american dream.

solomon ofori. nyc native. owner of royal pawn. power broker.

[the-brcker]

{ idris elba, 48, cis male, he/him } || SOLOMON OFORI is a mutant with the ability of POWER TRANSFERAL. he has been in new york for FORTY-EIGHT YEARS where he spends most of his time as A PAWNSHOP OWNER and POWER BROKER. when i think of him, i think of SLOWLY TWISTING CIGARETTE SMOKE, HEAVY RAIN IN A DARK ALLEY, WHISKEY-LACED COFFEE, and FLICKERING NEON. he is affiliated with NO ONE ( NEUTRAL ). [ alex, 30+, they/them, cst, n/a ]

@c23intros || @chromosome23hq || ability breakdown || about his brokerage

Abbreviated timeline:

​At 12, Solomon discovers his ability to transfer powers and mutations from one individual to another.

At 15, he accepts an invitation to attend Xavier’s.

At 23, Solomon had come to learn just how in-demand an ability like his is within the mutant community. He graduates from the Institute and begins building his work and reputation as a power broker.

At 34, he scoffs at the president’s notions of respect and compassion. His business expands as mutants only encounter more public discrimination.

At 39, he takes over ownership of Royal Pawn from his uncle and quickly expands on both his over- and under-the-table businesses.

At 48, Solomon has amassed a broad network of reputable and disreputable contacts, his power brokerage a well-oiled machine operating largely on word of mouth.

The son of a Ghanaian expat who decided to stay in the states for a journalist transplant from the UK, Solomon grew up from the start to finish of the civil rights movement. With both of his mothers heavily involved, you’d think it would’ve been an inspiration for him to eventually involve himself in the fight for mutant rights; thus far, you’d be wrong.

Solomon is twelve when an argument breaks out at the table: Mum is starting to think they should scale back their involvement, thanks to the ongoing violence against protestors and having a young son to take care of. Mom thinks this is the perfect time to get more involved, for the sake of Solomon’s future. Peacemaking and agitated, Solomon puts a gentle hand on each of theirs -- and accidentally transfers Mom’s power ( hydrokinesis ) to Mum ( a human ). Mum promptly and accidentally causes the sink to burst, breaking the tension as they all laugh and struggle to contain it.

For close to two years, Solomon’s main point of practice is swapping Mom’s power to Mum and back again. In early 1964, a clean-cut woman comes knocking at their door. Solomon, remarkably tall for fifteen, stands protectively between her and his parents until the truth comes out: a school has been built for people like him and his mother, and they’re invited to attend. Mom takes Solomon’s face gently in her hands and smiles; the civil rights act has yet to be passed, she has too much work to do. But they send Solomon to the fledgling Xavier Institute with a well-traveled suitcase and hopes for a better future for all of them.

Solomon remains at the Institute through his college years, the boundaries of his power expanding and flourishing as he encounters so many more mutants to practice on. The school is also where he learns just how useful his ability is to others, and how much people are willing to do for him to use it. Epsilon- and Gamma-class frequently trade items or favors for Solomon to remove their obvious mutations for a period of time, allowing them a taste of what it’s like to be normal. Solomon does this reluctantly at first, but as time passes, he sees it as a mutual exchange, largely harmless. It isn’t until one particularly beleaguered Epsilon refuses to take her mutation back and Solomon has to return it by force that he realizes the potential dangers. His offers start to come with more conditions.

By the time he graduates, Solomon has developed a seamless and lucrative system -- absolutely not what his mothers sent him to Xavier’s to learn, but the knowledge he came away with nonetheless. He takes up a job working in his uncle’s pawn shop, but students from the Institute know where to find him and his side business continues.

Years pass. It seems as though the civil rights struggle has only ( barely, on paper ) ended when the president makes his address publicly outing mutants. Solomon glances at his mothers’ faces, unreadable, as lip service is paid. The three of them already know exactly how this is going to go.

The exposure of mutants is, regrettably, good for Solomon’s business. He diversifies his offers and elevates his business sense, enough so that he becomes the obvious successor to own Royal Pawn when his uncle opts to retire. The business thrives, both over and under the table.

As of present day, Solomon has lost Mum and become the sole caretaker for his aging Mom. His work still proves exceptionally lucrative, particularly as he dips his fingertips further into the darker sides of the city. Whispers of the Brotherhood linger in the air while the Omegas are splashed on T.V., but Solomon picks no sides and states no affiliations. He’s merely a broker, a businessman, making a good living.

[the-brcker]

M. BRANDT​:

mind control. she can’t believe it. she doesn’t want to. something as annihilative as this can’t be happening to someone like her. maxine’s mind starts to reel at the implications of solomon’s revelation—that she can control people. she can make them do as she says, willingly or not. in an instant, her memories come flooding right before her eyes, mind raking over every single command she’s ever uttered. she’s always done this, as early as she can remember. telling people to stop, be quiet, walk away—maxine has never been short of orders for other people her entire life. now, this twisting, mortifying, sickening feeling settles in her chest as it dawns on her that it’s highly likely that everything she’s ever wanted and gotten has been taken by force.

an isolated upbringing where her friends were chosen for her. a chauffeur that followed her everywhere she went, no matter how far she wanted to go. her parents’ lessons on etiquette, communication, and negotiation. a straight-line plan of the trajectory of her life, of where she’ll be and who she’ll be with. it dawns on maxine that she’s lived a delicately and masterfully crafted life that always had a pair of eyes on her, watching and gauging her every word for this reason. it isn’t because her parents are protective of their family name (and even if that is the case, it’s hardly important now), but because she’s a liability.

maxine’s breath hitches as she gazes at solomon, wholly unprepared yet forcing out the words: “who is it?” she means the mutant in her family—and that twisting feeling in her chest intensifies as she struggles to figure it out. could it be her mother who’s always looked at her under a microscope? criticizing everything she’s ever done because anything short of being flawless in everyone’s eyes is unacceptable? to dress appropriately, know when to smile, and watch what she eats? or could it be her father whose power and influence might not have come from sheer intellect? her father, who’s told her not to ask questions about the essex house ever since the words have come out of her lips?

Solomon can see her mind reeling, already starting to buzz through and catalog every instance in her past where she might’ve used too strong a word against someone. There’s no stuffing this evil back in Pandora’s box; Maxine had already opened it, along with Solomon’s help. Even if he’d known she was oblivious to her own ability, he couldn’t, in good conscience, have kept it from her forever. Better to make her doubt her past to speak more carefully in the future.

‘Who is it?’

Lips pressed carefully together, Solomon tilts his head. Best to rip this band-aid off along with the rest; there’s no use in pretending he doesn’t know when Maxine is liable to put two and two together further down the road, when she’s thinking clearly. Solomon needs her trust more than he wants to invite her ire.

“Stephen. Your father.” He doesn’t think this will surprise her, but he does worry about the damage it might do to their relationship — even posthumously. Left to wonder why her father never told her; questioning how much of her life’s path had really been her own choice; overthinking each and every deal Stephen Brandt had ever made, and had he really earned it. Was the empire he made — and then handed clumsily to her, in his death — built on foundations not strictly earned?

[the-brcker]

J. ST JAMES​:

“No, no—I was a mob enforcer when I was younger, and now I have a… cadre of connections that I no longer need to use. Muscle isn’t going to help this fight. Put a pin in that, though” Her eyes bore into Solomon, searching for any hesitation as she speaks; she knows that he’s a good man, even if he is part of the seedier bits of the underground network he so cultivates. Maybe this time January can get him to work with the crusade she builds alongside Jess. God knows that they need all the allies they can get. “I want… information. Barring that, a couple dozen telepaths,” she jokes, eyes batting in his direction. “We have some overlap, but not a lot. I need help getting names of high-ranking members. Or at least a lead.”

Solomon’s gaze is calculating in return, not because he doesn’t trust January and certainly not because he believes her crusade is a bad one. He just wants to ensure that if Essex is to be taken down, it’ll be taken down right, before any of the rats can abandon the sinking ship to safety. If he’s going to trust anyone for the job, it’d almost assuredly be January.

“Okay,” Solomon begins simply, with a nod over his wine glass as he takes a sip. “I can give you what access to my contacts you need. And glowing references,” he adds with a sly smile. “And believe it or not, I’ve got telepathy in my repertoire these days.” A coveted ability he’d been renting out for exorbitant rates, since he hadn’t mustered the courage ( or the buyer ) to sell it outright yet. “So: you also have access to that, if you need it.”

“I trust you, January,” he says, and not without a significant weight to the words. “Whatever your plan ends up being, chances are I’m behind it.”

[the-brcker]

J. TORRENCE​:

        the questions keep coming, right on cue, but jack can’t help but shift uncomfortably. solomon has all the leverage, here⁠—he has knowledge that could deeply hurt him and opportunities that he finds difficult to refuse. money that he finds difficult to refuse. more than that, solomon has been an anchor against the rising tide. something he can use to weather the storm. something difficult to cope with losing, even under necessary circumstances. “twelve years,” he answers, unable to meet his eyes. “since the beginning.” there’s a big part of him that wishes he had never taken the deal that had landed him there. but what else would have become of him? tried as an adult, he would almost definitely gone to prison. and essex could have snatched him up there, anyway. “and it was the same the entire time. anything they ever said about charity was one big lie.”

Solomon genuinely can’t decide which is worse: the hypothetical that Essex could’ve once been the sanctuary it claimed only to fall into the horrific state it has, or that its intention had been clear from the start. Both leave a sharply bitter taste on Solomon’s tongue, and now more than ever he needs to make it extremely clear: “None of the work I do is with Essex.”

Jack knows more than most about the intricacies of Solomon’s work, and thus knows better than most how disreputable some of Solomon’s contacts are. But even the Broker has to draw a thick line in the sand when it comes to what he’s gathered the Essex House is capable of. “I can’t promise you protection in a concrete sense,” he adds bluntly, because that’s outside his wheelhouse. “But I can promise you that anyone coming around here sniffing — for you or Seven — won’t find much more than a dead end.”

[the-brcker]

SEVEN​:

An unknown perk to very little social interaction (beyond the confines of Essex, a backroom, a hospital ward) meant that Seven never felt particularly rude when insisting he only see Sheffield. Asking for other people was always easier.

That’s good. Seven watches Solomon carefully, waits for something else, some other test. That’s it, though. That single errand was, apparently, enough. It makes him wonder exactly what he delivered: who Mr Sheffield is. Does it matter, in the end? The less he knows, the better.

“Thank you,” Seven is genuinely surprised that Solomon says he can keep it for the rest of the day. He will come as soon as it gets dark, he thinks. Give him a better chance to get back home without any trouble. “No, sir. If I have any I’ll ask when I return for my mutation.”

FIN.

[the-brcker]

M. BRANDT​:

it can’t be. it just can’t be. it doesn’t make sense for maxine brandt to be a mutant. if she were, she would’ve known it years ago. she should’ve. her parents would’ve told her. her parents—

—oh, god.

her parents are mutants.

is it both of them? her mother? her father?

if what solomon’s saying is true, they would’ve hidden this from her all these years—all her life. they lied to her all her life. why? —and she knows, she knows deep down that solomon is telling the truth, and it makes her heart twist in pain.

maxine could give less of a damn about how mutations can be subtle. subtle or not, she’s still a mutant. she’s one of them. the ones she sees on television and the papers, the ones she hears everyone discuss as if they’re a problem needing a solution, the ones she’s been avoiding talking about nearly all her life…

…and especially now in brandt & goetsch, where she’s always looked at jonas oddly whenever she gets shut out from talking about the essex corporation.

no. this isn’t the time for this.

thankfully (or maybe not), solomon’s inquiry pulls maxine out of her reverie, and it’s an even more panic-inducing question. does she even want to know? right now? what use would it do to put it off or never find out?

tentatively, maxine licks her lips and slowly breathes out, “…how?”

Solomon waits patiently as she no doubt runs the full gamut of emotions — maybe every stage of grief — and finally lands on a single-word question. He gestures, then settles his hands palm-down on the desk. “Since I can hold more than one ability at a time, I need to be able to tell the difference. It’s not an exact science, but I can get a good idea.”

Given that she hadn’t displayed an explicit desire not to know, Solomon opts to save both of them the trouble of beating around the bush. He absorbs Maxine’s power without fanfare, wondering if she’ll even be able to notice the loss when she didn’t know what she had to begin with, and considers.

Much as Solomon had expected ( feared? ), she is her father’s daughter — in more ways than those already known.

The look he fixes her with is inscrutable, lapsing into a long silence that hangs heavily between them. In the span of it, Solomon genuinely considers lying to her. What will Maxine do, as soon as she’s aware what she’s capable of? Much like her father, she stands poised to gain entirely too much from an artificially silver tongue. Worse, perhaps, is the thought of her second-guessing so much of her life’s experiences up until now — the clarity of hindsight may become all too glaring.

What ultimately prompts him to tell the truth, Solomon couldn’t say. It’s not as if his relationship with Stephen was close enough that he felt beholden to any of them. Maybe the simple fact of it was that, in his own quiet, subdued way, Solomon felt sorry for her.

“You have some form of vocal persuasion,” he finally says, watching Maxine’s reaction closely. “It’s… powerful. Akin to mind control. With enough weight behind your words, you can presumably influence others to do or say things they may not normally.”

‘Much like your father’ is on the tip of his tongue, but Solomon keeps that elaboration to himself for the time being. He can only assume she’s already thinking it, already wondering; she’ll ask, if she wants to know.

[the-brcker]

J. ST JAMES​:

“Don’t worry, Sol, I know they are.” Her eyes light up, as if a predator sighting their prey. She has plans in motion, fallbacks and connections and bridges to burn all in the pursuit of taking down Essex and his board of directors. Horror will darken their doors soon, and she will be the hand that brings the clouds of death around them soon enough. “And you’re seriously underestimating the long con I have going, if you think I’m going in there guns blazing. I would’ve done that as soon as I found out, if I wanted to.” And she almost did, but that’s neither here nor there. “I don’t suppose I can ask for your support with this crusade? Might be asking a lot from you, Broker, but—well, I do want your help.”

Solomon raises his eyebrows, intrigued, but doesn’t answer right away. He’s already made it clear he’d never throw in his lot with Essex, but to throw it in actively against them isn’t quite the same thing. Truth be told, had January brought this up before he’d inadvertently started working with two of the infamous escapees, his answer might’ve been different. But as it is: “I’m listening,” Solomon starts carefully, moving his wine glass as the waiter returns to clear their plates. “Looking to rent out tweedle dee and tweedle dumb?” The mostly-affectionate terms for his hired muscle, since Solomon himself is hardly combat-ready — if that’s even the angle she’s going for. He has an inkling that it’s not.

[the-brcker]

J. TORRENCE​:

        “not within the next half hour, no.” nothing jack holds onto is permanent, but unless they’re talking long into the night ( something doubtful, just by a hunch ) then the transaction shouldn’t be at risk. but the idea of conversation plants a seed of dread low in his chest, eyes scanning the old office like he’s expecting a firing squad to burst out at him. or worse, something that could do lasting damage. something like the monster that calls himself nathaniel essex. while nothing does happen, jack still can’t quite bring himself to sit .his trust in solomon is better than it is in most outside the band of escapees, but that doesn’t make it any less fragile. it doesn’t make it any less comforting that should he need to, he can make a quicker getaway.

        “you want to know how bad it was,” he echoes, edge of his lip curling downwards. “it was hell. it was worse than hell. hell is something you earn. nobody there earned that shit.” even jack, a felon when dumped at their doorstep, couldn’t find it in himself to feel he deserved the torment of twelve years at essex.

Jack looks spooked and ready to run, and Solomon can hardly blame him. This is a power imbalance neither of them expected and, probably contrary to what Jack believes, neither of them wants. Despite being of the opinion more knowledge will always be better, it’s a double-edged sword when the knowledge settles a dull, aching rage in the pit of Solomon’s stomach.

Worse than hell. The only visible agitation Solomon allows himself is the steady, staccato drum of his fingertips on the desk, a tightening in the muscle of his jaw. “How long were you in there? Has it always been… that?” Was the place ever charitable, with a slow devolution? Or had it been Essex’s plan from the start to use their kind like — even to say ‘lab rats’ felt too generous, based on Jack’s words and the heavy tone behind them. Worse than prisoners, worse than animals.

[the-brcker]

R. HUNTER​:

Riley blinked once, then twice just right after Solomon has snapped his fingers. A confused look spread over his face, his anger quieted down as he tried to figure out what the hell that gesture meant. Unfortunately it was much worse than what Riley could have ever guessed.

He felt like all oxygen had been taken out of his lungs as he stood there, powerless to do anything. “What?” Riley asked rather dumbly, he could feel his own heartbeat on his ears, struggling to figure out everything had happened so fast and trying not to think about what having his own mutation taken like this meant.

For his own life and role as a brotherhood member, but also to the life he had so carefully built for him and Levi.

Go. Talk to him. I trust you’ll be able to focus, since you can’t touch him.

Riley suddenly felt torn, not really sure if he wanted to break Solomon’s whole apartment or if he just want to sit down and cry just thinking about how he would have to tell Levi that he couldn’t touch him anymore, at least not for twenty-four hours, maybe longer if Solomon suddenly had a change of heart. “Fuck you,” he spat out, but those words despite sounding more offensive than any of the others Riley had already said to Solomon, did not carry the same weight or strength as before. Riley felt empty and a bit lost, but he ended up leaving the apartment not wanting to make the situation even worse for himself.

FIN.

[the-brcker]

R. HUNTER​:

Leaving was not an option for Riley, not at this point where he was so ridiculously scared of what Levi might decide, not when he was sure that Solomon would take Levi’s ability in the blink of an eye if that’s what the other wanted. He couldn’t let that happen, he could not have Levi being that vulnerable for the rest of his life, he couldn’t have the brotherhood hunting him down because of that decision. So, that is why, Riley decided to make a stupid decision of his own.

“No,” he crossed his arms, ignoring the warning and planting his feet firmly on the ground “I’m not leaving”

Solomon didn’t hesitate; in one deft movement, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers sharply in front of Riley’s face — taking his power. The movement was surplus, Solomon didn’t have to do anything to use his own ability, but it served to prove a point.

Some mutants were able to tell when Solomon took what they could do, particularly with physical mutations, but for some it made no difference. He wanted to be perfectly clear with Riley: “I’ve taken your mutation.” The broker paused for a moment, considering Riley’s ability like one might consider a vintage of wine. “Powerful thing. Infinitely useful. And currently mine.”

He took a step in, expression unyielding. “Twenty-four hours. That’s how long I’m going to keep it, and the time doesn’t start until you’re out of my sight. For every minute longer you stay and try to argue, I’m adding an hour.” Solomon pointed out the door again, gesture sharp. “Go. Talk to him. I trust you’ll be able to focus, since you can’t touch him.” He stepped in closer to Riley, words staccato with his barely contained anger. “Figure. It. Out.”

[the-brcker]

M. BRANDT​:

and you do have an ability.

maxine can’t help herself. she lets out a bemused chuckle, unable to decipher if solomon’s telling the truth at an incredibly inopportune moment or if he possesses the worst sense of humor known to man. she thinks it better be the latter, although the odds are stacked against her if she were to think of this logically.

he’s a man who has nothing to gain or lose by lying, and, by all accounts, has only ever been sincere in his words with her (no matter how brief their interactions have been). so solomon can’t be lying. solomon is telling the truth.

and it makes maxine shake her head. “no, i don’t,” she insists. any hint of amusement or even confusion on her face is gone, now replaced by seedlings of anxiety and panic. her arms drop to her sides, and she takes one step forward. “i’m not a mutant. if i were, i’d have known, wouldn’t i?” it’s less of a question for solomon than it is for herself, because—shouldn’t it be obvious?

“you—you must be mistaken, solomon, and i say this with all due respect. i don’t doubt your abilities, nor your expertise, but i’m—i’m not a mutant. it’s just not possible.”

It never gets any easier, delivering life-changing news such as this. There’s no getting better at it, either, no way that Solomon has figured out that’s best for softening the blow. Her denial doesn’t offend him. It’s a lot to take in.

“Mutations can be subtle,” he offers carefully, diplomatically. “Some, dependent on their environment. Take mine: if I hadn’t grown up around another mutant, who knows when I would’ve figured out what I can do.” Solomon can sense her panic and wonders where it comes from. Is it just the revelation of the ability she’s reeling from? Or is she worried about being someone like him? A mutant. An outcast.

Either way, he doesn’t bother repeating himself. He can tell Maxine believes him, she simply doesn’t want to.

“If you consent to it, I can absorb what you have — and tell you what it is.” A large part of the offer is selfish; Solomon needs to know if it’s what Stephen had. He needs to know how worried he should be about her having this, and subsequently knowing it.

[the-brcker]

R. HUNTER​:

Deep down Riley knew that everything Solomon was telling him made sense, that the final decision only belonged to Levi and that no one - Solomon and Riley included - had the right or could make that decision for him and yet, something in Riley was not able to accept the truth. That is why, when Solomon opens the door and gestures for him to get out, in the most polite manner, Riley just pushes it back shut again, only adding a another stupid action to the list of dumb things he had already done today while having this conversation. 

“I’ll get out when you promise me that even if Levi decides that he does want to sell off his mutation, you won’t do it and you won’t take it from him no matter how much he begs you to”

If Solomon didn’t appreciate being lectured to in his own home, he certainly didn’t appreciate an ultimatum, not from someone closer to half his age about his own practices. At this point, he didn’t care if Riley’s impulses came from a good place anymore; it wasn’t treatment Solomon was about to sit back and take.

“Mr. Hunter,” he began, voice slow and dangerously controlled in contrast to Riley’s. “I’m giving you one last chance, and one last chance only: leave. Or I am going to do something that you are not going to appreciate.” It was both a threat and a promise, carried in the weight of his tone and the look in his eyes. Do not test me.

[the-brcker]

SEVEN​:

“No issues,” Seven repeats with a nod and tight, fleeting smile. He’s a very difficult man to get a read on, straight to the point in a way that Seven both likes and dislikes. Mainly because whilst he goes straight to the point, it seems Solomon usually the only one privy to what it actually is, “A younger man at the door took me to his office.” After some pestering, but Seven doesn’t think to add too many extra details.

“Um, Middle-aged, I think. Brown hair. Long nose, ” Seven begins describing him, mind casting back rather suddenly to films they’d been allowed to watch at Essex, “Dressed like a teacher in an 80s movie.”

Solomon smiles, brief and small, because Seven’s answer is both entertaining and correct. “Okay. Good.” He figured someone would try and intercept, hence his ‘only the man named Sheffield,’ but apparently Seven didn’t have much trouble insisting. Or politely requesting until they acquiesced, more likely.

“That’s good. Thank you, Seven.” He pauses for a moment, considering; he has so many questions to ask, all of them revolving around Essex, but feels those aren’t questions for Seven. Those are questions for Jack. It’s just a matter of how long the man takes to come see him again.

In the meantime: “I can hold onto your mutation for the rest of the day, if you want. For that errand.” Solomon is still close to his threshold, but he has a couple of other appointments scattered over the day that should give him the opportunity to offload. “Otherwise…” He trails off, and shrugs. “Do you have any questions for me?”

[the-brcker]

J. ST JAMES​:

“Lawyers, I feel, don’t do well against a stacked jury and a hailstorm of firepower.” she doesn’t begrudge Solomon’s power, nor does she scoff at the thought of him using his influence to stay out of jail, but January assumes that they won’t exactly have a good time with the spotlight on them. Not as good a time, anyway. “The Omegas, with significant public backing and the authority of the government? It would be a pain in our side, for sure.” This is why she’s starting to get her claws in the federal circuit; lawyers were well and good, but judges are golden. “A shame that none of them are going after Essex House; I’d give them my blessing. And help blast the gates out of their damn hinges.”

“For someone with a healthy fear of governmental overreach and intervention, you’d be willing to go after Essex House?” Solomon questions with a healthy dose of skepticism. “That man,” — Nathaniel Essex — “Probably has just as many connections as we do.” As much as Solomon hated to admit it. “I’m no friend of Essex. I’ve turned their offers down numerous times over the years,” he clarifies with a hand held out, one that ultimately grabs his wine glass to take a sip. “But that is an institution that’s going to take a lot more than brawn to topple, and at least the Institute and the Omegas must be smart enough to realize that.” He can’t speak for the Brotherhood, at this point.

[the-brcker]

M. BRANDT​:

housing two abilities. a temporary trade. maxine’s brows furrow in confusion, blinking once, then twice at what he’d just said. what on earth is he talking about? she parts her lips as if to speak, though, really, she's stumped. “pardon me, mr. ofori, but i think we’re in a bit of a misunderstanding here. i have nothing to trade… i don't—i don’t have any abilities.” maxine isn’t sure if she should come right out and say that she isn’t a mutant, cautious that it might be gauche to say something like that outright. “is that what you were implying?”

It isn't often Solomon is thrown, but this throws him. He sits stock-still for a moment, eyeing Maxine, painfully aware this is no kind of joke.

She honestly doesn't know.

It’s not the first time he’s had to break the news to someone, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. But this is much, much more delicate than that. Solomon doesn’t know what Maxine has, only knows what her father had — god, did she know her father had… ? — and that prompts him to treat this situation much more carefully than he might normally. His normal bluntness will do him no good here.

“Maxine,” he says with an uncharacteristic gentleness, shifting forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his desk, fingers laced carefully in front of him. “I’ve been in this business for a long, long time. I can’t tell what someone has until I absorb it — only how powerful it is — but I can tell that they have it.”

Solomon’s expression is almost apologetic, as if he hates to be the one to tell her this; partially because he does. Her father should have been the one to tell her, if he’d even known.

“And you do have an ability.”

[the-brcker]

J. TORRENCE​:

         it’s good information to have, that solomon isn’t interested in the reward that essex is surely offering, but the comfort is limited. surely a man with enough money and power, with all the influence of the essex corporation, could find an agreement that would benefit the both of them… for the moment, jack keeps the thought to himself. he doesn’t want to change his mind.  “good to know,” he manages to croak, nodding as the broker ushers him inside. away from prying eyes and ears that might be more willing to take the reward. “well, since you’re not turning me in,” he starts, extending a hand. “you interested?”

“Rather have a conversation first, unless whatever you’re holding onto has an expiration date of the next half-hour.” Solomon shuts the door behind them and clicks the deadbolt into place, not expecting to be bothered this late but better safe than sorry. Solomon crosses to his back office and expects Jack to follow, slipping it out of his coat again to toss it over one of the twin chairs in front of his desk before he settles into the one behind it. He gestures loosely to the other open chair, but something tells him Jack would prefer to stand. “I want you to tell me about Essex House. And don’t give me that ‘what do you want to know’ bullshit — you know what I want to know.” Are the rumors true? Or is it even worse than everyone imagines?

[the-brcker]

@c23tasks​

"Maybe that comes as a surprise. Maybe it doesn’t." There's a hint of an inscrutable smile on Solomon's face as he taps two fingers lightly on the table.

To get Solomon to commit to a side even in theory is a hell of a feat. There are plenty who are neutral out of indecision, laziness, even a sense of self-righteousness that they're too good for either group. Solomon's neutrality, on the other hand, is a purposeful, calculated choice. "To make a concrete alliance is to limit yourself," he figures with a muted shrug. "There'll be those who choose not to associate with you based on nothing more than who you associate with." And Solomon has never been about limiting his options, not when he can play every side available in an intricately woven web.

"Yes, I attended the Institute. Yes, I graduated on good terms." But Solomon Ofori is not a sentimental creature; he doesn't feel a sense of loyalty towards Xavier's, even if he respects both what it stands for and the man at its helm. It's because of that, maybe, that he's certain the Institute doesn't need his support. In some other sense he thinks — though he'd never say it — that the Institute is better off without his association, and he’s better off without theirs. For Xavier's, even Solomon would have the impulse to do better; be better. He'd either have to limit his practices or come clean, and neither option is terribly appealing to him.

"So, that leaves the Brotherhood." Solomon shrugs, deceptively casual. A little stiff. If he hasn't associated himself with the Institute out of a misaligned sense of honor, he hasn't aligned himself with the Brotherhood for the polarizing nature of their mantra. "I don't like people who operate on absolute extremes," he explains, choosing his phrasing carefully. "Nor so publicly. I might've gotten along with either group better before they announced themselves to the world."

"But the simple fact of the matter is that I'm assuming I could count on the Brotherhood to let me handle my own affairs — without judgement." Or intervention. "If they want to do business with me directly, that's fine. Their money is as good as anyone else's." And he already has a good working relationship with at least one of their members — Sela Musa.

"Selfishly speaking, what it all comes down to is having the room to work that I need." The biggest potential sticking point? Bestowing mundanes with abilities. "It's one of the best-paying services I offer. I'm not about to give it up." Ultimately, Solomon smiles, muted and calculated. "You'd think the Brotherhood would be happy I'm creating a few more mutants in the world."

But honestly, deep down, with some of the things he’s witnessed or heard about in his work? Solomon would be content with seeing some of the human race burn for what they’ve done to mutants.