Fractals

Fractals Chapter Sixty One (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… bye green car… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. ProPhile: *gloke* Morgan: Soon, soon… Readers/Reviewers: *glomp * *twice *

“Not *now*!” Mystique shrugged off Sabretooth’s heavy arm and returned her attention to the blinking lights that made no sense to anyone but her.
“Why?” he asked after a lengthy pause. “ ‘squiet…” He reached for her again only to be swatted away. “Lucky you’re you,” he snapped.
“Why? Otherwise you’d kill me?” she muttered. “Try it, fuzz ball, and see what happens.” She ignored his growl and smiled in satisfaction when the last blinking red light turned green. “There. Now, what do you want?” she turned and flinched minutely as Sabretooth towered over her. “Viktor, not NOW. Later. After this brouhaha is over with.”
He snorted and leaned against the wall, obviously sulking. “This is stupid,” he finally said. “Magneto’s fucking nuts.”
She raised a brow. That was the most she had heard him speak in weeks. “Oh? Why? Because he’s effectively shanghai’d the entire institute, because he’s going to expose mutants to the world, because he’s made some sort of deal with that red haired kid or is it because he’s sold his soul to the Friends of Humanity to make sure we look clean in all this?”
Sabretooth stared at her for a long moment. “Yeah.”
Mystique snorted. “I’ll accept that.” Glancing past him at the digital clock on the wall, she sighed and shifted fluidly into a less obvious guise, that of a mousey, dark haired woman, dressed in a plain blue shirtwaist dress, the typical uniform of a housekeeper in the particular class of society Magneto belonged to. “You know what needs to be done. Don’t rush it.”
He raised a shaggy blond brow. “Never do.”
Mystique rolled her eyes as he lumbered to his post, the quiet closet off the main hall where once cleaning supplies were kept. He was almost too big for the space but it was not her problem, she decided, smoothing her hands over the appearance of the blue dress. Despite having had the mutant gene her entire life, she was still marginally creeped out herself whenever she thought of things like the dress being her own skin, shifted and changed to appear as fabric. Shaking the thought off, she straightened her back and checked the monitor one last time. All of the kennel doors had been locked, all of the captives were in place. Incubus should be getting ready now, she thought, striding from the room. The party was just barely starting, the voices belowstairs a very faint hum. Soon, it would be a dull roar once the remainder of the one hundred media representatives, their dates, photographers, and assorted mutants arrived. She had not been a fan of Magneto’s idea to seed the gathering with his friends, fellow Brotherhood members and sub-leaders, those who supported this action and idea. She knew that there were at least two representatives from the League of Assassins present and one from the Thieves Guild, though she was not sure if Magneto knew of the latter. The things one hears as a servant, she thought smugly, were worth her weight in gold. She paused at the top of the servant’s stairs and gritted her teeth. She hated being subservient, even if it was just for show.

“Here, you, take this.” The caterer shoved a tray at Mystique and shooed her. “Get them in there before they’re cold.”
Mystique smiled tightly and walked at a fast clip from the kitchens, overrun with white jacketed caterers and their below-minimum-wage minions, into the old ballroom, polished to a high sheen from top to bottom for this occasion. She could still smell the lemon oil and traces of dust in the air. It mingled with the food and wine and perfume and human sweat to make an odor she had come to call Society privately. She knew Magneto would not appreciate the humor behind it and did not care to share it with him. Finding the man in question, she sidled up and simpered “Canape?”
“What are you doing in that uniform? Go change into a gown and get in here,” he muttered darkly, popping a mushroom hors d’ouvre into his mouth.
“Not yet,” she replied, still smiling sweetly. “Ten minutes.”
“Things have changed. You know that I am nothing if not flexible,” he intoned piously, smiling over the gathering crowd in his ballroom, scuffing his floors and eating his food. “The timetable has moved up by an hour.”
“An hour!” she choked, nearly dropping the tray. “Here.” She shoved the canapés at him and turned on her heel, much to the horror of one doyenne of high society and the amusement of several reports from local media. She could feel his eyes burning into the back of her neck and she knew she would pay for it later. She did not, she thought, give a fuck.

Magneto set the tray down gingerly on one of the sideboards and smiled tightly. “Servants these days do not have the pride in their job as they did in my youth. It’s disappointing,” he said to no one in particular. Casually, he picked up a glass of red wine and twirled it slowly between his fingers by the stem. Almost all there, he noticed, looking over the crowd.
A low female voice, rich as velvet and twice as sensual sounded near his ear. “Better?” Mystique stood, hands on her hips, one leg out, the slit in her dress stopping just below her hip. Magneto could not help it. He stared. Everyone stared. She looked like the personification of sex, all creamy skin and fiery eyes, barely restrained by the fabric of her gown.
“Don’t make a spectacle,” was all he said, though, offering his elbow. He ignored her muttered curse on his heritage and possible hobbies involving kitchen appliances and began a slow circuit of the room.
He appeared to be greeting his guests, introducing them to his companion Raven, but Mystique knew better. He was taking roll. She could see him checking names off on a mental list and sorting them into columns—Media, Brotherhood, Other. The Other column worried her. She did not trust assassins and did not understand why he wanted to forge a union with them. She feared the Friends of Humanity, no matter how Magneto attested to their impotence when it came to matters that really counted. It took twenty minutes to move around the room, the circuit returning them to the doorway where they had begun. Magneto patted her hand where it rest on his arm and he smiled indulgently. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, old friends and new…” His voice resonated easily in the large hall. All eyes turned towards him, most expectantly, some uneasily. “It’s time.”