1964-06-28 - A Fistful of Terrigen
Summary: Never trust Maximus the Mad. Even if you're charmed by him.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
vesper maximus 


Maximus has invited Vesper over to his lush penthouse apartment, which is looking stranger and stranger. Apparently, he bought a large marble statue of what looks to be possibly Hercules, and he's also had it painted, like the originals would have looked. So…its a giant Herc statue. He's also draped a real fur around its shoulders. THere is the lab equipment. There are more cooking devices which are not likely used by Maximus, but maybe he has someone come in and cook for him. It smells delicious. There is Chinese food, but high end stuff, all cooked on the wok-like equipment. A whole array of food choices, and then a covered dish.


A giant marble statue of Hercules, or possibly some other overly proportioned Greco-Roman god among a society that didn't like grandiose shows of muscle? This will require inquiry. Later. After her last visit with the selection of destroyed croissants, this time Vesper has profiteroles. They are sweet, creamy confections of utter French certainty. Better than cookies. And when they explode it will be with a satisfying splat. The box is in hand and one of those profiteroles slid over to the doorman who probably knows she is no prostitute or escort. Or if she is, she is also one who can talk about Nobel-winning science and how bad traffic is. Her gifts are handed over for hospitality. "Is this a… friend?" She looks up at the statue.


"No, this is just to annoy Gorgon." Maximus smiles and takes the pastry box, and sets it down on the table. "Would you like some dinner? You will have to see what you like here…make a big plate…no holding back." He tempts. "Oh…and by the way, " Maximus looks at her from the kitchen area, black curls sliding along his cheekbones, "you should know that I am King again…so…Your Majesty is the most appropriate title."


Something to annoy Gorgon by being bigger and leggier, never missing sandal day? Oh, cruel.

The tricolour scarf wrapped around Vesper's throat flutters a little when she walks. Her glossy auburn hair is pulled back into a chignon. A few wisps brush free, habitually pushed aside. Maximus' stare has a weight to it that she cannot define but responds to by lifting her chin slightly to meet his gaze for only a moment. The sunglasses propped up on her head do not hide those doe-dark eyes. "Thank you, your majesty." There's nothing like a Gallic purr to make English feel inadequate, dumpy, and running away to eat a pint of ice cream. "I would not turn down your hospitality." Not that there is a choice. She drifts to the counter and looks at the various offerings. Some are familiar. Others not. A little of everything might satisfy. "How does one end up restored to a throne among your people? If I can ask."


"The council wills it. They handed me the crown. I am the only Inhuman /doing/ anything to help my people. Away from my idiotic brother's influence…they were able to see the error of their decision to strip me. I can show you if you care to see it. It is garish, but…official." Maximus exhales and starts making himself a plate that is heaped with just his favorite noodles. "Make sure to try a bit of /everything./" he insists to the brunette…all fancy as she is.


"I will accept your word. I have seen enough crowns between London and Paris, those gems that did not fall to the ages." Yes, Vesper stood in line for the privilege of staring at some jewels and they are sparkly. She will not admit to adoring the shimmer right now. Her plate is balanced carefully and use of spoons, ladles, or whatever else is provided moves small portions around in a colourful concoction. "Is this what makes you happy? Once you have it, have you decided what will happen in Attilan? The people right now are hidden. I do not know whether you agree they must stay hidden."


"Yes, I very much wish them to remain hidden. The world has enough to hate, right now, without adding Inhumans to the list." Maximus takes his plate out of the kitchen and settles on the sofa, but in such a way that he can watch her in the kitchen, serving up little plates of deception and trickery. Everything is fine…until she gets to the covered dish. The moment she opens it, she triggers a device that whirrs and clicks, that then sprays a dissolved crystal at her. FFFZZZZZTTTT attack!


The brunette nods, thumbing the rim of the plate. She moves cautiously. But it is controlled; just look to how every placement of her foot or the poise of her spine is aware. Once upon a time, a younger Vesper may have danced before the illness decimated her prospects and robbed her of her ability to breathe easily or withstand the city poisoning her. She remembers a little. "I will try to help as I can, then. Keeping my research confidential when it might be inconvenient? Is there anything else? When you want me —"

The lid is lifted, as he probably knew it would be. Nothing that would indicate it is special.

Until the clicking sound is heard. Her head snaps to the side, eyes widening. "Maximus?" A question that means an inhalation. What pounded and crushed bits hang in suspension are not something she knows. A reaction happens. No other way around it: not with the chaotic jumble of her DNA she's seen on a screen, torn apart under the microscope, reassembled thousands of times larger. The very air betrays her.


Yes, its very hard to dodge mist. And it doesn't take more than a breath to /begin/ things. Of course an Inhuman might receive just a minimal exposure and still transform, but he has plotted for a more normal type of exposure volume, and sits well enough away, out of the range of the mists affecting him. He dips his fork into the noodles and swirls it around, calmly, "Time to mee the reaaaal you, Vesper, and shed this…shell." He smiles slowly and slyly.


The mists aren't something she can escape, the initial shocks to the system setting off a cascade of reactions. It surely begins in the lungs and trails through the major points: circulation where imperfect blood cells and the marrow of her bones ache in the first flowerings of transformation. Some distant thought encourages her to put the plate down before it ends up on the floor, sliding to the table from her fingers. Vesper backs up after it lands in front of the device. "Why?" A faint question. "I would have agreed. Loyal to you." The sparks in front of her vision are fairly strong as the mists spill around her in vapor she doesn't even know what to make of. Her shoulders slide under her shirt and she reaches back for her balance. "My name… I know I'm…"


"I know. But…I wanted it to be a surprise. You would have been so nervous, otherwise." Maximus puts a bite of noodles into his mouth as he watches the evening's entertainment, which is vesper being overcome with the mists. Its not something he gets to see everyday. Usually its all so tightly controlled, and in a capsule, and so on. Its cool to see it /raw/.


Well, in lieu of her father standing about, it /does/ potentially fall to Maximus to make that choice. The Mists roil in their turbulence around Vesper. There is some part of her, the scientific mind dissembling what events happen as best she can. She wraps her arms around herself as the world slides oddly askew. Make of what one will, but the initial threads of vibrant aquamarine are already dancing around her. Faint but present as her body reacts harshly to the mutagenic process. "With you, non. Non, I would not. But… now…" It hurts to speak and her fingers curl tightly as she bends inwards, dropping to the floor. How long? Those fascinating questions are stirring in a wild procession galloping through oblivion's edge and there's that damnable /smile/ up there…


|ROLL| Vesper +rolls 1d20 for: 3


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