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Lunchtime was, in Piotr's mind, an excellent time to get out of the mansion. Especially if it meant coming to Harry's. Granted, his visits to Harry's over the last week or two had not exactly been relaxing, but… he owed himself a break from the files and his overbearing sense of guilt, even if it was just for the length of a lunch.
Just ignore the fact that several of the manilla file folders are hidden away inside the sketchbook tucked under the Russian's arm. Surely that wasn't deliberate.
"<This is one of the only places in the city I don't mind speaking Russian,>" Piotr asides to Illyana as they come inside, a broad smile on his face. "<I have been coming long enough that I no longer worry them. …well, not the staff,>" he allows, waving towards one of the waitresses before he heads for a booth.
*
"<I don't mind speaking Russian anywhere,>" Illyana says, rolling her eyes at her brother. She's making a glorious mess of a guacamole bacon burger, her face pink with the peppers and ground jalapenos in the ground beef.
But it's soooo goood. She still talks around her food, though, and is eating fries like she suspects they potato is going extinct. "<I think this is better than pizza.>" She swallows, glorphs, glomphs, and sniffles into a napkin.
"<Why is it I cannot have a beer here? I have vodka at home and no one minds, but it is difficult to get beer in a bar in this city.>"
*
Logan comes in from outside, cigar clenched in his teeth. To say his mood is less than ideal is probably an understatement. He's spent most of the last two days scouring the city, trying to find trace scent of Jean, with no luck.
He bellies up to the bar, "Jack, straight, and a beer," he says, leaning into it and turning his head a little when he hears the Russian. Been a while since he heard that particular dialect.
*
"<You do not mind speaking anything anywhere, Snowflake,>" Piotr notes with a laugh, absentmindedly sliding a small stack of napkins across the booth towards his sister. "<It is… hm. How to explain,>" he murmurs, his brow furrowing as he tries to figure out how to explain the concept of 'legal drinking age' and I.D. laws to the Queen of Limbo.
He is immediately distracted when he spies a familiar face at the bar. Piotr lifts a hand to wave towards Logan, though his smile is a touch tight.
*
"<It's very liberating. You should try it,>" Illyana tells Piotr.
Lacking any sense of decorum, she twists around in her seat, craning her neck and forgetting about a smudge of crushed avocado at the corner of her mouth.
She realizes it's Logan at the bar and her cornflower eyes fly wide open and she chokes— literally, a bit of bacon in her mouth. The gasp turns into a hacking cough but at least she hacks it up into her napkin when Logan acknowledges the wave, and she turns her back on the man, face a brilliant shade of tomato and trying to suppress the cough.
*
Logan throws back his shot and snags his beer, turning and approaching the Russian siblings with clouds on his own expression, <It is fine to speak freely, but it is always wise, as well, to be aware of who might be listening> he says in Russian, pulling up a chair.
"Jean Grey was taken," he says softly. "I been tryin' to track 'er down, but I ain't had no luck yet. Figure it's time I give up my pride and come back here t'ask fer help."
*
Piotr immediately leans across the table when Illyana starts coughing around her food, a hand going to her shoulder until he's sure she is no longer in the actual act of choking. That would be perfect: survive Limbo only to choke on a piece of food on a quiet afternoon.
As he settles back into his seat, Piotr offers Logan a small, worried frown. "I heard. Do you know where she was taken from?" he asks, already reaching for his sketchbook. "If it was a protest…" He pauses. "…who am I kidding. It was them," he mutters, flipping the sketchbook open and flipping back until he reaches the manilla folders.
*
Illyana gets her food situation squard away, but she refrains from looking at Logan until he mentions the fact that Jean is missing. She takes the news with a somewhat alarming lack of concern.
"Who have you asked about her?" she inquires of Logan, brows furrowing. "She is bright red hair and full of opinions. Should be very easy to track her down."
*
Logan nods, "Yeah, a protest," he says, "Buncha freakos hanging out around the park. They distracted me usin' some sort o' mind voodoo, makin' me think the place was under attack. By the time I figured it out, they'd already snagged her. I got a good god damn idea who's responsible - the same people that experimented on me," he says. "They had a girl there, who had…familiar qualities. She smelled like the tank they kept me in," he says.
He shakes his head at Illyana, "I mostly tried to find her scent. They're probably not showin' her face anywheres. I imagine she's being kept in a cage somewhere nice an' private. A laboratory."
*
The second Logan mentions experimentation, Piotr's eyes snap to him, his posture straightening. "The same — who?" he asks, with urgency in his voice. He practically fumbles over himself to extend the small stack of folders towards Logan. "<We recovered these from a hospital in New Orleans,>" he says, words coming quick and quiet as he lapses into Russian. "<They had been holding mutants there. Experimenting. Katya and I have been trying to track them, but there is so much to these files that we don't understand.>"
*
"<There are ways to find her,>" Illyana points out to her brother and Logan, lasping into Russian as well. "<Hunters, trackers. I could make some inquiries,>" she offers, fingers interlacing on the tabletop. "<Allies who are willing to aid… but for a price. I can petition my patrons as well— in situations like this, they tend to underbid the cost of services, so it won't be expensive for you to locate her.>"
*
Logan takes a sip of his beer before he answers Piotr, "I dunno they got a name proper. The term they always threw around was 'Weapon X' - but that seemed to refer to what they were tryin' to do t'me as much as the group. Definitely got operational ties - intelligence, CIA, that sort o' thing. They knew about me, anyways, an' I was classified materials," he says. "I don't think they're up and up feds, though. Rogues," he says.
To Illyana, he nods, returning in Russian <I dunno who your friends are, but I'll take the help I can get. My thought was they used mind power to affect me - maybe somebody else with the same kinda stuff could get in my skull and find…I dunno, a signature, a flavor, somethin' they can trace.>
*
Once he's dropped the files in front of Logan, Piotr grabs for his pencil and starts scribbling like a madman on the open page of his sketchbook. There are… no sketches. Just notes. Lots, and lots, of notes. "<That would fit,>" he says darkly, his eyes narrowing to angry blue slits.
He glances across at Illyana and blinks twice. Wait. "<…what kind of allies, Illyana? Not from Limbo, surely,>" Piotr frowns, sounding very concerned. "<I do not think they are trustworthy.>"
*
"<I find that threatening someone with a mouthful of wasps periodically is a good way to keep subversive elements in line,>" Illyana tells Piotr. "<And that's really just a courtesy. They live at my pleasure— the threat of existential obliteration tends to put demons in cooperative frames of mind.>"
"<But since Piotr is a racist against demonkin, I can petition my patrons. They are all-knowing and all-powerful beings from beyond mortal comprehension,>" she explains to Logan. "<I can broken a bargain if you are willing to pay whatever debt my patrons require.>"
*
Logan takes a long pull on his stogie, <Demons, huh? Ain't that a kick in the damn head. I dunno if my soul's worth much of anythin' - it's been through the grinder a few too many times in its day. But I'll pay what I gotta pay. Jean got taken on my watch. It's my fault she's gone. An' I'm gonna get her back, if I have to go to hell to do it> he says, the last with enough of a snarl to make probably even a demon or two back off.
*
Piotr's eyes flick between Illyana and Logan, his lips pursed. "…I suppose I cannot argue with that," he admits with a sigh, leaning back in his seat. He shakes his head slowly and reaches for his drink, absently glancing over his notes with a worried frown.
*
Illyana picks up a pen and starts drawing on the tabletop. A pentagram— the simplest of geometric designs, really, and she closes it with a surprisingly well-done circle. Something she's done thousands of times, no doubt. She picks up a sharp knife, reaches for Logan's hand, and jabs the fleshy part of his thumb without asking permission, spilling a single drop on the pentagram.
"Human blood works better than demon blood," she explains, eyes shutting again. She holds her fingers over the icon, twisting them into claws and knuckled joints, and mutters something under her breath. There's a flash of light and a puff of acrid, purple smoke, and a creature the size of a small lemur with bat-wings, elephantine little legs, and a single giant eye twice the size of its skull *pops* into place.
"Mort. I need you to find someone," Illy says to the demon.
"I live to serve, my Queen," the demons hisses. "Please don't feed me to wasps?"
"Maybe tomorrow," Illyana reassures him. "Look into the eyes of this human here" she gestures at Logan. "You and yours are seeking the woman in his mind. And she's in something called a laboratory a place of steel and concrete, hidden away from human eyes."
The little para-imp peers up at Logan, and the mutant can feel a psychic presence slithering against his thoughts, trying to get in.
*
Logan raises an eyebrow as his finger is pricked without his permission, but it's hardly anything worth throwing a fit about. When the demon starts to manifest, he raises an eyebrow, thinking, "Ugly little sucker," as he sits forward and looks for answers.
The psychic intrusion is definitely awkward - not unwelcome, since he wants to help, but his mind isn't exactly the friendliest of places, his broken memories and long history making sharp edges and deep shadows. But the memory of what happened with Jean is fresh and at the forefront of his mind, showing the giant robot he was forced to perceive, the attacks it made, then the agent of Weapon X. "If yer takin' my soul, pal, I gotta admit, I thought it'd hurt more."
*
At least Piotr wasn't in the process of drinking something when his little sister literally summoned a demon onto their booth. But the surprise does make him snap his pencil in half. His eyes go wide and he casts a quick, very worried look around the room to make sure noone else is looking.
The owners are used to his accent, but this… might be beyond the pale.
*
"<To /find/ someone?>" Illyana's brows lift. "<Finding is the simplest of tasks. A find is almost a unit of currency in Limbo, and Mort and his ilk are well suited for the task. There are few places they cannot go, and they transit through the realms like mice behind walls. /Finding/ will cost you…>" She looks at Mort.
Mort looks from Logan to Illyana, then back again. "<Always polite rates for the Queen and her allies. You give us good look— not so many places as sterile and cold as your imagination shows. We crave— we crave—"
"Pizza," the demon hisses. "One pizza per mouth, and my family numbers a dozen."
*
Logan snorts, "Pizza, huh?" he says. "Gettin' the feelin' the blues been lyin' t'me all these years 'bout what a body's gotta do to get the devil's help. Pizza I can buy, ain't no problem there," he says.
"You do what you gotta do and you find that girl. Then we go there and we get 'em."
*
"We will want to bring help," Piotr asides to Logan, his eyes somewhat transfixed upon Mort now that he's confident noone else is looking. This is all just… weird. And for someone who has been living at the Institute for as long as he has, 'weird' can be a high bar to meet. "They have numbers."
*
ROLL: Illyana +rolls 1d200 for a result of: 76
*
ROLL: Illyana +rolls 1d150 for a result of: 47
*
ROLL: Illyana +rolls 1d150 for a result of: 31
*
"Then we have an accord."
Illyana sits back in her seat with a smug expression, folding her arms across her slender chest. "Pays to have good help."
The demon disappears in a fit and a start, and looks… chastened.
"Apologes, my queen. We searched in corners and holes but they are too well hidden from sight— there is a veil of pain and secrecy that forbade us drawing near enough to find her. She is in pain, however— someone or something is hurting her, deliberately."
Illyana frowns, holding her breath, then exhales through her bangs. "Customary payment is one-tenth," she tells Logan, the demon vanishing into the ather. "Even if they cannot deliver. But I might need to…escalate. Surely Cthon or Oshtur can find her, though the cost will not be a hot meal," she says, blandly.
*
ROLL: Illyana +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 26
*
ROLL: Illyana +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 1
*
Logan sighs and shrugs, "Costs what it costs," he says. He was hoping for the cheaper resolution, of course, just because he doesn't know a damn thing about Cthon or Oshtur, but they sound like rich guys. And he imagines demons that sound like rich guys probably behave like rich guys - assholes.
"Do what you gotta do, kid," he says.
*
That response from Mort does not bring a very happy expression to Piotr's face. If his pencil wasn't already snapped in half, it certainly would be now. "Just… be careful," he says tightly, his eyes flicking between the pair. "If the cost is too great, there are other options we have not yet pursued."
His eyes go to Illyana, and Piotr hesitates. "Your mentor. Could he help?"
*
Illyana makes an irritated sound and smacks the table. "Damn. Mort's people are clever but the small ones are scared. Dark and angry places where real evil has happened— they avoid such locations. Bribing him to entering such a place makes it a very expensive proposition." She considers her options, then shoves the flatware on the table out of the way.
"I will contact my patrons."
Before anyone can object— or even ask about the mess— Illyana scrambles onto the table, sitting crosslegged, and holding her hands out to either side, palm up and eyes closed.
There's a crackling surge of amethyst light from her brow and it explodes in a static storm, filling the room with a deep aubergine hue. Light flows into her hands, blue on the right, red in the left. Voice— deep and high alike beyond human hearing, a thousand susssurances— whisper against everyone's ears, maddening in their intensity and the sure knowledge that something far beyond mortal ken is speaking.
There's a silence, then a low crackle like a laugh from the red light, and the lights vanish with a wink, leaving Harry's dim bulbs to try and drive away the shadows.
"Chthon knows," Illyana tells Logan, her eyes filled with amethyst light. "And he will lead you directly to her— for a favor. Payable at a later date." She looks… uneasy. "Cthon … knows well how to get the most value for such favors."
*
Logan watches Illyana's display, sitting back in his chair and putting up his feet. The light from her brow casts a queer ambiance around his features - his prominent brow shadowing the depths of his eyes. The ember of his cigar adding its own flickering, even as the place around them seems to grow danker, darker, the mere presence of the Elder Antithesis makes reality quiver just a bit in its teeny little dimensional boots.
"You got a deal," he says. "I don't my share o' bad favors in my day an' I'll probably do a share more in my time. I ain't shy about doin' bad. And one more thing: favor's gotta got nothin' to do with me and mine. I ain't gonna make a deal only to have you demand I kill Jean or Aki after just so you can get yer jollies."
*
"What are — Snowflake, wait -" Piotr's protests are not nearly convincing enough to keep his sister off the table, let alone from doing… that. He presses back into his seat as if trying to give her more space, his eyes sliiiiiding to the side to look at the rest of Harry's as the lightshow begins. He is… virtually certain that they are not going to remain unnoticed. He's already mentally rehearsing his apologies for when they come to kick him out as his hands drift up to cover his ears. Not that it blocks the voices out. They aren’t those kinds of voices.
Warily, he lowers his hands when Illyana speaks, and Piotr can't even get a protest out before Logan's agreed to the terms. He just… covers his face with a hand, mumbling tiredly into his palm. This is fine. Everything is fine.
*
Illyana nods and closes her eyes, and one of the voices returns— a discordant snarl and lash against the ears, lurid red light flickering around the room. Illy scowls, teeth gritted, and hisses— she's having some kind of silent conversation.
"Accorded." She looks to Logan and uncurls her legs, flopping her knees out to dangle over the edge of the table. "One favor, payable inside of a year of your subjective time or it is considered paid in full. No murder, because Piotr says that is important for some reason," she says, matter of factly. "And no risk to you or anyone you love, cherish, or hold in oathbond." She dusks her palms together.
"…so d'you want to know where she is?" she asks, eyes dancing teasingly.
*
Logan didn't much care about the murder, honestly - he's done his share in his day and, while he wouldn't do it lightly, he didn't imagine most of those who end up crossing demon lords were exactly on the path to sainthood. Unless maybe it was an actual saint. Well, he never was much religious anyways.
"Specifically enough that we can get there an' rescue her," he says, "If the answer is 'Earth' or 'the city' or shit like that, the deal's just as stuffed. I ain't playin' word games, I'm trying to save lives here."
*
"We will not go unprepared," Piotr says firmly, already beginning to gather up the files and return them to his sketchbook. "The last time we went after these people without a plan… no. Not again. We will go, but in numbers," he grates out, slapping the sketchbook closed.
There have been enough bad decisions made at this table today. Piotr is not in the mood to allow another.
*
"I have a clear place in my mind," Illyana explains, tapping her head. "I can bring us there on a stepping stone— as near or far as you wish to be to her. Tactics suggest we do not manifest ourselves /right/ atop her— then we'll be in whatever cell she is in, and with little element of surprise. But I can bring us there as soon as we have a team prepared. I think, myself, Piotr, and… Logan, you must want to join."
She drums fingers. "Three is sufficient, da?"
*
Logan nods and stands up, rolling his neck and tossing down the last of his beer, "If you wanna get more folks, do it. AFter you drop me off," he says. "Cause I ain't waitin' for nobody or nothin'. I'll kill every damn thing that gets in my way, I gotta," he says. "An' I ain't gonna be delayed knockin' on people's doors an' seein' who's home. You can come with or stay behind, big man, your call."
*
"We are not. Going. Without. A plan." Piotr pushes himself to his feet and snatches his sketchbook up off of the table. "'Kill everyone in the room' is not a plan. And it is not one I will be party to." He gives Illyana a downright dark look before he starts towards the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his wallet and muttering darkly.
*
"Is perfectly good plan," Illyana mutters, darkly. But she doesn't argue with Piotr— his ire seems to be the only thing that checks her default mode of 'kill them all, I'll sort them later' mentality. Giving Logan a regretful look, she slips to her feet, then skips towards Piotr, clinging to his arm.
"<Piotr, please, do not scowl. We will get a team together. It is more than prudent to bring overwhelming force when going against an unseen adversary,>" she reminds him. "<Even Logan cannot object to someone to help him— even if just to carry and treat the wounded. Right?>" She gives Logan a pleading look over her shoulder.
*
Logan snarls and pokes a finger into Piotr's chest, "Last I checked, bub, I ain't never made you boss o' nuthin'! I go where I wanna go. If your sister won't take me, she can tell me where it is an' I'll drive my own damn self, but I ain't gonna sit around and let 'em get tortured longer cause you got a case o' the yellowbelly. Whatcha gonna plan for anyway? We don't know nothin' except the where. But don't worry, you take yer time, kid, I don't need you."
"The only wounded, darlin', gonna be them, an' I don't need anybody t'staunch the blood. Let it flamin' pour," he says. "You want overwhelmin' force? Yer lookin' at it, pal."
*
Piotr doesn't stop when Illyana catches onto his arm, but Logan's finger jabbing into his chest gets him to stop. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring in irritation, and he draws in a very slow breath to maintain his composure.
"Go alone, then. I will make sure we do not leave you behind when we come for the others," Piotr replies stiffly. He takes one step to the side to bypass him, drawing what little cash he has from his wallet to deliver to the bar.
*
"It does not work like that— damnit— Piotr!" Illyal flicks her hands into her ragged hair, frustration on her features. "It is not map coordinates. Cthon placed the location in my mind. I can go there, and only I can find the way. So I can take a group—"
"And… damnit. Piotr, I /promised/," she tells her brother. "I made deal. I cannot undo a deal— I /cannot/," she says, anger on her features. "I said I would take him and that means I must bring him when he requests it— even if that means he is /too stubborn/ to wait for aid."
*
Logan doesn't particularly care about reactions anymore. He's said his piece, he's gearing himself up for a fight now, "C'mon, kid, don't go soft now. I fought along Soviets, once upon a time, on cold ground against odds make your nose bleed. We stood tall and drank vodka over a pile o' German corpses," he says.
"Unleash. We got an enemy worth fightin', an enemy that tortured our kind fer the sake o' nothin' but their own purposes. To them, we're nothin' but animals t'put in the pen. Come on, kid, you can play boy scout when we get done, but let's you, me and yer sister get a little darkside up in this bitch," he says.
*
The force with which Piotr slams the cash down onto the bar is certainly more than he intended, but at least he doesn't break the counter. For such a large man, he is capable of whipping around with great speed, pointing harshly towards Logan and snarling through his teeth. "I AM NOT PLAYING BOY SCOUT!"
This is an unusual sight. Piotr is not a violent man, nor a tempermental one. But right now, he is plainly furious.
"<These people are kidnapping and torturing my friends! They kidnapped and tortured Katya!>" Piotr snaps, already starting a brisk stalk towards the door. "<She is untouchable and still, they did this. I will not go in half-cocked like an idiot and gift them with them more people to poke and prod!>"
*
Illyana flings a finger at Logan, halting him magically in his tracks with a muttered word— and then Piotr, she elevates six inches into the air with another gesture. Looks like her lessons with Strange are paying off.
"Stoppit! Both of you. Like… boys with toys," she snaps, ire on her face as the Queen of Limbo reasserts herself.
She walks to Logan and jabs a pointy finger in his hairy chest. "I owe you a lift to this prison— I am not arguing that. But I am then honor-bound to see you home again after, and if you get me killed in the process, then /your/ honor is at stake— and I would like to live a while longer yet. So— stop putting on noble sacrifice dumb hero face and work /with/ me to get a proper rescue together. We need team, at least, and snacks." Illy's got strong feelings about packing out food.
She rounds on Piotr then and stalks up to him, scowling. "And you! Stop panicking. There is too much to do and stomping and stalking around is not productive. Want to help? Return to Mansion and help me gather team," she says, summoning a stepping-stone in blaze yellow and stepping onto the glowing circle of light. She releases Piotr and Logan from her controls, arms folded haughtily across her chest, and scowls at both men— then jabs a finger at the circle, next to her.
"So /get on the disc/ so we can go rescue Jean."
*
Logan moves to get on the disc, "I don't give a damn about honor. I care about gettin' the job done," he says. "I tried honor. It didn't suit me much." he says.
*
Piotr falls abruptly silent when he feels himself lifted from the ground, his attention moving from the door to his sister. The good news is, he stops talking, clenching his jaw tightly shut. He doesn't look happy about it, but at least he isn't demanding he be put down.
"I am not panicking," Piotr replies in a low, dark voice as he stalks towards the disc. "I am the only one not panicking."
*
Illyana rounds on Logan and aims a badly manicured nail at his chin, eyes narrowing. "Honor is core of myself. I am oathbound to escort you but you are oathbound to respect my honor as well— or /all/ bargains are void," she scowls. "Humans can break honor and be known as untrustworthy. Sorceress does it, then Limbo itself will eventually reject me. Could even kill me."
She smacks a heel into the circle, and takes two steps— and Harry's Hideaway and the shocked patrons are replaced by the interior of the Mansion.
"And I need to eat before we go. So— an hour>" she says, looking from Logan to Piotr. "All who can join us that can be recalled in that timeframe should accompany us."
*
Logan lights a stogie and stands where he is, "You need. To eat." he snorts, "Sure, take your hour. Anybody's fresh dead when we get there, you live with it. Cause every minute we wait is another ounce o' sufferin' an' everybody's got a breakin' point."
"You go. I'll be right here. An hour, not a second more."
*
"They will not be dead," Piotr says to Logan, and there is a confidence in his words that is not born from arrogance. It sounds much too haunted for that. "They are no use to these people if they are dead."
Piotr glances to his sister before he takes a step away, moving towards the mansion's stairs. There are people he needs to find.