#now why is she gunning for the gang? i don't know. I haven't the foggiest. but i'm sure i'll figure it out!

[shapeshyft]

Bind my blades in salt & silence.

The Living Island. Named, Honoured, Hosted, Infested, Damned, Burned, Salted, and Dead.

Across history, the perils of nations like Krakoa have been made public affairs. The stuff of gossip & legend. The Triangle. The Trench. Roanoke, so on, so forth. It was a given that whenever a people sequestered themselves away on fanciful places, far from the watchful eye of 'existence', horrid things would befall them with nary a way out.

It seemed almost destined to be thus, and in no way, shape or form was Krakoa immune from the ever-churning tides of destiny. Hence, two mutants grabbing all of their at-hand effects, slipping through a gate toward Madripoor and then vanishing into the crowds like smoke on a warm breeze.

If any of you are still alive to read this, no hard feelings. You should've listened. - M.

But that was then. Ages, a world tour, and a gorgeous chalet in the foothills of Ibiza with around-the-clock at home staffers to tend to Irene later, and a gate that had long since forgotten the aura of survival at all costs, was gifted the taste one more time.

❝ Look at that. Paradise in throes of Mass Resurrection... ❞ If ever there were reason to 'empathize' with human fear of Mutantkind, staring across a sea of grass littered with veritable corpses reacclimatizing to pulses was it.

---

❝ Dexter. ❞ Her voice reached the young mutant's ears after her presence did. She could already see the 'wheels behind his eyes' spinning as he took her in, trying to find some no-doubt complicated marker in his system of systems to save himself.

She'd no time to indulge, instead resting a hand under his chin and forcing him to abandon his process to accommodate her.

❝ I'm looking for some people, Dex. I know you know where they are. ❞

Non-verbal, he stammered and sweated. He swallowed and sucked air, but he did not speak. To speak would be to 'relay info' from the card, and he - and... and she - ? She. Was squeezing his cheeks a bit harder, opening his mouth by keeping his jaw from closing.

❝ A general location. Are they near the east coast? ❞ A light squeeze, the hint of a whine of discomfort eking past parted lips. ❝ The west coast? ❞ A similar sound, tears began to well behind too-tired eyes. She did not relent. ❝ Did they find a way to leave, or - Oh. Oh, they're in the queue, aren't they? ❞

And then, as if the floodgates were sapped? ❝ONE OF THEM IS. THE OTHER IS LEAVING THE RECOVERY SUITE, HAVING BEEN SUCCESSFULLY RETURNED TO LIFE! PLEASE, MISS MYSTIQUE, ICAN'T-❞

And finally? Release.

Dexter is let go, two small beads of red on his cheeks drawing down toward his bruised jaw as Mystique turned away and off toward the heart of the isle. Irene had been correct. As usual. They had fought to the very end, and as such were low on the queue. Good. She might have time to catch one alone before the other found time to tie their hips together again.

@themckaytriarchy