“YOU’RE NEGLECTING YOUR KNIGHT, OLIVIA.” the observation is made carefully, narrowed gray-blue eyes focused solely on the board. he flicks his gaze up to his opponent, the strange little girl who seems to have no interest for the bright colors of the playground, wandering instead to the park where tired old men play chess. ( he’s glad she’s here. he’s beaten everyone else weeks ago -- there’s no one in this world that plays like charles. ) his most recent passport and identification call him max dietrich, but in his bones he is magneto, mutant first and foremost.
laying low is necessary for now -- for him, for the cause. mystique’s impatience for her leader to return does not serve him, and those below him in the brotherhood understand his need for anonymity, even in a world where facial recognition is wielded as carelessly as the cell phone. but, he must admit, he has come to look forward to their weekly games, where olivia will come to regale him with meaningless playground gossip, and max will correct her playing. she, surely, never suspects him to be the wanted mutant terrorist that he is. and he must keep it that way -- the last thing he wants is for this child to be in danger because of his own carelessness.
magneto slides his rook forward, the metal chilled under the pads of his fingers. “your move.”
@pyreshe

















