About the Purifiers

May 30, 2015:

Betsy Braddock and Flash Thompson get lunch at the Triskelion and discuss the Purifiers


The cafeteria at the Triskelion


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Betsy Braddock, code-named Psylocke, has finally sorted out some things. It's still a readjustment, integrating new memories and opinions and personalities, but she's making strides. A trip upstate to Winchester County might have helped a lot with things.

She'd driven back to the Triskelion as the weekend closed in, wanting to get in touch with her point of contact regarding The Hand. Badly scattered after her rescue, they were momentarily disrupted, and Betsy's insight into their operations would be invaluable down the road. Debriefed after an exhausting few hours, the dark-tressed psychic is sitting in the cafeteria, poking at a platter full of salad, fish, and vegetables, with a glass of diet soda at her elbow. She's busily tapping on her cell phone, shopping for clothing online, and eating the tuna salad with the fork in her other hand.

At this time the agent known as Flash Thompson tries to get something to eat, usually it lets him avoid the rush of a shift change but does usually allow him some privacy amd time to collect his thoughts. So he pushes open the door to the cafeteria, shouldering it aside casually and strolling inside. A cursory glance is given and he espies Ms. Braddock. A smile is given, course she probably doesn't look up. So he heads over, gets his tray, starts to stack on a sandwich here, some chips there. Finally he gets a soda then steps away from the line.
For a moment, if her senses are open she might catch a hint of trepidation, but then a decision to at the least be polite. A few paces carry him over to her and he says, "Ms. Braddock. Good to see you, and things seem to be a bit better. Heard you got to head out."

Betsy taps her screen twice, unflappable as ever, and looks up at Flash. Her jaw works as she chews and then she swallows the small bite of food before speaking. "Hullo, Agent Thompson," she says, after identifying the fellow. She sits up properly, having slouched into her phone, and tilts her head slightly, wide, inscrutable brown eyes focused on his face. "Yes, I was released finally," she tells him. "I'm still cooperating with your agency, of course. Is there an issue with my analysis of Hand operations?" she says, neatly manicured nails drumming once on the cafeteria tabletop.

"Oh, no ma'am." Flash shifts his tray to the other hand, "I mean, not that I'd know. Not really my bailiwick and all." The smile from the young man is a touch self-deprecating, but he does rock back on his heels somewhat, subtle hints of body language showing he's uncomfortable standing there in that social limbo between sitting down or heading off to a different seat. "Just wanted to touch base and see how you were gettin' along. I figure you got everything under control." At that he gives a small nods, "Sorry to bother you, Ms. Braddock." With that he starts to step back then away.

Betsy blinks. Unlike some psychics, she's very good at reading thoughts, and though Xavier's taught her some basic etiquette about not digging into people's brains, she still has a habit of endlessly reading surface thoughts in lieu of bothering with facial expressions.

"Agent Thompson, did you wish to join me?" she asks in those flat, unreadable tones. "I'm not currently occupied by anything pressing." She even turns off her phone screen a moment later and then fitfully gestures at the chair across from her, as if mimicking a gesture she's only really read about. "Please," she invites him.

"Terribly kind of you, ma'am." And as he says that he sets his tray down with a faint plastic clatter. Then he takes the offered seat, lifting one leg over the short back and then sitting down. He takes the small soda can, cracks it open, then pours it over the cup of ice. "S'good they let you get back to things." He takes a sip of soda, "When they had me wrangled here I was stuck for a few months in one sort of studio apartment thing with just three dvds for entertainment. Was killer."
He starts to unwrap his sandwich and looks down at it as he does so. Sure he's making small talk but she can probably sense a sort of kinship feeling there on his side and a bit of sympathy for her situation. "So plan is to go after the Hand?"

"Maybe eventually," Betsy says with a toss of her hair. "For now, we're just compiling information on them. The Hand has a long history and operates in cells, so they're spread far and wide. At this point it's more important to identify patterns than individual operatives and cell sections." She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, gathering more salad up onto her fork and spearing it neatly. "And yourself? Do they have a new assignment for you?"

A small nod is given as Flash pulls the halves of his sandwich apart and pulls one of the top pieces of bread away. He squeezes a small packet of mayo on the sandwich as he speaks calmly. "Well, kinda got my nose stuck into something that was a bit coincidental. But the higher ups thought it might be best that I keep on keepin' on with it." He closes the sandwich up and takes a small bite. Yeah she can tell he's probably being more precise in his eating, more 'delicate' so as to not offend her sensibilities with his usual scarfing down of the food.
"You know the Purifiers? The Anti-Mutant Religious organization?" He glances up, perhaps awaiting an affirmative or a negative before he goes on. "They had a firefight with an enemy of theirs. I ran into it, took the opportunity to make off with what intel I could after neutralizing the opposition. It's led me to a few things."

"I'm afraid I've been a bit out of the loop for the last few months," Betsy reminds Flash with a flickering suggestion of a smile. The Brit shifts in her seat, tucking one ankle behind the other under her chair. "They sound like a dangerous association, though. What can you tell me about them?" she asks, taking a politely restrained bite of her own meal. "Is there any intel that talks about their planned operations?"

Is Betsy above broadcasting a low-level suggestion to encourage people to spill their guts to her? She is not. At least she disguises it in the notion that she has 'pretty, trustworthy eyes'.

And as easily as that, he starts to tell her about it, moreso than he had planned to. But really she is so terribly pretty. Then at that hint she might perceive the mental barriers come down that precludes that line of thought, some sort of self-defense mechanism. But then he speaks of the Purifiers, "Well my first contact with them was in Mutant Town. Was visiting a friend of the family. There was an explosion, moved in that direction."
He sets his sandwich down so he can focus on the retelling, "Got there, and about a dozen Purifiers were flanking the position of their opposition. Was a mutant girl who had apparently had enough with what they'd been doing."
He opens his hand to the side, explaining the tactical situation. Perhaps in too much detail. "I entered from above, took out the flanking targets then dropped into their eyeline to draw fire from their initial contact. I was able to move around the side of their grouping and put them down one at a time."
He furrows his brow. "After that, the mutant girl bugged out, I took the four minute window I had before emergency vehicles showed up and cleared out the intel on their computers and what physical information I could find. Brought it back."
He straightens up, "Not much was pulled from it, though a series of addresses looked promising. Checked them out, temp agencies, seemed clean from a distant exam. Went more hands on but still couldn't find anything. Been taking my days off and trying to stake a few of them out… but nada."
He opens his hands towards her as if having nothing to offer. But then his brow furrows slightly as if realizing he probably told entirely too much.

Betsy lifts her hand in a rather imperious gesture at his gesture of apology. "No, no, that's quite all right. I don't mind listening," she says, neatly hijacking his guilt over spilling his guts and twisting it into his social faux pas. Sure, it's one of Jean's techniques, and it's dirty pool, but it generally works so nicely.

"It sounds as if you had a rather exciting encounter with them. They seem to use a lot of force, though- twelve armed men and women for one mutant girl?" she says, upsweeping a fine eyebrow in a gesture of disbelief. "For… standing up to them?"

"Well," Flash lowers his hands to the table, and goes about prepping the other half of his sandwich for consumption. "Apparently they'd been doing some pretty terrible things. There was a food drive for some of the area's less fortunate folks. A shelter too. They had a hand in putting ground glass in some of the food and poisoning some of the orange juice with…" He frowns, lowering his eyes. "Sorry, don't have my notes with me."
He waves a hand, "Just in general being assholes…" Flash stops and looks at her, "Sorry." He continues. "A few people ended up dying and so I think this gal had a good reason to get her mad on."

Betsy just gives Flash the same sort of disappproving stare that Melinda or Maria might give him for swearing casually in front of them- but she doesn't say anything about it.

She considers his words and then nods, brushing her artful mess of purple-black hair back from her face. "They sound like a troublesome group. Are they recognized as terrorists, criminals, or a gang?" she asks, pushing a jalapeno off her salad with a frown at it.

A quirk of an eyebrow as he espies that jalapeno, "May I?" And if she gives him the affirmative he takes it and pops it in his mouth. Enjoying the pepper nicely should that occur.
He then goes on, "Not entirely sure. Checked with some other agencies on the West coast. They're considered a hate group there but they haven't done anything illegal. Over here though, and there's been a lot more noise. Maybe two seperate factions, maybe they're buying some time. In any case, I figured I'd dig up what I could." He takes another dainty bite from his sandwich.

Betsy pulls a face when he eats it. "Welcome to it," she murmurs, composing her features in moments. "Interesting," she says. Her phone buzzes and she picks it up, unlocking the screen with her thumb and scanning the message. She taps rapidly on the screen and sends the message with a *fwoop* and looks back at Flash. "Perhaps a united front would get more attention from a major task force?" she says, inquiring as to why the group is not getting enough (in her mind) attention.

Another bite, another nod. "That's possible. Above my paygrade." Though the thought does seem to bounce around in his mind a few times, probably raising some unpleasant questions that he shies away from. He shakes his head, looks down with his brow furrowed, then looks back up. "I've been rambling on too much. How have things been for you? I imagine it's been… tumultuous."

"I'm adjusting," Betsy says in a neutral tone, reaching for her soda and taking a careful sip through the straw. Bzzt. She taps on her phone again, even while she speaks. "I went home finally and saw my friends and roommates," she says, neatly lying about the status of the residents at Xavier's Institute. "They were glad to see me, by and large, and they're working hard to help get through this… adjustment period," she says, picking the word with pursed lips.

Lifting his eyes a touch he can't help but glance at the phone, then looks back to his plate. Another bite and then he moves on to the chips, tearing the bag open casually. "I know it's probably foolish to ask, but anything I can do?" Since really, Flash is just this fella that the higher-ups tasked to keep an eye on and keep moderately busy. But hey, she was his first official solo assignment. "Though I understand if you rightly can't say. Since I am a whole… you know, spy sort of dealio."

Betsy wrinkles her nose in a moment of thought. "I don't think so," she says, at least weighing his offer with genuine consideration. "It's not that I am concerned about your allegiences, of course. I simply can't think of any way in which you can improve my situation any more quickly than it's progressing at the moment. However," she says in her crisp, polished accent, "your consideration is appreciated." She offers Flash a brief but dazzling smile of gratitude that vanishes just as fast as it came, before digging back in her salad plate.

Bzzt. Fingers tap on the screen.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License