(no subject)
Stripped bare of what few signs of life existed in the form of an active chalkboard and scattered papers, Erik's office is very clean. And, still very much metal plated. The next king will have to see to that. For now, he is seated in the crook of his couch with a glass of whiskey on the steel table before him. One elbow is planted over the couch back, and his temple is in turn supported by the curl of his corresponding hand.
First spending a moment's hesitation without, Ellen frowns quietly at the Pawn hovering nearby until he chooses to momentarily absent himself. It is a casual, continual dance undertaken here, to keep people who should not see from seeing anything that would upset them, such as a tall, slender blonde in neat, crisp blue and darker blue with hair severely bound. She knocks politely on the office door, three times in rapid succession. Taptaptap.
Magneto lacks the energy to startle. His head lolls back from the support of his hand, and he squints at the door, nearly suspicious in the silence that lingers after Ellen's knock. "Who is it?" is asked finally, his voice hollow through the thick iron of the door.
"It's me, sir," Ellen says through the door, relieved to have found him as opposed to being, perhaps, accidentally misled. She is not the loudest speaker in the world; aware of the possible confusions of muffling, she appends her name swiftly after a heartbeat's pause. "Ellen."
There is a grind within the door, then a heavy 'clunk' that rattles through the brace of the wall next to it. The locking mechanism is...one more thing the man who follows him is going to have to deal with, apparently. Ignorant of the potential for difficulty there, or uncaring, Erik pushes to his feet and swings the door inward with a gesture from his post across the room.
Ellen steps inside briskly, clasping her hands neatly behind her back with the immediacy of long-held habit. She greets him with the barest flicker of a smile, touching the corners of her mouth and warming the cool blue-grey of her eyes. "They said that I might still find you here," she says.
"Ellen." Something like relief slackens his demeanor enough to allow for a small sigh, and with a flick of paired fingers, he closes the door again behind her. His right arm remains crooked across his torso, still held in place by the same sling. "Not for much longer."
Ellen eyes his arm and frowns, the expression altogether more at home on her face than the prior one. She lifts a hand, palm held out and up in offer. "Medicine," she says, a judgment of contempt. Her next question remains unasked, healer's instincts taking priority for the moment.
Magneto eyes the offered hand, and another short sigh fades into a slow shake of his head. "Not today. They will know." They presumably being the collective 'they' of press and spectators and government. The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and he is poorly disposed to suppress the advancing line of a frown.
Curling her fingers into a fist, Ellen lets her hand drop. Her frown deepens. "I mislike that," she says. (Surprise.) Settling her weight in a slightly broader stance with the plant of her heels, she tips her head up. "How closely are you watched?"
"So do I." The honesty of that statement is written deep into the lines of his face, and he evades eye contact to study the clean span of his desk instead. "I don't know. I am adept at evading pursuit, but once they know where you are..."
"Yes." Ellen bows her head slightly, and clasps her hands loosely before her rather than behind. "It is dangerous for us both if we are seen together."
"It won't last for long." Bland certainty, probably meant to sound reassuring, falls short of its goal, and Erik forces himself to look back at her. "How has life been here?"
Her shrug partial, Ellen lifts her gaze to his face again. "The lab is quite sufficient," she says. "Victor Creed has resumed contact, intermittently. He is teaching me how to throw a punch." She demonstrates, sort of, by hitting the flattened palm of her hand with one fist. "Hellfire mostly stays out of my way."
Distant distaste for the current state of his life hardens immediately into an entirely new level of displeasure. Anger, irritation, distrust. His jaw works, and he goes so far as to turn his back on her for the short pace to the far end of his couch.
Wagging her steepled forefingers a moment before she drops her hands again, Ellen glances at the floor, and then back up at Erik's back. "I have no interest in him sexually whatsoever," she volunteers, in case that will help.
The muscles across his back knotted stiff beneath the crisp red of his dress shirt, Erik is rigid in his study of the open door that separates him from his bedroom. Then Ellen speaks, and the hand he had curled into a fist at his side lifts to splay over his downturned face. God.
No, that didn't seem to help. Ellen stands there looking awkward for a moment, her brow creased and her lower lip pulled into the clamp of her teeth. Hmmm.
It was a good try though. Really. Erik remains as he is, and takes his time in composing himself. When his hand finally drops back to his side, it adopts a less agressive curl. "You are capable of immobilizing people with a touch. You can kill with a caress. Why waste time trying to bruise them with your fists?" This he asks the door, voice low.
"There was a time when I scorned anything so crude." Ellen acknowledges this in a low voice, and glances away again, but this time with more a contemplative air than an uncomfortable one. "There is no danger in striking Creed. If I kill him he will walk away again. I am a shadow, without form. I am death, without direction. The pretense of an instant ... I would have mocked it once."
Evidently deciding that further argument will be a hopeless waste of energy, Erik glances down at the couch, then half turns to reseat himself upon it. His boots are kicked up onto the table. One, and then two. He says nothing.
"I did not mean to make you angry," Ellen offers after a moment, taking a step towards him and then stopping again. "I did not mean anything. It is a waste of time and blood. I bide. One way or another, sir, I bide."
"I am not angry." He is, though. A haze of frustration has settled into the furrow of his brow and the vaguely downward pull at the corners of his mouth. "If you enjoy it, there is no reason to stop."
He says that he is not angry. Ellen is socially dense, but not so mentally brick-like as to be unaware that there are some mixed signals going on here. Frowning again, she swallows. "All right," she says. "Is there anything you would like me to do?"
Master of Mixed Signals, Erik gives his empty glass a long look, then shakes his head. "I've asked that you be allowed to continue your work with Bahir. Emma agreed."
"Oh. Good." Ellen stays where she is, watching Erik intently as for a clearer sign. "He is a competent scientist."
"In some respects." Optimism lacking, which is so uncharacteristic for him, really, Erik tips his head back to study the work he put into the ceiling. "I must address the pawns before I go."
Lacing her hands loosely together, Ellen tips her head slightly to one side. "Where will you go?" she asks quietly.
"I don't know." It is a question he has been asked more than once today, always with the same answer. Eye contact, when he makes it, is still a little too intense to qualify as warm, and after a few more restless moments spent on the couch, he pushes back up onto his feet again. "I am open to suggestions."
Ellen's gaze reflects a level of uncertainty, colored by anxiety. "I'm afraid I have little to offer," she says with a slight inclination of her head. Her frown returns partially to twitch her mouth down at one corner. "It has been some time since I lived anywhere."
"I could put out an ad." The glass, long eyeballed, is lifted, weighed in hand, and flung hard into the bedroom. There is a predictable shatter and tinkle. Tinkle, tinkle. "Evil Mutant Mastermind in need of a new organization to assume temporary command of. Live in preferable."
"Maybe you should run for office," Ellen suggests solemnly.
"I would rather die." He is definitely not kidding, either.
After a moment's hesitation, Ellen says, "Perhaps that law firm can find you a place." All lawyers think lawyers are the solution to everything.
"I will just rent an apartment. Once I've killed someone I can go back to Stvol." Boring. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he glances down to his table again, but the only glass he had to throw has already been thrown. Rather than find something else, he flexes power outward, deep into the walls and floor and ceiling. The office grates and groans.
Ellen glances around, a quick flicker of her eyes and twitch of her head. She sighs slightly and moves across the room to perch on the edge of the couch, her hands resting lightly on her knees. "It is strange how little freedom you have. Being, supposedly, free."
Magneto's demonstration does not last for long. The metal's moaning hitches with his strength, and falls silent. He is left breathing heavily. Pale. Still angry. Ellen's tact deficiency is not doing him any favors today.
"I am sorry," Ellen says quietly, although it is probably not actually /related/ to her tact deficiency, but to what it just referred.
Chin dipped to his chest, Erik exhales and flusters on in private silence for several seconds more. He doesn't straighten until his breathing slows, and his eyes drag to the door. "I should go."
Ellen hesitates for the space of a breath, watching him with her head tipped slightly to one side. Then she looks away and frowns down at her knees with a single nod. "I should not keep you," she says. She swallows and goes on, "I am sure you will find me, when it is safe to."
Rather than walk out, Erik stands planted where he is. He is getting dark circles under his armpits to match the ones under his eyes. Attractive.
Well, it is his office. Ellen slowly rises to her feet, stands awkward a moment, and then says, a trifle hurriedly, "Good-bye." She tips her head down, ponytail bobbing slightly, and moves for the door again on quiet steps.
Magneto does not move to stop her. Nor does he follow. Rather, he stays solid, and moves back for the couch again once she's reached the door. He is angry again by the time he gets there.
The downside of insanity + extreme social awkwardness in a minion ...