#mutantxpower

He’s accustomed to the fear his presence triggers. After all it’s by design. Carefully cultivated to ensure he’s never the one who is caught off guard; never the one hitting back but hitting first. If human society is inclined to see his kind as threatening, then so be it. He’ll be the biggest threat they’ve ever met.

Still, Jason’s recovery is impressive. It’s like he’s almost confident he can match Erik in a fight.  

He glances around the room. There’s wealth on display here tonight. Flashes of gold and silver around delicate wrists, neatly tailored suits, and shoes that cost more than most Gothamites’ rent.

And then there’s Jason. The coiffed hair and cuff links don’t fool him nor do they hide knuckles still bruised from his last fight. “I thought all your friends were in low places.”

   “They still are,” Jason purrs, giving his glass a swirl before taking a sip and throwing a cursory glance around the room. His gaze hooks, catches on something, someone, for the briefest of moments, and then comes back to rest on Erik. His shoulders relax, falling back, and his chin comes up with a smile. “Some would consider this a low place. Depends on your perspective, and who you consider to be your friends. I don’t get into the habit of making many.”

@mutantxpower "killing the monsters is the easy bit. it's finding them that's the hard part."

          “Killing’s not what we do.  Even with the monsters, Magnets.”  Who hasn’t tried for a little levity in the form of an ill-timed and ill-advised joke when they’re a little uneasy?  It’s practically in the Avengers handbook at this point.  “And this is an us problem.”  

He gestures between them.

“Not a mutant problem.  Not an Avengers problem.  A whole world problem.  Whatever issues we’ve all got otherwise, we do this all together, or we don’t do it all.”  He touches down, gently, to the ground, cutting power to his boots.  “Steve wanted to be here but he’s tied up with a mess in Madripoor.  But the upside is, I have a lead on your monsters, because it turns out we’ve been looking under the same bed.  I think I know what closet they crawled out of.”

   She’s all for hunting down terrorists, but this is just — unnecessary.

   “Lehnsherr, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me.” Glass and metal crunches under her boots as she steps into what used to be a security room, the row of screens on the wall cracked and wires poking out of the control board beneath.

   “You are the most fucking infuriating, arrogant man I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with, and if you don’t kill me and put me out of my misery, your fucking personality will.” That’s a lot coming from Jason, considering Jason is... himself. It’s rare that he finds his match in the hotheaded asshole department, but never in a million years did he think it’d be from fucking Magneto. He’d been waiting to wake up on a metal pike since the day they met, so maybe his usefulness proved something. Or maybe Erik just liked self-flagellation in the shape of an ex-Robin.

   The arrival of the loading truck at the Lounge is unprecedented, especially at three in the afternoon, and Suzie nearly throws the driver into the bay before Jason trudges his way outside to deal with the situation. He can tell just by the way the man is holding himself that he isn’t a threat, doesn’t have anything more than a keychain on him, and coaxes Suzie into letting the poor guy go.

   The contents of the truck are either going to cause him a world of trouble, or...

   “...Hold up.” With mounting anticipation, Jason unlatches the rear door and pulls it open, hopping inside to rifle through the tarp covered crates in the back. “...Son of a bitch.”

   “Oh, yeah, you know, I—” Jason turns on his heel, martini glass in hand, and all the charisma blips out of him like a star that’s been swallowed by a black hole. It’s momentary, and comes back full force after a quick once-over, tongue darting forward to press mischievously against a sharp canine. “…took some more creative liberties with the place once I took over the property. Cobblepot knew how to entertain a crowd, sure, but I’m not quite… in the business of his crowd.”

“Imagine standing in a train station. A very busy one. People passing you by in every direction. Babies crying. Children screeching. Men laughing.” He rolls the glass of brandy between his palms. 

“And imagine closing your eyes and looking for one voice. A familiar voice. But no matter how you struggle, it isn’t there.”

A long, meandering metaphor is easier than the truth.