((ooc: Tell me if I need to edit anything, Aleksei!))

“He comes recommended,” the older man said.

“I see,” was the Kabal leader’s reply. “Why is he moving to New York?”

“Everyone moves to New York,” Nigel Banks replied, with all due seriousness.

A smile quirked at the corner of the teenager’s mouth. “Fair enough.” As New York’s Faction leaders went, Slate was the youngest, though not by much. Nineteen was young in human terms; in mutant terms, it sometimes seemed quite old. He was a fairly nondescript young man. He had untidy brown hair. Blue eyes. He wore casual dress clothes: clean khaki pants, and a dark blue button up. Truly, he did not look like anything special.

“Send him in.”

Yet still, he would be deciding a part of—a glance to the folder Nigel had slipped him—Mr. Aleksei Nikolaevich Dmitriev’s future. Curious.

Aleksei's mind wandered as he followed somebody named Nigel. He ran a hand through his messy hair and paused for a moment to readjust his backpack. His contacts had all assured him that this was a good place to work with, and he took a moment to consider whether he should have dressed up more than cargo pants and a black t-shirt.

He shook his head and reminded himself that if they cared about that, then he didn't want to work for them anyways.

After another short walk, Aleksei was shown into some kind of board room. He looked across the table, and couldn't help but show a hint of a smile when he saw how the man was dressed. Stranger yet was the mans age. He was clearly even younger than Aleksei himself. If anything, that made Aleksei more wary of him. Anyone that could rise to power at that age was nobody to be trifled with.

After a moments pause he spoke in carefully measured, but flawless English. "Good evening, as you already know I am Aleksei Dmitriev."

A simple nod was all it took to dismiss Nigel from the room. Wordlessly, the older man left, lightly pulling the door shut behind him.

Slate turned his full attention to the man in front of him. Mid-twenties. Messy hair. Dressed for travel, not board rooms. This was neither a detraction, nor a bonus: it was simply an observation. Slate was aware of the concept of ‘dress codes’, but it seemed like most mutants he knew were exceptions to it.

He gestured with his hand towards the seat across from him at the board room’s long table. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Dmitriev.”

“My name is Slate Swartz. Mr. Banks informs me that you are looking for employment. Could you tell me a bit about your past credentials?” Granted, Slate had the man’s folder in front of him. He had not yet opened it, though. It was always intriguing to hear what a man had to say about himself.

For a moment, Aleksei was torn between not wanting to have his back to the door, and insulting his host. Deciding on a compromise, he took the nearest chair that afforded him a view of both the door and Slate.

After setting his backpack on the table Aleksei paused to consider the question. For a moment he was unsure how to begin describing himself to his potential employer.

Finally, he began talking slowly. "Most of the skills you would be interested in come from my mercenary background. Theft, protection, assassination, military auxillary, all of these things I have done. I am a talented driver, an expert in firearms, and demolitions as well. I also speak multiple languages." He paused for a moment before adding one more statement. "As I have heard Americans say from time to time, I am not somebody that you hire for their good looks."

Reaching over to his backpack, Aleksei unzipped it and pulled out a plate of glass. "If you would like, I can demonstrate my other, more select talents for you.

Slate listened to the man’s talents, with a simple nod. Useful. Very useful. The man did not elaborate on any of them; he simply listed, with the understated confidence of experience.

>> "If you would like, I can demonstrate my other, more select talents for you.”

The teenager gave another nod. “Please do.” There were still other mattes to discuss, of course; Slate needed to know how the man thought, as well as how he worked. So far, though, he was quite certain that Mr. Dmitriev would soon be under Kabal employ.

"Very well." Aleksei said with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. It was an odd feeling to be showing a complete stranger something that he had kept hidden for most of his life.

Concentrating on the glass, Aleksei decided to go with something simple. It rippled, and shaped in his hand until it was in the form of a bowl, and then a glass. "I understand it does not seem important to do these things. I merely show you this to demonstrate my ability to shape the glass under my will."

As soon as he was finished speaking Aleksei turned the glass into a small knife. "Something more practical. With larger pieces I can make swords, shields and other implements. All of them are strong enough for any practical usage. Much stronger than any other glass you will find, I assure you of that. In fact I can even change the opacity. That is, the viewability. In other words, I can mimic the effects of smoked glass."

With a slight jerk, the glass knife lifted into the air and did several long, lazy loops before returning to Alekseis hand. "As you can see, levitation is also not a problem. Now, aside from using a weapon to test out the strength of the glass, their is only one more thing I can really show you here." Reaching into his backpack, Aleksei pulled out a small cloth and spread it out on the table. He then shaped the glass back into a plate.

After sending the glass to hover over the cloth, it started to shimmer, and began shaking violantly. After a few moments, small liquid droplets began being torn from the glass and falling onto the cloth below. This continued until what remained was not glass anymore. Instead, the nearly transparent plate was only visible by a slight blue hue. "This," Aleksei said proudly, "is aerogel. It is nearly weightless, extremely brittle and will fall to pieces in water. However, its more or less fireproof, and it wont conduct electricity either. Making this is a trick I have only more recently learned."

After packing up the cloth, and the aerogel Aleksei sat back down. "A simple demonstration I am sure you will agree. Nevertheless, I have no doubt you can see situations where these talents would be much more usable."

>> "I understand it does not seem important to do these things. I merely show you this to demonstrate my ability to shape the glass under my will."

If the man really did not think his demonstration was important, he was selling himself rather short. Glass manipulation. The number of places one could find glass in daily life were staggering; windows alone were guaranteed nearly everywhere, as well as cups, mirrors, decorations, and more. It was the sort of ability which could be extremely useful in many situations.

>> "Something more practical. With larger pieces I can make swords, shields and other implements. All of them are strong enough for any practical usage. Much stronger than any other glass you will find, I assure you of that. In fact I can even change the opacity. That is, the viewability. In other words, I can mimic the effects of smoked glass."

The teenager gave a nod as the demonstration continued. The man’s words were as important as the show of his abilities. They were, in fact, quite intriguing. He had labeled the knife ‘something more practical’, as if the cup or bowl he had previously made were somehow less intrinsically useful. Mr. Dmitriev’s experiences in the mercenary field were, perhaps, showing through.

The aerogel was quite an interesting addition to the display. It took time to create it; only a few seconds, but seconds could be precious when electricity or fire were what you aimed to stave off. On a team, however, where the man’s partner could buy him those seconds... quite useful, indeed.

>> "A simple demonstration I am sure you will agree. Nevertheless, I have no doubt you can see situations where these talents would be much more usable."

“Indeed,” the Kabal’s young leader answered, quite simply. Two questions came immediately to mind. Both dealt with the man, but only one dealt with his mutation.

“How much glass can you comfortably manipulate at one time?” This was rather vital information to know, and presumably an easy one for the man to answer.

The second was spoken far too simply for its content. “Do you like to kill?” The blue-eyed boy may as well have been asking about preferred ice cream flavors, for all the weight the question carried. Slate had recently acquired a taste for fried green tea ice cream. Not that anyone was asking.

“How much glass can you comfortably manipulate at one time?”

Showing some rather uncouth behavior, Aleksei scratched his head and leaned back in his chair for a moment. "It's difficult to say in exact amounts. I've never really tested it in any way that is easy to describe. Several hundred pounds. Three hundred is maybe a good guess. It depends on how many pieces too. Once there gets to be so many I can loose control, especially if they're going in different directions."

He made a show of giving a large shrug. "If you wanted a more exact answer I suppose we could test it sometime."

“Do you like to kill?”

Aleksei had been asked many things by his various employers, but that was never one of them. Indeed, it seemed an odd question to ask a mercenary. After a long pause for thought, Aleksei began his answer.

"The question has many variables, but in its most basic form the answer is no. You have to understand, I do not consider myself a bad person. I've never enjoyed seeing another mans blood flow. Indeed, I have even strived to take jobs that required no unnecesary killing. Yet I have killed men for money. Does that make me evil? Perhaps. Still, without a reason or a contract I do not kill. Judge me as you will."

Aleksei leaned back in his chair as though finished, but quickly leaned forward again and added a quick afterthought. "I do not, under any circumstances kill children. If you wish something like that done, you will need to hire somebody else for the job."

>> "It's difficult to say in exact amounts. I've never really tested it in any way that is easy to describe. Several hundred pounds. Three hundred is maybe a good guess. It depends on how many pieces too. Once there gets to be so many I can loose control, especially if they're going in different directions."

A small smile twitched at the corner of the teenager’s mouth. “Three hundred pounds? I suppose that will suffice, for most purposes.” For most purposes, it should more than suffice.

There was only an impartial blue-eyed blink or two as the man answered that second question. Slate let him speak his piece, hasty afterthought and all. After all was said—and children formally excluded from the man’s contract—Slate gave a nod. Quite the approving one.

“That will be perfect, Mr. Dmitriev. Thank you for your honesty.” The teenager leaned back in his own chair, in an attempt to look at ease. Or, at least, slightly more personable. Some of the Labs staff had implied that he should work on that.

“Could you tell me what you know of the Kabal, and why you wish to work for me?” He asked. Question three.

“Could you tell me what you know of the Kabal, and why you wish to work for me?”

Aleksei gave a nod and a slight smile. This was one of the questions he was actually expecting to be asked. Everybody asked this question, even if the job was working fast food for minimum wage.

"I am not going to lie to you. Information on your organization is hard to come by. I think we both understand that your organization is not quite as legit as it pretends to be. Anybody can pick up the newspaper, read stock prices, and find out the name of a CEO. I did more than this, including using some non-traditional channels. I discovered bits and pieces, but not enough to put together a complete picture."

"The x-men pretend to be better than everybody else, but all that they do is end up fighting back and forth with the order. They're perfect if you need somebody to shout a pithy better-than-thou statement, but not so much if you want something actually accomplished. And the order? A bunch of simple-minded ruffians, half of which belong in a psychiatric ward."

Aleksei waved his hand, as if to wash away the topic. "I am getting sidetracked. In short, neither the x-men or the order have the skills required to stabalize the situation. The kabal on the other hand... You are smart enough to keep your goals hidden. On the surface you are legit, you are harmless. In reality? That is definately not the case. I am a realist, Mr. Slate. I want to do something more important with my life. I would like to make a difference, and that means being on the winning team. I feel that our goals, and even the methods to accomplish them are the same. That is why I would like to work for you."

“Well said,” Slate replied thoughtfully. Again, the man’s words were proving quite interesting. He knew of both the X-Men and the Order, as well as the Kabal. Though he did not claim to have found much on the Kabal, he had certainly found enough to come and apply for a job of his own choosing, rather than being recruited—that was a rare occurrence, indeed. And he had uncovered enough to know—or at least believe—that their ‘goals, and even the methods to accomplish them are the same’.

Quite intriguing, indeed. Mr. Dmitriev appeared to be more than the sum of his mutation. This, as Slate had already said, was perfect.

“You are hired, Mr. Dmitriev.” The teenager said. “Welcome to the Kabal. As your first mission, I would like you to acquire a piece of art for me. Intact, of course. You may have heard of her: the Mona Lisa.” There was absolutely no indication that the nineteen year old was joking.

The Mona Lisa. He’d had his eye on it for quite some time. It would, after all, be a fitting present to Syn, when he finally met with the Order’s leaders.

As your first mission, I would like you to acquire a piece of art for me. Intact, of course. You may have heard of her: the Mona Lisa.”

Aleksei merely sat and stared at Slate, blinking a few times as if trying to figure out whether this was a joke that he simply was not getting. After a few moments of silence, he nodded as if accepting that this was in fact the real deal.

Steepling his fingers, Aleksei took a moment to think. Finally, he looked at Slate and nodded. "It can be done. I can not promise a quiet exit. I do not know that anybody could steal the piece without setting off the alarms. It will take me a bit of time, and a fair amount of money, but I can do it."

He paused for a moment and looked as if he were unsure whether to continue. "Shall I be going alone? While I probably could do it myself, a second member to the excursion would not go amiss."

The long hesitance before the man replied was quite natural; ‘steal the Mona Lisa’ was hardly a typical first order, in most organizations.

>> "It can be done. I can not promise a quiet exit. I do not know that anybody could steal the piece without setting off the alarms. It will take me a bit of time, and a fair amount of money, but I can do it."

The brown-haired teenager gave a nod. “Money is no problem.” He had just acquired a multi-billion dollar drug trade, after all, on top of Dragon Speak’s horde and Mondragon Labs’ previous assets. “My guidelines are these: do not get caught, do not harm the museum’s other artwork, and do not kill. If you find yourself unable to meet these conditions, please abandon the theft. There is always another day for these things, as they say.” This, in fact, was already the second time he had ordered the painting’s theft. His first order had been somewhat derailed by Roland’s past.

>> "Shall I be going alone? While I probably could do it myself, a second member to the excursion would not go amiss."

“I’ll be sending you with another Kabal member; one Tris Evans. You can begin the mission at your mutual discretion.” Slate had the oddest twinge; suddenly, he very much wished to say ‘Please mind your arms around her’. Somehow, though, he did not think the man would understand.

The Kabal’s newest member was dismissed, unless he had something else to say.

((ooc: Not kidding about ‘if you can’t meet the conditions, abandon the theft’. You’re allowed to fail miserably, if that seems more fun. Succeeding is certainly an option, though. ))

“My guidelines are these: do not get caught, do not harm the museum’s other artwork, and do not kill. If you find yourself unable to meet these conditions, please abandon the theft. There is always another day for these things, as they say.”

Aleksei nodded after hearing Slates rules. "I will try to operate under these conditions. I still think it can be done."

“I’ll be sending you with another Kabal member; one Tris Evans. You can begin the mission at your mutual discretion.”

Aleksei nodded once again, though this time he was clearly pleased. He hadn't been joking when he had said it was a two person job, and this was also a good chance to glean valuable information about his new employer. With nothing left to say Aleksei stood up, grabbed his backpack and dismissed himself.

As he walked down the hallway outside, Aleksei went over the meeting in his mind. Overall he was very pleased with the outcome. He had gotten hired, gotten an interesting mission that included a bonus trip to france, plus he had the added bonus of not being sent on a kill-mission.

Now all he had to do was find this Tris Evans person.