Status: Updated on random occasions
Invictus
First Impressions
Charles Xavier studied the woman in front of him. Her wet clothes clung to her thin but athletic frame. Her short auburn hair became more muddled when she ran a gloved hand through it. She didn’t look to be a day over twenty but the way she carried herself displayed a sense of wisdom. Charles decided that there was something odd about the young woman. He found his desire to read her mind overwhelming. But he had already invaded one person’s privacy that night and Charles wasn’t interested in making it a habit. But his curiosity got the better of him.
Phil Coulson was a short, stocky forty-something man with dark hair which matched his black suit. He was the only constant in my fluid life. I wouldn’t consider him a friend, but he was the closest thing I had to one. “Richter, I was beginning to think you had died.” Coulson said off-handedly.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I said quietly, adjusting my gloves.
“Once again, you made the front page.” Coulson produced a newspaper and passed it to me as another person, a young blonde woman, joined the party. I ignored her as I did the rest of the group. Big, bold letters easily caught my attention. DOMINICAN DICTATOR ASSASSINATED . A large black and white picture of Trujillo in his military uniform was placed directly beneath the front page.
“Too bad his son will just replace him.” I said mostly to myself. I was in the mist of reading the article when I felt an extremely odd sensation. It felt as though someone was poking my brain with a stick. The feeling lingered. It took me a moment to realize what was happening. My hand instinctively rushed to my hip and withdrew the remaining gun from its holster. I aimed the weapon at one of the unnamed men, the younger of the two. He was the same height as me, so he was bit short for a man. His once neatly combed hair was untidy due to his swim and his bright blue added to his already charming face.
This was the first time Charles Xavier had ever looked down the barrel of the gun and he hoped it would be his last. “Do that again and I’ll shoot you.” The woman said with the upmost sincerity.
Charles immediately regretted his decision to pry into the girl’s mind the moment he did so. He wasn’t expecting her to be able to detect his presence let alone keep him out. For the few seconds of access he, Charles learned that he woman was, indeed, a mutant but she wasn’t a telepath. He found that her name was Gabriele Richter, but the presence of the name in her mind seemed too fresh for it to be her real name. When he was about seek out her true name, a wall sprouted up out of her sub consciousness. Literally, an iron wall wrapped itself around her mind before Charles could proceed farther. The harder he pushed the thicker the wall grew.
Charles figured since the mind was defenseless when he first started to snoop that the woman had no control of her mind’s ability. Her sub consciousness was protecting the mind on instinct. To avoid being shot, Charles apologized for his actions. “I am deeply sorry. I meant no disrespect. I was only curious.” The woman studied him for a second before lowering her gun and putting it back in its place. She then went back to reading the newspaper. Charles again silently commented on oddity of the woman.
The man spoke with a thin English accent and with a polite and sincere tone. He was clearly an educated man. After a minute of awkward silence, in which the man never took his eyes off of me as I continued to read the article, Coulson felt it was time for introduction. “Uh, Richter, this is Charles Xavier. Charles, this is Gabriele Richter. She has been with the Agency for over 15 years now.” I casually flipped to the next page, barely making note of the man called Charles Xavier.
I half listened as Coulson introduced the blonde woman, who was apparently Charles’ sister who went by the name of Raven. She gave me a half-hearted ‘hello’ which I assumed was a product of the promise I had made to her brother. The article described Trujillo death as an assassination by a gang of rebels. I smiled slightly at how effective my plan was. I had made a deal with the leaders of the rebellion; they would claim responsibility, thus increasing their power and popularity with the rest of the oppressed nation.
“Richter, I have something to talk to you about.” Coulson voice broke into my reading. Usually, when Coulson wanted to talk it was about a job but something was different. My boss had never introduced me to anyone before. I wasn’t a regular at the Christmas parties. I had seen MacTaggert on some of rare trips into the office and she and Coulson were the extent of my socializing. Whatever Coulson wanted to tell me, these people had something to do with it.
“I can I at least change clothes first. It’s a bit cold out here.” I really need a break from all the talking and people.
The blade reflected in the light, obstructing most of Sevel’s view of the wielder. As the knife moved closer, the girl fought against her restraints but there were too strong and she too weak. Tears began to roll down her cheek, which was red from all her pleading. Sevel wasn’t aware of the others who were present in the room. All she knew of was the sharp blade which would soon break her skin. Her pleads became screams as the surgeon made the first slit across the young girls wrist. Crimson blood emerged from the vein and dripped off Sevel’s arm and onto the cold metal table. The surgeon, and the rest of the Nazis who were present, watched in fascination as the skin reattached itself and the wound disappeared. Another, deeper cut was made and Sevel’s screams grew louder and more feral.
Phil Coulson was a short, stocky forty-something man with dark hair which matched his black suit. He was the only constant in my fluid life. I wouldn’t consider him a friend, but he was the closest thing I had to one. “Richter, I was beginning to think you had died.” Coulson said off-handedly.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I said quietly, adjusting my gloves.
“Once again, you made the front page.” Coulson produced a newspaper and passed it to me as another person, a young blonde woman, joined the party. I ignored her as I did the rest of the group. Big, bold letters easily caught my attention. DOMINICAN DICTATOR ASSASSINATED . A large black and white picture of Trujillo in his military uniform was placed directly beneath the front page.
“Too bad his son will just replace him.” I said mostly to myself. I was in the mist of reading the article when I felt an extremely odd sensation. It felt as though someone was poking my brain with a stick. The feeling lingered. It took me a moment to realize what was happening. My hand instinctively rushed to my hip and withdrew the remaining gun from its holster. I aimed the weapon at one of the unnamed men, the younger of the two. He was the same height as me, so he was bit short for a man. His once neatly combed hair was untidy due to his swim and his bright blue added to his already charming face.
This was the first time Charles Xavier had ever looked down the barrel of the gun and he hoped it would be his last. “Do that again and I’ll shoot you.” The woman said with the upmost sincerity.
Charles immediately regretted his decision to pry into the girl’s mind the moment he did so. He wasn’t expecting her to be able to detect his presence let alone keep him out. For the few seconds of access he, Charles learned that he woman was, indeed, a mutant but she wasn’t a telepath. He found that her name was Gabriele Richter, but the presence of the name in her mind seemed too fresh for it to be her real name. When he was about seek out her true name, a wall sprouted up out of her sub consciousness. Literally, an iron wall wrapped itself around her mind before Charles could proceed farther. The harder he pushed the thicker the wall grew.
Charles figured since the mind was defenseless when he first started to snoop that the woman had no control of her mind’s ability. Her sub consciousness was protecting the mind on instinct. To avoid being shot, Charles apologized for his actions. “I am deeply sorry. I meant no disrespect. I was only curious.” The woman studied him for a second before lowering her gun and putting it back in its place. She then went back to reading the newspaper. Charles again silently commented on oddity of the woman.
The man spoke with a thin English accent and with a polite and sincere tone. He was clearly an educated man. After a minute of awkward silence, in which the man never took his eyes off of me as I continued to read the article, Coulson felt it was time for introduction. “Uh, Richter, this is Charles Xavier. Charles, this is Gabriele Richter. She has been with the Agency for over 15 years now.” I casually flipped to the next page, barely making note of the man called Charles Xavier.
I half listened as Coulson introduced the blonde woman, who was apparently Charles’ sister who went by the name of Raven. She gave me a half-hearted ‘hello’ which I assumed was a product of the promise I had made to her brother. The article described Trujillo death as an assassination by a gang of rebels. I smiled slightly at how effective my plan was. I had made a deal with the leaders of the rebellion; they would claim responsibility, thus increasing their power and popularity with the rest of the oppressed nation.
“Richter, I have something to talk to you about.” Coulson voice broke into my reading. Usually, when Coulson wanted to talk it was about a job but something was different. My boss had never introduced me to anyone before. I wasn’t a regular at the Christmas parties. I had seen MacTaggert on some of rare trips into the office and she and Coulson were the extent of my socializing. Whatever Coulson wanted to tell me, these people had something to do with it.
“I can I at least change clothes first. It’s a bit cold out here.” I really need a break from all the talking and people.
The blade reflected in the light, obstructing most of Sevel’s view of the wielder. As the knife moved closer, the girl fought against her restraints but there were too strong and she too weak. Tears began to roll down her cheek, which was red from all her pleading. Sevel wasn’t aware of the others who were present in the room. All she knew of was the sharp blade which would soon break her skin. Her pleads became screams as the surgeon made the first slit across the young girls wrist. Crimson blood emerged from the vein and dripped off Sevel’s arm and onto the cold metal table. The surgeon, and the rest of the Nazis who were present, watched in fascination as the skin reattached itself and the wound disappeared. Another, deeper cut was made and Sevel’s screams grew louder and more feral.