the threat is real. scott summers. (visor_vision) wrote in age_of_miracles, @ 2008-01-10 17:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | cyclops, psylocke |
Log: Cyclops and Psylocke
Who; Scott Summers and Betsy Braddock
When; January 10th, afternoon (which may or may not be contrary to Betsy's email forever ago, but it's important for this to be kind of ... around the time it gets posted XD)
Where; Near Simone's
What; Betsy says she needs help and can give the X-Men information, so Scott goes and ... gets screwed over. Oops. Actually, Betsy takes the beating, but then she replaces all of his memories of Emma with ... herself. Ew. Scott doesn't take well to it, and blasts her again. But not before she digs out all of the X-Men's plans. Ohsnap.
Warnings; Betsy's use of the vagina-word at Scott and Scott's visual/mental eff you. You'll see.
After everything that had gone down over the past week or so, Betsy had (rather diplomatically, in her opinion) decided that perhaps flying over to the town would have been the most diplomatic. Her I.T. department had sent up the footage they'd recovered from the scene, and decided that the attack on Henry McCoy would give her the opening that she needed to get the information...or, at the very least, get one of them alone. She'd changed a great deal since that altercation with Dr. Ives, so much so that Betsy now found the opportunity in the near-murder of a dear friend to abuse the residual trust of her old team-mates. In truth, there was still a spark of goodness inside her: Psylocke had been tempted to visit McCoy himself, and use her crocodile tears to tear through his mind in search of information. But something -perhaps shame- had stopped her, preferring instead to target the healthier members of the team.
Betsy skimmed low over the buildings, weaving in and out of them at one point. She dived in between the high-rise office blocks, not riding the wind as Storm would, but instead cutting through the air, imposing her will on the world around her. People watched her, and she laughed as they reacted; a few months ago she wouldn't have dared do it, but these days -with her bright purple streaming out behind her- the idea of being free was intoxicating. Of course, she remembered the terrible things that Magneto had done...but hadn't all politicians done bad things? All of them had blood of their hands; why should Eric be any different? She didn't care all that much about his past misdeeds, not when they were compared to all the good he'd done for mutants in the past few weeks. Perhaps she'd misjudged him -- it wasn't as if the humans were ALL being killed, was it?
She touched down lightly, taking the time to re-arrange her attire into something a little more...rumpled. Scott had to believe that she was having serious doubts, and the flight had worked in her favour -- Betsy's eyes were red, and her hair far from sleek. There were dark rings around her eyes these days, but that was less from worrying over the fate of humanity and more the pressures of business. But, as she sat there on the park bench waiting for Summers, everything about Elisabeth Braddock radiated helplessness. She'd got in over her head, and now she needed the comforting embrace of the X-Men.
Scott had shown up. He trusted Betsy, in a way. She was Betsy, after all; she'd been a friend for years, and now she was asking for his help. She agreed with Magneto, she was a mutant supremecist, but she'd always been like that. Betsy had always believed mutants were better -- or, more accurately, Betsy had always believed Betsy was better than everyone else. It was normal. She wasn't Brotherhood, as far as Scott knew, and she hadn't actually done anything to indicate she would ever hurt any of the X-Men.
So Scott went, on trust and past friendship and the chance she might really need help. He'd considered bringing a psychic scrambler, but they needed the battery power for other things. Not bringing one was a big sign of trust -- one he might seriously regret making soon.
"Betsy?" He hadn't seen her in a long time, and to be honest, he'd missed her. ...Karl probably helped that feeling, coming in and taking her job when she left and annoying the crap out of him.
She looked up at him, the approximation of relief flooding through her features. Betsy stood up and sat back down, before standing back up -- it was as though she couldn't even make up her mind whether or not to greet him. And, in truth, there was a battle going on inside her; it had been all too easy to plot her machinations high up in the penthouse of her building, but here -looking at him, really looking- not even the great Lady Braddock herself could silence that nagging voice that she was doing the wrong thing. Of course she was doing the wrong thing, but this was a wrong thing that would serve a greater good; keeping the Institute safe was her ultimate goal, and making Magneto happy was a by-product of that. People had to die so that the country could survive, and some X-Men had to suffer so that the majority could be kept secure.
But still...this would end her being welcome or tolerated at the Institute. She knew it.
"Scott." She spoke eventually, deciding not to shake his hand. He really was a good man, after all -- better than her, so rubbing it in wasn't an option. If only she'd targeted one of the bad ones. "I'm so glad you came. I didn't know if you would, but oh God...I mean, thank you." Just the right amount of hesitancy. "JBP was sticking its nose in where it shouldn't have been, Scott. Well, you know what I'm like, don't you? We discovered some disturbing plans for the future of the country, but his cyberpaths were all over us."
She glanced around, focusing mistrustfully on a man passing down the opposite side of the street; it could have seemed like she'd sensed something suspicious about him, if a person wasn't aware that Betsy was staging the whole thing. "I downloaded what I could, and I'm willing to give it all over to the X-Men. Goodness knows you could do more with it than I can."
He probably should have been suspicious. Really. He knew what she was like, after all, but if he'd just ignored her, Scott would have hated himself. And, hell, if they'd let Mystique live with them for any reason whatsoever, going to meet pro-mutant supremacy Betsy wasn't really that far off the list of possibilities. From the looks of it, she was being rather helpful, too, instead of strutting around and being a nuisance.
Flicking his gaze over to the man on the other side of the street, Scott settled back on Betsy, shifting from one foot to the other. "We'd appreciate it. We can use all the help we can get, at this point." Still, despite trusting her, he didn't give away any specific reasons why they would need help. She could read his mind, sure enough, but that didn't mean he was just going to give away information.
She nodded, the delicate skin around her eyes slightly red -- or was it? Sometimes she looked as though she was fine, and other times it was as though she was on the verge of crying. In anyone else, it might've hinted that someone was trying to confuse Scott's senses, someone who didn't have a huge amount of skill or experience with illusions. Then she smiled, and it was the old Betsy once again: the one before she'd gone all mutant supremacist, when she'd just been grateful to have a job doing the right thing, and had just started befriending an unusual red-head with similar powers to her. She was trading on her friendship with Jean to seal the deal; people were prone to using her memory to control Scott, but...well, it worked. And Betsy wasn't above abusing the memories of her old friend to get the old boyfriend to do what she wanted.
"Oh, damnit..." Psylocke patted her coat frantically, searching for something. She checked the inside pockets, then glanced back, down the alley that led between the two buildings between their meeting place and her car. "I've left the disc in the glovebox. It's got everything I've downloaded of their plans. Come with me." Without even waiting for him, Betsy set off at a semi-trot down the alley. She hardly needed eye contact to know if he was following.
Maybe Scott just missed her. Hell, he missed a lot, missed life being just a tiny bit easier -- oh, and he missed not living in a country ruled by Magneto. Betsy had left the school over an argument with Charles, but that didn't mean she was inherently evil, or that Magneto was the best alternative. Scott was relying on the old Betsy, the one he'd met forever ago when Jean was still around, relying on the notion that she had found something heinous that the X-Men didn't have access to (because Magneto had cut them off). He suspected that this could be a trap, but not nearly enough not to follow her. So in all honesty, perhaps Scott was being foolish, but he couldn't be blamed for trusting someone who had yet to actively put herself in an enemy position. Or ... really, maybe he could be, as the person who was supposed to be in charge of the X-Men, the person who was supposed to be the smartest and the most cautious.
Either way, Scott followed her, rather ambivalent about the decision. She really could have forgotten it, or maybe she was leading him into a trap -- and the latter thought had Scott keeping an eye out for an ambush or something. Not that Betsy wasn't painfully dangerous on her own, but he couldn't be positive about anything. "If there's any protection we can give you from Magneto for doing this," he offered. "Let us know. He won't be happy if he finds out you're helping us. You can never be too cautious, Betsy." Since Betsy had a habit of being, well ... arrogant.
Betsy nodded, in response. "No, Scott...you never can. But sometimes, you've just got to these things. The greater good means that we have to make some sacrifices." If only he knew. Her sacrifices, as far as she could see, began and ended with the Institute. There was still time to back out, to pretend she'd forgotten it completely and just drive off. Then she wouldn't need to do anything, could go back and see Arla, Tommy, Henry and everyone. Perhaps she could even apologise to Xavier, and see whether he'd consider taking her back, letting her back on to the X-Men...
...Psylocke moved even quicker than she expected. The telekinetically-fuelled speed allowed her to turn in place quicker than her muscles should have allowed -- she might have taken care of her body, but there were still the limits of what she, as a woman and as a simple human being, could do. But the telekinetic ability that was currently flooding through her body was extending beyond it, shaping itself and forming into long, physical blades. The knives were longer, less tightly focused than they normally were; she was scared, scared of what she was doing, and terrified that Scott would have time to mount his own offensive. He already suspected, down in his subconscious. Could she move quick enough to avoid a blast? Betsy could only take 'yes' as that particular answer.
She growled, leaping forward before she really had a chance to think about the situation, her arms stretched out in behind her. If the situation had been slower, she would have looked precisely like the Silver Spirit adorning the bonnet of her car -- but then her hands snapped round, the long purple blades aimed directly behind Scott's eyes. If she could destabilise the optic nerve pathways, she might even cut off access to his power...but whatever she did was going to hurt him, given the simple sloppiness of her knives.
Scott didn't even have time to flinch. He'd half expected to be attacked, but that still didn't prepare him for Betsy coming at him -- and aiming near his eyes. If anything, he expected something to the chest or stomach, even to his head, but it was clear with the way her knives were positioned, right by his temple, that her motive was to keep his from using his powers. Which was, by the way, absolutely terrifying, especially when Betsy's control over her psiblades were obviously looser than normal (something Scott noticed if only because he'd trained with her so much, knew that her control was usually tight and could recognize when it was sloppy.
"All you're going to do is stab me in the head," he said quietly, unnervingly calm as he took in a deep breath. Overreacting wouldn't help. "It won't stop my powers." He should have followed his other instinct, should have brought the scrambler, should've been smarter. Damn it.
Elisabeth circled him, aware that this was going to get difficult now he'd avoided the first flurry. "Don't be an idiot over this, Scott. I'm doing it for you, for the whole lot of you." Even she was painfully aware of how familiar she found this little monologue; they'd all heard it, from various psychos they'd stopped over the years. But this was different! Betsy wasn't psycho, for a start. "If you try and do anything, then you're all going to fail. And then you'll die. I don't particularly want any of you to end up like the moron Stark, so I'm putting a stop to it before it can start. Be a good boy, Scott, and--"lie down.
This was bad. This was bad, and there was no point in trying to pretend it wasn't. She was definitely going through his head, and though she could certainly dig around, Scott took care to think of anything but the X-Men's plans. Instead, there were visions of years ago, when Jean was still alive. When Betsy and Jean had just met, just started becoming friends, before Scott had even had his place as leader and had just been ... young. Happier days, definitely, with a less psychotic Betsy. He legs shook a bit, but he resisted her command; it wasn't as forceful as it could have been, he knew that, but he still fought.
"Betsy, please. You don't have to do this." Breathe. In and out, stay calm. "It's not going to work. You sound like a radical reformer, and as well intentioned as you are -- because I really think you're just trying to do the right thing -- you can't do it this way. It won't work. You can't protect all of us like this. Not by threatening me, not by stopping the resistance, and not by imposing the same kind of dictatorship over humans that they imposed on us." See reason, Betsy. Please see reason.
She shook her head, a little disdainfully. "Don't be silly, Scott. Of course I have to do this. Quite apart from the people I'm keeping alive, do you think my business is going to pick up once the sapiens are back in charge? Openly mutant CEO, dedicated to making the lives of the average mutant better? I doubt it. My building will be bombed, and I'll wake up with a cut throat. Having Magneto in charge makes us all safer. And I'm not going to let Charles Xavier ruin it for everyone, because of his silly ideals."
There was a short pause, before Betsy flexed her fingers. The knives melted away, to be replaced by a long, psychokinetic sword in one hand. She'd never managed to manifest something of that size before, sticking to small extensions like the knives. It was obviously something of a stretch and, judging by her surprised expression, something of a new talent. Still, Psylocke adjusted her stance accordingly, more akin to the ninja-like way that Aubrey had always thought of her in. "They deserve it, Scott. Everything I've seen or done has just reinforced that. They need shepherding. Don't make her tell you again, because I won't be as nice about it."
Betsy didn't wait for him to make a choice; she rushed him, holding the katana up over one shoulder.
Two choices. Take the blow, possibly die (he liked to think Betsy wouldn't kill him, but he never knew), or take off his glasses and blast her. Faced with the fight or injury-and-possibly-death option, Scott's reflexes had his reached for his glasses, ripping them away before Betsy could get to him. The blast was large, unbridled, and it was lucky they were facing down a street instead of at a building (though an unlucky car or two was incinerated) -- but regardless, unhindered, heatless energy was blasting toward Betsy, and even if Scott knew he was acting in his own defense, he hoped she'd protect herself. Really.
Bugger... The thought went, unbidden, through the minds of everyone in a half-mile radius. Of course Betsy had been prepared for the blast, and she'd protected herself in the most aggressive way possible: she jumped. Jumping enabled her to move forward, but the unforeseen (and, it had to be said, rather important) part of the equation was the fact that she hadn't brought her feet nearly high enough. Caught in the explosion of energy, Psylocke cartwheeled forward, thrown out of balance by the sudden pressure on her shins -- colliding with the building's stupid fire escape brought her back down to earth with a bump.
She'd regret it later, but right now she couldn't feel a thing. The telekinesis that fuelled her speed also augmented her strength, reflexes and dampened the pain...for now. It radiated outwards, making the metal escape above her groan as it twisted. Don't move, Summers. This is going to hurt now, and I'd hate to cause any permanent damage to you due to an unfortunate slip. This time, she was more forceful: he could resist, with some effort, but by now Psylocke wanted him to feel it. You didn't just take down the Psylocke, after all. Even if he had.
Well, good, she'd lived. That was nice. Except for the part where she was alive and in his brain. ...Again. He'd swapped his glasses out for his visor (which, mostly out of unshakeable paranoia, he kept in his coat now) before she'd gotten ahold of him, so he had that, at least. Scott fought her, bringing a hand up to his visor with some considerable effort; he felt weighed down by the mental command, his arms and legs heavy, as if he'd just woken up after a beating, making movement almost painful. But that didn't mean he wasn't moving. Stop it, Betsy. You're better than this, and you know it. Get your mind off me.
Don't make me stop you talking, as well... she thought, her mental voice somewhat louder than it might normally be. There was time for a breather, an obvious one at that. Scott, despite their current situation, had been a friend -- she gave him his due, allowed him to see that he'd knocked the air from her. He was a formidable fighter: that she'd come out temporarily on top was, perhaps, more luck than anything else. "I don't trust you to simply tell me, so I'm going to be looking for myself. I do hope you don't mind too much?"
She kept out of his direct sight-line, staying away from those dangerous little beams whilst still making sure he knew where she was. There was no sense in having these little moments if he didn't know exactly how far away it was. She looked at him, smiling almost pityingly. "Would you like to be conscious for this or not? I think, if you were knocked out, it doesn't feel as much like you're an accomplice."
"Stay out of my head," was Scott immediate response. He didn't care what she did to him (well, no, he cared, but not enough not to fight her), but he didn't need her going through his head and finding out what the X-Men were doing, who was doing what. Who was involved. The X-Men could protect themselves, to an extent, but if Magneto's forces were to gang up on, say, Daredevil, or perhaps even getting one or two of the Fantastic Four alone, it wouldn't end so well. There was a difference between the Brotherhood attacking the school and just picking people off by ones or twos.
So instead, Scott threw up the memories again, images of Jean. Emma. Anything he could think of to keep his mind racing, hopefully distracting her. Hopefully. How effective it would be remained to be seen. And while trying to move his head, at that, difficult and almost painful as that was.
It was disorienting, trying to focus on one thing while all those extra thoughts went whizzing past. It was akin to making a three-tiered cake on a merry-go-round; things kept going all over the place. She tried her best to redouble the effort, but it just wasn't going to work whilst Scott was concerned with the various intricacies of his past and present loves. Betsy sighed, heavily.
"This isn't going to do, at all!" she said, placing her hands on Scott's head. "I think we're going to get rid of a few of these distractions, aren't we? Let's see..." She switched her attention to the surface thoughts, grimacing at the memories of Emma in particular. Jean she could forgive -they'd used similar tactics with each other, naturally- but Emma was just unnecessary. Betsy concentrated, changing each and every memory she could find of Emma fucking Frost -- replacing the cheap blonde with her own figure in every thought, every recollection; it was really far more appropriate on every level. And it was far less distracting to see herself, instead of that peroxide bombsite.
Betsy smiled again, a little more sincerely. "Right. Let's see about those plans, shall we?" She turned back to the deeper thoughts, the plans and deployment that Charles and Scott had dreamed up. Oh, why had the team leader delivered himself to her?
It was jarring. He suddenly couldn't remember what Emma looked like, couldn't remember her voice. Scott could remember her words -- not all of them the blunt, matter-of-fact ones she gave to everyone else -- and it was ... disturbing, really, to remember things he'd done with Emma with Betsy's image, Emma's words in her voice. Scott gritted his teeth, and though moving was hard, he still tried to move back -- his hand still on his visor. If only she was right in front of him.
"Get out of my head!" He was struggling, still fighting to find something to think of. Something different, something jarring and noticeable. Arla going insane, Xi'an being shot, Peter and Mary Jane, May, Charles, Hank burned and bleeding, Elvyran coming home and crying, Peter with his organs hanging out, Donald admitting that the government was flawed, Donald getting older, Karl turning into Sauron. Something. Anything. Anything to distract her. It was the only way to fight back while he was making what effort he could to actually move and fight physically.
Betsy frowned; that wasn't fun now. "Darling, you really shouldn't be so rude. All these little images you're conjuring up are only distressing you, and they're making my job more difficult." She delved a little deeper, re-routing nervous impulses to his pain centres. Only a light aching in his stomach at that point, but she gripped harder. "I can make you hurt anywhere, and I can make you hurt a lot. Scott...anywhere. Reflect on that statement, darling, before you decide to keep on making things harder for me. I'm nearly there."
Her hands still on either side of his head, Psylocke rested her own on his shoulder; it was almost tender, if her actions alone were any judge. The oblivious passer-by wouldn't have noticed anything amiss -- at least, amiss as far as 'two mutants being intimate in an alleyway' could be. "Now...are you going to be a good little boy?"
It wasn't in Scott's nature not to fight, and he wasn't just about to surrender information. Her hand on his shoulder made him sick, if only because of all those newly implanted memories. Instead of relenting, Scott ground his teeth, mouth twisting in a snarl at her attitude, his aching stomach. "Get out, Betsy. I'll stop when you get out."
"Oh, I will..." she said, her mouth only millimetres from his ear. "I'll stop in juuuuust a few seconds. I have nearly everything, anyway." It was going to be so difficult to remember everything, but she'd compartmentalised her mind before she came to him, using techniques that Xavier had taught her in order to rape Scott's mind effectively. She could remember it all, and put everything into a file to send to Eric. Or maybe she'd keep it, make herself more valuable. Whichever; she'd have to give it more serious thought when she got home. After a second or two, she took her hands from off his head. "You've been so helpful, darling."
She pressed her lips against his cheek. I'm sure Magneto will find use for it, and I know you'll find this encounter something to remember, late at night. The problem is whether or not I let you remember that I took all this...it might prove problematic for both of us, but getting rid of the evidence will take ages, and hurt something awful. Removing memories is so much more difficult than editing them, or copying them.
If he'd had the movement, Scott would have turned his head and bitten her. There was nothing he could say that would help himself now, nothing she wouldn't laugh at, or use to make it worse. So instead, Scott sent her a rather nasty image -- undoubtedly mean-spirited in the way he depicted the both of them in his head. After all, she'd put herself there, into every personal experience he'd had with Emma, sexual or otherwise. He couldn't really talk back to her or defend himself, but a small, vindictive part of him hoped the visual made her stomach roll.
Psylocke pursed her lips: there was rude, and there was uncalled-for. Betsy raised her hand, caressing his brow and resting her fingertips on the top of his visor. Flexing them ever so slightly, she spoke with a nauseatingly innocent tone. "Tell me, Scott. I'm just a silly little English girl, with no technical expertise. How much stress can this thing be put under? I imagine it's very well-made."
It was, to its credit, neither creaking nor buckling under the psychic pressure. There would have been an increasing tightness, perhaps -- but it would take more than a slight push to break it. The point wasn't to break it: the point was to remind him who was cracking the leather whip.
It was still pressing against the side of his head, and the tension was starting to give Scott a headache. Annoying at this point, but he wasn't too concerned with a headache. But his limbs were loosening up, little by little; Betsy's control over his body was slipping while she threatened him (perhaps the effort was tiring her out), and he knew when an opening existed.
He didn't waste time with a witty retort. Using what control he head over himself, Scott tipped his head so he was facing her -- and pressed the button on his visor. She'd had him held in place, but his hand had been up when she did it, and she'd foolishly let him keep his hand there. And now, karma was blasting her in the face.
It was kind of a nice feeling, really.
Not for her. The first inkling that Betsy had of anything being wrong, she was already about two feet away and rapidly accelerating. The psionic knives had both flared the instant she knew she was in danger, but by then it was far too late too actually do anything about it. The actual force of the beam didn't hurt: it was force, not heat, and so the only pain was a rather heavy pressing against her face. There was a chance that Psylocke could get enough force to rise up above--
--and then she connected with the wall. Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter all that much, except for the pain in her back and head. If she'd been unprotected, the impact would have killed her outright, but the superhuman attributes she gained from the telekinetic charge had absorbed enough of the crash to simply leave her with a number of injuries. Had she looked behind her, stumbling forward from the now-concave wall, she might have noticed a rather unnerving amount of blood. But she didn't; Betsy just looked at Scott, as if daring him to do it again.
"...You cunt." Betsy had never spoken like that to anyone, as far as she knew. With one last flick of both hands, she sent a vicious push at Scott, putting most of her remaining power behind it. She didn't wait to see what it did to him, electing instead to race for the relative safety of her car. She wanted --she NEEDED-- to see her doctor.
Scott flew -- not as fast as Betsy had, perhaps, but he was still lifted off the ground, landing rather painfully on his back. But at least she was gone. He sat up with a groan, noting irritably that he would definitely have bruises to go along with his wounded pride. He'd never wanted to fight Betsy, but he'd done it, and though she looked injured, Scott was sure she'd be fine. Eventually. The traitorous bitch.
Pushing himself to a stand with another groan, Scott grunted and stretched, relieved to have all the feeling back in his extremities, even if it now meant, hn, he'd have to go home and tell people about this.
Great.