TV is a useful wasteland

[Manslaughter]

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 significatnly 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.

Roger seems to study the context of Sherridan's smile, as though assuming the answer he really wanted would be hidden in the lines of his expression. His efforts fruitless, Roger just shrugs and turns away, taking a seat on the floor, secretly wondering what the family business not be. It would have to be some big job, certainly. Roger didn't know any big jobs that would need so many people to call Sherridan. Perhaps he would ask Magneto.

You however.. Roger blinks as is reverie is broken, tilting his head up to gaze almost vacantly at Sherridan. I have no information on. Would you be so kind as to saturate my curiosity? What is, namely, your job? Tugging on the hem of his bland t-shirt, Roger appears to think seriously on this query, as though it was a topic that even he did not know. ...well.. all considering.. he probably didn't. What was his job? He didn't really have one. He.. hurt people.. yes.. that was what he did.. but he didn't know if it was his job.

What would you like to be when you grow up, Roger?
Roger stares out the window at a bird sitting on a twig. It flutters its wings and bounces in the wind before flying away as a few raindrops start to fall.
..a bird. Roger murmurs with a sigh, looking at his counselor expectantly. It was the obvious answer.

"I do what Magneto tells me..," the boy mumbles, pulling a knee to his chest and starting to play with the laces on his shoe.

[Tony Masters]

"Ah, yes. That must be a very interesting mutation to live with. You never quite know what your limits exactly are, though, do you?" Taskmaster has to give the cat at least some credit: he was smarter than he looked.

"And that's exactly why I get paid so well to do what I do."

He watches the feline leap up onto the chair, knowing that he could use the movement later, though he doubts its practicality. Watching the mutant in full blown action, however, would be far more beneficial.

But there was another feature that might come in useful as well. Sherridan's voice, once he learns to duplicate it, would certainly provide a generous source of income, should he ever require it.

"I do what Magneto tells me..,"

Taskmaster snorts and drains the rest of his beer.

"Kid, if there's one thing I've learned in this business, it's to get out as soon as possible. You don't want to end up like me; killing people for a living. The consequences out weigh the benefits by far." He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees and secures his mouth plate back on. He stares at the mentally confused boy for a long time, his yellow eyed mask projecting heart rate and other bits of information across his vision. With a finger, he taps the side of his mask and the readouts stop. The computer inside his faceplate was infinitely useful, but hardly necessary at this point. "It's already too late for me, kid. But you're still fresh meat. You can probably make a half-decent person out of yourself if you try. Those powers'd come in handy somewhere." Of course he doubts that, but you have to give a guy some points for trying, right?

"As for you..." Taskmaster looks back over to Sherridan and cocks an eyebrow, the motion remaining invisible behind his mask. "You're already too far gone. And you're stuck up and stubborn, so no matter what I told you, you'd never listen." He sets the bottle on the coffee table and rests back into the couch, eyeing both Manslaughter, and Sherridan carefully.

[Sherridan Kaine]

Sherridan decides not to comment on the boy's reply. Doing what Magneto told him. Were they all not doing just that? But almost everyone had a different job, a pastime, as well. So what does he do all day? Just mope around half-way in his own world? he wonders just before a thought strikes him. "Hm, what was the other name, the one you were given by...humans?" he asks, his distaste for the human race quite obvious in his tone.

He looks at Taskmaster, a smile on his face. He laughs as the man finishes. I might be arrogant and deliberately deaf to any advice, but I assure you that killing others poses absolutely no problem for me. I have been killing humans a long time before I met Magneto. It is fun to hunt them down." he replies, obviously deriving great amusement from the other's words.

Is it wrong? Of course it is. Does it feel bad? Not in the least bit. The rules of society are for humans only. For mutants, they should be arbitrary guidelines. What I am doing is the same thing as my family always did- following my own goals and dreams. he thinks, keeping his eyes focused on a point somewhere in between the other two people in the room, both of them well enough within his vision for every detail to catch his attention if need be.

As sits into a lotus position into the chair, settling finally down, his fur changes in color, from pure black to orange with black stripes, the pattern so famously worn by tigers. The changes are obvious on his neck, bare arms, and patches of skin on the jeans. Sherridan himself does not comment on this, quite used to changing his own fur color.

[Manslaughter]

It's already too late for me, kid. But you're still fresh meat. You can probably make a half-decent person out of yourself if you try. Those powers'd come in handy somewhere. Whereas a regular boy his age might have scoffed at this, or even contemplated seriously about this, Taskmaster's words seem to go in one ear and out the other for Roger, the boy staring blankly at him. He doesn't understand what the man is exactly trying to say, so he just blinks, opening his mouth to say something, but apparently thinking better of it and shutting it again before looking away.

Hm, what was the other name, the one you were given by...humans?

He furrows his brow a little as he thinks, his shoelaces still clutched between his hands as he plays with them, pushing the broken tip into a hole of his shoe. "....Roger...," he mumurs at last, shrugging his shoulders slightly, as though it doesn't mean too much, like the first last name a woman had before she got married.. Tilting his head up as he hears Sherridan move around, he almost gawks at the phenomenon of his fur changing color. "Pretty..," he murmurs softly, quite taken with the idea of fur.

[Tony Masters]

“I might be arrogant and deliberately deaf to any advice, but I assure you that killing others poses absolutely no problem for me. I have been killing humans a long time before I met Magneto. It is fun to hunt them down."

That left a very sour taste in Taskmaster’s mouth. He didn’t mind killing, so long as the recipient of the bullet rightfully deserved it. And he’d even gone out of his way to make sure that the death was quick and painless. So far as he could remember (and possessing a photographic memory allowed him remember a lot), he had never knowingly killed anyone who hadn’t deserved it.

“Have you ever tried being the hunted one?” He snaps, the response coming out as a half growl. Sherridan definitely wasn’t going in his good books after this. “It’s not so fun then.” Taskmaster had been chased plenty of times before, mostly by the authorities, but he’s had his fair share of crime-related chases. It’s never been fun. Except for that one time in the strip club—Shut up.

“…Roger…” Fitting name really. Sounds innocent enough.

“Right then, Roger and Sherridan.” He says the latter’s name with a touch of venom, a clear warning sign to the cat. “So when does the action begin? Or is this just one of those irritating political groups that screams for attention every time someone drops the ball.” Taskmaster purposely avoids the ‘terrorist’ word, preferring to believe that his associations with the group are truthful and honest.

He makes no notable reaction when Sherridan changes his fur colour, but lodges it in his memory for further reference.

[Sherridan Kaine]

Sherridan's brow arches, and then falls back as both furrow at the memories of high school. The daily runs. Back when he did not have all this hatred. Back when he did not have a backbone. When he was just a "little kitty". When his parents were alive.

His eyes fog up a bit from the venture into deep, buried memories, and then clear up as he stares at Taskmaster with ice emanating from the bright blue irises. "I was prey for a long time, but much longer ago. It was one of the main catalysts that created what I am today. I have been hunted before, and had decided that it was time for a change of roles." he replies, his voice still courteous, even though his thoughts of the other mutant are not.

"Besides, I am still hunted, although once prey becomes predator, it is not easy to imprison or kill it." an afterthought appears, and he creates an allusion to the fact that his "nighttime self" is still quite prominent on the list of wanted criminals. A clean, impossible to trace murderer whose weapons all have a distinct feline character. Some are still speculating that it is only a wild cat that escaped from the zoo. A vicious, haunting little smile creeps on his face at the memories of various news reports.