TV is a useful wasteland

[Tony Masters]

He walks into the room and seats himself heavily onto the old, well-used couch. As his weight sinks into it, a plume of dust shoots skyward.

"Charming," With a hiss from his bottle, he unscrews the top of his beer and chucks the cap onto the wood coffee table.

Tony Masters, or Taskmaster to his fellow Brotherhood junkies, bored out of his mind. It is something that almost never happens to him. Out when he used to be a gun-for-hire he'd have always something to do (and making some money), but now that he's signed on with Magneto, amusement is rarely seen (and so is the money).

Sighing heavily, he reaches up and feels for the clip on his mask. After he finds it, he removes the bottom portion of his face plate, the skull's elongated teeth, and drops it onto his lap. Taskmaster tilts his bottle up, finds the hole in his black underlining, and takes a long drink from his beer.

He stares at his bottle for a long time, running his gloved thumb over the label then the mouth. He takes another drink and pulls the remote off the adjacent cushion.

Taskmaster flicks the television on and begins to scan the channels. He stops at Ultimate Fighter and watches Matt Hughes brawl in the ring. He pays attention to every move, memorizing the punches and leg movements. "Maybe they'll come in handy..." But probably not. Most bad guys avoid fighting like drunken idiots and actually make an attempt at real self defense.

He changes the channel again and stays long enough to learn how to bake biscuits like Martha Stewart.

"Whoever said TV was bad for the mind?" Taskmaster leans back and continues to flip through the stations while nursing his beer.

[Manslaughter]

Whoever said TV was bad for the mind?

"My mother did once..," he suddenly says softly, seemingly appearing without a sound, shifting his body partly out of shadow. Roger casts a half-interested gaze on the television, watching as the channels fly by with relative ease. He turns his head slightly and looks at Taskmaster for a long several minutes. The oversized sweatshirt is absent from his person, revealing the scrawny boy beneath with his pale, skinny arms and narrow chest that looks as though its caving in at certain places. He raises his eyebrows and blinks. "...hi..." he then says at last, as though his previous statement had not announced his presence enough.

Roger seems unperterbed at the notion that he does not know many of the people in the Brotherhood, considering the fact that he spent most of his time in the building up in the attic, daydreaming his time away and waiting for Magneto.. or practicing his powers.

[Sherridan Kaine]

"I don't care if it takes you the whole week, but you are traveling to Europe and making sure that all business is running well, Richard. Yes. Yes, I do know that you left him in charge. No, he is not doing his job." the voice which is obviously speaking on a phone comes from around the corner as Sherridan walks into the room.

It was a weird appearance, at best. First off, he is completely covered in fur, save for his face, which he had shaved this morning. The fur is black, like a panther's. He is wearing ripped jeans, made so for style, not because of wear and tear, and a black tank-top. There is a hole in his jeans, but it is far from embarrassing, as a very long, black tail comes out of it. Also, he is barefoot. The second thing is actually the fact that the cell phone he is using is far from what someone of his outlook should be able to buy. Third comes the fact that his voice and posture radiate elegance and sophistication in every move, every sound.

Sherridan closes the phone, stashing it away in his pocket, followed by the jingle of the chains that are wrapped around his right hand. They go up to half of his forearm. His ice-blue eyes scan the room, just now noticing the two members of the brotherhood. They're new. And quite an odd paring, at that. A shirtless boy and a...circus act, perhaps? the cat-boy thinks, amused at how he would easily fit into this group.

"Well, this is an utmost amusing situation..." he says instead of greeting the two in a normal way as his tail idly swishes from side to side, almost menacingly.

[Tony Masters]

"My mother did once..,"

Taskmaster doesn't even grant himself a flinch, despite the younger man's ominous appearance. The Brotherhood being new to him, he had always opted to keep his senses alert. The stories he had heard about his particular group weren't exactly wonderful and filled with daisies.

He does, however, glance up at the source of the quiet voice. Young...younger than him at least. He definitely doesn't look old enough to be hanging around with a bunch of criminals.

"...hi..." There was something about him, something he didn't like. Too small, too quiet...too out of place. Or too far in place? Taskmaster couldn't really tell. Reading the child was much harder than he expected. Was he afraid? Lost? Or just bizarre.

Taskmaster watches him for a few seconds while taking another drink from his bottle.

"Hey." He flips through the channels again and stops on a martial arts special on the Discovery Channel. Finally, something half-decently useful. He leans back into the couch and lets his reflexes take over, eyes fixed on the screen while his conscious mind returns to the moment at hand. "It's Roger right?" His photographic memory enables him to recall an event prior where he had learned selective information about the other Brotherhood members. Mostly basic facts of physical appearance and their respective powers, but it's enough to denominate who it was that was speaking to him.

And then another enters, his ears picking up on the soft footsteps as they wonder into the room. He's apparently talking on the phone, bitching about something and someone in Europe. He doesn't need to look at him to determine it's 'cat-boy', the way he pads about clearly gives it away. Quiet footsteps, no hard sounds as each foot hits the floor so he's obviously barefoot, and simply the way he talks.

The guy's into money, that much he can tell. If Taskmaster had his own business (he'd considered opening a combat school several times) with others beneath him, he would have spoken the same way.

"Well, this is an utmost amusing situation..."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Admittedly Taskmaster wasn't the most talkative person in the world, but Sherridan certainly wasn't helping to inspire up a conversation. The kid he could handle, even if he was a little strange, but he would rather leave the pompous feline to his own devices.

[Manslaughter]

It's Roger right?

He catches himself mid-nod. Nonono.. he wasn't. That wasn't his name anymore. He blinks slowly and puts his hands down in his pockets. And then he shakes his head to one side, and then very slowly to the other. "...not anymore," Roger says with a murmur, his eyebrows hitching in anticipation. A beat of silence follows, and he is about to say something else, but a stream of footsteps interrupts him, and Roger merely shuts his mouth and stares down at the floor, as though he immediately forgot what he was about to say. Well, this is an utmost amusing situation... His voice is smooth, like glass, and this is enough to catch the boy's attention. Tilting his head back slightly to peer over his shoulder, the redhead watches Sherridan with a curious gaze. Charmed, I'm sure. Shifting slightly, he bows his head again to scuff at the floor with the toe of his worn sneaker.

Silence ensues again, and he lifts his head up, lifting his empty gaze to Taskmaster. "...it's Manslaughter now," he finally finishes, the name rolling easily off his tongue as though it had really been his name all along.

[Sherridan Kaine]

"Yes. Yes, I am sure that would be the case." he replies to the costumed man on the couch. He himself walks over to an armchair, one that is obviously his favorite, indicated by the many accidental hairs and occasional scratch mark. He sits in a lotus position and his tail comes up front, around his stomach.

"Manslaughter? A very intriguing name. Might I ask what its origin is?" Sherridan now addresses the pale boy. OK, so despite the interesting clothing, the man is careful of what he is doing. By the looks of it, he dug some info on all members up. Not enough, though. I still need to get him on my file, though. This other one, just a weird kid so far. his thoughts analyze quickly the two people in the room.

His thoughts are still scattered around a few problems, such as the down-going business in Europe because of one lazy representative, such as the following conferences he has, such as the inactivity he has been facing lately, and such as the diminished amount of killing he has done in the past month.

The killings, he missed the most. Besides being on the news, it proved a certain demented satisfaction in the predator/prey relationship which all cats so very much loved.

((sorry for shortness))

[Manslaughter]

Yes. Yes, I am sure that would be the case.

Roger's gaze follows Sherridan, his eyes locking immediately upon his tail and watching as the appendage waved back and forth. Manslaughter? A very intriguing name. Might I ask what its origin is? For several beats of silence, it is as though he has heard nothing Sherridan has just said. A blank expression starts to creep across his face, and for the longest time the boy seems completely lost in his own thoughts by watching Sherridan's tail. Kitties were soft.. he liked kitties.. they made nice sounds.. purring.. meowing..

Roger's head suddenly twitches to one side, as though a sharp noise has started in his ear and has startled him. Without seeming disturbed, he then finally murmurs. "There isn't one. ...it just is." His gaze slowly drops down to the floor, and he scuffs at it with his shoe, rubbing out a scuff mark in slow, agonizing movements. He brings a hand to his mouth, pressing his fingers into his bottom lip. His mouth is moving slightly and he is mumbling something so low that it is supposedly for his ears and his ears alone. "Just is what it is.. my name... not Roger.. no.. Manslaughter now." Seeming satisfied with the answer he has suddenly given himself, Roger drops his hand from his mouth and tilts his head back up, blinking and staring in Sherridan's general direction as though nothing unusual has occurred.

[Sherridan Kaine]

((This is not that kind of kitty, lol))

Welcome to the freak parade, Manslaughter, you will fit right in! Sherridan thinks, his feline ears picking up on the murmur quite clearly, as if the boy was talking right next to him, at a normal audibility.

"Well, now that we have that dilemma cleared out, why do you not take a seat? I, to be honest, dislike having people stand around when there are open seats." he says, his voice, naturally, friendly and conversational, his thoughts, however cynical and quite unfriendly.

"So, what accident, drive, or skill brought you two into our little asylum?" he then proceeds to ask, using the word with a two-fold meaning as his eyes gaze around the room, waiting for something at least slightly interesting to appear, Manslaughter's apparent mental instability put aside.

[Manslaughter]

(I know that, of course. Roger is just reminded of kitties by Sherridan's feline attributes is all. xD)

So, what accident, drive, or skill brought you two into our little asylum? Roger watches Sherridan's eyes as they expectantly search the room, and Roger hesitates. It would hurt. Yes.. yes it would. Would he be angry when it did? Roger blinks slowly and shuffles his feet, watching the way his shoes rub into the carpet. Slowly, he lifts his gaze, letting his psyche reach out to Sherridan's, brushing up against it gently, giving him a warning. He wanted to see.. he asked.. so he would get it. By now, the nerves behind Sherridan's forehead would probably feel funny, like they are being pushed underwater until the pressure increases more.. and more.. and more. "..it always hurts," Roger murmurs, his eyebrows arching slightly as his eyes widen. Would Magneto be angry with him? No.. he told him to practice his powers.. he told him to. So he would.

<Stab.>

It would feel like a lance going straight into Sherridan's skull, through his brain and then out of the back of his head, most likely. But before the pain can even begin, it is gone, dwindling down to a pressure again and fading completely.

"See?" he says, shrugging as though this is natural.

[Sherridan Kaine]

Sherridan's eyebrow arches as he feels the slight sensation and then hears what the boy mutters. So he's trying it on me... he concludes, before being hit with the feeling. Only a small portion of the pain transfers, as Manslaughter does not pull out just quite in time.

Sherridan shakes his head, much like the way any cat would in the presence of water, or if there was a highly unpleasant sound. He blinks once or twice, regaining composure, and then looking at Manslaughter. "I see. That is a very good talent you have there." he says simply, on his face not a trace of anger.

He has been mind-probed earlier, and is also aware of the fact that if Magneto took this boy in, he was certainly valuable. That mutation could help him fry anyone's brain as long as they are susceptible to mental attacks. he thinks, looking the boy over. It seems that what he had been looking for so eagerly has actually indeed appeared inside the boy. A mutant who can kill others with his mind, but has problems himself. What a charming addition. Let's hope he just does not decide to destroy anything in his path.

[Tony Masters]

Taskmaster had let most of his conscious mind roam back to the television, absorbing and storing every movement he saw on the screen. The conversation around him had continued, but he paid little attention for most of it. He coonsidered it all to be irrelevant. No need filling his flawless memory with useless information about a feline mutant and a mentally unstable child.

Though his attention is drawn when Sherridan asks a very provacative question.

"So, what accident, drive, or skill brought you two into our little asylum?"

Ah...to answer with the relative truth and give the two the benefit of knowing his power and more recent background, or to remain silent and keep them guessing? Shut it. You're a part of a team now. You're not working solo any more. You should learn to trust these people. He almost snorts at the thought. He hardly found Magneto trustworthy, but his goal was cemented firmly and would not fault. Sherridan, Taskmaster figures, would take time to trust fully. But Roger, no it's Manslaughter (that much of his mind hand been paying attention during the background conversation), with his child-like mind, could probably be entrusted with anything. His demented mind would, he suspected, store every scrap of information and then cover it in a shroud of psychotic instability, making sure it never came back out again. And even if it did, who'd believe a crazy boy?

"See?" The reaction put forth by Sherridan confirms Taskmasters suspicions of Manslaughter's powers. He had heard about them before, but he had never seen them in action.

Induced pain, directly into the nervous system. It was something that he didn't want to experience personally, and it was also something he could mimic. He hated telepaths...

"I see. That is a very good talent you have there."

"Yes. Seems like it would be quite useful." Taskmaster takes another drink and looks between the two fellow Brotherhood members. Time to let the cat out of the bag. "As for me? I can do just about anything you can do. Maybe even do it better." Still holding his beer, he points a finger at Sherridan. The cat's combat abilities were more than likely physically-based, so Taskmaster's statement was true, provided the actions could only be done at human-level strengths and speeds. "I thought that maybe I'd be able to try and do some good in the world, and Mag's plans seemed as devent as any. So here I am." He shrugs, swigs back another mouthful of alcohol laced drink, and settles back into the couch a little farther.

[Sherridan Kaine]

>> "As for me? I can do just about anything you can do. Maybe even do it better."

"Ah yes, then I have something on you. The infamous Taskmaster. You've left quite a trail on the Internet." Sherridan says, his eyes now showing quite a bit of amusement. "Just tell me, is your ability limited to "human" physical abilities, or can you mimic exactly anything you see? I am curious, namely, whether or not you could climb walls, like oh so many mutants can?" he further asks, his tail still idly swinging this way and that.

Then, his telephone rings, the tune, is Fuer Elise. With a disgruntled sigh, Sherridan lifts it from his pocket, and answers. "What now?...No, I am not...She did...No...Export it immediately...No, get rid of him...socially...OK...So long.", and it is over. He puts the cell phone back in his pocket, but only after turning it off. "Associates. I beg your pardon for that. Sometimes people can be such Neanderthals." he says with a laugh.

[Manslaughter]

I see. That is a very good talent you have there. Roger seems slightly pleased with himself at the comment, the rush he got from using his powers on someone else slowly fading away. He rocks on his heels for a moment before wandering across the room and taking a seat in an empty armchair that undoubtedly has seen better days--or years. The boy merely watches as the two men exchange conversation, apparently far from interested about what was taking place. And yet, he listens just the same.

Associates. I beg your pardon for that. Sometimes people can be such Neanderthals. The laugh makes Roger blink. "What do you do?" he asks softly, clearly wondering what it was that caused Sherridan to have such.. irregular phone calls. He must be someone important. Like a king. ...or something along that line.

[Tony Masters]

"Ah yes, then I have something on you. The infamous Taskmaster. You've left quite a trail on the Internet."

Had his face been visible, Sherridan surely would have seen that Taskmaster was smirking.

"I have a few fans, yes. Mostly of the undesirable kind though. You wouldn't believe the number of sidekick requests I've received." But his fandom did have its certain benefits, and they came in tall, smooth-skinned, super-model quality packages.

"Just tell me, is your ability limited to "human" physical abilities, or can you mimic exactly anything you see? I am curious, namely, whether or not you could climb walls, like oh so many mutants can?" Taskmaster glances up at the cat and takes another swig. He'd have to get another beer pretty soon, especially if this bunch insisted on keeping him company.

"I can't duplicate mutant powers. Only physical ones that are within normal human capabilities." No need to tell them that he had once tried watching a Jet Li movie at double speed, and had succeeded in replicating the super-fast movements, if only for a few moments at a time. "But to answer your question, yes, I can climb walls. Saw a ninja do it while I was on a job in Japan." In fact, he'd been to nearly every corner of the globe, either on special 'jobs', or for personal interest. Usually he ventured to the countries that had perfected their wide varieties of combat. Japan and China remained his favourite by far; their expertise in hand-to-hand and weapons training had been infinitely useful on the job.

"Associates. I beg your pardon for that. Sometimes people can be such Neanderthals."

Taskmaster grunts, whether in agreement or in laughter, he's not entirely sure.

[Sherridan Kaine]

"Ah, yes. That must be a very interesting mutation to live with. You never quite know what your limits exactly are, though, do you?" Sherridan replies coolly, now jumping lightly up and landing into a crouching position on the chair's armrest- his favorite. His tail is now wrapped around the bottom of his bare feet, the claws of which are lightly pressing against the smooth surface.

He turns his head to the psychotic kid, and can not help but laugh lightly at the question. "To tell you the truth, I am not sure myself. Bits of this and that, I would say. I inherited the family business and expanded it significantly to more areas. I am aware that this does not answer your question to any great extent, but it is the best I can afford right now." he says with a light smile, apologetic it would seem. At least to those who do not know Sherridan. He does not apologize to complete strangers.

"Now, Taskmaster, I understand you were a paid henchman, in lack of a better term. You, however, " he pauses to shift his attention to the boy. " I have no information on. Would you be so kind as to saturate my curiosity? What is, namely, your job?" his eyes are still emotionless, and piercing, as if he was viewing the depths of his unexpected companions' souls.