From Russia, with Love [Warren first]

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

The Haunted Palace was a perfect place to for Rasputin to start his mission. The name of the place was all that was needed to say why, 'The Haunted Palace'. It had an eerie aura about it, and was just ideal. It wasn't crowded and the crowd that did hang out there wasn't nosy, and stayed to themselves for the most part.

The lights weren't dim, but the lighting wasn't great. The decoration wasn't very thought of, and it could use with a touching up. Rasputin sat a table near the entrance of the cafe part of the joint. He had a cup of ice water in front of him. He stared at it, swirling around the water with his finger, watching the ice cubes smack against each other. The more he focused on twirling the water, the more sadistic his gaze upon it became. But when the water started to spin to quickly and began to spill over the side, he stopped and looked at his wet finger. He moved his hand if examining it. He was paying attention to the room with his mind, he was aware of all who came and left the room.

There was a diverse crowd in the room, towards the back a group of rather gothic figures talked about school affairs, and about the preppy group in the center. Rasputin thought it would be entertaining to meld with one of the preps and toy with him. He placed his hand on the table, smiling at a boy that seemed to be the 'popular' one of the group. The boy was in the middle of a story about his brother when Rasputin began the meld. The boy didn't put up a fight, mostly because he didn't know it was coming. His will easily became Rasputin's, and he became a puppet for a moment. He made the boy get up from his table, and take seating with the goths. <What the hell am I doing over here?> Rasputin could feel the boy starting to struggle a little. He could feel the boys extreme pride among all other emotions. "You're lucky this time." He said to himself, freeing the boy. He would save his strength for the mission.

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Rasputin just sat quietly in the eerie cafe, occasionally peeking into the unsuspecting minds of others. There was not really any good information in the heads of these zombie like teenagers, no mutants to his knowledge were sitting among him. Though he did sense someone perhaps not in view that could be a mutant.

His attention was drawn to someone he could not see, perhaps behind the stage, in the movies, just somewhere out of sight. There were too many minds in the room to find the individual because he was out of sight, Rasputin would wait to see if the person would be making an appearance on stage or something public. Perhaps it was the one whom he seeked, perhaps he'd accomplish his mission on the first try. He'd toy with the boy, maybe find some secrets, then just mess his world up.

Rasputin did know from his own research that the boy wasn't a psychic, and was sure he'd fall victim easily to Rasputin's attack. Rasputin took a deep breath, he was excited, at the same time nervous at who this mysterious person was. He clicked his fingers looking fully around the room.

[Warren Worthington III]

(( OOC: This is shortly after the Institute Invasion; before the Baxter Building thread. Also, for those of you who’ve been following and are now confused, this replaces my previous post on this thread, for logistical reasons.))

Back when Warren first started spending time at the Institute, which seems like several lifetimes ago at this point, he made a point of going out regularly and letting himself be seen in local establishments with wings in full view. His intention had originally been to expose people to mutants doing ordinary things in ordinary places, to counteract the more spectacular images they saw on the media. (It reminds him sometimes of that old joke about the “gay lifestyle”: wake up, make coffee, go to work, eat lunch, etc… though to be fair, being a mutant is pretty central to the lives of most of the mutants he knows.)

He’d mostly given it up after he started making television appearances and going to clubs… he was doing the same thing, really, on a larger scale. But until they can find out who was responsible for the Invasion, Warren is reluctant to make any major public appearances – fighting French soldiers and police in the streets had been bad enough, but fighting American soldiers and police on national television would be catastrophic.

The funny thing is, he’s found he misses it. Which is what brings him to the local ‘arty’ cinema this evening – well, that, and their midnight showing of the original “The Man Who Fell to Earth.” (He’s had to promise not to make Josh watch it anymore, which he can appreciate – it’s actually a pretty awful movie, viewed objectively – but it’s been a guilty pleasure of Warren’s for years, and not solely because it’s Bowie back when he was attractive.)

He’s early for the show, which is fine with him… gives him more time to be seen, and the café seems pretty well-populated (though he suspects they aren’t going to the same show he is) with the usual collection of goth and preppy teenagers and bored employees.

One kid in particular catches his attention as he approaches the counter and orders a double-espresso with a cappuccino chaser (among the often-undervalued aspects of his metabolism is the ability to drink this stuff late at night and still get a decent amount of sleep), a tall kid with shaggy brown hair and great teeth, stirring a cup of ice water with his finger. Gothy-looking, but not hanging with the Goths, and not really dressed like them – probably new in town, then. No doubt he’ll pick up the local standard nonconformist look soon enough, he thinks as he sits down at a table by the outside window, they all seem to, eventually

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Rasputin hadn't always had the best experiences with the human world finding out that he was a mutant. It resulted in his families demise, and led him to much misfortune in his life. The persecution of his family led to him putting various mental blocks on 'undesirable' emotions that he thought would hinder him. His mind was a complicated battle field, but so fragile at the same time. What people don't understand they fear, and what they fear they speak out against. Rasputin was one of these unfortunate individuals.

Rasputin had never attended a movie before, in fact he couldn't recall ever watching a television. It could be said that Rasputin was technologically retarded. He had desire to learn, and never took a fancy to learn it. He had his own means of finding out information, his mind.

As Rasputin was busy scanning the cafe for any mutants, he noticed someone-with wings! He immediately diverted all of his attention to the boy. The boy was taller then Rasputin, or so it looked, and very lean. He didn't look like he'd be much of a challenge for Rasputin, he didn't sense any notable mental capabilities.

He just watched the boy, not even bothering to barge into his mind. He took a notice of the winged-one taking a glance at him. Rasputin looked back at him with a sadistic smile wiped over his face. It was already to late for Warren, he was already in Rasputin's deadly gaze. Rasputin would survey and watch his prey, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

[Warren Worthington III]

The kid with the ice-water gives him a creepy smile and watches him like a hawk, and Warren turns away rather than encourage him. Wonder what his story is?

Warren meets all sorts of people on his public outings: mutant-haters, mutant-worshippers, the curious, the angry, the supportive. He’s had clenched fists, hot coffee, and amorous advances thrown at him – once all three by the same girl, over the course of a memorable evening. At this point, very little surprises him… and whoever the creepy kid is, he seems quiet enough and isn’t causing trouble, so Warren doesn’t have a problem with him.

He returns his attention to the counter, idly whistling along to an old Bowie tune* running through his head. He’d thought he’d forgotten the lyrics, but they come back to him now… My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare… I had to cram so many things to store everything in there… and all the fat-skinny people… and all the tall-short people… and all the nobody people… and all the somebody people…

"I never thought I’d need so many people…" the voice comes from behind him and to his right, a woman in her late 40s or so, not singing exactly but declaiming the lyrics in a cool, confident voice. "Oh, I loved that song when I was your age… though I didn’t understand it until years later." She looks him straight in the eyes, boldly, curiously, measuringly, challengingly. "Do you?"

Warren blinks, returning the stare... it’s an odd conversational gambit, but she seems perfectly serious about it… and, thinking about the song, he thinks he knows why. "A little while ago, someone I love almost died," he says, his voice level and smooth, and she’s looking at him more intently now, and he’s pretty sure where this is going

"It was a close thing. After, I realized how much he was a part of me, how much I’d lose if I’d lost him, and…" he trails off, not sure how to finish that sentence, but she nods as if he’d answered her question. "So, yes, I think I do understand." He tilts his head slightly and adds, gently, "Who did you lose?"

Her eyes are shining behind her thick librarian’s glasses, but she doesn’t cry, and Warren gets the feeling that’s an effort of will. "My daughter," she answers, her voice almost confident. "I must say, Mr. Worthington, you’re not nearly as shallow as your reputation suggests." Warren shrugs, noncommittally – what can one say to that, after all? -- and wonders why she's approached him.

* - “Five Years”

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Rasputin knew he made Warren feel uncomfortable, and he turned his attention from him only to be approached by a middle aged woman. The lady wasn't dressed very tastefully in Rasputin's opinion, she was slightly nerdy. But whatever, Rasputin wasn't here to judge that lady, she meant very little to him, and it was doubtful that she had any real significance in the scheme of things.

Back to his mission, what he was sent here to get done for Magneto. Rasputin has decided to have a little fun with Warren first, see how he'd react to some harmless illusions. He thought for a moment, What to do, what to do... he looked around the room, scanning for anything that might prove 'fun' for his little charade. His eyes stopped on the middle aged woman, maybe she would play a little role.

Rasputin stared at Warren. He was slowly and subtly creating an illusion inside Warren's head, he was but toying with him. He would push Warren's emotions to the extremes before he actually began a meld. The venom seeped slowly in it's victim, Warren. Reality would soon become Rasputin's sick game for him.

The illusion that Warren would eventually begin to fall into would be unnoticeable to him. He wouldn't really know he was in an illusion because not many things would be altered. His new 'friend' would seem as if she was becoming hostile, more violent. It would seem as if she had a knife in her hand, and tried to conceal it. Anything that the lady would say or do would not be that way to Warren, he'd see and hear what Rasputin was portraying the lady to do. The rest of the cafe would take no notice to them. [[Hope this isn't too God-moddy, if so just tell me and I'll fix it.]]

[Warren Worthington III]

The woman’s silence becomes strangely awkward as Warren picks up his order. "I’m sorry about your daughter," he adds sympathetically, ignoring the comment about his reputation. "How did she die?"

She shakes her head, a little too emphatically. "She’s not dead. She…" she trails off then, not so much as if she doesn’t know what to say, but as if she’s unprepared to say it. " We loved her, Mr. Worthington – I hope you can understand that. We loved her very much."

Warren is a little taken aback by the abruptness of that, but he’s dealt with enough mourners in the last year that it doesn’t surprise him too much. And, given that she came to Westchester and approached him, he has some idea what she’s not saying. So he takes a gamble to get her talking again. "When did you discover she was a mutant?"

The woman looks up at him, startled, then nods shamefacedly. "She was a beautiful child… she took after her father, a redhead with green eyes. We named her Penelope, after my grandmother. She collected pennies– because of her nickname, ‘Penny,’ you see? – she had over a thousand. And a week after her twelfth birthday she ate them." She appears lost in the past, telling her story… but suddenly something seems strange about her to Warren, as if she isn’t what she seems to be, although he can’t quite put his finger on why.

"We were frantic, of course… called a doctor immediately. He didn’t believe us, of course – what child eats five pounds of pennies? – but he looked at her anyway, and… well, that’s how we found out. She’d metabolized the copper into her body. And she kept doing it, with different metals." Warren is distracted from her story somewhat by her increasingly shifty behavior… she seems less mournful, suddenly; angrier, more hostile.

"I admit, we handled it poorly. When her skin began erupting with those metal studs, we did everything we could to get rid of them… her father even used acid, once. She… rebelled, of course." The words are pouring out of her now, a steady stream, a little manic, and Warren is starting to worry. "I suppose I can’t blame her. And she was strong… so very, very strong…" There’s something strange about her posture, Warren realizes; she’s standing like she’s hiding something behind her back. A quick glance at her reflection in the glass confirms it… a knife.

"She liked you, you know. After you started making those television appearances. We wanted her to take your company’s treatment, the Cure, but she wouldn’t… she said she wanted to be like you. Proud of her mutation. We insisted… some horrible things were said. And then she left." She hasn’t ordered anything, and the teenage couple behind her finally cuts around her to place their orders.

Oddly, they don’t seem to notice her knife, and Warren is relieved… she’s unlikely to be able to hurt him, but innocent bystanders are another problem altogether. Still, he can’t count on continued fortune, and the last thing anyone needs here is for police to get involved – she may be mentally unhinged, armed, and dangerous, but he doesn’t want to see her hurt. So he starts making his way to the exit with his coffee, hoping she’ll follow and let him disarm her somewhere safer.

((OOC: Note for clarity: her dialog above is real; her posture and hostility and the knife, etc., are illusory. ))

((OOC re: Godmoddiness… it’s fine. Our general approach is that the attacker describes the intended attack, as you did in your post with the illusion, and the attacker describes the actual result -- success, failure, etc. -- as I did above. ))

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh drops a box of books heavily onto the ground, careful that Puppy is nowhere near him. It’s odd having someone little running around underfoot… He grins to himself. All the smaller children around the Institute were enchanted with Puppy - he was getting rather used to being the center of attention.

Finding alone time after the return from Paris had been difficult. Upon their return… all they’d wanted to do was get medical attention, shower, and crawl into bed together. Sleeping optional, of course… With so much of the building damaged, they’d all been forced to cluster in the relatively intact sections of the Institute, which had left himself and Warren sharing a portion of the library with Bobby and John. Which was delightfully awkward... Unfortunately, an interior wall of their bedroom had come down during the struggle. Before they’d left, most of his things had been in boxes sitting on the floor of their room. So they’d had to move everything, including Warren’s possessions, back out in order to have the room repaired. After the reconstruction was finished, everything had to be brought back in. He’s vaguely glad they hadn’t been there for the fight; rooms with occupants had actually become battlegrounds and had been completely demolished.

So here he is, trying to reassemble their lives. Everything’s a little surreal, what with the move and all. Not only is about half the Institute in one state of repair or another, but he came back to begin sharing a room with Warren. Granted, my old room is just down the hallway, but the change is more than just the location. The two of them were very much in love, but he’d been initially worried about taking over Warren’s space. Things had worked out fine, though, and today he was bringing the last of their boxes back in. I probably shouldn’t have been concerned. Warren wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t serious. Like he’d said to Bobby… more and more it seemed to be that Warren was ‘the One’, with all the spine tingling-ness that capital letters implied.

Puppy frolics into the room, and flops down into a laundry basket. “Hey, you. That’s clean!” He scoops the dog out of the basket, who tries to nip at his fingers, growling playfully. “Your blanket is over there.” The puppy glances over at his words. Josh laughs, setting him onto the floor, and the pup waddles over to snuggle in for a nap.

Josh concentrates briefly, levitating the box across the room over to the shelf. It sets down next to it with a thud, and he follows it over. On the way, he catches an odd feeling of apprehension, which fades immediately. Huh… odd. It had the distinct mental impression of Warren attached to it. He’s in town, seeing that terrible movie again. Josh shrugs. It wasn’t particularly uncommon for him to catch mental processes from Warren when the two of them were nearby, and the town was a stone’s throw as far as their link went. Maybe the movie line was out the door. He rolls his eyes. It really was an awful film, despite the Warren-portion of his brain adoring it in a twisted sense. Josh flips open the cover and begins shelving things.

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Rasputin sits from his seat watching Warren's every movement, action, any physical movement that might better give him an insight on how to escalate Warren's emotional state. Warren is showing some signs of discomfort and notice of the woman's blade and actions, but not enough. He'd have to alter the illusion even more, and to do so he'd have to take a peek into his mind.

It wouldn't be a forced entry, nothing he should notice unless he was expecting it. Fear was relatively easy to find in the human brain, Rasputin had a knack for sniffing it out. He shifted his head down towards the table, but was still staring at Warren. He took a deep breath, and it began.

Rasputin was scanning Warren's mind for something that he could use against him. He wasn't looking for anything that'd be too deep, or noticeable to Warren for that matter, just something to play with. As he was looking, he saw something to do with Warrens past, a memory of fear. It was Warren as a child filing off his wings into bloody stubs. He was afraid of being different in this memory, afraid of exposure to his family. What child wasn't afraid to be a mutant when their parents were human? This memory simply wouldn't do, he didn't think Warren would fear being exposed...as if he wasn't already. Just a little deeper...

Rasputin gently slithered his way into where he wanted to be. A sneer came across his face, he'd finally found what he was looking for. It was a memory of Warren's, he was strapped down in some sort of lab. His beautiful wings, like his whole body, were strapped to an upright bored. Rasputin could feel the pain, the fear, and nauseousness that Warren must of had when he was strapped down. Rasputin quickly withdrew from Warren's mind, he'd use this fear of being restrained to his advantage.

When Rasputin read people's minds, he'd not only see what they saw, but the more he focused on the matter, or the harder they put up a fight against him the more he'd feel what they felt. Rasputin felt the anxiety that Warren must of had being strapped down like that.

He thought for a moment, Let us see how pretty boy deals with this. Rasputin sometimes had an issue of thinking of himself as more then one person, Rasputin-logic was far different from logic in general. Rasputin had a unique way of looking at things, he was on outside of the box thinker.

The illusion would take a more drastic turn, some of the bystanders would become anti-mutant, and looked as if they were going to do something to him. They had ropes, chains, and a lock, and It would look as if they were concealing their weapons just as the lady and the knife. They would just shoot him shifty looks, and and whisper amongst their groups.

[Warren Worthington III]

"So… where is Penelope now?" Judging from the hostility increasingly evident in her face, tone, and posture, Warren assumes the story doesn’t end well, and presumably she blames him… probably because he’d inspired Penelope to refuse the Cure.

Not that he feels in the least apologetic for that – refusing it himself had been the first thing he’d ever done right with his life – but this doesn’t seem like the right time to mention that. Was Penelope an Institute student he doesn’t remember? Did she join the Brotherhood? Was she one of the Camp victims? Had he slept with her at a party?

Well, he’ll worry about that once she’s safely disarmed… and the best way to accomplish that is to lure her away from the crowd.

Except, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the barrista slip the teenage couple at the counter what looked like a net, all three of them looking at him while pretending to be casual. And the preppy kid, who’d been arguing with a crowd of Goths when Warren arrived, is carrying himself like he’s armed… and his backpack clinks, like he’s got chains in there. And there: another teenager, with what feels like a rifle hidden under the table. And over there… and there…

Crap… it’s not just her, is it? It’s all of them. Which seems ridiculous, but there’s no arguing with the evidence of his senses. And their weapons are difficult to track, shifting around when he’s not paying direct attention to them, so Warren isn’t sure he’ll be able to dodge them the way he usually can… especially not in a cramped, crowded room. And one net, one chain wrapped around him, and he’s a sitting duck… tied down… helpless.

He shudders, then yelps in pain as hot coffee spills on his hand. Everyone turns to look at him, then, and in Warren’s eyes they look at each other, judging, thoughtful, ready to move in. They know I’m onto them! His heart is hammering now, adrenalin pumping through his system; he tries to look in all directions at once, not trusting his windsense to catch all threats. OK… need to get some space to maneuver in… some distance. Then figure out what’s going on here… mind control? Robots? Mutant-hating pheromones in the coffee? Did I walk into a meeting of the he-man mutant-hater’s club? No idea. It doesn’t matter. Suddenly the café itself is too cramped, too enclosing… he backs away towards the door a little faster, only to be stopped by some new arrivals, their jackets obviously padded with explosives. Shit!

There’s only one path out, really, and he takes it without hesitation… dropping his coffee and diving through the plate-glass at the front of the café, wrapping his wings and his telekinetic aura around him to minimize the damage but still feeling shards of glass lacerating his wings, his legs… tearing and bloodying his clothes.

No problem. It’ll heal. He feels a little better already, with open sky above him, and launches himself into the air to put some distance between him and the café full of attackers. But only a little; he’s still anxious. Is that the glint of a rifle from a window? What about that car over there? Warren’s accustomed to relying on his windsense to help avoid projectiles, but now he’s not sure what he can rely on.

Well… with one exception. He reaches out to the link he shares with Josh and lets his perceptions, his memory, his anxiety flow along it. Josh? Hon? I think I may be in trouble…

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh places Sun Tzu’s The Art of War (Warren’s) on the bookshelf, and then pulls Molecular Genetics (his) out of the cardboard box. God, just because you’re made of iron doesn’t mean everyone else is… With a snort, he hoists it onto the shelf. This is followed up by a Sudoku book (someone’s?), and with smattering of mystery novels (his) the box is finished. With a flick of his wrist, it tumbles across the room and drops neatly into a growing pile outside the door.

He begins picking his way through their piles of belonging, intent on another box sitting on their bed, when he catches a distinct sense of panic and dread, causing his heart to beat more quickly. Josh takes a breath in, and freezes in his tracks. Warren? Oh, god.

As soon as he starts for the door, a familiar voice echoes through his head.

> Josh? Hon? I think I may be in trouble…

What’s going on? He needn’t have asked; Warren’s current perceptions and short-term memory accompany the plea. Through his boyfriend’s enhanced senses, Josh registers the perceptions of the crowd zeroing in on ‘himself’. He winces when Warren dives through the store’s window. Let me see if I can figure out where they’re heading now… there’s something wrong with this situation, though. He frowns briefly, unsure as to what's bothering him. Using Warren’s current location as a positional fix, he telepathically dives back towards the movie theatre, reaching out to the crowds there.

Oddly enough, the crowd isn’t registering ill intent. If anything, they’re frightened and confused - most probably by Warren’s dive through the window. I don’t… what’s going on? Only one presence is registering intentions towards Warren - and as he examines it further a sense of smug accomplishment. Josh concentrates further, unaware of his body slumping over onto their bed. He quickly dodges around the man’s mental self-construct. A telepath named Rasputin?

His face becomes angry, and flashes back to Warren. I think someone’s manipulating your sensory perceptions… Josh mentally skates across the surface of Warren’s mind, quickly appraising his visual and auditory areas. Something is certainly affecting them… but how? After a moment’s work, he discovers a subtle thread tracing backwards to the man in the theatre lobby.

Josh isn’t sure how to untangle the threads, and there’s no time to learn, so he encases Warren in his greater mental defenses. I think that should do it. Notice any changes? Let’s see what he has to say for himself…

Josh attempts to project his voice into Rasputin’s head, to throw him off his game. He tries to make it as if the words are coming from all corners of the room, whispering and shouting <Rasputin!>. After this, an astral projection of himself, arms crossed, appears to Rasputin. <You just messed with the wrong guy, bub.>

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Rasputin could not believe what Warren just did, he broke through a window! The illusion was very effective indeed. This was more then Rasputin was expecting from his illusion, Warren must have really been freaked out by being chained down. Rasputin knew that he'd be touching a soft spot, but damn, it really worked.

As the angel was escaping, Rasputin could feel a connection that the boy had with another. It wasn't an incredibly strong connection, but it wasn't too weak. He's surprised that he didn't sense it before. Usually he was pretty good at finding things like that. But he wasn't totally OK with the connection though, that could lead to undesirable 'back-up' for Warren. And it seemed to him it would be a psychic at that.

<Rasputin!>

A sudden, booming voice came from what seemed to be everywhere in the room. The voice called out his name. Rasputin was slightly caught off of guard by this, he was expecting something from the enemy psychic, but not something of this measure. This psychic was strong indeed, but nothing Rasputin couldn't handle. Then to his surprise, an astral projection of a boy appeared to Rasputin, rambling about something.

<You just messed with the wrong guy, bub.>

Rasputin was a slightly sadistic individual, he had place mental blocks on his undesired emotions, suppressing them so that he could use what he thought to be the emotions of power, not letting any 'weakness' in. Threats meant very little to Rasputin from anyone, he didn't respond well to that sort of thing. But if this boy wanted to play games, then Rasputin would play with him. <I see you know my name, it is only polite to introduce yourself.> Rasputin disregarded his 'threat' and would test the waters.

Rasputin didn't bother projecting himself in his own mind to the boy, he would drag this game into a more suitable battle ground, Warren's head. Obviously the two had some sort of deep emotional bond, and this would give Rasputin the advantage. Rasputin began to attempt a meld with Warren. If he could get into the boys head, it would force the other psychic to move there as well and Warren's mind was on the line, not his own.

[Warren Worthington III]

Josh’s telepathic “voice” in his mind calms Warren down somewhat as he climbs for altitude, though admittedly getting high enough above rooftop-level to be at least somewhat safe from attack calms him down more.

> I think someone’s manipulating your sensory perceptions…

Well, that would explain why I was having trouble tracking them… oh. Warren rethinks that assumption as more details float along their link. Oh, I see… so they weren’t actually attacking me? But why would anyone… he trails off, confused and concerned. Is this connected to what happened in Paris and the Institute the other day? Are they coming after you, too? He doesn’t want to face another attack like that… he’d barely survived the last one, and that was without induced hallucinations.

> I think that should do it. Notice any changes?

The only change Warren really notices is a feeling of being protected, enfolded in his lover’s strong thoughts… and even that could easily just be his imagination, his confidence in Josh showing through. Granted, he’s not seeing crowds brandishing weapons anymore, but he’s put enough altitude between him and the crowd that it might not mean anything.

He’s vaguely aware of Josh confronting someone, and a moment later of something entering his mind, like the way Josh does, but… slimier, somehow more repulsive. He shudders, tries to block it out somehow, but he doesn’t really know what he’s doing and can feel it sliding and slithering past his guard… and he suspects that, without Josh’s help, he wouldn’t even sense it was there.

Well, now I do sense it… and I can’t very well expect Josh to do all the work here, can I? He’s explored his own mind with Josh before, and while it isn’t at all the same doing it with a different mind, while tense and under attack, he remembers enough of how to do it that he manages to follow the trail, aware of Josh’s essence somehow moving alongside him.

Dimly, he’s aware of his body tacking against the winds, seeking a surface to land on, and he relaxes a little… as he discovered after that missile nearly killed him and Josh, his instincts for flight are pretty reliable even when his attention is focused elsewhere. So he doesn’t fight it as his surroundings slowly fade out to be replaced by the huge, boundless cavern that is how he’s always visualized his own mind.

Unsurprisingly, he’s not alone in here. The slimy invading presence is visible now, in a humanoid form he recognizes as the creepy-looking kid from the café, surrounded now by a dark and malignantly powerful aura. And facing him is Josh, shining and glorious and beautiful. My knight in shining armor, he thinks, a little dazed… and then gulps, startled, as the environment shifts around them into something out of a Renaissance Fair, full of tents and servants and cheering crowds in strange clothes.

Even a novice telepath would recognize this as the effects of Warren’s own imagination, seeded by the “knight in shining armor” metaphor, on the arena of combat in his own mind. But despite his various enlightening telepathic experiences with Josh, Warren really doesn’t know very much about the mechanics of it. All he knows is that somehow, they’ve gone from floating in a huge empty cavern to standing on some kind of jousting field, complete with horses and lances and everything.

It all makes him feel a bit like the princess in some medieval romance novel, and he’s suddenly glad he can’t see himself, because he suspects his own appearance has been affected by whatever’s altered the setting. Josh – what’s going on here?

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> Oh, I see… so they weren’t actually attacking me? But why would anyone…

Right. Most of the people just seem really confused… He takes a moment to scan the crowd. The woman you were talking to is concerned. If you want I can go and try to make them forget what happened… but I’ve only just come to that with Jake. His mental signature seems abashed. I’ve had a bit of luck with it so far, but nothing on this scale.

>Is this connected to what happened in Paris and the Institute the other day? Are they coming after you, too?

Josh drops his concentration down to a more reasonable level, taking a quick glance around their bedroom. Looks clear… He expands his presence back out, coming into contact with Warren’s mind once more. No… I’m just here, in our room. Everything seems fine to me, but I should probably keep track of events over here as well.

At this point he catches Rasputin rapidly sinking his fangs into Warren’s mind. It happens far too quickly for him to stop it… after a second the destination becomes clear. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him, hon. Hang in there…

He projects himself in quickly, materializing in Warren’s self-representation of his own mind. Josh never tires of exploring their minds together… but this time he’s visiting on a very different sort of business.

Josh sees both Warren and Rasputin present, the latter directly across the gaping space from him. His eyes narrow. “Josh Dalton, but I’m sure you’re already aware of who I am. Why are you doing this?”


Suddenly, Warren’s mental representation ripples before him, replacing the emptiness with a medieval jousting match. What the… Josh looks down at himself - the transformation has changed him, too. His jeans and sweater have been replaced with luminous silver armor, and a pair of gleaming weapons is strapped to his back. And I’m… wow. Somehow, he feels stronger, taller, even better-looking, perhaps. Josh locks eyes with Warren across the field, raising one eyebrow.

Nice job, babe. This really how you see me? We might have to play around in here later…

> Josh – what’s going on here?

Well… we’re in your mind, so you get to pick the playground. You’re not a telepath… but you’ve got home field advantage. In theory, you should be able to do just about anything in here. It’s all about strength of mind. Some sort of lame line from the Matrix presents itself here, but Josh bites it back.

Josh begins stepping slowly towards Rasputin, locked back into the gravity of the situation. As fun as it was to flirt around with Warren, it was definitely not the time. The armor drags on him heavily with every movement, and Josh concentrates briefly on it. His next step is effortless. One nice thing about mental representations, anyway.

He stares across the space. “Get out, now. You’re not welcome here.”

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Rasputin watched as the lovers spoke to one another, it seemed as if they took the situation too lightly. Rasputin was not some third-world degenerate who was to be played off like a fly. He was a very powerful psychic, and a big threat to Warren and Josh alike.

He looked at his hands as the reality in Warrens mind, took a little change. Josh and Rasputin were transfered into an arena, and they were both clothed in suits of armor. Josh reluctantly became the 'knight in shining armor', and Rasputin the evil black knight. Rasputin's armor was black as night, and a black energy rolled off of him.

Rasputin could barely move in this armor, and is at a huge disadvantage at the moment. The only thing that he'd be able to do to have a chance would be to force Warren to change the playing field. He focused heavily on Warren, trying to take brief control of his mind. If Josh and Rasputin were to fight as of now, things were looking grim for Rasputin. He would force Warren into equaling out the playing field.

Rasputin did have some advantage over Josh though, he was physically closer, and his psychic strength was more aggressive then Josh's seemed to be. <Josh Dalton?> He laughs, <You going to try and save him? Maybe you should think twice before pissing off Magneto.> He lifts up his helmet, to reveal a sneer "Now I'm the one who has to do the dirty work, unfortunately for you." He puts his helmet back on, still focusing on breaking through Warren's mind to change the field. "Force me out, if you can!"