Kaledo Art
Cosmic Funnies
Peter Solarz
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
DEAR READER
$LAYYYTER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
shark vs the universe
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
cherry valley forever
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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occasionally subtle
Not today Justin
styofa doing anything
tannertan36
Mike Driver
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@livingcontrivancea
"Well since my brain is still a bit out of it i’ll just ask the most normal question anyone would ask in this situation: What the hell are you even doing here?"
"There's a logical explanation for my being here, of that I can assure you. Though -- and, I pray that you have the good sense to believe me when I say this -- now really isn't a good time for clarifications."
"My first instinct is to blast you to dust, but I guess I’ll let you explain yourself first…"
"I could try that. Make with an elaborate tale of scripted events. Or, in a rather uncanny twist, I can impart to you the truth; put simply... I was bored."
"Well, I’m tempted to just go ahead and kill you, but that’s so unimaginative. Surely I can come up with something much more interesting. Torturing you first, for instance, or using you as target practice. Endless possibilities, really."
"Terribly so. In fact I would even call killing me droll. I could be of much more use to you alive and whole. I don't doubt you; imagined god, ageless trickster. I'm certain you've had plenty of time to come up with méthodes de meurtre. "
OPEN
"Okay, I'll admit it. You have, as they say, 'caught me red handed.' So what happens next?"
Ghost In The Machine | OPEN
The mind is only meant to stretch so far before it snaps. It can only tolerate so much, loss, grief, before the self decides it has had enough and its stability ruptures. As the sound mind begins to unravel, previously withheld compulsions, no longer meeting resistance, slowly surface in the waters of a head now susceptible to suggestion and persuasion. And when that head so happens to belong to a half-man like Fantomex, there is grave cause for concern.
In his malfunctioning mental state, insanity has drawn out the thief’s unsettling shades. That aspect of his existence dictated not by familial bonds but by unfeeling sentinel tech, and the swarm of nanites pumping around his veins, relaying a single message, time and again; do what you were made for. He was meant to be great. Arguably the best, even. Crucially devoid of all flaws, conceived to be the obedient killer with a caustic attitude and narcissistic complex, he did not know what it felt like to be un-special. His massive rap sheet aside, the Skrulls had dealt him a low blow, taking from him his gift of illusion and in turn his sublimity – what made him perfect – and ruthlessly dropped him on top of the hackneyed triers and losers pile, a failed experiment.
Oh how grating that felt! Continuing to spiral, the more he stumbled the worse Fantomex’s personality changed. The french-charmer had given way to apathetic executioner, the lingering ghouls of Weapon Plus’ suppressed programming bleeding through the cracks in previously impenetrable mental defences. The killings started off small. A few, inconspicuous deaths here and there, targeting minority groups. Particular individuals whose deaths could be passed off as something else, nothing that would warrant a post-mortem. All going unnoticed, until it was no longer possible to do so. The victim was a paltry seventeen years old, gunned down with a very particular brand of ammunition: sentient, ceramic coated bullets. The sliding half-man had overstepped moral bounds when he committed his latest heinous act, inflicting a death so violent it more than once leant grounds for a post-mortem. The teenager’s death was particularly striking in that, once the test results revealed the shocking truth, public interest was about to skyrocket into orbit…the felled teenager was a mutant.
Let loose and raging war unchecked, Fantomex wanted to retrieve what was taken from him, with every moment spent fragmented worsening his mental state. The latest police chatter breaking over the comms elaborates that his latest tirade places him outside out an abandoned building…Only it wasn’t. And whatever secrets were contained within the building’s walls, a demented Fantomex was hell-bent on discovering them.
Skrull Aftermath | Self-para
For a long time he felt nothing. No emotions, no runaway fleeting thoughts of grandeur. Someone had at last found his off switch, calling silence to his irascible every-day. The self-styled thief had come afoul of a force he could not best, one that for whom hubris was quashed by sheer force. Falling foul to cunning, unseen Skrull hands, Fantomex had been rendered comatose along with the other cherry picked humans, a combination of self-styled heroes and villainesses. And unlike the others, his period of languor was far from restful.
As age gradually takes hold of the human condition, one grows familiar with the unique rhythms and creaks of their own bodies. They’ll come to accept that, after a certain while, they’ll lose the ability to take part in a sprint without getting caught for breath after a few seconds, amongst a host of other abilities linked with youth. As the physical form gradually declines, they’ll draw on family and friends, the aspects yet to be unfettered by crippling moral limitations. But when the same begins to affect one of science’s greatest living weapons, the reception of fatiguing attributes was…far from cordial.
The voices in his head -- formally little more than white noise that he could ignore -- were screaming.
The door to his pod engaged with a start, spearing the chamber’s interior with investigative flashlight beams and gusts of cleansing air. Soon, the pod’s cover was lifted upwards and away by an exterior force that vaguely resembled S.H.I.E.L.D. employees. In an unfortunate parody of Halloween fiction, Fantomex’s bleached white form bolted upright with a start, his unmasked visage striped with sweat. It was as if the un-dreaming man had just awoken from a nightmare, but alas, this was untrue. He had instead been plunged into brand-new torment launched by his very awakening.
His mind under siege from within, the man with the three brains struggled to prioritise his needs. Naked panic setting in, drowning out snatches of conversation put to him as a growing number of uniforms surrounded his former resting place, the alarmed thief struggled to see past the two dozen strong throng of peace-keepers all apparently putting pause to their apprehensive desires see if anyone else was around. All that he could determine was that the other pods had been vacated several hours beforehand, pouring a gallon of cold water over the infant-like idea that he somehow took precedence over the others rescued, when in fact he was retained as the sweet dessert to cap off an intense series of events. Trapped in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody for the second time in less than a month.
Seeking to spring himself from unfriendly company, Fantomex hurried to deploy his misdirection, and would have crafted a (poor, by his standards) illusion to distract the governmental operatives and enable his escape had all been well: lamentably, in yet another dreadful twist, deducing from the amount of deadpan expressions staring back at him, his perception skewing powers, in sharp contrast to the rise to prominence regarding conflicting voices within head, had been severely impaired, if not removed entirely. Mouth quivering in unuttered whisper, for words had since fled his compromised vessel, Fantomex resorted to dragging himself over the side of the Skrull stasis pod and rolled awkwardly on the floor. Ignoring atrophied muscles protesting over taking such action, the thief dragged himself aloft, one fist curling around a pocket sized calling card that was inexplicably nestled between his numb fingers upon coming to and made a beeline for the exit.
Parking all thoughts encircling the card and its ominous message, for he barely had the capacity to think at present, once on his feet the distressed thief batted away helping hands, suspecting that their kindness was fuelled by lucrative intention. Robbed of forethought, ultimately Fantomex’s bid for freedom was marked by a chain spur-of-the-moment actions, responding to local stimuli with a mixture of flailing arms, spoken French, and exerted force. Committing yet more offences to fatten numerous warrant charges, he ignored the lasting repercussions and fled through the exit, venturing forth into a night he had no recollection of arriving, addled by internal voices and racked by his loss of influence.
Whatever the Skrull had done to him, whether knowingly or not, it had left a considerable mark.
Different Worlds | Eros & Fantomex
The connection between E.V.A. and Fantomex grew more complex in the observer’s eyes as he witnessed what appeared to be a sharing of organic fluid (not that kind) and he started to wonder whether Fantomex was actually human – and if E.V.A. was actually a machine. Luckily, Eros had finished his flirtation at that point because the time for greetings and pleasantries had come to an end, so he needed not consider the two’s relationship any further as it was no concern to him.
However, E.V.A.’s charm put the Avenger at ease about Fantomex’s intentions, at least somewhat. When the hologram popped up and Fantomex explained the , Eros placed his forefinger on his lip in a gesture of contemplation. His eyes, completely oblivious to the hologram’s high level of technology relative to its place of origin, wandered to the thick Asteroid Belt orbiting between Mars and Jupiter. In the map it looked dense and crowded, but in the truth of the vastness of space, each asteroid was very, very far apart. He’d seen Star Wars and Star Trek and how the ships dodged to and fro between obstacles in fictional versions of asteroid belts – but the scenes looked far more like if one were to fly through Saturn’s rings.
He lifted his finger from his mouth to point to an area but instead the digit stayed mere inches from his face as he looked up vacantly in the way that one does when calculating a number. When his eyes came back to level and focus, he pointed his finger with the utmost confidence as to where his choice was currently located in its orbit around the sun.
“Ceres would be the perfect place, I think.” He had not known what the name Ceres meant until he learned that it was another name for the Olympian Demeter. The planetoid was a dusty ball of rock and ice – not counting the small, mixed-race, unaffiliated trading-post type town that took up a tiny part of the South-America-sized surface. Eros found ‘Ceres’ to be an odd name for such a place because Demeter had been the goddess of and fertile soils. But the trading post meant that while they would have almost an entire celestial body to themselves and thus free from prying eyes, they would not be completely alone in the event of an unfortunate circumstance.
He hoped that the Avengers didn’t end up assembling in the time that he would be gone, but Eros was generally a lucky man (excluding certain types of luck and circumstances thereof, of course).
Agreeing with Eros’ selection, Fantomex charted a course for Ceres immediately. The chosen location was neither hailed nor questioned by the reticent French faker, for it suited his needs precisely. Information begets power, influence, traits that he craved daily and thus being the only soul on a soon-to-be remote planetoid to fully comprehend (well perhaps not in its entirety, but certainly more than any other man) The World’s vast intricacies bolstered his arrogance to new heights. The dream-man was about to invite the alien into his slice of unreality just as the showman escorts an endearing fan centre-stage.
As E.V.A. approached Ceres’ vaporous atmosphere, Fantomex instructed her to handle what was bound to be a tricky landing. Meanwhile he spent the moments prior to making planet-fall silently preparing for their venture out into the bleak, near Arctic-like conditions. Shrugging off his trench coat, the thief slipped into a spacesuit that if quizzed he would’ve explained that he ‘’appropriated” from NASA. Sliding on the suit’s thick gloves over his own, after lowering the suit’s clear plastic helmet over his head and twisted it to secured it in place, he decided to break the uninvited silence that had grown comfortably in between beats of lapsing conversation. “I’d grant you the loan of a spare spacesuit if you required it. However am I right to presume that it won’t be necessary?”
His words were muffled partly by the helmet, forced conversation that curled up against convexed solidity. Then, just as the spur of conversation supplanted silence, the moulded ground beneath their feet pitched and shuddered all at once, attracting Fantomex’s gaze upwards, almost knowingly. “It appears that we’ve landed. Thankfully intact,” He announced, gaze fixed on E.V.A.’s arching ceiling. Again, he had acquired that thousand yard stare, that same look that meant he was engaged in another private conversation with his sentient partner. It was clear the see that whatever she was relaying to him this time didn’t go down well.
Airily flourishing a stray hand, the scoundrel bid his guest to follow his lead with a clipped call of “Come,” urging him to join him by the exit. “E.V.A., if you would be so kind…” On command, her techno-organic shell once capable of navigating the rigors of space’s vacuum receded to form an open hatch which granted the pair access to Ceres’ stepped surface. “Retreat to Ceres’ orbit. Should something go wrong…Well, you’ll know what to do…” Alighting from his vessel Fantomex descended the landing ramp first, briefly savouring the satisfaction in knowingly being one of the few earth dwellers to traverse another world. He would’ve sought fit to make a quip about the dismal vista on any other occasion; at present, sorting out The World was his main priority.
Cautiously navigating Ceres’ frozen expanse, leading the way, Fantomex eventually stopped after crossing a relatively flat area of ice and rock. His mood had darkened considerably since arriving on the harsh, trading post planetoid. He was growing concerned. “Yes. This should do.” Convinced that he had narrowed down a suitable place where he could expand hemisphere soldier factory, he retrieved the World from a pocket in his spacesuit and placed it on the ground. Fishing for the shrink ray next, upon finding it he brandished it with care. “You might want to stand back, monsieur Eros.” Urging the Eternal to watch out, he pointed the shrinkray gun at the white chunk, and fired. Nothing occurred initially, but given time and a continuous flow of particles from the pilfered weapon, The World’s size eventually began to increase, and rapidly. In fact, the man-made structure ballooned exponentially, once the expansion truly got under way.
When the process had finished and Fantomex switched off the shrinkray, a vast, white tiled dome loomed ominously before them. A square mile of programmable reality, restored to true scale. Unaffected by its imposing vastness, and wanting to preserve the oxygen supply in his suit, he started forward. The facility began to moan and creak on his approach, demonstrating a preternatural ability to sense one of its own coming home to roost. When a section of the dome at ground level parted to grant access, Fantomex paused and looked back to his associate. Speaking out in welcoming tones, his words were a humourless parody; “Welcome to The World. Let’s hope that you survive the experience.”
Reese teaching gangsters how to hold a gun the proper way (and loses his patience)
[text] Hey uncle cluster! I finally listened to led zeppelin!
[text] I’m glad
[text] Plant’s trenchant tones go far in the way of regaling a generation since lost to the internet with fantastical tales
[text] Not that I’d ever personally buy into that lark again
Different Worlds | Eros & Fantomex
For some odd reason, turning a blind eye to the murder he witnessed did not seem wrong in this instance if only because he had already all but forgotten about it. Perhaps later he would review his thoughts or actions and regret them until the memories faded away. Perhaps he’d done that before. Oh well, this would hardly be the first time the Titan had befriended a killer. It wasn’t like the Titan himself wasn’t a killer. He shrugged at Fantomex’s words because they meant as much as his own had, inquiring no further.
That pearly-white smile widened at the lovely voice’s pleased response. One did not need a corporeal form to enjoy intimacy – and he let himself feel around him again to see if E.V.A.’s mind was anywhere to be found. Unfortunately it was not. Oh well again, he thought again, just as well – Fantomex seemed ever-so-slightly off-put by the alien’s and the ship’s interaction; Eros could hear it in his voice. They must have been a couple of sorts. He observed as the ship’s hole disappeared as quickly as it had formed. Organic technology was far from unheard of, but this particular type he had not yet seen. The semi-translucence of the hull did not seem to affect the soft glow of the interior lighting, much like E.V.A.’s extraordinarily fast exit from Earth’s atmosphere had not been accompanied by a noticeable gravity shift.
“I am impressed by your artificial gravity, E.V.A. Are you this smooth with all the boys?” He teased, unable to take any warning from Fantomex’s prior reactions. He turned around in a circle as he drifted from place to place, resisting the urge to float in the way that the jellyfish-like surroundings beckoned him to. Apparently he’d been unsuccessful because he felt himself jolt from a two-inch fall when he was spoken to by the charmer, who seemed to have grown to be a part of his ship.
At first he was silent, not believing that the question had been directed towards him. Certainly it was for E.V.A. (whom Fantomex could apparently psionically control), and it was a question about where within “The World” they would go. “So this is a pleasure tour after all?” He asked – well, more like commented. “I’m not opposed to that, of course, but – are we going to,” The Eternal paused for a second because certainly what he was going to say would sound ridiculous to a normal human, but then he remembered his present company. “I assumed there was a way inside it,” he admitted, making a vague gesticulation representing a small object that could be held in the palm.
A quiver of dainty artificial laughter filled the interior of the ship, canned glee that was shared in response to Eros’ coquettish compliments in place of verbal communication. Whilst E.V.A. did appear to heed Fantomex’s prior cautions and pleas for silence this time, a result gained through exerting a certain amount of effort and infringement of free-will on his part, he could not completely dictate her every motion and course of action. She was after all a living sentience, not quite human, but as far as cameos of mortal existence went, her attempts were serviceable.
Positioning E.V.A. in orbit around the blue marble revolving beneath their feet some distance below, Fantomex relinquished manual control for the time being and once again turned his chair around to face the Eternal. The techno-organic visor that had descended over his white masked visage partially receded, revealing his face in profile to the audible tune of liquid draining away. Everything on this ship was a part of E.V.A. in some way after all, and despite the weird science that had conceived their shared origin she was not yet able to festoon her saucer form with parts comprised only of elementary metals. “In a matter of speaking I suppose it is. Though, it depends upon your exact definition of the term.”
Whilst his guest tried demonstrating his next point the thief rested his arms on the sides of his chair, loosely curling all of his fingers around the smoothed sides except for his right-handed index finger, which he used to briskly rap against the armchair’s curved end. Impressed by Eros’ deduction, the scoundrel willingly offered to add to his hypothesis and fill in the gaps in his initial assumption. “In that you are correct. There’s a device I use – a shrink ray, graciously donated to me by one Victor von Doom – that can restore The World to its original size. In order to carry out such a feat we’ll need a large, unoccupied space in which to ‘pitch The World’s tent’ as it were. So, monsieur Eros, I’ll say to you again…” Rising a hand into the air as if he wanted to hail for the attention of a teacher, Fantomex abruptly twisted his arm and waved it once in a left to right motion, causing a digital map of the Earth and its immediate solar system to be projected in the space between resting thief and immortal offworlder. “Where to?”
Apologies, but… your child appears to be a flesh-eating alien. Wolverine and the X-Men v1 #42
Chance encounter (mini-para) || Jubilee & Fantomex
Jubilee frowned, “Sorry to disappoint you, but Xavier’s gone. We don’t have much of a leadership now… But it’s not about that…” Jubilee didn’t see any point in beating around the metaphorical bush. She didn’t have the time to waste on small talk, so she decided to get to the point. “It’s about the alien invaders, the Skrulls. I assume you’ve heard, it’s been all over the news… I just wanted to know if you knew anything…”
Although Jubilee was still cautious about the stranger, she took his apparent disinterested in harming anyone to mean that he wasn’t a Skrull. The fact that he wasn’t trying to kill her now didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to in the future, but if she was wrong, she wouldn’t have anyone telling her “I told you so-” But wether he was good or bad had nothing to do with the fact that he irritated the heck out of Jubilee. Maybe not Scott Summers level annoying… but enough remind her of Angel…
"Did you have bad experience with the X-Men or somethin’?" Jubilee asked, rather abruptly, breaking an awkward pause. "I don’t’ mean to pry… but if we tried to kill you or something at one point, I apologise…"
As soon as he learned of Xavier’s passing Fantomex stopped fiddling with his coat immediately. He dared not to pass condoling words or share encouraging thoughts that some would often resort to when a family member had passed on, not because he didn’t care; he merely recognised their futility. Instead, he sparred as much thought as he could before the spunky woman grew suspicious for the famed telepath he had once tried to extort a hefty sum of money from. “That is…a shame.”
Drifting back to lighter topics (well, as light as to be expected in discussing matters concerning an alien enemy), he showed off upturned, empty palms combined with a gentle shoulder shrug that even if the accompanying verbal response had been left out she would’ve got the hint that he didn’t know anything. Or claimed not to, that is. “My guess is as good as yours, which, having just met you, leaves a lot to be desired.” Giving her more reason with which to loathe his every rasp of breath, the thief tilted his head to the side and asked her a question that outpaced her own hurried query. ”What is your name, girl?”
Fantomex stifled a grim chuckle until all that remained was a subdued grunt of disillusionment. “Something like that.”
Ultraviolence [skrull invasion] || Psylocke, Stature & Fantomex
A scowl flitted briefly across her features at Fantomex’s remark before taking up camp and remaining there, glaring at the empty warehouse in front of her as though it were deserving of such an unloving expression. She came close to pointing out that, if it wasn’t for her, he would most likely have been killed at least twice by now, but for once she refrained from reacting to what could only be assumed as being purposefully annoying behaviour on his part. Whether or not he antagonised her with the intention of provoking reactions or simply to drive her to what surely be madness was yet to be seen; a part of her wondered if maybe he just wasn’t aware that every second thing that left his mouth set her teeth on edge and stirred up a so-far pacified desire to separate his masked head from his shoulders. Letting out a sigh that carried her exasperation with it, mood brightening slightly at the prospect of finally being able to locate Skrull, Elizabeth scoured the aisles. She slunk down them with feline-like grace, more at home amongst the bare shelving and ruined products than she would have been if the shop were up and running. People like her weren’t made for such dismally boring places - had she visited Costco on an average day, when people were pushing shopping carts over scuffed floor and complaining about insignificant things, it was likely that she’d have made an about turn before even reaching the building’s sliding glass doors.
The endless rows of empty nothingness, decorated here and there with a broken glass bottle or a scattered packet of rice, were swift to grow tedious and tiresome. Continuing to scour the empty shell of a place with her telepathy proved to be equally as uneventful, incapable of picking up any other mind but that of Cassie. «There’s nothing here,» she declared with a hint of bad tempered disappointment, tempestuous tones relayed into the young blonde’s head. «It’s just us. Clearly your bloody device is broken.» She paused, attention caught by a flickering light whose bulb refused to die, appreciating the irony of such a cliché horror film moment when there wasn’t a single threatening thing to be seen. It wasn’t often that she wished her life to de endangered, but then it was rare to find a moment when it wasn’t. How people managed to live their lives in the nurturing embrace of safety without craving a life-or-death situation just once was beyond her.
Making her way back in the direction she’d come, Elizabeth mused over the idea that she was doing something wrong when it came to hunting Skrulls. Playing predator had succeeded in doing nothing but ensuring that her time was spent sneaking around target-less location, a pastime that lacked entirely in excitement and continued to threaten her with the unwanted outcome of failure. “Perhaps we ought to change tactics,” she suggested, emerging from the shadows to find what could only be described as two people who looked as though they would rather be anywhere else in the world. “Thinking of these extraterrestrials as sitting ducks isn’t working; we’re never going to find them at this rate.” There was a pause, one swiftly followed by the female throwing her hands up in a scene of reproach. “Fine. I’ll make a plan shall I?” She huffed, murmuring something incoherent and entirely uncomplimentary as her blade was slid back inside its snug sheath, the metal singing quietly as she did so. “We could set a trap, I suppose. Ambush anyone that comes sniffing in the hope that they might be a Skrull.” It was a pitiful excuse of a scheme, which was saying a lot given the fact that ninety percent of that which left her lips was nothing more than gold, but things were getting desperate.
Her gaze shifted to Cassie, wondering if it would be a step too far to use her as bait. “The Skrulls don’t know that your device isn’t actually functional and serves less of a purpose than fingerless gloves in the winter. If we were to somehow broadcast that you have a gadget that can detect them, they’re undoubtedly going to want to get rid of it.” And get rid of you, she stopped herself from adding, never one to quite grasp the gentle nature required when speaking to those who were younger.
Sometimes keeping quite was the best thing to do when dealing with a particularly delicate situation.
And with the chance of a Skrull being around that might do something, and by something she obviously meant killing or capturing, the choice was the most sensible one. At least it seemed like one to her and Cassie was one who went with what her gut usually told her to do. When Psylocke’s voice or rather common rang into her brain she had stiffened for a bit eyeing the apparently world-famous-thief.
Not really paying attention to what the man was saying, Stature began to eye her surroundings that she hadn’t really paid attention to before. Dust, dust and a lot of broken things. That just about summed it all up. Well the store had been empty for awhile now so she couldn’t really say anything about it.
When the telepaths voice rang in her head again, Cassie’s grip on her device tightened. Ignoring the tone used by the telepath she quickly raised the device closer to examine it. Turning it over in her hands she frowned. The device hadn’t been broken when she was handling it. it certainly hadn’t acted up when humans had been around and if that were the case than it would’ve most certainly gone crazy. The device was designed to only read the frequencies that weren’t average. Human Being frequencies came in the average department andy the Skrull frequencies not so much. Taking a mental note of what the needle had been pointing to before the knife had come flying out of nowhere(her cheek still throbbed where she had been cut) she decided than she should really go home and research more on it. Maybe that particular frequency could help her Team with figuring out how to detect Skrulls.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost did’t notice the telepath returning. When she proposed that they try and seek the aliens out themselves she felt her heartbeat quicken in anticipation. Was it really a good idea to try and find the aliens when they could clearly over power them easily. She highly doubted that though. It wouldn’t be easy facing a telepath.
Her eyebrow raised at the woman when she made the suggestion. Being bait was almost synonym to suicide. But it wasn’t like it was something she had not done before. Well, ok, all those baiting episodes had been unintentional and most of them were kidnappings but she had always managed to get out of them one way or another. With some help from her friends and sometimes the Avengers. And anyway, wouldn’t there be back-up? Being a hero had it risks of course but she knew what she was getting into when she signed up for it and besides it wasn’t like facing death for the first time either. It had happened a lot of times before. Jerking her head in a yes the blonde crossed her arms arose her chest.
"If this plan includes catching one of those things alive than I’m in."
livingcontrivance
The petty proposition put forward to organise a trap essayed a muffled, mocking chuckle to arise from the thief, whose head and upper torso whipped backward to let loose the unkind laughter. Calming down, he used the back of a hand to wipe away welled salty tears collected at the corner of his eyes, remaining skittish throughout giving his verdict on the matter. “And what do we have to lure them here? The promise of a scrawny brat and a tracking device we have yet to prove even for ourselves is undamaged. No, we’ll need to come up with something better than that.” Stepping closer to Cassie he bent over and hooked a greedy hand around her mechanical contraption, pinching it right out of her grasp without thinking to pass an apology. Contented to finally have the device that had captivated him right from the moment he had entered the Costco in hand, Fantomex lifted it to his ear and gave it a firm shake.
Hearing nothing outside of the typical clangour of welded together components trembling inside their plastic housing, the scoundrel, almost as if disappointed threw the tracker aside instead of returning it to its owner. Inevitably, the contraption didn’t survive the brief fall to the hard floor and so emitted a pleasing note of destruction once its mechanical innards were liberated from its crudely crafted casing, the half containing the newly cracked read-out window and its constantly alternating needle permanently stopped on the same point on the dial that queerly pointed at Fantomex from its final resting placing. “Disposing of that machine is a start.” Regarding the broken device with a benevolent gaze that might’ve suggested he empathised with its preprogramed task, he returned to facing his two-strong audience expecting to be met with bug-eyed stares and looks of horror over his ravaging of functional research that would’ve aided well in the fight against the Skrulls. What he failed to anticipate was the gentle hush of whizzing steel ripping past his left cheek, the second knife in so long to be thrown by a furious hand that took more than skin and ripped material off in its flight.
Gasping, a palm was swiftly pressed up against the tear in his mask as he stumbled backwards, trying not to trip over the tail of his own coat in the progress. Enraged, curling digits that weren’t presently assigned to stem the flow of congealing lifeblood collecting under his palm reached for the handgun strapped to his thigh, and were commanded to remain there until he was confident that his ruse had been unearthed. “Damnable woman, I’ll have your head for that!” He spouted, in a voice that parroted the faux frenchman’s own flawed parody, yet ran antagonistic to even his own collection of recycled comebacks. If he had only managed to avoid the tossed blade he would’ve enjoyed chopping down their every suggestion to hunt an enemy already comfortably established himself in their company all along for another while longer, but it was never meant to be.
Moving away the same palm used to stem the blood trickling forth from his facial wound, intrepid hues still partially in denial that the game was over drifted to the unmistakably green stain darkening the ghostly phalange, green in place of the crimson blood flowing through the catatonic veins of the imposter he had sought out to pose as. Discarding his borrowed alias, not-Fantomex wrung out his bloodstreaked hand, granting its right opposite with the permission required to brandish his firearm. Hovering the muzzle of his gun at the two women, the Skrull regained the use of his deep, higher-than-thou accent, working the last vestiges of that annoying Earthern timbre out of his system. “Speak of the devil, child…” He proclaimed, before centring the gun’s sights on the younger heroine, directing his words towards her in particular.”…and he shall appear.”
A Little Chat | Brandt & Fantomex
Brandt had waited to let Fantomex finish speaking entirely before he replied. The agent was quiet for several long, dark minutes afer Fantomex finished speaking; Tyler simply watched him, watched his body language. There were so many interesting reactions and potential leads that Fantomex had thrown out during his reply, and Brandt thought about them quietly while also thinking about his charge. The man before him looked like hell, and Tyler understood why. Special threat, resisted arrest. That was the note in the FBI’s section of the paperwork, and Brandt wouldn’t be surprised if the agent involved had been perfectly willing to let the numerous police do whatever they felt they needed to — to let them work out their fears and frustrations during the arrest. One ‘special threat’ could so easily represent the entire new and challenging world that law enforcement now had to handle — and not all of them handled it at all well. It wasn’t professional, but it happened frequently enough, always with the expectation of being kept hushed behind that ubiquitous great blue shield.
"Considering what they’ve already done," Brandt said, although his voice was coolly patient rather than sympathetic in any way, shape or form, "Mon Dieu might be a very reasonable response. Unfortunately for you, you’ve found yourself in the middle of a lot of grabby hands from various agencies; I don’t imagine you’ll be getting too much sleep in the near future. Or any.” He gave a very small shrug, meeting Fantomex’s eyes. Interesting, Brandt thought, how he had seemed offended at the rape accusation, while being apparently proud of everything else. The mention of rape and the way that he was hunted down, basically run down like a dog before being captured, seemed to be the only two things that mattered much to him. “As a formality, before this progresses any further, I have been asked to offer you a deal: leniency in exchange for your loyalty being given over to a US law enforcement or intelligence agency. Are you interested?”
At no point was there any true empathy or kindness in Tyler’s voice this time, but there also wasn’t any trace of cruelty or mockery. To all appearances, Agent Brandt genuinely held no resentment towards Fantomex in the slightest. If it was there, if he hated him for his crimes the way most law enforcement officials hated any criminal, then it was well hidden — too well hidden to ever be found. Brandt was not a judge; condemnation was not a thing he was often willing to express. His fellow agents and officers had given him a hard time over the fact that he respected criminals as much as the innocent, as much as victims, and Brandt had never refuted that. He did not have to approve of everything a person did in order to recognize that they had a story, that there was something there, that they were still a person with a name, an identity, an importance — not just a criminal. He wasn’t naive, he knew there was evil in the world, but he also knew that sometimes, evil was propagated just as thorughly by those claiming to be good.
If the man rejected the proposition, then they could resume the questioning — which was what Brandt anticipated having happen. If, on the other hand, Fantomex decided to play the game a while longer and give himself over - which would likely lead to him simply betraying them and laughing at the system anyway - then this night was going to become much, much more complicated.
To be told that he was the one piece of a very exclusive pie that everyone wished to acquire barely knocked a stir of him. He lived an egotist’s dream for far too long, wanted by the government and enough enemies to outnumber the few he considered acquaintances. “Sleep is overrated,” he advised, unconvinced by his own words. Fatigue had ensnared him long before he was muscled into this room, and so to spend a few hours resting would feel like a dream, the chance to refill expended witticism and dulled decision making. Whilst he had not yet fallen prey to Stockholm syndrome, the promise of bedrest and an easy out to the tedious post-capture scrutiny if wavered before him would be something that he wouldn’t quickly dismiss.
Under the glare of the intruding moonlight and the few light fixtures providing feeble illumination, Fantomex’s eyes revolved in half circles, as if somehow insulted by the proposed deal. “I would sooner die than don kiddie gloves. I’m not anyone’s personal toy.” His sight again levelled on a random patch of ground, finding it to be a thing of interest for all of a minute. A single thought was spared for the breed of criminal put on trial in this very room, thugs and butchers and barbarians who all threaded upon the same, forgetful floor. After his own ears had listened to the doltish demand given in his response, an awkward smile then decided to spread itself across his face, raising a corner of his mouth in a movement that strained the appreciative expression. “Though I do so rather enjoy living.”
Dead or alive, he was full sure that the governmental forces operating this establishment would be the worst of fools to simply allow him to walk out a free man or try incarcerating him – an outcome the thief had decided to press for nonetheless. A bare three walled, corrugated iron bar cell was much easier to escape from than out from under a physician’s surgical scalpel, though even then he suspected that his capturer’s idea of a holding cell was a lot more sophisticated than the common garden variety which held the world’s worst speeding ticket offenders or lenders who negated on prearranged deals struck with suit-cladded bank clerks, their newly acquired arrears status being what landed them a cushioned spot in the slammer. At best, he might rub elbows with so-claimed supervillains housed in one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s one-syllabled security prisons, with the worst left up to his imagination to conjure.
“Surely you must know that even if I swore allegiance to your eagles and precious star spangled banner, your superiors would still keep me under a tight lease.” His words gradually turned into barbed, formless bullets fired over Brandt’s head and left fly at the unseen men lurking beyond the mirror, deadpan engagement morphing and twisting into the dawn of something sinister. Like any soul brought low through taxing labour, tiredness intensified his snappy, offhand remarks, insults that came with greater regularity the longer their session wore on. His interrogator’s opinions on the present exchange, whilst they had entertained him in the beginning, no longer mattered to the rogue. All that he now required was a means to escape, a feat that could be easily accomplished if he could dispose of that infernal bracelet resting tauntingly around the other man’s wrist. “Here’s a question that you can answer for a change: how does that piece of technology operate?” He nodded at the dampening device, taking the first steps towards disabling it.
Not Quite Family || Evan and Fantomex
A smile began to spread across Evan’s face, as he wiped the last few tears from his silver-blue cheek with the sleeve of his uniform shirt. “Thanks, Uncle.” He looked up to his creator, searching for the familiar kindness in his eyes. There seemed to be some coldness in the man’s masked face, but Evan still appreciated his words of encouragement.
"You don’t need to fight my battles. I’m learning quickly. Not just how to fight, but… I’m learning about trust. Do you think it’s possible that I need to have more faith in others for them to trust me back? It’s hard for me, since you’re kind of the only real person I’ve known until recently." He wanted so badly for his "uncle" to see him as independent, as a strong young man. But in truth, Evan was still a boy, new to the world and needing guidance from his creator.
livingcontrivance
Recognising that the end of their difficult but equally necessary discussion drew near, all cruel facts formally withheld having been laid out in full, Fantomex allowed himself to exhale a breath, ridding features strained beneath guarding fabric of all coldness and disunion. Relieved that he had at last confronted the elephant in the room, the thief could set aside past history and centralise his attention on what mattered; guiding a young boy through the throes of maturity. Kneeling, he drew level with Evan’s gaze, hands partaking in numerous fidgeting gestures as he considered how to answer his creation’s question.
“Trust is a two-way street, Evan. Placing your faith in another is necessary on occasion, though it can be misused.” He initially stretched out a gloved hand but withdrew it halfway, uncertain. After a minute skipped by the rogue repeated the gesture and this time, succeeded. Cupping the boy’s left shoulder he tenderly smoothed his slender frame with a thumb, an action he had hoped mimicked that of a father and provided him with comfort and courage. “Ideally, I would say to choose your friends wisely, but that would only happen in a perfect world. And unlike the one that is mine to control, you’ll find this version of life to be rife with evil and temptation.”
Backing away, Fantomex moved from a knelt position to a near-crouch, stapling his squirming fingers and rested them atop his bent knees, warming hues tracking their crooked angle. Remaining still, he blinked once and returned to gazing directly at the young mutant, rolling up the bottom half of his mask to show off the reassuring smile that had set itself up there ahead of kinder words that suggested playful action. “But enough about life, it’s time we lightened up the rather droll mood around here.” Jumping onto his feet, the thief threw out his arms wide, before speaking again in rushed tones; “How about it, my boy! If you could give me the grand tour of this place, I’ll do my best to point out your Headmaster’s timeworn choice in décor. So far I’ve counted five offences that for the sake of my own sanity must be corrected…” Slipping through the laboratory’s open doors, leading the way, flutters of silly conversation echoed down the halls and the vacated lab, the path forming structure that aided well in overcoming the few impasses to emerge between father and son.
"My name isn’t ‘belle’," she muttered absently, trying to think of what she wanted to do now. "I’m not a great cook, I can’t make better food. And I’ve not got the money to go out for dinner with someone. I thought this would work." Alice gave a little shrug, glancing over at him and sending a little smile.
"All the more reason for you to take me up my offer. You will not have to worry about money or cost." Though exactly where his 'money' came from was a topic that was up for debate. Regardless, he gave her a curt nod before continuing. "It happens, n'est-ce pas? Are we not all subject to our good and bad days?"
