Mr. Pinstripe Suit: The Last Song

[x-scarletwitch.livejournal.com]

While the last night of the competition starts, there's a confrontation with Mr. Wilson who's certainly more than he seemed.



The music pounded throughout the club but it didn't bring Wanda any joy this time.  She stood in the shadows near the door, arms crossed over her chest, and stared at the crowd.  It was like watching a bunch of junkies, she realized with irritation and concern.  They were clamoring for the dance to start in earnest and didn't seem to happy with just the regular music playing.  It really didn't make much sense unless you realized there was something darker going on – the anticipation had an edge to it, a need.  And one that would, eventually, kill someone.

Kurt's face was set, standing beside her and watching the people in turn.  "This must stop", he said grimly.  "Tonight.  It is an obscenity."

"We have a very short window of time," she remarked and then gave a brief wave.  "Luckily, Doug and Marie-Ange are, as usual, on time." Wanda had picked this spot for a reason – it was out of the way but also as close to the stairs leading to the VIP lounge as possible. They waited for the younger couple to make their way through the surging crowd and, once again, she cursed the fact that they had to come in 'costume' to this – if she'd shown up in street clothes, it would have raised some eyebrows.

Doug glanced at a pocket watch before putting it back in the pocket of his impeccably tailored pinstriped zoot suit.  He sized Wanda's outfit, or at least what there was of it, up.  "Nice...dress, Wanda," he said with a grin.

"I hate you," she replied, making a face at him.  "All I can say is just be thankful I know how to kick someone in the face in heels and that I wore underwear tonight just in case I do kick him in the face."

"That."  Marie-Ange said, tucking a lock of hair back into her hairband.  "Is much more information then I ever needed."  Compared to Wanda, she was practically in a snowsuit. Despite the swing skirt that was cut above the knee.  With her and Doug signing up for the lindy hop competition and Kurt and Wanda on the salsa competition, they believed they would have a chance to confront the owner, regardless of which of the two dances he preferred.

Wanda winked and then gestured up the stairs.  "The man doesn't have any personal body guards, apparently he does not believe he needs them.  And considering the crowd, perhaps what he believes is true. Up we go."

Kurt just nodded and started towards the stairs, tail lashing unhappily behind him.

"Zoot suit riot," Doug hummed to himself as they headed up the stairs, tapping his foot to the music coming from above them despite himself. The rhythm was infectious even without the assistance of the owner.

"Marie-Ange," Wanda sighed, "your boyfriend thinks he's funny."  They all paused outside of the door to the office of Mr. Wilson and she laid her hand on the door knob.  It was locked for all of five seconds after that, the locking mechanism somehow failing to catch.  She swung the door in hard, a hand out to keep it from bouncing back at her.

The office was lush and more...bedroom than official space.  A small but elegant bed sat in a corner with two girls draped over it, looking quite drugged.  The man himself stood at the one-way mirror that lined the wall overlooking the crowd and he turned when they entered.

"My dear Miss Maximoff, if I had known you wanted a ... private audience, I would have ensured your top treatment," he said, barely flickering his gaze towards the others.

This is not a private audience", Kurt said bluntly, moving into position with a disgusted glance at the girls.  The disgust wasn't directed at them.  "We know what you have been doing."

"And what, exactly, do you think I have been doing?" he asked them, shooing the girls out with a wave of his hand.  "I have been generating a great deal of money at the same time these...lovely people enjoy themselves."  Mr. Wilson stretched out his arms, gold glinting in the light.  "When has that ever been a crime?"

Marie-Ange feigned a yawn.  "Why do people like him always try to say that what they are doing is not a -crime-?" She asked in a bored tone of voice. She crossed her arms and glanced over at Doug, as if to say "Cover the exit, please."   "Do you really think we care if you are breaking any laws or not?"  The man was annoying her already. Between the fatigue and his oily confidence, she felt almost dirty.

Mr. Wilson shrugged, giving her an interested look.  He apparently approved of redheads.  "Because it simply isn't and it isn't as if any of you would have any idea of what I was..."  He paused, suddenly, aware he was in the process of slipping up.  Overconfidence had it's place but it was about to get him into trouble.

"Any idea of what you were doing?" Doug jumped on the slipup.  "Yes, because nobody could possibly be as intelligent as you and your brilliant plan?"  He snorted derisively.  "Good lord, this month has been -full- of villain cliches."  He shifted to cover the exit, his arms folding across his chest in a mirror image of his girlfriend.

The older man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while the unsuspecting people bellowed them danced on.  "I suppose bribing you is out of the question and my security is busy downstairs, so you leave me no recourse."  Mr. Wilson tilted his head at them and gave them a curious glance.  "Are you positive you do not wish to rejoin your fellows below?"

Wanda rolled her eyes and took a step forward before pausing, staring at her arms.  They were covered in goose bumps but it was more of a pleasure response than one of cold.  And the thrumming from the music felt so good...

Kurt looked at her sideways, sharply.  "Wanda!  Remember what we know."  He turned back to Wilson, yellow eyes cold.  "No, we have no intention of walking back to join your victims.

The manipulation was subtle, a feeling of euphoria that set toes to tapping, but now that they knew what Mr. Wilson was trying to do, it was easier to distinguish the wrongness of the feeling.  It felt a bit
like Manuel de la Rocha's power, only much narrower, serving only one purpose.  Doug calmed his breathing and wrestled down the frisson of dance-inducing bliss that came over him as Mr. Wilson directed his gaze toward him.  "Not gonna happen."

Marie-Ange had shut her eyes, almost drinking in the wave of exhilaration and seeming to embrace and absorb it. It felt good, but other then the compulsion to move, it did little to change her annoyance at being used for whatever purposes that the club owner had intended.  She shivered, rippling her skirt against her legs and ran her hands over her arms.

Her eyes snapped open, focusing on the tattoo banded around her arm and then she let out a long sigh and sauntered to Doug's side.  "Are you sure you do not want to dance? I cannot stop moving...  " Marie-Ange draped her arms around his neck, and pressed up against him.   "Not psionic. I am certain.."  She whispered, mouth nearly pressed against the skin of Doug's neck.

Well, that explained the differences between the feeling and Manuel's broader empathy.  It was obviously affecting Marie-Ange, Doug could tell by the way she was moving and taking advantage of the closeness to nibble at his neck and grope his rear end.  It was a bit of a surprise, given how reserved Angie normally was about public displays of affection.  And that in turn was making it difficult to concentrate on fighting the urge to give in to Wilson's manipulations.  Still, he managed to extricate himself from Angie's embrace and keep his eyes on Wilson.

Kurt was the least affected, it seemed - or at least, his anger at the man's twisting what should be something to be enjoyed was helping him fight it off.  He stalked closer, and if his movements were a little more graceful even than usual, that was the only visible effect.

"You wish to make us dance, Mr. Wilson?  Then come, let us dance."

And he threw a punch, directly at the man's face.

Letting out a girly scream, Mr. Wilson's head rocked back and he grabbed for his nose.  "You bastard!  If there's blood..."  He backpedaled, obviously unwilling to get into a physical fight but more than willing to fight dirty.  Upping the power, he licked his lips suddenly, moaning.  This time, it was a happy sound.  "All the energy downstairs, even you fighting -- it's not as good as the kind from the dance but I'll take what I can get."

Wanda was swaying on her feet, feeling sick to her stomach but unable to shake off the effects of whatever he was doing to them.  Them and the innocent people down below them on the crowded dance floor. "Feeding," she murmured, sluggishly turning her powers on.  When her head didn't clear, she keyed into the fact that Doug and Marie-Ange had already figured out -- whatever he was doing, it wasn't a psionic trick.  "He's feeding off them."

Fine.  If that's the way he wanted it, that's what she would give him.  "~Doug!  I need you to be my eyes!~" she yelled out in French. "~Marie-Ange, Kurt, can you keep him busy?~"


"Oh, I think we can do that."  Marie-Ange said with a uncharacteristically gleeful grin.  A glance at her bare arm provided her with a staff, and a sword which she tossed casually to Kurt.  All the energy that had been directed into wanting to go to the dance floor seemed to be redirected in her into what could have been called anger - if she hadn't also seemed to be so perky about it.  "I wonder...  " She said, swinging the staff at the man's ankles, and shaking her head when he dodged.  "If this is how Sarah feels much of the time. I could see why people might think fighting could be fun..."

Despite his bravado, it was clear from the start that Mr. Wilson was a stranger to physical action.  He did he best to simply keep himself ahead of any attacks, deciding to rely more on power than action.
Every second that passed by, he sucked the energy out from the dance floor but the victims didn't even blink, too consumed by the desire to keep moving.  To keep building up energy in an attempt to make those in his office stop

"You cannot make us go away", Kurt told him, handling the sword with ease as he worked in conjunction with Marie-Ange.  "One way or another, what you have been doing stops tonight."

Wanda took a cleansing, deep breath and closed her eyes, her arms moving as though she held a partner within them.  Her powers threw flickering red lights along the surface and she was going to use that to her advantage but she was going to need help.  "~Doug,~" she called out, starting to get lost in the desire to dance again, "~guide me.~"

The desire was clear in Wanda's body language, and Doug came up with an idea to use it to his advantage.  "~Left three steps, then spin,~" he called to her, rather like a square dancing caller.   Treating the movements to get her to him like a dance would make things easier for her, most likely.

Three steps left, a spin and she managed to dodge the desk thanks to her powers.  The screaming desire, almost painful, to dance eased in leaps and bounds.  It was still there but as long as Wanda kept moving, it was no longer as crippling.  Another set of instructions in French came and she followed them without hesitation.

With no idea how long that actually went on for, she danced until the strings tightened in response -- there was a chance right there. Spinning when Doug told her to, Wanda kicked out as well and Mr. Wilson yelped as her foot hit home.

The man went down in a heap, hands covering his head and he tried to shrink himself as small as possible.  "What is wrong with you people?!" he screamed, lashing out with his powers, pushing and
pulling back in like a maddened weaver.  "Doing nothing wrong, nothing!  They want to dance all night, what's wrong with that?  And if I profit off it?  Well, who doesn't!  So delicious...so..."

Mr. Wilson's voice dropped into a whimper of pain.  A faint line of energy hummed around him, seen for the first time by the other four, and it looked angry.  The pressure on them all grew immense before
popping like a bubble and then he started to scream.

Kurt's eyes widened and he stared at the man - with just one glance snuck at Wanda, because he remembered her energy from the body-swapping episode.  "What is happening to him?"

"I have no..."  A button popped off from the front of his suit and sailed over Doug's head and Wanda took a quick step back.  "I think we need to back up.  Now."

"I'm full," he whined, rocking back and forth.  "So full...but it won't stop eating."  Watching him, it was suddenly, and horrifyingly, clear what was going on.  His body was bloating up right before their eyes, his skin stretching out to twice and then three times what it would normally be.

Kurt couldn't look at what was going on, after the first second, turning away to stare at the wall instead

"That?" Doug noted with a shudder, "is disgusting."  He stepped back a few hesitant steps as he watched the club owner expanding like some grotesque parody of a balloon.

Marie-Ange's mouth twitched in a surpressed smile.  "It could be worse. We could have a pretentious waiter asking him if wants a mint? I am told they are wafer thin..."  She could almost hear Amanda saying something just like that in her head. And she was just a bit surprised Doug hadn't.  "Perhaps we should do something before he requires a bucket?"
 
"I think I am going to be ill," Wanda murmured, a hand at her mouth. She wondered what the ultimate limit for his body could be and decided it was best not to find out.  "Kurt!  The music!  Teleport and kill
the music!"  If they cut off his energy supply, they might stop him from exploding.

The next second, eyes wide and horrified, Kurt had vanished downstairs to the club.  It didn't take him long to find the cut-off switch for the DJ's setup.

There was a rumble of discontent from the dance floor as the music died and the dancing came to a screeching halt.  As the noise faded away, a few people here and there dropped to the ground, exhausted, as if strings had been cut.

Wanda stared, open mouthed, at the grotesque sight before them.  The clothing the owner wore was now in tatters and he was...she couldn't even begin to guess his weight.  "So...who wants to touch him?" she asked, unsurprised when no one raised their hands.  "Doug?  Would you mind calling 911?  We will let them deal with Mr. Wilson while we go somewhere far, far away.  Because in the immortal words of some teenager?  Ew."  She was exhausted, drained and irritated -- it was best to go home before she did something to make him explode.

"Not with a ten foot pole," Doug replied to Wanda's question about touching.  He fished out his cell phone and punched the three digits, spinning a tale of half-truths for the incredulous dispatcher on the other end.  "We should probably make ourselves scarce so we're not answering questions all night," he told the others.

Marie-Ange was already slipping her shoes off in order to go down the stairs faster, and had dismissed her staff and Kurt's sword with only a bare glance at the pair of weapons.  "I would like to second that! Anyone not in favor should go poke the marshmallow man!"  She shook her head, frowning.  "Could we go before I manage to say anything else inappropiate? His power seems to have caused me to lose any sense of decorum.”

Wanda grinned, making hast with the rest of them. “Let me just say it's always a pleasure working with you two,” she laughed under her breath, hitting the bottom of the stairs and waving Kurt over. It was far past time to kick off their dancing shoes.