A grandes males, grandes remedios
Title: A grandes males, grandes remedios
Pairing/Character: Erik Lehnsherr, Janos Quested (gen)
Rating: PG
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Words: 1600
Summary: After the beach, Erik finds an unexpected companion. / Después de la playa, Erik descubre un compañero inesperado.
Notes: This fic was entirely born out of my love for Erik's Argentinean Nazi-hunting scene, as well as my many conversations with leiascully mocking his accent in that scene. I learned Spanish in the Dominican Republic and I tried really hard to keep any Dominicanisms out of my Spanish, but if any slipped through: lo siento.
Tbe title is a Spanish saying: For big problems, big remedies [are needed]. "Males" is pronounced like the last half of "tamales" and not like the English synonym for "men."
The story includes English translations for the Spanish dialogue, so it's gringo-friendly ;)
Hands linked with his brethren, Erik feels a renewed sense of purpose as Azazel teleports them all away from that beach, that beach where he had gotten his long-awaited revenge on Klaus Schmidt, as well as his never-intended revenge on Charles. Teleporting with Azazel is not like flying, not really. It's like weightlessless, like nothingness, followed by an abrupt return to solidity. Erik fights to keep his face composed. He dislikes the effect of travelling by Azazel's power, and hopes to avoid it in the future. Still, he has to admit that it's an impressive feat, not to mention an incredibly efficient way to travel.
He looks around, trying to get his bearings. Angel says, "Aw, Azazel, why'd you bring us here?"
Azazel shrugs, his face impassive. "Where else?"
They appear to be in an empty gentlemen's club of some sort. There's a bar and a garish lounge. Azazel flops down on a sofa. Riptide pours himself a drink. Raven glances around, the expression on her blue face all but unreadable. Angel crosses her arms and stalks out of the room.
"Where is this, Azazel?" Erik finally asks.
"The Atomic Club. Shaw owns it. Owned it, I suppose," Azazel says.
"And where might one find the Atomic Club on a map?" Erik asks.
"Las Vegas. Nevada. United States of America," Azazel replies.
"Well, we shouldn't stay here," Erik says. "People will be looking for us, and surely they will be aware that this place is connected to Shaw."
"Well, where shall we go instead?" Azazel asks.
It's a fair question. Erik thinks. Not New York. Not Washington D.C.. The last several years he has always known where he wanted to go: wherever Klaus Schmidt was. But now, where does he want to go?
"Tell me," Erik says, "What other resources does the Hellfire Club have?"
"The yacht is no longer serviceable, I fear," Azazel says drily. "Nor the sub. In truth, I am not certain. Shaw and Emma never quite told us everything, and I suspect most of the Club's financial resources are linked to Emma Frost's personal fortune."
"Well," Erik says. "No matter. We can acquire our own fortune. We can start over."
Raven--Mystique--speaks up. "What about Oxford? Ch-Charles got his phD there. It might be a good place to--look for other mutants. Or for research."
Erik pauses, considering the wisdom of returning to Charles's college stomping grounds. "Perhaps London," he says. "Azazel, how does your power work? Could you take us all that far?"
Azazel looks slightly offended, but says only, "Yes."
Erik had once had a few contacts in London, though he's not sure they'll be any use to him now. Still, they had better get out of this club. "Angel!" he calls. "We're going now."
After a moment, Angel reappears in the main living room. She's washed her face, though she still looks sullen. "Where?" she asks.
"We're going to London," Erik says firmly. "Though if you prefer to stay here, we would be happy to respect that wish."
Azazel and Riptide both smirk, and Angel's glower grows deeper. "No way, you can't leave me here," she says.
"Very well, my dear," Erik says.
"Where exactly would you like to go?" Azazel asks. "Pay a visit to the Queen, perhaps?"
Erik recalls his previous visits to London and says, "The Hotel Russell. In Russell Square."
Azazel inclines his head, and once again, they all join hands. Once again, they pass through nothingness and reemerge somewhere. Erik looks around and realizes that Azazel has simply taken them into an empty room in the hotel. It has one large bed with a fussy duvet, as well as a sofa. It's dawning on Erik that he is the leader of these mutants, and right now, he just isn't sure where he should be leading them. It isn't as if he has a huge family estate where he can send them all.
He asks Azazel, "Can you tell which rooms are empty with your mutant gift?"
Azazel says, "Yes. It is a... how shall I say... byproduct of my ability. I would not want to teleport into another person, no?"
"Marvelous," Erik says. "Why don't you take each of us into our own rooms? I rather think we could all use a night's rest before we move on." Not to mention the fact that it will give Erik a little time to figure out what exactly they should be doing.
He glances at the clock. It's already past 10PM here in London, and he says, "We can reconvene tomorrow morning in the lobby. Eight AM."
Everyone nods, and one by one, Azazel zips them away. Mystique is the last. She glances at Erik briefly, and he shakes his head minutely. He needs to be alone tonight. After Azazel and Mystique disappear, leaving behind a lingering haze of smoke.
Erik showers. He turns the water on too hot and stands under it too long. He does not cry.
When he finally turns off the water, the small bathroom is filled with steam. He towels off, puts on a bathrobe, and sits down to make plans. He has a small group of mutants of questionable loyalty. For now, the only one he trusts is Mystique, and perhaps Azazel. Angel strikes him as flighty, though perhaps that's due to the wings. And Riptide? He knows next to nothing about Riptide. He doesn't even know if the man is capable of speech, though he suppose it doesn't matter either way. What matters to Erik is whether or not he will listen.
Together they are an undeniably powerful fivesome. It would be better, of course, if they had a telepath. Perhaps their first goal should be to free Emma Frost. It shouldn't be too hard to find out where she's being held, not when Mystique can walk right into any office without attracting suspicion. Yes, he thinks, that's a worthy plan. But before that, there are the details of everyday life that need to be taken care of. He and Mystique are still wearing ridiculous black and yellow uniforms, and the others will also need a change of clothing. Tomorrow, then, he can send Mystique out to shop. London is known for its tailors; surely she can find something appropriate for Magneto to wear. A cape, perhaps. It would complement his new helmet so nicely.
He feels better, having made that much of a plan, but he still can't force his mind to be quiet. It keeps sending him unwelcome images of Charles lying broken on the beach. Finally, he pulls his stupid jumpsuit back on and heads downstairs to the bar, making note of his room number. It wouldn't do for him to pick the lock of someone else's room.
To his surprise, Riptide is at the bar, alone, with a martini. He briefly wonders how the silent man had ordered. Erik joins him. He nods in greeting to Riptide and orders a gin and tonic. Riptide says, "Una más, por favor," to the bartender. (Another, please.)
Erik tries to mask his surprise. To Riptide, he says, "De donde eres?" (Where are you from?)
Riptide raises an eyebrow and says, "Soy madrileño." (I'm from Madrid.)
Erik can hear the Spanish accent and finds it easy to understand. He had learned Spanish in Spain himself, and had struggled slightly in South America, with their unfamiliar slang and lost syllables. Erik enjoys speaking other languages. Sometimes he thinks that translating his thoughts helps him clarify them.
He nods and says, "Pasé un rato en Madrid. Es una ciudad hermosa." (I spent some time in Madrid. It's a beautiful city.)
Riptide gives him a faint smile. "Sí."
"Entonces, por que te fuiste?" (So, why did you leave?)
Riptide shrugs. "Puedes adivinar," he says quietly. You can guess.
Erik nods curtly. "Y hablas ingles?" (And do you speak English?)
"Mas o menos. Pero no me gusta el sonido de la idioma. Me parece feo." (More or less. But I don't like the sound of the language. It's ugly to me.)
"Entonces, cuando se habla ingles, eres un hombre callado." (So, when English is spoken, you're a quiet man.)
"El viento es mas poderoso que mi voz." (The wind is more powerful than my voice.)
"Sí, es verdad," Erik says. (Yes, that's true.)
Riptide's grin widens. "Ay, hombre, tienes un acento muy fuerte. Thi, eth verdad," he mimicks. (Oh, man, you have a strong accent.)
Erik lifts his eyebrows. "Pienso que prefiero cuando te callas." (I think I prefer it when you keep quiet.)
Riptide laughs. "Pienso que tienes problemas mas grave." (I think you have more serious problems.)
Erik nods. "Todos nosotros tenemos problemas mas grave." (All of us have more serious problems.)
"Entonces, que hacemos aqui en Inglaterra?" (So, what are we doing here in England?)
"Hay que planificar," Erik says, more confidently than he feels. "Hay que prepararnos para lo que viene." (We have to plan. We have to prepare ourselves for what is coming.)
"Y que viene?" (And what is coming?)
"Ya tú sabes," Erik says. "Una guerra." (You already know. A war.)
Riptide nods and finishes his martini. "Shaw quería una guerra mundial. Que tipo de guerra quieres?" (Shaw wanted a world war. What type of war do you want?)
Erik shakes his head. "No quiero ninguna guerra. Todavia, viene una guerra. Los seres humanos no quieren que nosostros vivamos." (I don't want war. Nevertheless, a war is coming. The humans don't want us to live.)
"Entonces, quieres sobrevivir?" (So, you want to survive?)
"Eso es lo que siempre he querido." (That is what I have always wanted.)
Riptide smiles a small private smile. He nods, says, "A grandes males, grandes remedios. Vaya con Dios y la Virgen," and leaves the bar. (For big problems, big remedies. Go with God and the Virgin.)
"Te veo mañana," Erik says. (See you tomorrow.)
He asks the bartender for another drink, a double this time. Big troubles call for big remedies, indeed.
Pairing/Character: Erik Lehnsherr, Janos Quested (gen)
Rating: PG
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Words: 1600
Summary: After the beach, Erik finds an unexpected companion. / Después de la playa, Erik descubre un compañero inesperado.
Notes: This fic was entirely born out of my love for Erik's Argentinean Nazi-hunting scene, as well as my many conversations with leiascully mocking his accent in that scene. I learned Spanish in the Dominican Republic and I tried really hard to keep any Dominicanisms out of my Spanish, but if any slipped through: lo siento.
Tbe title is a Spanish saying: For big problems, big remedies [are needed]. "Males" is pronounced like the last half of "tamales" and not like the English synonym for "men."
The story includes English translations for the Spanish dialogue, so it's gringo-friendly ;)
Hands linked with his brethren, Erik feels a renewed sense of purpose as Azazel teleports them all away from that beach, that beach where he had gotten his long-awaited revenge on Klaus Schmidt, as well as his never-intended revenge on Charles. Teleporting with Azazel is not like flying, not really. It's like weightlessless, like nothingness, followed by an abrupt return to solidity. Erik fights to keep his face composed. He dislikes the effect of travelling by Azazel's power, and hopes to avoid it in the future. Still, he has to admit that it's an impressive feat, not to mention an incredibly efficient way to travel.
He looks around, trying to get his bearings. Angel says, "Aw, Azazel, why'd you bring us here?"
Azazel shrugs, his face impassive. "Where else?"
They appear to be in an empty gentlemen's club of some sort. There's a bar and a garish lounge. Azazel flops down on a sofa. Riptide pours himself a drink. Raven glances around, the expression on her blue face all but unreadable. Angel crosses her arms and stalks out of the room.
"Where is this, Azazel?" Erik finally asks.
"The Atomic Club. Shaw owns it. Owned it, I suppose," Azazel says.
"And where might one find the Atomic Club on a map?" Erik asks.
"Las Vegas. Nevada. United States of America," Azazel replies.
"Well, we shouldn't stay here," Erik says. "People will be looking for us, and surely they will be aware that this place is connected to Shaw."
"Well, where shall we go instead?" Azazel asks.
It's a fair question. Erik thinks. Not New York. Not Washington D.C.. The last several years he has always known where he wanted to go: wherever Klaus Schmidt was. But now, where does he want to go?
"Tell me," Erik says, "What other resources does the Hellfire Club have?"
"The yacht is no longer serviceable, I fear," Azazel says drily. "Nor the sub. In truth, I am not certain. Shaw and Emma never quite told us everything, and I suspect most of the Club's financial resources are linked to Emma Frost's personal fortune."
"Well," Erik says. "No matter. We can acquire our own fortune. We can start over."
Raven--Mystique--speaks up. "What about Oxford? Ch-Charles got his phD there. It might be a good place to--look for other mutants. Or for research."
Erik pauses, considering the wisdom of returning to Charles's college stomping grounds. "Perhaps London," he says. "Azazel, how does your power work? Could you take us all that far?"
Azazel looks slightly offended, but says only, "Yes."
Erik had once had a few contacts in London, though he's not sure they'll be any use to him now. Still, they had better get out of this club. "Angel!" he calls. "We're going now."
After a moment, Angel reappears in the main living room. She's washed her face, though she still looks sullen. "Where?" she asks.
"We're going to London," Erik says firmly. "Though if you prefer to stay here, we would be happy to respect that wish."
Azazel and Riptide both smirk, and Angel's glower grows deeper. "No way, you can't leave me here," she says.
"Very well, my dear," Erik says.
"Where exactly would you like to go?" Azazel asks. "Pay a visit to the Queen, perhaps?"
Erik recalls his previous visits to London and says, "The Hotel Russell. In Russell Square."
Azazel inclines his head, and once again, they all join hands. Once again, they pass through nothingness and reemerge somewhere. Erik looks around and realizes that Azazel has simply taken them into an empty room in the hotel. It has one large bed with a fussy duvet, as well as a sofa. It's dawning on Erik that he is the leader of these mutants, and right now, he just isn't sure where he should be leading them. It isn't as if he has a huge family estate where he can send them all.
He asks Azazel, "Can you tell which rooms are empty with your mutant gift?"
Azazel says, "Yes. It is a... how shall I say... byproduct of my ability. I would not want to teleport into another person, no?"
"Marvelous," Erik says. "Why don't you take each of us into our own rooms? I rather think we could all use a night's rest before we move on." Not to mention the fact that it will give Erik a little time to figure out what exactly they should be doing.
He glances at the clock. It's already past 10PM here in London, and he says, "We can reconvene tomorrow morning in the lobby. Eight AM."
Everyone nods, and one by one, Azazel zips them away. Mystique is the last. She glances at Erik briefly, and he shakes his head minutely. He needs to be alone tonight. After Azazel and Mystique disappear, leaving behind a lingering haze of smoke.
Erik showers. He turns the water on too hot and stands under it too long. He does not cry.
When he finally turns off the water, the small bathroom is filled with steam. He towels off, puts on a bathrobe, and sits down to make plans. He has a small group of mutants of questionable loyalty. For now, the only one he trusts is Mystique, and perhaps Azazel. Angel strikes him as flighty, though perhaps that's due to the wings. And Riptide? He knows next to nothing about Riptide. He doesn't even know if the man is capable of speech, though he suppose it doesn't matter either way. What matters to Erik is whether or not he will listen.
Together they are an undeniably powerful fivesome. It would be better, of course, if they had a telepath. Perhaps their first goal should be to free Emma Frost. It shouldn't be too hard to find out where she's being held, not when Mystique can walk right into any office without attracting suspicion. Yes, he thinks, that's a worthy plan. But before that, there are the details of everyday life that need to be taken care of. He and Mystique are still wearing ridiculous black and yellow uniforms, and the others will also need a change of clothing. Tomorrow, then, he can send Mystique out to shop. London is known for its tailors; surely she can find something appropriate for Magneto to wear. A cape, perhaps. It would complement his new helmet so nicely.
He feels better, having made that much of a plan, but he still can't force his mind to be quiet. It keeps sending him unwelcome images of Charles lying broken on the beach. Finally, he pulls his stupid jumpsuit back on and heads downstairs to the bar, making note of his room number. It wouldn't do for him to pick the lock of someone else's room.
To his surprise, Riptide is at the bar, alone, with a martini. He briefly wonders how the silent man had ordered. Erik joins him. He nods in greeting to Riptide and orders a gin and tonic. Riptide says, "Una más, por favor," to the bartender. (Another, please.)
Erik tries to mask his surprise. To Riptide, he says, "De donde eres?" (Where are you from?)
Riptide raises an eyebrow and says, "Soy madrileño." (I'm from Madrid.)
Erik can hear the Spanish accent and finds it easy to understand. He had learned Spanish in Spain himself, and had struggled slightly in South America, with their unfamiliar slang and lost syllables. Erik enjoys speaking other languages. Sometimes he thinks that translating his thoughts helps him clarify them.
He nods and says, "Pasé un rato en Madrid. Es una ciudad hermosa." (I spent some time in Madrid. It's a beautiful city.)
Riptide gives him a faint smile. "Sí."
"Entonces, por que te fuiste?" (So, why did you leave?)
Riptide shrugs. "Puedes adivinar," he says quietly. You can guess.
Erik nods curtly. "Y hablas ingles?" (And do you speak English?)
"Mas o menos. Pero no me gusta el sonido de la idioma. Me parece feo." (More or less. But I don't like the sound of the language. It's ugly to me.)
"Entonces, cuando se habla ingles, eres un hombre callado." (So, when English is spoken, you're a quiet man.)
"El viento es mas poderoso que mi voz." (The wind is more powerful than my voice.)
"Sí, es verdad," Erik says. (Yes, that's true.)
Riptide's grin widens. "Ay, hombre, tienes un acento muy fuerte. Thi, eth verdad," he mimicks. (Oh, man, you have a strong accent.)
Erik lifts his eyebrows. "Pienso que prefiero cuando te callas." (I think I prefer it when you keep quiet.)
Riptide laughs. "Pienso que tienes problemas mas grave." (I think you have more serious problems.)
Erik nods. "Todos nosotros tenemos problemas mas grave." (All of us have more serious problems.)
"Entonces, que hacemos aqui en Inglaterra?" (So, what are we doing here in England?)
"Hay que planificar," Erik says, more confidently than he feels. "Hay que prepararnos para lo que viene." (We have to plan. We have to prepare ourselves for what is coming.)
"Y que viene?" (And what is coming?)
"Ya tú sabes," Erik says. "Una guerra." (You already know. A war.)
Riptide nods and finishes his martini. "Shaw quería una guerra mundial. Que tipo de guerra quieres?" (Shaw wanted a world war. What type of war do you want?)
Erik shakes his head. "No quiero ninguna guerra. Todavia, viene una guerra. Los seres humanos no quieren que nosostros vivamos." (I don't want war. Nevertheless, a war is coming. The humans don't want us to live.)
"Entonces, quieres sobrevivir?" (So, you want to survive?)
"Eso es lo que siempre he querido." (That is what I have always wanted.)
Riptide smiles a small private smile. He nods, says, "A grandes males, grandes remedios. Vaya con Dios y la Virgen," and leaves the bar. (For big problems, big remedies. Go with God and the Virgin.)
"Te veo mañana," Erik says. (See you tomorrow.)
He asks the bartender for another drink, a double this time. Big troubles call for big remedies, indeed.