Fractals

Fractals Chapter Nineteen (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… How goes the navel ring? InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are wonderbunnies for archiving/hosting! :) ProPhile: See? I told you I’d write smut… Morgan: *poke* HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! Readers/Reviewers: I know you’re out there… *poke poke* Right? Thanks for reading and reviewing as you get the chance!

He considered himself a man of simple tastes. He liked his coffee black, he detested nouveau cuisine, and he felt very strongly about Danish modern furniture.1. In short, Magneto felt that he had very little time for Baroque2 plans, no matter what everyone else seemed to think. That is why he found it difficult to restrain himself from strangling Tarot even as she chirped merrily on, detailing her idea for their revelation. Mystique seemed to be fighting a similar impulse, Magneto noted, if the flexing of her fingers into claws and lips moving on voiceless curses meant anything. “Tarot,” he cut in smoothly, setting his glass of port to one side and folding his fingers into a neat steeple. “You do not make the plans. I do. You have been too proactive of late and while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I request and require you cease and concentrate your efforts on school and the upkeep of the boardinghouse. The time for your…ingenuity… will come soon enough.”
Tarot’s face became carefully blank except for the flicker of a moue of annoyance and hurt. “I think,” she said slowly, “that you are mistaken.” She turned her tea cup around so that the handle faced left and she trailed an elegant finger around the rim. “In fact, I know you are.”
Magneto’s expression was a study in bemusement with a shadow of thunderous anger. “Tarot, what have you done?”
She jerked her chin defiantly, glancing at Pietro, who stared steadily at his plate with it’s pool of congealing coulis and the remnants of desert staring accusingly back. “I have done nothing more than what you would have done in my place!”
Magneto stood, his chair scraping against the marble floor in a screeching protest. “You do not dare speak for me, or assume you know my mind,” he said calmly but with more than a hint of malice underscoring his words. “Now tell me what you did so that I may undo the damage!”
Tarot considered refusing, then thought better of it. “I contacted the Daily Planet and the Bugle and arranged for the to meet with us,” she indicated Pietro and the sulking Piotr with a nod, “on Friday at three ”
”
“For what purpose?” Magneto ground out. “No, wait. I cannot stand to hear another word from you. You are dismissed.” He dropped his napkin by his plate and turned sharply on one heel, striding from the room without a backwards glance.
Mystique was the first to speak up. “It’s a shame you’re not psychic, Tarot. It would save me the trouble of saying this aloud. You are a fucking idiot.” She too stood and twitched her thin shift to cover an inch of exposed thi “If “If you have done irrevocable harm, I hope you understand that I will have to kill you.” She sailed from the room on a waft of sandalwood and red wine, the door to the dining room slamming behind her. Mystique knew exactly where he had gone and did not slow down until she had reached the study. She was furious, she decided. Furious was the only word that did the emotion justice. She barely restrained herself from slamming the door behind her and stood there, seething, her breasts heaving with barely repressed anger. “That girl has damned us,” she ground out, her fingers curling into claws again. “She has made us a laughingstock and victims!”
“We are not either of those unless we lower ourselves to that level,” Magneto replied in a strident, authoritative tone. He was standing at the massive picture window overlooking the expanse of lawn spilling away towards the forest behind his home. He rarely entertained these days. If he were to be honest, he had not truly entertained since Charles had his accident so long ago. Brotherhood meetings did not count. They were nothing like the grand parties he used to have, nothing like the gatherings which would go on into the night. Nothing, he noted inwardly, like what Pietro or Tarot or even Piotr would consider a party now. “I think,” he said, turning to face his nd ind in command, “we can turn this around.”
“I’ll make the calls immediately. If I cannot reach the editors this evening, I’ll make sure to call them first thing in the morning.” She was already reaching for the phone and surprised when Magneto’s hand shot out and stopped her, his fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist.
“Not quite.” His smile was distinctly edged as he released her wrist and moved to the desk drawers, rifling through a small stack of papers until he reached his schedule at the bottom. “Friday is still a good day for me… Find out who Tarot contacted exactly and inform them plans have changed. We’re having an open reception here. Do not refer to us as the Brotherhood of Mutants yet, though. Simply tell them I am having a reception—use my real name, not Magneto—and that it will be in honor of truth in news reporting. If they ask, let them know that there will be an announcement on the mutant situation during the course of the evening and they might want to bring their photographers along. It’ack ack tie,” he added as an afterthought. “And when you’re done with that, call the caterers.”
Mystique had mental whiplash at her career move from second in command to executive secretary. “Caterers?”
“I’m expecting about… one hundred and twenty. Order for two hundred. I trust your choices.” He waved a negligent hand as he reached for the doorknob to the study with the other. “Mystique,” he said in a different tone, one more concerned than imperious. “I have not been able to find Incubus for quite some time now…”
She nodded. “No one has. The treatment should be ready within the week, hor. r. Madame LaPierre from the guild has been able to use the blood from the new infant to her satisfaction.”
Magneto’s head snapped up, his expression murderous. “The infant…”
“Lives,” Mystique supplied. “She merely extracted some blood from her little arm.” She held out a hand palm-up, placating. “Kitty’s blood would have been perfect. This will only be a temporary measure.”
“I am aware of that.” Magneto’s eyes closed for a moment and he sighed. “When this is said and done, I need Kitty here. Things in…” he hesitated to say ‘our’…”the universe seems to have conspired to give us a common enemy.”
Mystique raised a brow. “I see….”
“It’s not yet five. Call the caterer and then arrange for Sabretooth to drive the children back to Bayville. They tax my patience.” He shut the door behind him, firmly ignoring Mystique’s bemused expression.


1 Furniture with very clean, sparse lines
2 Ornate and complicated