#*arc; rogue

[livingcontrivance]

@thievesgambit  | starter call

“Must we keep meeting like this, monsieur?” Parting with a light jest to cover for the fact that he had been caught, Fantomex is swift to pocket an especially precious trophy, near and dear to his fake heart. In his hand he had previously held the world -- not the quintessential article, for obvious reasons, but the version that mattered the most to him.     And like any decent thief (or a mutant killer pretending to be one) he hides his (albeit damaged) bounty from the prying, red eyes of a true professional, in no way willing to hand it over for reasons that extended beyond any those who were not borne of the shrunken lab’s weird science could understand.

“Once a year is enough for me to listen to that dreadful accent of yours.  Should we continuously be seen together, people will begin to talk, oui?”  

[livingcontrivance]

@jimmyhudsonjr | starter call

“Oh what joy -- yet another one of the veritable badger family decides to pester me.” Logan had grown to be quite the thorn in his side, especially after agreeing to join his squad. It was, for the most part an pleasant experience, even with the fact that he had ended up dying eliminated.      It was, if nothing else, a gross misuse of his time -- and he was glad that such dark days were now behind him.

“Though, that said, you’re...different from him, aren’t you?” He certainly smelled better, for starters. Which he’d treat as a miracle by itself. “Out with it, then. What do you require from me?”

[livingcontrivance]

@goodfeelingsbadideas replied to your post “I respect the love of drama, I don't respect trying to rip off my...”

"Oh indeed. But come now, there is only one Dionysus. And trying to be the international man of mystery is sorta my thing. Though I admit, I've never met a Gaul with such class."

“I’m sorry, I appear to have missed the lecture on gods - who are you meant to be? If you are meant to be of the same ilk as I am then standards must be slipping. Still-- the compliment is appreciated, regardless.”

[livingcontrivance]

@psylccke | starter call

He had heard it said that you can't keep a good man down. And whilst he was neither good nor much of a man in the usual sense of the term, it was a philosophy that he was still keen on adhering to. A goal he could aim to achieve, as he went about rebuilding his life for the second time. 

Compared to before, where dying had seen him removed from the great equation of life, this occasion had been...different. Packed to the brim with experiences he has yet to put words to, or say with any amount of confidence that his actions had been his own, Fantomex had elected to let the past lie, untouched -- with particular caution taken to exclude anyone who was even remotely connected to the X-Men from his life.

It’s why, in his need to start over with this gift of a third life, he journeys to the vineyards of France, seeking seclusion. Insomuch as someone with a penchant for flashy white attire could retreat from the wider world, at least. And it is here, sat at a table nestled between rows of vines that had been freshly harvested that he allows himself to relax, finding joy in the chatter of birdsong and the rustling of leaves.

It is, he finds, the sort of place that helps him to forget the reason for why he was put upon this earth to begin. And he did not wish to change this arrangement for any paltry recompense put to him.

[livingcontrivance]

@blowhardking | starter call

“And what, exactly, are you meant to be, hmm?” He had a variety of names lined up, all of which wavered between being considered flattering and offensive. As a safe bet, settled for a remark that straddled the fine line between both extremes, and soon parted with;    “Some kind of fishman? Depths dweller? Do tell me if I am getting close.”

[livingcontrivance]

@p-sychofreak  | starter call

“Usually when I empty an entire clip into a target, I expect them to keel over, dead.” It was basic logic. Guns were lethal against those of flesh and blood and terribly mortal status, granted the person holding the weapon remembered to aim for the vital regions. For the white menace, whose very life revolved around such a deadly practice, in service to a madman until he’d gotten smart, he’d thought this encounter would play out in the usual fashion.     Until the moment it didn’t.

“How is it that you are not only annoyingly still alive, but are able to continue to chatter like a buffoon?” He didn’t suspect the man to be a mutant, and would’ve known if such was the case.     “Could that be your superpower, I wonder? To be insufferable?”

[livingcontrivance]

@contrclfreaked | starter call

The air falls silent as the last thug slumps to his knees, knocked out cold. It felt strange for Fantomex to exert restraint, to hold back from killing men who arguably deserved a swift demise on account of who they worked for. But then again, it wasn’t always the case that he found being watched, monitored by an agent sent by some secretive power he could care less to think about. And he detested the thought of being apprehended enough to not mete out the punishment these goons had earned.     Maintaining a calm demeanour, he coolly holsters his gun that saw more use as a melee weapon than its true purpose this day, turning his head to look behind him as he did so. Dressed in all-white garb, he was was easy to spot. Just as he knew that someone had been tailing him due to the sound of their loud, clumsy footfalls being picked up by his enhanced hearing. 

“You can come out now. That was the last of the ‘bad guys’ that needed to be dealt with. We now have the place all to our selves.”

[livingcontrivance]

@bluefated  | starter call

A soothing melody plays on in the background as each patron of the club waltzes with their chosen partners. In this place, money granted influence, some of which he intended to amass for himself as he took to the stage -- after he’d taken care of a particular job, first. Armed with a description of the man he’d been paid to vent unspeakable violence upon, Fantomex skims his gaze over the heads of the gaudily dressed crowds, trying his levelled best to resist stealing a few keepsakes for himself.       Had he not been sent here to kill, he would’ve gone shopping, profiting off the exorbitant wealth that was on full show. And yet, as he continued on his way, his plans faced derailment when a particularly determined member in the crowd approached him and took his hands in hers. A few embarrassing seconds filled with awkwardness passed by before the supposedly intuitive thief realise in whose company he was standing in.

 “Does it not strike you as odd that we appear to meet exclusively at formal gatherings?” Voice airy, he lead them on a short dance, drawing from the moves he’d witnessed others perform earlier in the night to put together some kind of routine. Small talk, he felt, had always been the perfect icebreaker -- even with people who had tried to kill you in the past.

“And yet, as much as I do love our time together, I should note that I am...working, tonight. Thus, I would prefer, ma dame, if you did not jeopardise my cover with your adorable antics.”