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The penthouse apartment in Manhattan was huge and light and airy, all clean lines and white with splashes of color here and there. Even if it wasn't his, Magneto liked it. The style was simple, tasteful, and elegant, a place he could easily relax. The gentle suggestion from one of the humans working for him to use AirBNB instead of living out of a hotel room as he normally did in New York was a good one. Even if he was a wanted terrorist, he didn't have to live like one. Well, mostly. He would have to remember to plug in all of the host's cameras before he left. It would probably be rude to leave them disconnected.
Like most instances when he wasn't intending to be around homo sapiens, Magneto wore his armor. The metal fibers of the cloth were light without sacrificing function. With a thought, the supple material could become as impenetrable as any armor Tony Stark made. His helmet sat on the table, where he'd been sitting with his laptop, answering emails and planning his next moves. It wasn't 1970 anymore, and there was a surprising amount of coordination to planning the kinds of attacks that the Brotherhood of Mutants were beginning to take credit for once again. The latest had been Magneto's doing. Well, what else was he supposed to have done with all that barbed wire surrounding the mutant relocation camp? He could have kept it, but it didn't seem right, not with the site's proud sponsor, Senator Nelson of the House Committee on Mutant Affairs visiting. By the time Magneto was done, he was certain the Senator would be buried with that barbed wire. The attack had been playing all over the news channels all night, along with Magneto's recorded statement: There would be no peace. There would be no safety for those with mutant blood on their hands. Peace had been offered and rejected or betrayed too many times. Humanity was even locking up its own as "sympathizers" now. Brotherhood of Mutants would not forgive and they would not forget. There would be no offers of friendship. Everyone involved in harming mutants or those humans loyal to them were on borrowed time. Magneto hoped the government would see the light and end its persecution of mutants.
It was still playing on the TV, but Magneto muted it earlier and ignored it, intent on finishing his email. Behind him on a large patio was a garden with a hot tub and a table with a nice glass chess set, set up and waiting for the trickster, Loki, to arrive. Magneto ran his hand through his stark white hair. What was he playing at? He knew what Loki was. At the same time, he was curious, and the more dangerous side of him, the side that was always at the forefront after an attack like today's, wondered whether Loki would be able to keep up with him.
Loki said he was bringing wine, but that didn't stop Magneto from sipping at a glass of good whiskey while he waited. Over the apartment's speakers, a string quartet piece by Franz Schubert played. Magneto stopped his typing every once in a while to listen, smiling.
Like most instances when he wasn't intending to be around homo sapiens, Magneto wore his armor. The metal fibers of the cloth were light without sacrificing function. With a thought, the supple material could become as impenetrable as any armor Tony Stark made. His helmet sat on the table, where he'd been sitting with his laptop, answering emails and planning his next moves. It wasn't 1970 anymore, and there was a surprising amount of coordination to planning the kinds of attacks that the Brotherhood of Mutants were beginning to take credit for once again. The latest had been Magneto's doing. Well, what else was he supposed to have done with all that barbed wire surrounding the mutant relocation camp? He could have kept it, but it didn't seem right, not with the site's proud sponsor, Senator Nelson of the House Committee on Mutant Affairs visiting. By the time Magneto was done, he was certain the Senator would be buried with that barbed wire. The attack had been playing all over the news channels all night, along with Magneto's recorded statement: There would be no peace. There would be no safety for those with mutant blood on their hands. Peace had been offered and rejected or betrayed too many times. Humanity was even locking up its own as "sympathizers" now. Brotherhood of Mutants would not forgive and they would not forget. There would be no offers of friendship. Everyone involved in harming mutants or those humans loyal to them were on borrowed time. Magneto hoped the government would see the light and end its persecution of mutants.
It was still playing on the TV, but Magneto muted it earlier and ignored it, intent on finishing his email. Behind him on a large patio was a garden with a hot tub and a table with a nice glass chess set, set up and waiting for the trickster, Loki, to arrive. Magneto ran his hand through his stark white hair. What was he playing at? He knew what Loki was. At the same time, he was curious, and the more dangerous side of him, the side that was always at the forefront after an attack like today's, wondered whether Loki would be able to keep up with him.
Loki said he was bringing wine, but that didn't stop Magneto from sipping at a glass of good whiskey while he waited. Over the apartment's speakers, a string quartet piece by Franz Schubert played. Magneto stopped his typing every once in a while to listen, smiling.
