Come Out and Play(Taskmaster, Ferus, Manslaughter)

[Primer]

[[Thread titles are not my friends]]

It feels good to be doing this again. Well, not this specifically Primer amends with silent amusement, flicking open the manila folder he’s holding for a quick glimpse at its contents- a profile of Graydon Creed, a map of the area around a five block radius in New York City, and some statistics and notes- before shutting it again and taking a sip of water from the bottle resting on the counter next to him. Planning terrorist attacks was never really a part of being a psychologist or a businessman. Really it’s the feeling of doing something, anything, that requires planning and careful execution, time, and money, and, well, manila envelopes.

High stakes are an added bonus, even if Magneto doesn’t see them as all that high. Zealots. Love the energy, can’t quite get behind the excessive big picture focus. The leader hadn’t see Creed’s rally as worthy of official Brotherhood attention, which Primer saw as reasonable enough for someone with the older man’s perspective, after all making one mutant hating group look bad did not the war win. Yet to him the benefits were compelling enough to attempt this little side expedition, not to mention the appeal of getting out of the headquarters. Or maybe lair is a better word. Does being terrorists make us lair people? So he’d gathered the data, formulated the plan, and gotten to feel satisfyingly business-like in the process. Now all that remained was to wait for the others to arrive and, hopefully, to fall in line with this little expedition.

[Tony Masters]

What was he? Some rich man's bitch? The little dog that came running at every beck and call and the shake of a dollar bill?

Damn straight he was.

That's what being a gun-for-hire is all about. Taskmaster sells his mercenary services to the highest bidder, and since joining ill-fabled Brotherhood, there haven't been that many offers.

Until Sean 'Primer' Garrison, that is. The well-groomed business man had called a bit of a meeting. Apparently a job offer of sorts. The first Taskmaster has received in quite a while, actually.

His trigger finger's been itching ever since the calm-down after the 'invasion' and its significant lack of usage during that 'take down the chick in white spandex' (no one ever mentioned how useless guns were when your brain was turned into mush). And as he walks down the halls, he wonders if that fractured rib (a gift left behind by one of the more formidable invading soldiers) has finally healed. Oh well, it wouldn't slow him down much.

But he'd learnt a very important lesson. Never ever run around the HQ without your body armour and your semi-automatic pistols.

He drops unceremoniously into the seat across from Primer and his grin almost shines through his mask.

"G'day! And how is my wonderful chief executor today?" Kissing ass wasn't totally necessary, but Taskmaster was enjoying the prospect of a job a little more than usual. "So...what's the scoop?"

[Manslaughter]

Unlike the Taskmaster, Sean had not pulled Roger from anything vitally important, or at least nothing that would be considered a productive or useful acitivty by anyone else. With a change of season around the corner, the boy had babbled just about nothing but flowers: what colors he liked, what kind he liked, and so on and so forth. It had taken several almost-polite requests and his empty stare to get bulbs for the makeshift window box he had, which was really a shoebox filled with dirt on the windowsill of the only window in the attic.

There was not much he could do except to worm the bulb down into the dirt, water it, and wait, and this is enough to bring Roger sidling down from the attic stairs with an air of accomplishment. Currently, he is stopping to tie his shoe, something he didn't usually bother to do unless if he'd been tripping over the laces all day. "..bunny goes round the bush..," he murmurs underneath his breath, moving in slow, careful intervals as though this requires some higher level of thinking. "...in the bunny hole.. ...and up!" Giving one last tug on his laces, Roger admires his work for a few moments.

He leaves his shoes at the bottom of the stairs.

Now crossing the floor in bare feet, he makes his way towards the kitchen, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind what this meeting is going to be about. Roger is seemingly nonchalant about the meeting, however, despite what the content of it may be. The boy had been in a particularly chipper but eerie mood ever since the invasion, the remains of which had thankfully been taken care of.

G'day! And how is my wonderful chief executor today? This is the first thing Roger hears as he mentally and almost unconciously continues to make his presence unknown by aid of his powers. So...what's the scoop? Wondering why Taskmaster is so happy, Roger stops before he reaches the doorway, pressing his shoulder into the wall and pulling it along. After several moments of silent thinking that is punctuated with the occasional hum of a bar or two of some song, he finishes the last few feet to the kitchen, slinking in without a word.

".....hello," the boy says at last, tilting his head in an odd manner and seeming to acknowledge the others with this greeting only. Roger doesn't bother to approach the table, crossing the room and moving towards the refridgerator before he commences to make himself a glass of milk. Apparently the boy is intent on making himself comfortable...