The building was like most of the other rather non-descript high rises that existed in the middle of down town Manhattan. A marvel of steel and glass it towered 43 stories with a roof top garden area that was occasionally used for parties. The top floor was occupied by Wilhelm Gallery a high end but not widely advertised art dealer. Though their name was not that well known among the masses, art collectors knew the name as a company that somehow was able to get rare painting that no one else could get. There trade craft was held in the utmost secrecy but most people really didn't care. What mattered was that the Wilhelm Gallery could get results.

For the evening's event the Wilhelm Gallery had rented the roof top garden as well as opened up the doors of their own gallery. Approximately ten less rare, less valuable works were being displayed in the garden where the cheese and wine tasting was taking place. In the main gallery the works created by the controversial artist Jesús Herrera were on display. Here the security was more obvious with at least one uniformed employee next to each set of 3 or 4 paintings. There were two uniformed police officers at the lobby elevator doing security sweeps while two more were stationed at the upstairs elevator and at the emergency exit. Plain-clothed police officers mingled with the crowd doing their best to blend in, some with more success than others.

In a back room, two trained security staff kept an eye on everything on their monitors. Along with the security cameras each painting was hooked to a pressure switch that would set of alarms if the painting were lifted or even nudged a little to hard. It was a very competent security set up and to the untrained eye it would seem that there was no chance of theft but as both thief and security professional would tell you, there is always a chance.

***

Paul was dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo with well polished black shoes. He didn't bother to carry much but what he did have was important. He had some cash and his ID in his right pants pocket with some more cash stowed away in his left pocket along with a pack of spearmint gum. A lock pick kit made of industrial strength plastics instead of the standard metal was tucked away inside his jacket along with a small lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and a pair of black surgical gloves. Carefully folded in the rectangular shape of a wallet and stowed in his rear pocket was a 33 gallon trash bag. Anything else he might need he planned to find or appropriate at the party but he didn't expect anything else. His plans were laid and after enjoying the party for a time the fireworks would begin.

The line from the lobby elevator extended approximately fifteen to twenty feet but it was moving along very smoothly. The men that did each security sweep were obviously professionals and though they did their job quickly they were also very thorough. After placing metal valuables in a tray they had each person stand with arms spread while they swept a baton around them to see if there were any other metal items that could be dangerous. Once security was verified the person was waved on to collect their valuables and board the elevator for the top floor.

"I know... nasty habit. I'm trying to quit." Paul offered with a casual smile as he pulled the lighter out of his pocket and slipped the watch off his wrist, depositing both in the tray. Moments later, after being cleared, Paul continued on his way to the party. The typical elevator music played as Paul rode skyward with six other people in the elevator car. Finally the door opened and he stepped into the gallery.

"Game time... let's have some fun." He thought to himself as he slowly made his way around clusters of people chatting with each other to view the first set of paintings. "Very nice. I particularly like his use of purple hues to add depth of color to his work." Paul commented to whoever might be standing nearby, "I am looking forward to seeing some of his flaming works though."

For Jude's upcoming birthday, he wanted to become a mutant. Since his legal guardians couldn't provide that for him, he asked instead for a suit. Since his Sebastian was a remarkable tailor, he had specifically requested one from him. Jude thought it might distract and flatter the horned man from his "bad" behavior.

Jude suffered for his request.

The suit was charcoal gray and the coat was longer than he'd expected. The shirt was white with a French cuff (he appreciated the cultural nod). The four button vest was a blue that made his eyes look especially brown. The neck did not button too tightly because it didn't button at all. It had to be kept shut with the necktie's grandfather, the cravat. His shoes got spats. He thought spats was only the way of saying spits in the past until he had white button up covers for his fancy shoes. All he was missing was a monocle, top hat and cane and he could have cosplayed as Mister Peanut.

The whole getup was so incredibly old fashioned that it belonged in a museum. Jude had wanted something to impress a lady. Not make a lady call him cute.

Ghost thought he was ravishing in the ensemble and talked him into it with stories of Musketeers and Old Fashioned Gentlemen. Ladies always expected some kind of chivalry from a real man, though it was polluted with a bit of feminism these days.

Slowly, he grew to appreciate his suit and soon the Csendes' learned that if you give a Jude a suit, he'll want a place to wear it.

Suddenly he wanted to see ballet and opera. Ghost drew the line when he tried to wear it to class at the Mansion. The more sophisticated and grand the event, the better. So when he overheard Ghost's end of a telephone call where she was asking to represent mutant rights in a peaceful way at a formal event, well. It seemed the appropriate place and time to wear a suit.

How she got roped into these things, Maya would never know. Jude held her arm as her plus 1 to a premier New York art exhibit where there would be potential for protest and turmoil by her own people. Somebody thought she would make for a good peacemaker. Somebody else had made sure it was his name on the door's list to get in instead of her preferred healer. Security was tight. They hadn't wanted to let her add another guest and his little heart was set on socializing.

That certain little somebody looked like a dapper little doll. She had even greased his hair into behaving.

After they had passed through security and made it up the elevator, Maya paused politely for the camera man to take the odd couple's photo. Jude in his old fashioned charcoal gray suit with the blue vest and the X-man in a deep blue dress crusted with crystals that clustered under the breast and dripped down in just the right places to suggest a night sky. The flowing fabric just barely missed brushing the floor. When she walked, equally sparkly silver flat sandals peeked out. The whole ensemble was a bit Grecian with an empire waist topped with loosely swathed fabric that left a deep triangular neckline and a dramatic plunging back. Having practically no curves of her own, the dress made up for them with its sparkle and movement.

Ghost and Jude hadn't even bothered to try to match. Formal wear was expensive. The best they could manage was that they both worse a bit of blue.

"May I have some wine, Ghosty?"

"Absolutely not." She led him toward the paintings to get some culture in him. A man was making some comment about flaming works of art. Maya could not help but feel a bit startled. She reached out to touch the elbow of the man in the black tuxedo to gently get his attention.

"I'm sorry, did you say that some of the works of art here are actually... o-on fire?"

Gregory was not the type to miss high brow events. Where the posh and upper class gathered, he liked to be there. Why? To stand below them at the dinner table and eat what ever they dropped, of course! No, not actually! Well, there was that one time, but that's a different story. The truth was, rich people had a lot of stuff, and Roach, much like the bug he emulated, didn't have a whole lot at all. They might toss a perfectly good apple core out, or a nice hat, and when they did, he was always there to snatch it up.

So, when he heard about an art tasting coupled with a cheese viewing, he had to say, he was excited. So excited that he'd taken it upon himself to pop in the night before and have a little look at the scrumptious little art pieces that would be laying about like sweet, sweet hor d'oeuvres; Appetizers for the main course the next day.

The only problem was when he arrived, the whole building was in lock down. It was like they actually had security! Who did that?!

So, the poor cockroach was left staring up at an impossibly huge building much like a tiny bug might stare up at a fridge... Sure, it was huge and full of snacks, but there was no way he would get in!

Unless.

By chance, a peek at the side entrance to the building showed two men, seemingly taking a cigarette break... Behind them was a large crate labeled. "Dijon Darteu- Fragile- this side up." Art! They liked him so much they left a snack out for him! It looked as thought this package was on it's way up to the exhibit- he would have to be sneaky in order to get his nom on!

Long story short, he made a big sound, lured out the two workers, and snuck around the back as his roaches distracted them. The crate was easy to pry open, and what greeted his eyes instantly made his mouth water.

It was a nice little social statement- a man sitting at a table, made entirely from old news paper. In his hand was a book on human anatomy. One might say that it was a statement about how the identity of man was lost amongst the views thrown at him by the media, so much so that he became the paper, and read only what told him who he was. Roach appreciated this very much as he chowed down on the news paper mannequin.

After he was finished with his little snack, he realized he was in a bit of a pickle. The cheese gallery costed money; it costed a lot of money. He had little. How was he going to get in and see their great assortment of cheese while nomming on their art?!

And then it struck him! He could pose as a piece of modern art! He looked just like something one of those turtle-necked, big word using modern yuppies would crank out and call art!

And so it was that the next day he found himself sitting very still, a tea cup in his hand, wearing his favorite monocle, top hat, and cane combo. He resisted a cackle when a balding man with a goatee leaned in, stroked his chin, and nodded. "This Darteu piece is amazing... It has a very Kafkaesque feel to it."

It had been a close one, but he knew that he had to find a time in which no one was looking soon, or he would crack, and kick a yuppie out the window. It wasn't that he would mind getting caught- he'd had his fun... But that would be a waste of a perfectly tastey yuppie.

(OOC: Ok, I don't want this thread to just die right at the beginning so I'm gonna go ahead and post to keep things moving. Those that were invited are free to jump in at any time they wish.)

IC:

Paul was simply enjoying the works of art before him when he felt a a gentle touch on his elbow. Turning he found himself looking in honey colored eyes that seemed to look anxiously out at him from a delicately boned face. Her skin was pale and her hair was white seemingly styled in the pixie cut that had become so popular over the past several years.

"I'm sorry, did you say that some of the works of art here are actualy... o-on fire?"

Her voice seemed to have a touch of anxiety to it but even as she looked to him for a response she seemed to be keeping a close eye on a short but dapper looking gentleman that was standing right next to her. And if Paul's eyes did not deceive him the gentleman was actually a young boy not yet in his teens.

"They are not actually flaming, my lady." Paul replied with with his most gracious smile, adopting an old world mode of speech that fit perfectly with the antiquated but dashing looking clothing that the young man was wearing, "The artist has some works in this collection that have vivid reds and oranges in them that mimic the look of fire, but fear not, no danger shall come to you or your young charge."

Perhaps it was a bit over done but anyone watching his expression could see that though he was attempting to keep the mood light and fun he was in no way teasing the pair. In fact he rather admired the young woman for bringing her son, or perhaps younger brother, out to see the art. Most children were never given a chance to appreciate the culture that the world had to offer. Broadening the horizons for a young man was a worthy goal, a worthy goal indeed.

"I'm Paul McCoy." He offered with a smile and a slight dip of his head. While not a full fledged bow of any type it did provide the hint of one that flowed perfectly with his speech, "Might I have the pleasure of knowing with whom I'm speaking?"

***

A decent sized crowd was beginning to gather around one of the strangest and perhaps most profound pieces in the exhibit. "It's a wonderful demonstration humanities scrounging and grasping nature. Trying to dress up and look like something special but yet never able to leave their base and carnal nature behind." One woman commented as she hung on the arm of a well dressed man, "Don't you think John?"

The man in question was looking over the piece with a critical eye and occasionally jotting down things in a little black notebook he kept either in his left hand or carefully stowed in the breast pocket of his jacket. "A real surprise this piece. The description said that it was a human figure made of newsprint but this is even more profound. We are but mere cockroaches in the world, scurrying from one shadow to another while trying to find a means of survival. Magnificent."

At her agitation, Jude slipped his hand into Ghost's cool, dry hand and squeezed. He did not want her to forget that he was there, ready to put out any fires that might crop up.

> "They are not actually flaming, my lady."

The tiny frenchman felt Ghost's hand relax in his. Obviously she had not done her research on this event. She had just been offered the tickets because of her bookstore and her minor place in Mutant Society. Because of him, she had accepted. He hadn't even considered that there might be danger at an art exhibit. He would stay on his toes now. Just in case.

"One never knows what to expect at an art showing, let alone one featuring Mutant work." His words were frosty despite the soft R's of his French accent. Jude was defending Ghost's innocent nature. It was hard not to. Besides, this man didn't have to fear fire like she did and Jude had stripped her of her normal escort.

It was Jude's job to defend her honor, if anyone's.

> "I'm Paul McCoy."

He did not offer his hand. Wasn't that the number one rule of dealing with potential mutant threats in Police training? For some reason that thought resonated in Ghost's mind at the man's eloquent introduction.

"Maya Csendes." She dipped in a similar, effortless way that was just the proper mix of politeness and old world charm. It never hurt to live with an immortal.

"And this is my son, Jude." She used her hand to draw the dark haired boy forward, but suddenly Jude became very interested in something just over Paul's shoulder. There was nothing there. He was making a point of not being friendly.

"Don't be rude." Her tone said that she thought he was being ridiculous. Jude took a half step to put Ghost between himself and Paul. Maya gave up. "I'm sorry. He's very… willful." Yes. willful was the easiest way to explain it without spouting out what would almost certainly sound like insanity.

Jude hated to be introduced as Maya's son. In the future he was her Controller, a powerful psychic in charge of directing the power that would save the world. Now he was entirely humbled every moment of every day by his skinny arms and legs and lack of adulthood. His voice hadn't even changed yet. How embarrassing to go from something so powerful to something so powerless.

The young man was quick to step up in defense of his mother or perhaps she was just his guardian. She did look a bit young to have a child this old but stranger things had happened. The fact that the young man had spoken was far more interesting, particularly since Paul could detect the slightest hint of what he was sure must be a french accent. A young man who spoke one of the most beautiful romance languages? That was something quite interesting.

***"Vous avez bien raison, tout peut arriver lors d'une exposition d'art. S'il vous plaît excusez-moi si j'ai offensé vous ou votre dame en aucune façon." Paul launched into the language effortlessly, expressing his agreement with the young man while also asking his pardon if he had somehow offended either of them.

"Maya Csendes. And this is my son, Jude." The young lady responded with the correct amount of decorum and while Paul still thought she looked a tad young to have a child Jude's age, he filed that away as information that wasn't really important. Whether she was the birth mother or simply a surrogate she was obviously taking care of the young man.

"It's a pleasure to meet both of you." Paul reverted back to English without the slightest trace of an accent coloring his voice. He was still fluent in French from his time on the other side of the pond but he had been in American more than long enough to lose the accent. "It's not often I meet anyone from my old home, and please don't concern yourself with willfulness on my account. It is a trait that the French are known for and respect."

Turning his gaze back toward the particular artwork that they were standing in front of, Paul once again admired the use of color as well as texture. It also impressed him how an artist could build layers with paint to give it actual physical texture. "So what brings you two to the exhibit? Are you great art lovers or perhaps you are here because of the controversial artist?"
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OOC:
******You are right, anything can happen at an exhibition of art. Please excuse me if I have offended you or your lady in any way.

"Yes, but I think some of this art is simply too gaudy." A long-necked woman drawled. She shifted her eyes to glance at the art in the gallery, between sips of her glass of champagne.

The dark-haired man she was talking to looked disgruntled. "You think... urinals are gaudy?"

"Gem-covered and golden? Yes. Since when is that art?"

Ashton sighed and ignored the drone of art conversations. The NYPD had set him and his party of one up as police presence at the gallery, to protect the valuable works of art. He wasn't entirely sold on either of those describers. Art? Valuable? Sure, sure. At least he had someone to talk to about things that didn't make him hostile.

"So." He chanced a glance Archer's way. He regretted it instantly. Ashton's eyes shifted back to the gallery's 'art'. "Art." Some art. The gallery around him was nice and all, but... he hadn't expected the person he'd invited to outrank it in terms of beauty. And he was on duty... Yeah, this sucked.

Working undercover definitely had its perks, Quin decided as she watched the people milling around at the art gallery. The dress was pretty, and it was comfortable, and she’d gotten a great deal on it at a local department store that was not known for its thrifty prices. The shoes…not so comfortable…not so cheap, but they were awesome.

Quin was drawing eyes. Lots of eyes. It did wonders for a girl’s self-esteem, especially when usually people generally saw her as one of the guys. Ashton, of course, was oblivious, but he was her partner, and his head was probably in the game. Like hers should be.

Quin stopped fussing with her dress and smiling at guys whose eyes lingered longer than casually, and started paying attention. They were undercover. This was supposed to be a professional opportunity. Not balm for the female ego.

Art. Quin let her eyes roam around, focusing on the art that was the reason for the party. She was feeling

“ Art is great.”

******"Je m'inquiéterai de protéger ma Ghost." Jude started out defensively before he realized that his defense was not in English. The man had so effortlessly slipped into it that Jude hadn't quite noticed. Instead, he had just followed suit. ^^^"Your accent est bon." He grudged the compliment.

The man did not look French to Jude. He just looked... old.

"We are here for my birthsday."

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OOC:
******I will worry about protecting my Ghost.
^^^Your accent is good.

"It was his request." Maya confirmed with a smile and a ruffle of Jude's hair which the frenchman quickly smoothed back into place.

"The tickets were a gift to my bookstore.The Full Circle bookstore. Here. I have a card." Maya fished around in her tiny purse for the stack of little white cardstock that bore the kelly green circular mark and all the pertinent info to get in contact with her. After all, that was part of the reason for her being here. "We have a reputation for non-violence and neutral ground." She ducked her head, almost sheepishly. Maya was proud of her store, but networking always made her a little self-conscious.

"What are you here for?" Jude had eased from 4 foot and hostile to genuinely interested in their chatty stranger.

"Well happy birthday to you, sir." Paul said with a smile and a tip of his head to the young man, "It's nice to see an appreciation of art growing in one so young. And thank you... it took a little while but I was able to lose my accent after time and patience."

Turning back to the white haired woman who still looked to young to Paul's eyes to be the boy's mother. "Full circle... I've heard of it but never had the pleasure of stopping by." He offered diplomatically as he took the card and studied it for a moment before slipping it into the breast pocket of his jacket. "I'll have to stop by some time if only to see you and your delightful ward."

>>"What are you here for?"

"In my life time I've come to enjoy the skills of artists and the controversy around this particular showing piqued my interest even more." Paul explained as he looked back at the set of painting before the three of them, "Jesùs Herrera died in the late nineties and as with most artists, his work has only just now began to gain recognition in the art community. However, for some reason, the art world refuses to acknowledge the fact that he was a man with the extraordinary ability of manipulating paint with his mind. They continue to claim that he was simply a brilliant human painter while trying to refute the idea that a mutant could create something so beautiful."

He was starting to sound like some sort of lecturer or one of those people standing on a soap box on the corner of a street so he tried to tone it back just a touch. After all, even though he was enjoying their company, he didn't want to say anything that would make them think of him after the crime was committed. He was just an art lover after all. "But as a mutant sympathizer, I just had to come to see the art myself. To appreciate it for what it truly is. The works of a man not only gifted artistically but gifted genetically."

***

The crowd was growing around the magnificent insectoid piece of art, growing large enough that a few of the officers had actually shifted positions ever so slightly so that they could better monitor what was happening. It would be far to easy for someone in the middle of the crowd to damage the art or try something menacing. Currently it was the biggest security threat that could be seen though none of the experienced men thought that it would be the last. With this many people in one small area, there were bound to be even more.

It truly did appear the Gregory was in quite a pickle. He had to admit, just this once, that his unfortunate situation was one of his own creation, and thus, this was all entirely his fault.

The situation being, of course, that he was surrounded by a thick crowd of rich people, very much interested in some imaginary statement that a giant cockroach with a cup of tea in his hand seemed to express to the world. Sure, the greatest art pieces were ones that meant different things to different people, but did they really need to draw comparisons between cockroaches and humans?!

It was demeaning to bugs everywhere!

Gregory pondered the consequences of biting the closest museum goer in the face...

Pros: Face was tastey.
He had tea to wash it down.

Cons: The more people gathered, the more the fuzz around him seemed to want to get closer.
For some reason, cops didn't like it when you ate faces.
Cops almost always had guns.

Curses! Why were there always more cons than pros?!

It also didn't help that he had come up with a plan while standing in his woeful prison of onlookers...

Sure, the were many tastey looking pieces of art here, but perhaps he should be focusing on the bigger picture... The cheese.

YES! The cheeeeeeeeeeeeese! If he could manage to escape fom this little art display undetected, he could steal the cheese, and sell it on the black market for a fortune! Maybe he could grab some art pieces for a snack on the way out as well.

It was the perfect crime!

Now all he needed was a distraction... The Giant cockroach sat perfectly still, his compound eyes gazing into the crowd of people for something- anything that he could capitalize on to make a daring escape!

Yeah, art Archer confirmed. Not anything else. He wasn't about to compliment her dress, just yet. People needed to give him some credit. He was on the job.

Speaking of being on the job... "Big crowd," Ashton noted. He was looking in the direction of the cockroach exhibit. More and more people were making it their business to mill around it like tourists. Even some of the other officers seemed to be curious, if cautious. "Wonder what exactly is so important about something like that."

Despite the fact that he lacked any such phobias, Roaches still bugged him. Maybe it was that they always hid in boxes of cold pizza in the slums. It was a bad mental image to connect pizza to, wriggling antennae.

It looked like whatever point the roach exhibit's artist was trying to make, he had a taste for tea. He was one of Archer's people. The kind that liked tea. "Think we should go check out his taste in beverages?" Ashton inquired.