Who: Quicksilver; Open to Brotherhood. But not Mags or Mystique. When: March 30th. Where: The stables. What: Discussing the Cure Virus. Status: In Progress. Rating: PG. Some swears.
Pietro was brooding, which would not be all that unusual were it not for the intensity that furrowed his brow. In the forced wrinkles lay traces of his father, a shared frustration with the world that the younger man had yet to accept so gracefully as the elder. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut as he sighed, expelling some small measure of his anger.
The stables were quiet, for the most part, and stood in stark contrast to his current mood. He'd spoken to the Brotherhood -those he thought might benefit, leastways - and told them where he'd be. Whether or not they came, of course, was subject to a dozen factors not the least of which was whether or not his "brothers and sisters" decided to give a damn today. All the same, he'd put in his effort. At the very least, the meeting would give him a notion of who he could turn to.
Shuffling through the straw, Pietro stood in the great doorway of the barn, taking in the sunlight. This waiting was not helping him calm himself, of course, and he would have to exercise more tact than he felt he could muster at this moment if we were to be at all successful now. He had to show himself to be a leader now; this meeting would tell if the waters were right for mutiny.
So where the fuck were they?