Aoiroo

Jasmine looked at the agent and gave him a nod as she moved around the office. It had standard office fair, books, framed degrees, small models. She turned towards the shelf and pulled one down, "Jasmine is fine, we've known each other long enough." It was a leather bound first edition, written by the owner of the office. Pretty typical, she opened it and started to thumb though, "Or Doctor, the paperwork hasn't been processed yet but they confirmed the title." She stopped on a page about his work, "I can see the need for secrecy, but this is a bit more extreme then usual works. Given, you know where I'm from this sort of thing is much more liberal," She started to read over the work, "I almost had to double take when I arrived, I wasn't aware this was what you meant when you said this was a government institution." She closed the book and slid it back into place, "But this, given your field, specialization and overall expertise and previous place of occupancy, I don't think it would surprise you for me to think that you wish to have assistance in creating," She turned towards him, "Artificial metahumans."

Carrie raised an eyebrow at the man, "You may not even be rememberin' this much with how much you're putting down sire." She put another ice cube in his drink, "Them Luddites are a product of their environment surely, but what you describe sounds like there may be much more to them lately then just men angry at their draw in life." She held the bucket, "It's easy to be underestimating those with less schoolin', or with less folks looking out for them, but that creates an atmosphere of desperation that can cause normally sane men to turn to very drastic means." Letting out a sigh, "You may want to watch yourself sire."

Well, huh, I guess Jasmine would try and help, she's not armed, but she can try.

And Jasmine thought the airport was stringant in security. After several checkpoints, special check bags for any chemical supplies she needed and a box and locker key for her paintball guns after they cavity searched her, had given her a new lab jacket, pair of slippers to wear in case her shoes had any fuses, and a thorough examination of her glasses she wasn't all that sure they'd clear her. Given, they were right about the paintball guns but she'd never had them confiscated before and honestly forgot she had them on her, old habits after all. Only thing they'd let her keep were her goggles, cause they were prescription and had no clear possible offensive capabilities. Well she supposed she could throw them at someone, and it might leave a bruise, but most everything had that possibility unless they chained everything to the floor. Honestly, she wouldn't of been very surprised if they did just that. She walked the floor of the Ministry of Powers looking, but not gawking. It wasn't that surprising that London had a place like this, there were at least a couple places like this in Freedom City. Though the security wasn't as tight. Given, when you show up to one or two of them in a yellow hazmat suit they actually ask less questions. But that wasn't something to dwell on. Maybe she'd return, for family things, but her old job had made it rather clear they didn't want her to come back. There was also the thing about other companies, without a proper recommendation (which she doubted she'd get from her old job) it would be harder then usual, even if she managed to get passed to a doctorate with her thesis. Dr. Jasmine Benoitt, it was weird to say, both her parents were Doctorate levels, though they were linguists. She pulled herself out of her thoughts as she was brought to a door by Blackpool, honestly she wished she was paying more attention to what he had been saying. He had gone through a lot of trouble to get her here, he apparently had some contracts with the ministry and wanted a second opinion on some of his work. She could do that for certain, though it amazed her that he had asked her since they had different specialties. Mind you, it was all chemistry, which had the same basic roots, but there was a big difference in industrial or inorganic as opposed to organic or pharmicutical chemistry.

Also, I'm assuming he shows her around before he like disappears.

Rolling untrained, http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4234066/'>21, Jasmine's coming in out of costume cause they don't know she's Catalyst, I assume she's visiting with the professor who's working with that.

"Misdirected anger more likely," She walked away and returned with a towel, and a hand mirror, "People looking for an outlet to pent up frustration. Men taught at a young age to solve their problems not through words, but through action, however, limited schooling and resources makes them think violence is the only course. All that was required for this movement was someone charismatic enough to fan the flame of violence since they could not attack the actual source of their struggles directly, they go for the next best thing, lashing out at advancements they should be adapting too instead of resisting." She took the bucket and grabbed more ice, "But then, that is just another observation sir."

"Not quite sure what you're meaning sir, just an observation." She smiled, her teeth yellowed a little, but still quite all there, "You can't exactly have me fired on the grounds of noticing stuff." She leaned in, "And the fact is sir, you'll be needing that towel. I could get you a mirror if you'd like to be checking your appearance." She glanced around, "And, as another observation, I don't think I'm half as foolish enough to be pal'in around with some workers who think taking a sledgehammer to their problems gonna do anything more then just land them in the pound."

Carrie gave a polite smile, "Yes sir, just moved into the city. Not much aware of the political atmosphere, just know there's work." She took a piece of ice and put it in her cup then took the flask up, "You may wish to freshen up sir," She poured his glass up halfway, "Would you like a towel so as to wipe any excess drool from your short doze?"

Carrie dusted her hand off on the side of the skirt of the servers outfits. She wasn't fond of working in skirts, but she hardly had a choice, "I'll be fine," She said it in her normal accent, but then switch, "But if any of those drunken blokes pinch my bum, you won't need any help throwing them out on their cans." She adjusted her posture, from her usual casual slouch to a straight alert position. Her hands were folded in front of her, and she smiled a practiced smile of someone who worked in the service industry. Picking up a bucket of ice, she walked forward, her stride straight and confident, but also silent to not disturb the guests as she navigated and found her way to Poncenby, "Will you be needing some more ice sir?"

"Most people do not, a lot of people, may not wish too. It is, very difficult to look in the mirror, one of the reasons why my bathroom has none." She let out a sigh, her eyes not lingering on her own arm, "But that is different." Walking over to the painting, she looked at it, "There is a trouble with pictures, they are static, an instance of one person at one particular moment. They cannot possibly contain all the things a human is." She started to gather up her paint supplies, "You Morgan Crowe, are no exception to this, and a remnant of energy from a far away artifact cannot change that." She picked up the stool, and started to head inside with what she had, but she left the picture on the stand to dry in the sun.

"It is not what I see every time, as I said, it changes." She held up her wrists, "For example," They glowed somewhat, showing a pair of circles on each one glowing like a spectral bracelets, "I used to see these, every time I looked at my hands. These were bindings on my powers I received when I was at Claremont." The rings disappeared, "They were removed when I graduated. Then, there's when you work, when you craft, your aura changes, I have seen it once or twice," She held up his arm, and it changed, runes moved down his arms. They looked a bit like cogs, interlocking, mechanical, and they hummed and spun, like rhymnic clockwork, "You do not seem to notice, because you focus so much on them, but they are a part of you, the things you make, and it shows. Do you trust your runes Morgan?"

"Nothing, it just means they are young." She looked at the young man, hands folded in front of her, "Morgan, I asked you about abstractions, there is a reason for that. What you saw on the canvas were not abstractions, it was just a view of the subjects from my perspective." She let out a sigh, "I am taking my time on them, which is why they are not finished, but also because the image of the two of them do not change. But that is because neither of the subjects are human. But you Morgan, what I see in you, just like what I see in every mortal magic user, changes. Mostly, little by little, a new skill, or a new idea not previously acquired changes. There are very few exceptions to that. No, a human who uses magic must actively resist it to not change, but it will likely happen anyway." Walking forward she reached out and grabbed his hand, "Your change, while more rapid then most, it is not forever, eventually, you will change again, and it will be your choice."

"Magic vexes all." She set down the paintbrush, "It is often pushed aside because of this. Because people do not understand it, they ignore it, because in truth they do not want to admit it is not like science." Standing up she started to take off the apron, "Its results cannot be measured, nor quantified, because they are ever changing, each time something or someone is touched by magic, they are changed, whether they know it or not and that change is left on them, like a stain on fabric." She placed a hand on the easel, "On humans, this stain fades, not because the magic fades, but because of the force of human will reasserts its dominance about how the person thinks who they are, who they should be. I believe this is one of many reasons why it is hard for most humans to use magic. In contrast those who do, who let the forces stain them, and accept it as part of themselves, well," She grabbed the canvas and pulled it up, "They are vunerable," She flipped the picture, "And sometimes, there is a stain, they cannot easily rid themselves of." The image she showed Morgan was that of him, from the waist up in start black in white profile. The left half of the profile, was Morgan Crowe, out of costume, a smile on his face, not a care in the world, dark hair mussed, the right, was Crow, cowl lifted, runes glowing down the side of his hood, his eyes were hidden but he wore the stoic expression of the nightime hero. The middle, between the halves, was blurred, swirled between them, the blurs starting at the only color on the page, a dot of purple at it's epicenter.

She looked at him quietly, and painted, waited for him to stop talking. She moved her brush with purpose as she sat in silence. Absolute silence, there was no sound around them. No birds chirping, no grass, no roar of laughter that would of been heard coming from Custos in his dicussion with Crow, nor the giggles of excitement from Josephine. Etain moved her brush, and it's stroke were the only sound excluding Morgans own voice, "You mean," She looked at him, her eyes locking his, "The Eye of Balor." She had stopped moving her brush, so that her voice was the only sound. If Crow had paid attention, he'd of notice it as the presence of a very strong masking shield to prevent the others from hearing.

"I do not require either." She looked at him, "How can I expect to be wholey trusted by someone who does not trust himself." She let the statement hang int he air as she painted. There were things to be considered, but it was just simply, true. He was second guessing himself, she could tell by the way he moved, by the way he answered her question. He was acting like John, who always held back because he was greatly afraid of what he was capable of, of what he was trained to be capable of. She understood John, a soldier doesn't simply stop being a soldier. But he was much younger, had lots of time to at least slowly, trust that when the time came, he wasn't the monster he was made to be. It was reverse for Morgan, he started out normal, trusting in himself at least on a subconcious level, but now. Now he simply didn't, and she knew why, and yet she didn't. She didn't talk to Morgan as much as she did John, he tried to be secretive, mysterious, a lot of the time he literately had to be dragged from his study. But now, she just needed to listen, because she wanted to hear it from him.

"I would take that as a compliment if you were being completely honest." Etain swirled the brush on the canvas, "You are afraid of what I am capable of, but you are not afraid of me." She looked around the canvas, "Which is very wise, and somewhat strange because of how very little you know about me. But trust has always been a strange concept to me." She set the brush down and picked up a cloth, "I am weary of others, I did not trust you to not look, so I set aside an illusion so you may not spoil it for yourself. I do not trust magic I do not understand, and that has put me at odds with one or two magic users. But I have been conditioned not to trust I suppose." She started to smudge the canvas with it, "But I do trust, I am not the person from Claremont who frightens you the most."

Etain didn't actually reappear until a few minutes later, she had a wet towel that she set next to her chair as she looked at Morgan. She looked at him for a few seconds as she sat before she aid, "Would you be so kind as to remove your hood, I am certain you have returned to your natural complexion by this point." Picking up her brush, she dipped it into the paint and started again regardless of whether he complied. While she did so she said, "If you are curious, I do not actually know if the picture was accurate, I simply guessed based on how she appears when in swim wear." She moved the brush over the easel, "And no, you are not the only person to have looked. Millie tried to do so earlier, and nearly fainted from what she saw. Given, I had assumed she already knew about it." Stopping, she switched brushes, and dipped this one in white, "I think Custos is the only one who did not succumb to curiousity, but he is not human, so it is not unexpected. Though, I think it is because he is still weary from the time I asked him not to watch television late at night because it disturbed the other housemates, and he saw that pale girl step out of the screen. I do not believe I have ever seen a more startled expression etched into stone."

What Morgan saw on the easel wasn't what he expected. Not even close. Since who he saw in the frame was not himself, but Victoria, lounging on a couch, in complete black and white contrast. Though this wasn't the strangest thing, the strangest thing was that she was clad on said couch, in, absolutely nothing. Though stylized in detail, there was, detail, and she lay there smirking up at him. As he peered at the easel, no shadow fell or grass ruffled, but he still heard, "I am not sure how much you know about my abilities Morgan," He felt a hand on his back, but if he turned, he saw nothing, "But you should know, they are not limited to line of sight." And with that, the canvas went completely blank.

Happy Birthday Sorus

Tag.

"They're aren't really ones for hot button issues, from what I've heard they're just working class stiffs making rioting under a charismatic patron who gives them a quick temporary outlet for their rage against the upper class." Carrie sat herself in a chair and waited for Redpowder to find the right outfit, "Mind you, it's not like it's not justified. The gap between the poor and the wealthy is exceptionally larger then where we're from, and the ability to move between the classes a much more difficult leap. There's also no social security, or social services beyond a couple of orphanages. This isn't exactly a dystopia, but it's not like the society is helping to prevent the formation of extremists like the Luddites." Carrie turned her head to look at M, "And I know the Cannonites are considered to be rather civil, but how much have they actually managed to get done in terms of labor reform? I'm sure there's several parties that are exerting heavy pressure to hinder them as well because of the fear that such regulations will lighten the contents of their pockets."

"I guess I am somewhat estranged from the aim of most of this cultures take on comedy as a whole. Some things are amusing to me, but not to most people. As for films, I prefer ones where most of the characters know what the problem is, but have reasons why they cannot solve it immediately that is not simply technology that is readily available to everyone." She was about to put a finger on her face and stopped, cause it was covered in paint, "Oh," She looked at her hands, "Huh, I do not think my rag will survice. If you would excuse me, I need to go wash my hands before I continue, I do not wish to get paint on my clothes, hair or face." Getting up, she set the paintbrush down and headed into the house, moving at a sedate walking pace in her nice white dress which had strangely not a dot of paint on it.

"I only took one literature class, it consisted of a drilling about how certain literatures were important and expected as common knowledge. They also had us watch several films. Though I am not exactly sure how Young Frankenstein was that culturally relevant, especially since it was so very divergent from the source materials." She did more swirls with the brush, but with a smaller brush then before, "It was still entertaining, though I am not sure I did not wholely understand the humor behind it." Putting down the brush she then, put her fingers on the canvas and started to move them around on it, "But then again, I do not get most of the humor in what is called situational comedy. Most of the situations seem to revolve almost wholey on two people who want to have intercourse misunderstanding the intentions of each other, as well as not so subtle hints inbetween. Intercourse seems such a large theme in modern media, which I find rather strange. It must be incredibly isolating for people who feel no such needs. Then of course there is the plots revolving entirely around peoples inabilities to talk to other people about minor inconviences or otherwise small mistakes for whatever reason which somehow esculates to misfortune on a massive scale. Or simply because people do not pick up their phones and look something up when they are unsure, I can think of several modern movies that I have seen that could of been solved with a smartphone."

Etain glanced up from her painting before she looked over at Morgan, "Which ones?" She had to actually think about this, "I took at least six of them, including the advance courses. They were all required via a special circulum suggested by the headmaster, as well as sociology, psychology, as well as for some reason college level Latin. Though they transfered me out of that course when I kept correcting the teachers grammar mid semester, and I took French instead." Etain started to count on her fingers, "Then there was American Politics, as well as the introductory class pertaining to superheros involvement in law enforcement. Those were both night classes." She tapped her paintbrush before she dipped it again, "I also took a course on modern fashion trends, I think that was them subtly trying to nudge me towards a more contemporary wardrobe."