In the sea of consciousness, a pinprick of familiarity washed over Bennet, followed by a nudge and a voice.
"You're spilling your - your coffee's all over."
The simple words were enough to halt his formidable concentration. He turned and looked at the plain woman looking at him. "I guess I was." He crumpled the cup further and tossed it into the trash, though he made no attempt to clean the coffee soaked glove. It would have to wait. For the moment, there were far more intriguing things to do. And of all of these, the first was to find out who this woman was, and why she felt so damned familiar.
His eyes blinked shut, holding for a moment as he let darkness fill his brain, pulling him toward the spark in front of him, toward the memories he should remember associated with it. Elsewhere, on the edges of his trail, other marks moved. He would have to find them later, but they were stored, so it wouldn't be a problem. This one however, was nothing more than vague recollections and pieced together impulses. If he had the slightest of inklings to suspect Mystique, it would be explainable. something about her mutation fucked with his mental tracking. When she shifted, her psionic imprint grew scrambled, unless he was close enough to her when she shifted to notice the subtle differences.
The bright lights again assaulted him as he opened his eyes, and he squinted, almost as if temporarily blinded, the dullest spark of power fading as he adjusted again to the woman in front of him. He couldn't lose the target, but he couldn't afford to not know who this woman was. If she was a threat to him or not, he had to figure it out.
"Have... have we met before? I know you probably get this all the time, but you seem eerily familiar." He even smiled at the end, though his eyes stayed cold, dark, and empty, the jovial gesture never reaching them.