Erik Lehnsherr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhuman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
edge_of_forever2013-05-28 08:56 am
morethanhuman) wrote in edge_of_forever2013-05-28 08:56 am
bow in the presence of greatness
Erik stands in the middle of the shuttle bay, one hand extended palm-up in front of him. Far overhead, almost at the top of the shuttle bay, Lwaxana’s shuttle hovers in midair. His eyes narrow, Erik curls his fingers in a little come-here gesture. A rush of power that's lain dormant in him for over a year surges out through his fingertips, and the shuttle hurtls toward him. It swoops down, passing so close over his head that the breeze from its passing ruffles his hair.
He can’t rein in a laugh-- it's been too long since he’s felt this, the full depth of his power wholly at his command-- and it bubbles up in him, exhilarating and wild, spilling out as he sweeps his hand out in another long gesture, sending the shuttle flying back up to the ceiling.
There's a sigh behind him and he turns, grinning, while the shuttle zooms around the room. “If you’re bored already, don’t let me keep you.”
"I'm sorry, did that read as an I'm bored sigh?" Mystique asks, sidling up to him with an uncharacteristically playful smile. "This is admiration. This is 'my god, you look good with ten tons of metal hovering over you'."
She crosses her arms and watches him hurl the thing back up a second time.
"But you're missing something...”
Erik looks back up to the shuttle, feeling through its component parts-- he could take it apart and reassemble it, melt it down into slag or send it flying out into space. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like, this power. But he can’t even be angry at how long he’s gone without it-- not with it burning through him like this.
Mystique’s comment makes him raise an eyebrow, though he's too busy sending the shuttle through a series of aerial maneuvers to turn and let her see it. “What’s that?”
She doesn't say anything, just changes, and it's not the stagnant, flickering change he's used to, but fast and perfectly smooth. One moment Raven's standing there, and the next… he is.
"Unless you want Charles perusing your mind like the Sunday paper."
The shuttle goes still and so does Erik, turning a sharp look on her, his heart suddenly beating quick for an entirely different reason. This vision of himself-- it's one thing to see photos and illustrations, another entirely to see his future in the flesh before him. It's fascinating, but deeply unnerving, especially since he still can’t be sure if he'll still become that man, or if coming here has changed him too much.
But then it dawns on him-- Raven is right. He’d be wise to protect himself from Charles, who is now more than capable of rifling through Erik’s mind and finding out all about Cuba. And now, with his own powers restored, his helmet is no longer out of his reach.
The shuttle lowers gently to the ground and Erik’s eyes go fierce, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Come on,” he says, striding toward the door.
. . .
They're not even thirty feet from the door when Raven sees it start to tremble in its frame.
Then all of a sudden, it stops. She glances at him and sees he's changed his focus: he's disregarding the door entirely, peeling layers off the wall, the metal rolling up and crumpling like paper until she can see the inventory shelves through the frame. There's a mess of wires, smoking and spitting sparks, but it doesn't stop Erik from stepping through.
Sure, it's petty, but Raven can't resist swiping her comm in front of the half-dead sensor; it gives a sad, bleating no access beep just as she lifts one white boot over the jagged wall.
How do you like me now, HAL?
"They're organized by serial number," she says with a frown, eyeing the tags on the front of the shelves. She pulls open one at random and sees a stack of filthy, bloodstained clothing: nope. Another: a pink vest and a cell phone covered in stickers. Another-- ooh-- has a duffel bag labeled STARK TECHNOLOGIES-- definitely worth checking out once she's found her stuff.
Finally, she pulls open the right drawer. She locks and loads her Glock with a look that's somehow both affectionate and smug, then glances over to see Erik holding his helmet up to the flickering light.
“I’ve always said it takes a very special guy to inspire fear in red and purple,” she says dryly, applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the grainy reflection of the shelves. “I think I just got goosebumps.”
[see the OOC post here before tagging.]
He can’t rein in a laugh-- it's been too long since he’s felt this, the full depth of his power wholly at his command-- and it bubbles up in him, exhilarating and wild, spilling out as he sweeps his hand out in another long gesture, sending the shuttle flying back up to the ceiling.
There's a sigh behind him and he turns, grinning, while the shuttle zooms around the room. “If you’re bored already, don’t let me keep you.”
"I'm sorry, did that read as an I'm bored sigh?" Mystique asks, sidling up to him with an uncharacteristically playful smile. "This is admiration. This is 'my god, you look good with ten tons of metal hovering over you'."
She crosses her arms and watches him hurl the thing back up a second time.
"But you're missing something...”
Erik looks back up to the shuttle, feeling through its component parts-- he could take it apart and reassemble it, melt it down into slag or send it flying out into space. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like, this power. But he can’t even be angry at how long he’s gone without it-- not with it burning through him like this.
Mystique’s comment makes him raise an eyebrow, though he's too busy sending the shuttle through a series of aerial maneuvers to turn and let her see it. “What’s that?”
She doesn't say anything, just changes, and it's not the stagnant, flickering change he's used to, but fast and perfectly smooth. One moment Raven's standing there, and the next… he is.
"Unless you want Charles perusing your mind like the Sunday paper."
The shuttle goes still and so does Erik, turning a sharp look on her, his heart suddenly beating quick for an entirely different reason. This vision of himself-- it's one thing to see photos and illustrations, another entirely to see his future in the flesh before him. It's fascinating, but deeply unnerving, especially since he still can’t be sure if he'll still become that man, or if coming here has changed him too much.
But then it dawns on him-- Raven is right. He’d be wise to protect himself from Charles, who is now more than capable of rifling through Erik’s mind and finding out all about Cuba. And now, with his own powers restored, his helmet is no longer out of his reach.
The shuttle lowers gently to the ground and Erik’s eyes go fierce, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Come on,” he says, striding toward the door.
. . .
They're not even thirty feet from the door when Raven sees it start to tremble in its frame.
Then all of a sudden, it stops. She glances at him and sees he's changed his focus: he's disregarding the door entirely, peeling layers off the wall, the metal rolling up and crumpling like paper until she can see the inventory shelves through the frame. There's a mess of wires, smoking and spitting sparks, but it doesn't stop Erik from stepping through.
Sure, it's petty, but Raven can't resist swiping her comm in front of the half-dead sensor; it gives a sad, bleating no access beep just as she lifts one white boot over the jagged wall.
How do you like me now, HAL?
"They're organized by serial number," she says with a frown, eyeing the tags on the front of the shelves. She pulls open one at random and sees a stack of filthy, bloodstained clothing: nope. Another: a pink vest and a cell phone covered in stickers. Another-- ooh-- has a duffel bag labeled STARK TECHNOLOGIES-- definitely worth checking out once she's found her stuff.
Finally, she pulls open the right drawer. She locks and loads her Glock with a look that's somehow both affectionate and smug, then glances over to see Erik holding his helmet up to the flickering light.
“I’ve always said it takes a very special guy to inspire fear in red and purple,” she says dryly, applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the grainy reflection of the shelves. “I think I just got goosebumps.”
[see the OOC post here before tagging.]
no subject
"Ooh," she says, holding it up, before she really gets a good look at it. It's a business card; matte black heavyweight stock with raised cream-colored letters in all capitals and a phone number.
THE WOMAN
Raven gives him a look, so genuinely interested and surprised she doesn't even bother with a quip. Instead, she turns the card over, and sees I.A. written on the back in an elegant hand.
She stares at it for another second, instinctively holding it out of his reach, too engrossed (for reasons even she can't quite put her finger on) to actually say anything.
no subject
Mystique's reaction to the business card was an informed bewilderment. She knew exactly who The Woman was, or had a very good guess. It wasn't out of the question that they would have worked together, in fact. There was really no such thing as too much charm in the con game.
Sherlock said nothing, waiting for Mystique to process; her first words would be far more telling if they were uninfluenced by his reaction.
no subject
Hooker? She's not actually sure. But everything about this tastefully discreet, expensive card says sex to Raven, the fact that it belongs to Sherlock notwithstanding. Tucked into his breast pocket where it wouldn't be creased. Hell, she could memorize all the information on this card in under thirty seconds, so surely he wasn't keeping it around in case he needed to make an appointment.
So why hang onto it? And his reaction, or rather, lack thereof, is telling.
"Who's I.A.?" she asks, after a long pause, handing over the coat but not the card.
no subject
"You've never asked me stupid questions before. Don't start now."
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"Sorry. Just curious. You're not usually one for sentimentality."
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He plucks the card from her hand and doesn't put it away.
"For all you know I might have been handed this on the street moments before my abduction. The fact that you assumed I was keeping it out of sentimentality tells me that you feel there's something here worth being sentimental about. It wasn't until you read the dedication on the back that you made that conclusion, so it's to do with the initials I.A. and not The Woman. The picture became clear to you why I would have this card in my pocket out of a strong sentimentality toward I.A., so the question becomes: who is she to you?"
no subject
Used to this kind of thing by now, she lets his deduction wash over her, agreeing with some of it-- certainly he's right on the money about the initials-- but she maintains her gut is right about his reasons for keeping it.
"You might've been handed it a moment ago on the street, but you don't do anything out of habit. There's no reason to hold onto a paper reminder of a phone number that was in your head before the card even touched your fingers. Add to that your disproportionately charged reaction when I first pulled the card out of your pocket, and I'm relatively sure that you not only know The Woman personally, but that you don't want to part with this card. Out of sentimentality."
She smiles sharply, eyes glowing in the guttering fluorescents.
"Anyway, sometimes, you just know. Call it feminine intuition if you want." That'll really put him off. "As for I.A., it just... caught my attention. I had an old friend with those initials."
She's confirming that much is right, and she doesn't go out of her way to make it sound like a coincidence. Maybe he'd hesitated at first because he thought she might recognize the card.
Guy has a pretty flexible imagination to go with that gifted brain.
no subject
"No." He said it like they both knew better than to believe her bluster. She knew Irene Adler, or an Irene Adler. He'd bet his life on it. And that she knew they were talking about the same woman.
He turned on his heel and left, the weight of the coat swishing behind him extra satisfying after such a long absence.
no subject
His unflinching denial and theatrical exit have made her extra curious.
The Woman.
I.A.
Irene had always loved the Holmes mysteries; the coincidence of her name was an eccentricity that hadn't escaped Raven, though she was never the bookworm Irene had been. Naturally meeting Sherlock-- or some universe's version of him, anyway-- had been bleakly amusing to Mystique, but she hadn't really considered that this Sherlock might have his own Irene Adler.
"So who was Irene Adler to you?" she hollers down the hall, because he's not stopping.
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"You've read her card." Miss Adler has a flair for nomenclature; she remained The Woman in his mind.
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Married to her. The idea was jarring on so many levels.
"Irene Adler." He said again, as if there was some hilarious miscommunication, or possibly out of a momentary dullness of wit.
no subject