>> Um... a what?

A raygun, Slate repeated quite matter-of-factly, pressing the button for the second floor. A quiet rendition of something classical and bland filtered down at them from the elevator’s mirrored ceiling tiles. As the door politely dinged their arrival, Slate stepped out. Ah. He could see what the man had meant by ‘you’ll see the signs’: the bathroom was directly across the hall. The hum and chatter of a crowd came from the hallway to their left; Slate made directly for the Gentleman’s Room.

More of a plasma blaster, actually, Slate amended, as he washed the unfortunate taint of his own blood off of his arm. It swirled down the drain of the sink, startling pink against the white porcelain. Mondragon Labs—our base, that is to say—designed it to be used by the Mutant Resistance, during the break out of the New York Camps. This particular gun was reported missing. Apparently one of the Resistance members decided to take home a souvenir.

He blotted his arm dry, and rolled back down the sleeve. Straightened his suit in the mirror. Attempted to finger-comb a few errant strands of hair back into the slicked mass against his skull. Even with copious amounts of hair gel, it was trying to fight its way back into its normal tousled state.

It was created as an anti-Stalker robot weapon. It can melt through adamantium plating. The less time it spends in the hands of Genetic Supremacists on either side of the X-gene gulf, the better.

Not, of course, that the Zephyr Slate knew and employed cared about such things. That teenager would simply be here for the money.

Jewel stopped for a split second before entering the Gentleman's Room. It just... didn't feel right. Reminding herself of her current position though, she quickly got over the thought, and followed Tyler, her lips forming a silent thanks for the room being empty except for themselves. She didn't know much about her new body, but she was pretty sure Zephyr could blush. Watching Tyler clean off the traces of blood she listened to him intently. The young man was talking about the weapon so matter-of-factly... she shivered at the thought of violence in general.
All the things he mentioned did not ring a single bell either. What kind of twisted world did she get dragged into?...
She cleared her throat. Mentally.
Looks like I' missing more than I've thought.
She looked in the mirror. The young man staring back at her was still giving her an uneasy feeling. Well, at least he was well dressed and didn't look bad at all. Under other circumstances she might have wanted to talk to him.
One second later, she dismissed the thought as the weirdest one she's had since she woke up that morning. Duh.
Clearing her throat again, this time for real, she adjusted the tie and straightened her suit. Glancing at Tyler, she could see him fight with his hair, and her fingers twitched instinctively to help... no no no, no way. She wasn't at all adept in male relationships but she could guess how that would look like.
Taking a breath, she concentrated on what she just heard.
You are right, we'd better do something about that weapon. People could get hurt.
Way to go, girl, a small, sarcastic voice chirped in the back of her mind, you sound like a real mercenary.

>> You are right, we'd better do something about that weapon. People could get hurt.

Slate’s hands stopped for a brief moment, his eyes blinking towards Zephyr’s reflection in the mirror.

You may have lost more than you thought, he said, after a moment, but it might not be for the worst. After this is over, you can come back to Mondragon Labs. We can help you find you memories, he offered. Or make a new start.

What sort of beginning, had the mercenary had, to end up as he had been?

It was a thought for another time. For now, they had a mission to do. Slate led the way out of the bathroom, and into the long, expansive hall that was serving as the pre-showing area. Tables and stands stood along the walls; on them were pieces, both innocuous and not, with well-dressed grunts at attention near by. The crowd of mutants here for the auction mingled amiably enough, their eyes selecting what items they would bid for when the time came. A low buzz of polite socialite conversation filled the air.

The assortment was... odd, to say the least. Here was a stolen Monet water color; there was a machine gun, which stood as a representative for several dozen more. On one table was a plain white envelope; “Home address of a RUPERT” promised the description of its contents.

The plasma blaster was mid-way down the hall, with its own personal guard watching everyone who approached it with the eyes on his face, chest, and arms. They blinked in strange combinations; it was rather like his whole body was winking, at any given moment. Slate stopped in front of the gun. Leaned over, quite dramatically, to read the little placard description. Then, with all due inane college student vocabulary, declared:

“That is the coolest thing ever.”

Rich frat boys: they did like their adamantium-cutting toys.

"You may have lost more than you thought, but it might not be for the worst. After this is over, you can come back to Mondragon Labs. We can help you find you memories. Or make a new start."

She smiled a slight smile, when Tyler turned away. Not for the worst, huh. Putting the bits and pieces together she started to get a vague idea about what kind of person this Zephyr was. She's always been good with people - even when she was not occupying their bodies.

Thank you. I'll take you up on that offer.

Walking down the hall with her new boss she tried to observe everything at once; the objects on display were interesting enough, but nothing compared to all the mutants around. She'd never been in such a crowd; sure enough the Mansion was filled with mutants, but still... very different from this. These people were not kids, trying to deal with their abilities. Quite the opposite, actually.
Still, she felt more comfortable than she thought she would. She'd attended auctions before - Dad took her to learn another part of the family business, and he used to say his only daughter had an excellent eye for the real value of things.
Jewel smirked again. Yeah, right. At those auctions you bought pendants and rings, not weapons.
She caught a glance out of the corner of her eyes - some women were looking at her. Him. They had exquisite dresses, cold eyes, and an amused look on their faces. One of them arched an eyebrow at him. Jewel felt a blush creep over his cheeks. Damn. What would a rich brat do?...
She had a lot of ideas, but none that she was willing to try.
Fortunately Tyler chose that exact moment to comment on the plasma blaster. Flashing a quick smile at the women, Jewel turned around to look. There was some cheerful chuckling behind her back.
Looking at the gun, she blinked (and had the strange feeling that the guard's eyes were mirroring her). Some fragment of her Classical Literature studies crept up in the back of her mind when she looked at the guy.
As for the gun, she'd never seen anything like that before. Not like she'd seen many weapons at all. Not like it mattered.

"Yeah. Awesome."

>> "Yeah. Awesome."

Zephyr’s acting was every bit as fantastic as Slate’s own. The guard’s eyes gave several blinks, not really caring. They weren’t hurting anything; they were just suspicious characters. So was everyone else here. In fact, he had a few eyes trained on the characters who weren’t suspicious. Like the women in the exquisite dresses. They barely exchanged a glance before drifting over, stiletto heels barely grazing the carpet. Hard to tell whether that was mutation, or sheer skill.

Arm lightly brushed against arm as one of the ladies slipped up next to them at the table. Next to the wind elemental, that is. “Well what do we have here,” she said softly, the words purring off her lips like so much black velvet.

She wasn’t talking about the gun.

“Well what do we have here...”

Panic. That was most of what they had, at least one of them: the Southern belle trapped and wrapped inside the wind elemental. Blue eyes widened as she looked down at the woman, and gulped.
For one thing, she was not used to being taller than... other women. For another thing, she was not used to being hit on by other women either. She recognized the signs this one was giving, even though she'd never seen them from the receiving end of the flirting process.
Because no better idea registered in her mind, she gulped again. The face of the young man called Zephyr couldn't decide between going pale from shock or crimson from embarrassment. That, fortunately, gave her some time for damage control.
He smiled.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle."

Tyler. HELP.

>> Tyler. HELP.

Was it cruel to find amusement, in the ashen-crimson face of a socially awkward aeromancer? No, Slate decided, after a moment of thorough deliberation. No, it was not.

What’s the matter, John? He returned, baby blue eyes blinking over the smallest of smiles.

A low hum ran through the crowd; somewhere down the hall, the doors of the auction room had been opened. By dignified loner and scheming crowd, the bidders began to file in to their seats. The main event was beginning.

There was no reason they couldn’t bring the pre-show with them, however.

“Come on, John, let’s go in.” His lips pulled into a simple smile at the three women who had quite surrounded them. “Are you coming, ladies?”

The guard blinked an entire arm of disapproving arms. He didn’t speak up, though, or so much as give a head shake in warning. He was paid to protect the merchandise, not the customers.

"What’s the matter, John?"

Annoyed blue eyes shot a glance towards the Boss. Unbelievable.

They are... distracting me. I prefer not to be distracted. Are they necessary for us to maintain... duh, never mind.

It was a huge relief to see the door open and the crowd starting to move. The sooner this mission was over the better. Unfortunately the ladies decided to join them, smiling at the invitation of the young man called Tyler (that earn another disapproving look). Unlike the women Jewel knew and got used to at events like this, they were not smiling in a polite, elegant way, neither giggling like young girls at a party. They were exchanging glances from half lidded eyes, and chuckling in a low voice that would have made a real man excited, but only made Jewel want to run like hell. One of them sneaked an arm around Zephyr's arm, falling into pace with him as they walked. Damn.
Concentrating on keeping the smile on his face, Jewel silently prayed for time to fly. It didn't work.
When they finally found their seats, the women were still with them - more like all around them at the same time, on either side and the sneaky one in the middle.

I don't like this, Jewel noted as they sat down. Still smiling.

>> They are... distracting me. I prefer not to be distracted. Are they necessary for us to maintain... duh, never mind.

Though a smile would be appropriate in this situation, Slate decided to keep his face blank. This seemed to be the more suitable action. To simply look at Zephyr, and blink without comment.

Heh. If his short laugh happened to find its way into the other young man’s head, well, that was unfortunate.

The auction room was both expansive and expensive; the chairs were backed in a rich red fabric, and the wooden stage at the room’s front gave a lustrous shine under the tasteful lightning.

The three women thoroughly entwined themselves between the teenager’s setting arrangements, but Slate, somehow, was too amused to protest.

>> I don't like this.

Relax, John, Slate said. They’re only women. He was not as much of a misogynist as he had been, before a woman had killed him. In his own Labs. Still, the fact remained: women were, statistically speaking, more harmless than men. Their average strength and speed were lower, and they committed fewer violent crimes. Granted, his statistics were based upon the human population...

In any case, the auction was beginning. Around them, the lights dimmed. In the darkness, Slate could see faint points of light on the skin of the woman next to him. The effect was not unlike a hunting fish in the ocean’s depths. She smiled over at him, with a brief flash of sincere silver teeth. Slate turned his attention back to the front of the room. He did this because the auction was about to start, clearly; not for any other reason. Particularly not a reason involving an unseasonable cold feeling moving up his spine.

...Just be cautious, Slate advised his companion, and we will be fine.

The first item up for bid was the RUPERT envelope, whatever that was. The opening price: $50,000. A mere half a year’s salary, for a Kabal member.

"Heh."

Heh indeed. Maintaining the smile was hard work, but fortunately one of the rare kinds of hard work Jewel had done in her life.
Keep smiling, be charming, start praying.

"Relax, John, they’re only women."

She leaned back in his chair, relieved that Female No.1 let go of his arm. She didn't comment on Tyler's opinion, but couldn't resist rolling his eyes.
Not like she'd ever been a feminist. It was more along the lines of "yeah, that's what makes me nervous too. If I was like them and I wasn't like me and Zephyr was like he is and I wasn't him and I wanted to get him into trouble this would be an excellent way to start."
Jewel blinked. This latter train of thought made her head hurt.
Whatever.

The auction finally started, and the lights dimmed. The lady on Tyler's side started glowing. Yay. The one in the middle seemed to be completely quiet and didn't even blink; Sneaky, on the other hand, trailed a finger down Zephyr's arm. Jewel had a sudden urge to check if items such as cellphone and wallet were still in his pockets. Just in case.
Because real ladies don't behave like that.

>> Whatever.

Whatever, indeed. They were in the middle of a (relatively) public event. What was the worst that could happen?

Whatever a RUPERT’s home address was, many people in the audience seemed quite interested to learn it. $50,000 was the starting bid. $375,000 was the ending. Sold, to the gentleman with the glowing red eyes and the black tentacles creeping under his suit jacket.

Next up: the machine gun shipment, straight from a plant in Mexico. Ms. Sara Nobes would be interested in that, Slate noted idly; he would have to tell her later. The woman in their middle simply watched, as the woman next to John leaned in just a bit closer. Curiously, the guns sold for less than the address.

A simple silver tiara took the stage, next, stolen from some museum or another. It had belonged to a princess, centuries ago.

Next to Slate, the points of light on the woman’s arm flashed with interest. “Ooo, I want that one.” She leaned around Slate, giving the most amazing puppy eyes to the girl in the middle. The silent one glanced briefly at her; a movement of her eyes, not her body. Then she spoke two words:

“Buy it.”

Slate found his hand in the air. He was not quite sure when that had happened.

“One hundred thousand! We have one hundred thousand.” Called the auctioneer. “Can I get one hundred ten?”

Somewhere at the other side of the room, someone else raised their hand. The silent girl’s lips turned down in a subtle frown.

“Can I get one hundred twenty?”

As Slate’s hand jerked into the air of its own will, he had a bad feeling that the man could get even more than that.

Jewel convinced herself pretty quick that she didn't need to know all that was going on at this auction, and the sooner she got out of here and forgot about the people buying weapons and whatnot, the better. And safer.
The tiara was pretty though. Even from the distance she was from the stage, her experienced eyes told her it was a genuine treasure, and excellent craftsmanship one rarely sees in modern times. It's not in the technology, it's in the state of mind, Dad used to say, and as someone who can shape metal with her mind, Jewel had to agree. She missed her powers (she suspected they would go on overdrive in this place), but she didn't need them to tell the tiara was easily worth the price Tyler offe...

Wait a minute.

Looking at him, Jewel could tell something was off. For one, Tyler never mentioned buying anything else but the gun, and he didn't look like someone who would spend that amount of money on a girl he just met. Actually, he looked more like the type that wouldn't ever spend that much on a woman. Even if she sparkled. Second, the movement he raised his hand with was definitely not his own.

Tyler, what the heck are you doing?

The girl in the middle still didn't move, but apparently whatever she was doing took a lot of concentration, because her charm suddenly didn't seem so fresh, and the creepy bitch was showing through.
Suddenly she felt like she had to know more about these women. Before she... scratch that, she was already in trouble, ever since she woke up in Zephyr.
Jewel leaned leaned closer to Sneaky with a casual smile on his face. "Eager isn't she. Excellent taste too." she added with a wink "Interested in buying something pretty for yourself?"
"Maybe" she whispered back in a low voice, her breath brushing his face. She got the shiver she expected from John, but not from the same cause...
Glancing at his boss again, Jewel just couldn't resist.

Relax, Tyler, they are only women.

>> Tyler, what the heck are you doing?

Purchasing a tiara, Slate replied drily. Apparently.

>> Relax, Tyler, they are only women.

...Touché, aeromancer. Touché. If ever Slate had any doubt that the amnesiac young man sitting nearby was indeed Zephyr of the Kabal, that cynical turn-about of phrases truly helped lay them to rest.

Nonetheless, the Kabal’s Leader stated, if you could do something to distract the woman in the center, my finances would be thankful.

“Can I get two hundred fifty?” The auctioneer asked.

Slate’s hand rose into the air, in spite of him. Little flickers of light danced happily across the woman next to him; she gave a small clap, like a child waiting at the counter for her candy to get rung up. Slate found that he did not like being her sugar daddy.

Jewel raised an eyebrow. Distract a freakin' mutant lady who controls other people with her mind and makes them buy treasures at an underground auction for ther sisters in crime, is that all Tyler needs, really?
Easier said than done.
Leaning forward in his seat, she made a show of looking at the tiara, tilting his head just a little too curiously; she touched his temple with a finger, just subtly enough to draw the ladies' attention. She's seen people use this gesture a couple of times when concentrating on their powers; never quite figured out what use it had, besides showing off. After a couple of seconds, she sat back with a smirk and shook his head. Leaning over casually, he whispered into the creepy lady's ear.
"I hate telling you this, cherie, but that piece of art is worth less than the box it comes in. Belles like you and your friends here deserve a lot better than that."
To give her words some emphasis, she placed a finger on her knee and trailed it up over the fabric of her dress. The girl shuddered, and blinked. Sneaky on Jewel's other side narrowed her eyes with a hint of jealousy. For a split second, there was a pull in the back of her mind; more like a delicate touch of female charm, the kind that makes men start gasping for breath.
A small smile appeared in the corner of Zephy's mouth.
Deisgned for the male mind, are we?
Still feeling like buying that thing, Tyler?

“Going once, going twice—”

>> Still feeling like buying that thing, Tyler?

“Sold!”

No. Thank you. Slate said, his hand lowering back to the armrest. Unfortunately, it was a bit late for that. Slate was the fine owner of a new princess tiara, and the women did not even want it anymore. Did John have to be quite so friendly with them?

...When was Katrina’s birthday, again?

In any case, the auction continued. A few more weapons came and went; a Monet watercolor; the blueprints to the French capital building. (“Not,” snickered the illuminated woman next to him, absentmindedly smoothing the hem of her dress a little lower over her knees, “that you need blueprints to get in there.”)

Much to the disappointment of the ladies, nothing particularly shiny or matching any of their eyes came up. And then the raygun took the stage.

“—used in the breakout of the New York Detention Center for Mutants in the Spring of 2008, developed by the Mondragon Labs Resistance specifically to combat the Stalker robots—”

The woman in the center politely covered a loud yawn with her hand.

“—opening bid is $500,000. Can I get $500,000?”

Slate’s hand rose into the air. The illumed woman snerked. “Boys and their toys. What are you going to do with that, hon? Beat the other kids at beer pong?”

The question made Slate wonder how she played pong.