Genosha: In the Balance - Ace of Clubs

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Remy, Marie-Ange, Haller, and Scott have a friendly card game while in prison. They discuss their incarceration and strategy.

Warning: Mention of death of a child.


The term 'common room' usually brought about images of camaraderie and togetherness. Here it was anything but. The room was large enough to hold more than a few people but it wasn't there for comfort. Metal cafeteria-style benches and tables were bolted to the ground. The paint was starting to flake off in places, revealing rust underneath. The harsh florescent lights overhead were recessed in a cage, much like the people who resided there. The air was hot and sticky. The smell of sweat and, metal permeated the room. Guards were stationed on each wall, like a shadow in their corner of one's eye.

Marie-Ange's hair lay lank against her neck and hung limply around her face. She sat on one of the benches, looking away from the guards, away from her fellow prisoners, and her hands played over a deck of cards, cutting them, flipping the cards over, and cutting them again without looking. Her fingers only grasped the cards lightly, but the motion was perfect, even though her attention was elsewhere. "They do not segregate prisoners by gender." She finally set the cards down, and pushed the deck towards Remy. "Odd."

Scott leaned forward in his chair looking perfectly natural as he watched the deck of cards as if watching for cheating. "It is," he agreed with Marie-Ange his voice a low murmur, "Have you noticed the guards behavior as well?They don't seem interested in keeping a close eye on us, just making sure we know that they're in charge." he noted.

Remy cut the deck, and quickly dealt out the cards. Hearts. It seemed oddly appropriate. "Dat's because dis isn't a prison in de traditional sense. Dis is a brig." His eyes moved constantly, although he was almost unnaturally economical in his movements. "Wittcombe is a professional, and he doesn't like having us. Dis got dumped on him and he's not happy. And de reason is-" He laid down the two of clubs. "-dat Moreau wants blood, so Remy bet dat his orders are to push us into doing something stupid, and a whole squad of Magistrates wit' shoot to kill orders are on standby for when we do. It offends Wittcombe, because dat's not what his job is supposed to be."

That's was the core of X-Force's job; assess people and find their cracks. However, it's not like they had a lot of resources to take advantage of them at the moment.

"We'd be dead if blood was all he wanted." Jim's voice was steady but distant, as if the telepath was reading from cue cards. He was responsive, more or less, but there was a degree of detachment that meant he'd only sat down because of Scott's gentle insistence. Nonetheless, whatever slice of consciousness was in the driver's seat went on. "They said we're here for interrogation. I wonder how many of their excuses they really believe. Maybe they'll be disappointed by the Brotherhood cell that we aren't."

"If the guards really want information from us then maybe we can use that," Scott mused. "I'm more worried about what they'll do once they've asked all their questions; whether they like the answers we give or not I don't see it ending well for us." He glanced down at the cards without really seeing them, "Jean and the others managed to escape the trap but we can't count on them to get us out of here when we need them to."

"I am more worried about what we will do when questioned." Marie-Ange said. "There are too many of us. Even if the guards "like" our answers, that implies some of us have given up information they want, and I am not sure we can all mislead them. How many of us are ..." She did not look at Haller, but the lack of eye contact was almost as telling. "Fragile, right now? They will use that."

"Dere's something dat doesn't fit right here. If dey think we're a Brotherhood cell, what questions do dey need answered? John's Brotherhood past isn't common knowledge. Finding Betts and linking her to de school implies dey have a lot more intelligence den day letting on. De only scenario dat makes sense is dat dey have someone wit' intimate knowledge of de mansion and team already providing information. If dat's de case, de questioning is a show, to legitimize things for de troops." Remy pulled out a card, scowled at it, and then played a different one. "Remy think dat dere's more den one agenda in play here."

Scott was silent as he digested Remy's analysis, "There are only a handful of people they could have got to without us hearing about it. But if they're putting on a show for the troops then they have to play by the rules, or at least pay them lip service." He nodded at Marie-Ange as he played a card on the table, "You're right, not every is going to be able to mislead them, so we have to build that into any plan we make. Burying the lies in among the truth would make it harder to separate them."

Jim lay down his own card. It was of higher value than Scott's, but only by accident. "If they know us, they know us. Maybe our weaknesses. And even if not, some" here he gave Marie-Ange an unperturbed nod of his own, "are more obvious than others. It would give them a starting point. Give them an idea of what might work, maybe."

He raised his eyes from his cards to Remy. Without his powers they were both their natural blue, and for the first time in the conversation they focused on a point closer than the distant horizon. "People in general are unpredictable," Jim noted. "So are individuals. But, if you know what kind of person they are, in predictable ways."

"De question is, which people are we dealing wit'. Is de President his brother's puppet or de other way round? Is de Genegineer de real power here? Or de Commission?" He confirmed. "If we can identify who's got de most invested in dese questioning, dee questions demselves should help us figure out dere agenda."

"So, we do not know anything, including who is really in charge, we do not know what they truly want, and we do not know how any of us are going to last more than a few weeks." Days at worst, for some of them. Marie-Ange flipped a card, and gave it a sad little shove towards the pile. "I do not suppose anyone has a sharpened spoon. We could get posters of Marilyn Monroe and dig out way out after twenty years."

Scott tried to smile at Marie-Ange's observation but couldn't muster more than a weak sad smile. "A lot of things we don't know," he agreed, "but Remy is right. If we know who's calling the shots then we can plan accordingly. We can't do much else at the moment but make plans and look out for one another. I think we're gonna need all the mutual support we can get over the next few days."

"Finding out who's calling the shots isn't as hard as it might be. A lot of the government operates from the upper levels, doesn't it? Assuming we can make it up there. We're a long way down." Jim flicked a card in Marie-Ange's direction. "It was Rita Hayworth."

"Regardless, I think a twenty year plan is not feasible. " Marie-Ange's eyes glanced off the guards, and the caged lights and the bolted down benches. "I would quite frankly like to go home, orange is not my colour, and there are too many guards and locks and bars between me and my wardrobe. Even if all of us moved at once, I think we have already determined that will be ineffective."

"We not going to win head to head. By my count, we need a way to get everyone out at de same time. Otherwise, whoever's left is going to be de focus for Moreau's revenge." He didn't have to mention what they'd already witnessed because of it. "We need a way to get our powers back. We need to neutralize dere leadership long enough to strike back at dem. And we need to know who's really in charge and what dere end-game game is." Remy punctuated each point by laying down a high heart, shooting the moon on the hand. "And we need to do it fast, while we're still capable of fighting."

Jim nodded. "Agreed. But I'm not sure how much of that we can accomplish from down here." The telepath glanced meaningfully at the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. "And even if we get out, we won't be inconspicuous."

"Doing something, anything, is better than just sitting here waiting," Scott pointed out, "but Haller is right, we need to make sure we get new clothes as part of any escape plan. It looks like we have a list of objectives," he nodded at the cards Remy had laid on the table, "so now we just need more information before we can figure out a plan of action."

Marie-Ange gave Remy a look. "Can you go five minutes without cheating at cards?" She said, half-heartedly. as a guard passed by close enough to overhear them. After the guard had moved on, she gestured with a jerk of her head towards some of the others. "I think we need to make sure no one goes off on their own, or goes for suicidal revenge." It was all too clear which people she was talking about, they'd already had a few incidents of Heroic Stupidity, or just sheer stubborn idiocy. "I am almost more worried about that than someone giving us up. They are very much not against simply pulling people out to turn into slaves."

"Haller's definitely not suicidal. We've got some things I need to be alive for to get done." Despite the drifting personal nouns, the telepath's focus was sharpening. This was business. Business was easier. He lay down a card, which was low but at least consciously placed. "I gathered Sarah has a temper. I heard a guard say she hospitalized a few people even after they had her down."

"Dat she does." Remy said, almost distractedly as he dumped off-suit on Haller's play. "Somet'ing happens, she going to be in de middle of it, dat's for sure."

"If not Sarah then Doug," Scott noted, "he's been very belligerent when it comes to the guards although I don't see him really attacking them though." He dropped a card on the pile absent mindly as he spoke.

Marie-Ange shook her head though her expression said she agreed with Scott. "Doug is trying to get himself killed." She said, all business. It was not idle speculation. "But he will not risk harming anyone else. He just does not care about his own safety." She gave another apologetic glance to David and set down a card, taking the trick. "I am more concerned one of us will just crack and try to sell the others out."

"They killed Moira's daughter." Now the emotion did come, and it was cold, and hard, and absolutely focused. It was Jack's.

"When I crack," Haller said with icy conviction, "it's not going to be in the way they want." He followed Marie-Ange's new lead with a like suit of his own, and watched as Remy did the same. They'd worked together only once, years ago in China. He knew little about the man other than that he was good at killing, and that Lorna had loved him and Ororo did still. And he knew cards. Haller assumed he would win.

Somewhere the Queen of Spades was still lurking. Worth more points than any other card in the deck, it was the one card you didn't want to end up with. Unless, of course, you knew how to play the odds.

Then you could shoot the moon.