently, "And here I thought his opiate of choice was a Rachmaninoff concerto. In any case, does it matter as long as he keeps his...pleasure separate from his business?"

He shared in Shinobi's shrug, then considered his point. Valid...but he also recognized a system of checks and balances when he was in the middle of it and he didn't entirely like that.

"The...the drugs are not the point," Damon answered, clearly annoyed. "Besides, I already cured him of that. The point is that he's a little manipulative shit, but I guess that's why you want him."

He emptied his glass (again), and sighed. "Fine. I'll play. But the minute he starts to mess with me, I'm not holding back."

Shinobi smiled. "Excellent," he said, but his jovial expression dimmed as he noticed the empty glass in his hand. "We'll need another round to toast with, though, I think."

After signalling the waitress, Shaw propped an elbow on the bar--oblivious, it seemed, to its less-than-pristine condition--and rested his jaw on his fist. "Still, I find this antipathy quite remarkable. I mean, I'm a manipulative little shit, too. So are you, when the right sort of mood hits. I'd guess the same holds true of our friend Manuel, if I weren't wary of setting off his no-doubt volatile Latin temperament."

Damon gave his ex-roommate a warning look. "That's between the little shit and me."

Manuel grunted softly and rolled his eyes at mention of his volatile Latin temper, but didn't dignify the comment with an actual response. Instead, he thought about what Damon had said; that he had cured Felix of his supposed addiction. He wondered if the young man's powers had been involved, then decided there was no other plausible explanation. It was impossible to picture Damon showing the compassion or the patience to help an addict through his struggles in any of the traditional methods. Very interesting.

Finally, he said, "It's the same, Shinobi. As long as he can do the job, do you care about his aversions? Let him have his enemies."

Under the weight of their combined warnings, it was only natural for Shaw to swiftly abandon the topic--for now. It was a question of some interest, of course, but not one in which he'd seen any reason yet to become personally invested. He needed cooperation from Felix and Damon; their feelings for each other, whether good, bad, or indifferent, were of no special moment. He held up his hands as surrender as the bartender passed, depositing a fresh round of drinks in front of the three teens. "Hai, hai; have it your way, then. As long as we can manage a reasonably effective working relationship, I suppose there's no need for us all to be Best Friends Forever or start coordinating our outfits and vacation plans ..."

"God help us," Damon rolled his eyes. "Spaniard, back me up here."

"I think 'God help us' is...comprehensive," Manuel retorted with a real tinge of amusement in his dark eyes and the curve of his lips. Then it waned. "So. You've enlisted your players, Shinobi. When do the games start?"

"Look at you two," Shaw teased. "You'll be finishing each other's sentences in no time. Probably whether you like it or not." He quickly knocked back his latest drink and enjoyed the slow burn of the alcohol radiating outward from his belly with a cheerful sigh. "As for when we begin ... well, there's no time like the present, is there? I've already arranged for your sponsors; you can meet them or not, whatever you prefer. And I've a placed a standing reservation for one of the Club's more private rooms. So, really, all is a day when some or most of us are free. And, of course, all the Club's amenities will be at your disposal whether I accompany you or not, so do feel free to avail yourselves of them as you like."

"Please tell me that rumor about dressing up in period fashion isn't true, because I get enough of that back home," Damon drawled.

Manuel snorted softly, glancing briefly at Damon. Given that the other boy hadn't even learned his name (or was simply making a point of acting like he hadn't), he doubted that any such rapport would form between them any time soon. Mutual exasperation with Shinobi aside. He turned his eyes back to the black-haired mutant and acknowledged his point with a subtle nod. He liked the sound of that.

At least until Damon spoke up, causing his eyebrow to crook. "Period fashion?"