Firstly, the standard disclaimer: I don't own any of the main characters here, they're all property of the original creator and all rights etc go to them. Also, I have no money so suing me is kinda pointless.
Secondly: this is a half-sequel to Enter X-Factor, as it follows the events of that story but you don't need to have read it for this to make sense (I hope.) I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter One: "You shall go to the ball!"
The Worthington Hotel, New York
Warren Worthington III was very surprised to hear the knock at his door. As the son of the hotel's owner, he of course had a suite provided gratis, but he had hardly ever used it unless absolutely necessary. He hated cashing in on the family name, and more specifically the name of his father, with whom he had a relationship the New York upper-crust politely referred to as 'tense.' He had no doubt they called it much stronger words behind closed doors, but he doubted any of them would know the reasons why. He was shaken from his musing when the door was knocked again, much more forcefully. Well, that ruled out hotel staff then. If they weren't answered, they would depart- the customer always being right, of course. Maybe it was that girl he had met- Candy something... North? No, Southern, that was it. He had been sure that he had given her one of his plentiful other addresses; she had been nice enough and very pretty but lacked the brains to match, and her attempts to ascertain his availability had been as subtle as the Juggernaut's rampages. He didn't want anything to do with that kind, thanks... he had more than enough to deal with.
"Warren? I know you're there!" The voice was muffled by the door but unmistakeably male. Warren quickly grabbed the long coat he wore to disguise his long wings and hurried over to the door. He threw it open to see a sight less welcome than a dozen Candy Southerns.
"Father," he said politely but with an icy chill to his voice. He then made to close the door but his father, also named Warren Worthington, stopped him.
"Can I just please talk to you?" His father asked. It would not do for a man of Worthington senior's pride and status to beg, but his tone of voice was the closest he would ever come. Despite himself, Warren was intrigued. What could make his father forget his pride enough to take a pleading tone like that, and with his own son at that? Of course, Warren did not let that show. He maintained the cold inscrutability he had had drilled into him by his father since a young age.
"Talk quickly," he suggested tersely. He allowed his father inside though. "As it's you, I guess I won't need this, will I?" He added, shrugging his coat off. His magnificent white wings flexed and he took a certain vindictive pleasure in his father's flinch. "I have to say, father, it feels much better when I don't have to wear that coat, when I don't have to hide who I really am, just for the sake of your good reputation."
"It's not just my reputation, you know, it's my legacy- and your future," Worthington countered. "If people knew what, what you were-"
"The word you're looking for is 'mutant,'" Warren said helpfully.
"Yes... that... well, our entire business would suffer. The world isn't ready for... mutants..."
"If you came here just to peddle that old line again you may as well leave before you waste more of both our time," Warren said.
"No, I actually came on behalf of your mother," Worthington said. "She knows that our relationship is... not exactly close-"
"How astute, maybe she should run Worthington Industries instead."
"-and she wants to try and rectify that situation," Worthington appeared mostly unfazed by his son's hostility, having got used to it over the years. "I've come to... ask you for something." It clearly pained him to have to plead with his own son but he forced the words through gritted teeth. He looked to see how the offer was taken but Warren merely shrugged. Worthington took that as a sign that his son would at least hear him out and continued with his proposal.
"Tonight, there's going to be a ball here in New York," he went on. "There'll be all sorts of people there, captains of industry, some politicians and so on, and I think it would be good if you would come too, just to try and get your-" he stressed the pronoun- "name back into the spotlight, for your own good. Your reputation as pariah is not going to do you any favours in the long term."
"I see," Warren said neutrally. Mentally, he was analysing the subtext to his father's proposal, and more specifically what had not been said. He knew his father well enough to know that wife's suggestion or not, he would not sacrifice his dignity like this unless there was something in it for him too. Reconciliation with his famously ostracised son would be a good bit of publicity, of course, but Warren doubted that that was it, or at least not all of it. He still had a lot to learn about subterfuge though, and knew his father would see through any attempt to probe his motives.
"Where and when is this event?" he said eventually. He saw his father smiling smugly and quickly added a disclaimer. "I'm not guaranteeing that I'll be there, and I definitely won't stay the whole time, but if I do decide to accept your suggestion, I'll need to know where and when. Maybe I could stage another public argument with you- it's been a while since the last one..."
His father paled, knowing Warren was serious about the threat, but gave him the details. Warren made a note of them and turned his back on his father.
"Don't let me detain you," he said. He sensed the older man was about to say something, but he thought better of it and Warren heard the door click closed. He waited until he was sure his father was gone then walked to his balcony, taking off his shirt as he did so, and then his other clothes. Underneath his suit he had been wearing his costume, as he always did. This one was more skin-tight and less flamboyant than his old Avenging Angel get-up, but just as warm when he took to the air. Although it was not strictly necessary he took a few running steps before throwing himself over the edge of the balcony, his wings held flat against his back as he rocketed downwards. He was only metres away from the ground before he spread his wings and only feet away before his momentum took him upwards again. It only took a few strong flaps before he had risen high above even the highest skyscraper and could look down over the city. Along with the wings, his mutation had given him eyesight as strong as a falcon and he could even make out the faces of the pedestrians below clearly. In fact, everything seemed clearer far above the city with no company save the wind streaming past him. He did several complex aerial manoeuvres without even concentrating as his mind focussed on other matters, in particular those raised by his father's unexpected visit.
Although he would never admit it to his parents, there had been truth in what they had said. His reputation had taken something of a battering in the gossip columns and several had spread spurious rumours as to the reasons, mostly focussing on his sexuality, which he found far less offensive than the anonymously-written column that had suggested he had taken up Scientology. So far, none of them had even considered the possibility the former golden boy of high society was really a mutant, and by appearing in public he could at least give them something new to discuss. Besides, when- because as far as he was concerned it was only a question of time- before mutants in general and his own status became common knowledge, he would not be able to inveigle himself back into the upper classes so easily, and mutants would need as many people in influential positions as possible. He sighed but realised there were too many good reasons for him to attend for him to pass up the chance... but that didn't mean he had to like it.
Algerian Embassy, New York
Monet St. Croix lounged in her luxurious quarters, thoroughly bored. Everything about her surroundings was expensive and stylish- but so last year! Besides, she'd seen it all before anyway, there was nothing here to get excited about. Truth be told, she had not really wanted to come here in the first place, but fate had forced her hand. Since the detective agency she had (again, reluctantly) joined had been temporarily disbanded she had found herself temporarily out of a home. She could quite easily have got herself a penthouse of course but those tedious halfwit spies working for SHIELD had insisted on tracking her, thinking she wouldn't notice. She had therefore returned to where her father worked, here at the embassy and on politically neutral ground. There was no way they could spy on her here without risking a major political incident.
"Monet?"
"Yes?" Her voice was bored but whoever had spoken didn't seem to care overly. They entered the room and she rolled her eyes to see it was Nicole, one of the insufferable twins who had been the bane of her life since her return. Being only seventeen, seven years less than Monet herself, they were intrigued by her life outside the embassy, as they had so far been reduced to private tutoring and the occasional international shopping marathon.
"Papa wants to know if you will be attending the ball tonight."
"I haven't decided yet," Monet said. Cartier St Croix, her father, was the Algerian ambassador but a minor celebrity in his own right due to his presidency of several international corporations, and it was in this capacity that he had been invited to the ball. Monet had been invited too, or at least she had invited herself- what ball would not be improved by her presence? - but she still wasn't sure whether to grace it with her attendance or not. On one hand, it would be relief from staying at the Embassy, but on the other she would surely be trading one kind of tedium for another, having to feign disinterest in all the dirty old men pretending not to ogle her, as she knew from experience would happen.
"Well, you can make up your mind soon," Nicole said, possessing the hereditary St. Croix self-assurance; who else would dare order her around so? Monet decided that just for Nicole's presumption she would delay her decision further and make her sister more impatient still.
"And when I do, I'll tell him- and not you," she said. "Now get out of my room."
Nicole pulled a face at her older sister but flounced out regardless. Monet remained in her lazy horizontal position but rose into the air- one of the benefits of being telekinetic. She stretched voluptuously and floated across to the wardrobe. A wave of her hand and the door opened, another and several dresses drifted out and hung in midair before her. She used her powers to twirl and turn them, examining them carefully. All of them were breathtakingly expensive, artfully revealing and likely to be worn only once- though that last point was of no concern to Monet, who wouldn't even notice the cost of such extravagance. She made her decision and waved the others back into the cupboard. She pulled the one she had chosen, a long, deep purple number, over to her and tried it up against her body. Yes, this should do. Nice and tight where appropriate, loose where needed, and a slit that would reveal a shapely leg. Let's see those old goats try and stop drooling when they saw her in this!
She wondered when she had made the decision that she would attend, but realised it was not important. Now that she had made the choice, she would go through with it to the best of her abilities. She wondered whether she should tell her father yet, or make him wait on her decision. She could just let him know telepathically if she really wanted to annoy the twins, whose powers were similar to her own but much less potent, as she was not slow to remind them at all opportunities. In the end she decided to take things at her own pace. She floated back over to the bed and lay down on it. She lifted a book off the table and summoned it to where she lay. It hovered at a comfortable reading distance before her eyes but she was not really paying much attention. Despite herself, she began thinking back to the times she had had with what had once been Cortex Investigations, and would presumably be X-Factor Investigations when it returned. It would remain a presumption though, as she had no idea what would happen to the other members, or whether they would ever return. Julio Esteban Richter had last been seen heading towards Mexico in search of something, though there was no word on what. Teresa Cassidy had returned to her native Ireland on family business, Monet herself had come here, and Guido Carosella had been left holding down the metaphorical fort, keeping the headquarters in adequate condition for the proposed resumption of duty.
Of course, there was one other member of the group she had tried not to think about- James Maddox. The late James Maddox, really, as he was dead in every sense except the most literal. It was his fate that had lead her to try and avoid thinking about him. Hours before their run-in with mutant gangster Martin 'Mr Negative' Li, they had been contacted by two teenage mutants claiming to be from the infamous X-Men, or at least training with them. One of them had borne an uncanny resemblance to James at the same age, and after the mission the two had shaken hands- only for James to vanish. Vanished may not have been the exact term, after all they knew exactly where he had gone- into the body of the teenage Jamie Madrox. There had been a complicated genetic process that disturbed Monet too much to really try and understand, but in the end Maddox and Madrox had ended up merged somehow into a body somewhere between both in age and appearance and with a mind presumably in the same condition- should it rise from its current vegetative state.
The book had flown across the room as Monet thought of James, and she scowled at the uncharacteristic lapse of concentration. Her poise and self-control were far too strong for anyone to have guessed, but there had been a more personal loss for Monet with James', no Maddox's... passing on. Monet was a sensual, passionate woman who knew her own needs, and with the other options being a distorted buffoon or a lewd degenerate, she had decided Maddox would be the one to take care of those needs. He had been passably handsome and she supposed an adequate enough lover, though far below her preferred standards of course. Of course, it also annoyed the one other person who knew of the relationship, if it could be called that, Teresa- who had thought no-one would notice she herself was in love with Maddox. Those were the only reasons for Monet to have taken Maddox as a lover, she was now sure of that, but it was still an annoying and, if she was honest, upsetting loss.
Monet glanced at the clock; several hours of tedium before she would have to get ready for the ball. She made a grasping gesture and the book flew back into her hand. She began turning the pages idly, her thoughts wandering. She hoped the evening would at least be more interesting than this.
An Undisclosed Location
Many of the men could not disguise their glee, although the black masks did a good enough job for them at that. They had been gathered by the man standing on top of one crate as a lieutenant crow-barred open another to reveal row upon row of sleek, black death in the shape of assault rifles. These were passed around amongst the hired killers, who handled their new toys with evident enjoyment. These men were professionals and as such treated the weapons with great respect, but that didn't mean they didn't enjoy handling the deadly guns. Several of them sighted along the barrels, while others hefted them carefully to test weight and balance. A second lieutenant had opened a smaller box and begun passing out grenades, and in the background a thin, wiry man wearing earphones had produced a complicated looking device covered in switches and gauges and was whistling cheerfully as he twirled several dials. He seemed happy with what he found as he gave a thumbs-up to the main leader, who coughed and got the attention of everyone in the room.
"Okay, listen up. You guys have been paid good money for this job, and you were paid a lot of it. You are going to earn that money by acting as goddamned professionals! You've all been given the information on our targets and what we're trying achieve, and so help me god, we're going to pull this off. That means no shooting unless completely necessary, no stealing jewellery or making unnecessary threats. We can block off all communications from the building but if there's gunfire, people will here, and police will come running, and people will die, most likely including all of us here. You got that, people? Keep it quick, keep it clean and keep it simple! The Reavers will prevail!"
The men cheered heartily and pumped their fists in the air. The two men in charge of weapons finished their allotted tasks and tested their own weaponry, finding it more than adequate for the job. One passed a gun up to the leader, who smiled as he watched the so-called Reavers working themselves up. This, he was sure, would be a night to remember.