"Why did you decide to become a mechanic?" Charles asked, skirting around the topic of the gang, as per their agreement, sitting on Erik's couch because Raven had chased him out of the office, claiming too many unused days and other such nonsense.
"I'm good at it and it makes money," Erik stated bluntly, his dull tones further muffled by the car he was currently working on.
"So, nothing to do with exploiting a gang for money?" Charles replied, gaze honed on the window display of the gang jacket plus two paint boards showing the exact colors specified for their bikes.
Erik glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
"…Right." Charles let the topic drop, even if he felt the hum of amusement and affirmation from the other man's mind.
"It works, though," Erik stated, ducking his head back into the vehicle.
"Erik!" Charles squawked.
"I'm kidding, Charles," Erik said smoothly, clicking his tongue a few times. "I hold my gang in the highest esteem and would never act negatively towards them. They actually get a discount for my services, as is offered by most businesses owned by members."
Charles shuffled, surprised he got that much information out of him. "Oh."
"And…whose idea was it to use a cobra as the logo for the Steel Vipers?" Charles finally questioned, quirking an eyebrow as he stared at the jacket.
"A what?" Erik slammed the hood shut, grabbing a towel to wipe off his hands.
"A cobra. Your logo is a cobra," Charles reiterated, getting up and heading over to the jacket. "May I?"
Erik stared critically before giving a curt nod.
Charles carefully pulled it down—though he may look on the group negatively it didn't mean that it wasn't important to Erik. "This—the hood around its head," Charles said, tracing the cobra with his finger. "That's a trait of the cobra, not the viper."
Erik's brow furrowed, "So…we're supposed to be the Steel Cobras? What a ridiculous name."
"You're asking me what the name of your gang is supposed to be?" Charles asked, amused. The jacket was admittedly of nice quality, but the idea of a gang still made him uncomfortable.
"Stalowa Żmija," Erik stated, "is what we're supposed to be called. But the name was translated."
"And…you don't know what that translates into?" Charles turned around to hang the jacket back up and hide his amusement.
"Let's just say that when I came to this country, learning the English translations of exotic snakes wasn't my goal," Erik said bitterly, tossing his towel aside.
"Oh?" Charles questioned, but Erik was focused on his phone instead. Charles paused and stared, before, "That works too, I suppose."
"I'm asking Terri why the logo is a cobra," Erik muttered.
"Ah." Charles watched as he put the phone away.
"Are all gangs inherently negative?" Erik asked suddenly, even though he was walking away from Charles.
"Pardon me?" Charles wasn't sure if he should follow, and suddenly felt in the way.
"What have we done to deserve your interest?" Erik didn't go too far, just to grab the vehicle's keys from the drawer.
"Oh. Breach of peace, mostly. It's not that the gang, per se, is illegal (yet), but when dozens of you gather in a single place, you start to get loud and it scares people. Gangs in general tend to do that, and larger ones especially tend to fall to deindividuation, where the members start to consider their actions as a consequence as the gang as a whole, rather than their own responsibility. The separate members don't seem interested in adhering to our warnings, so we figure the best course of action is to go after their leader, who seems to already have some charges on his record." Charles explained carefully.
"I don't partake in those behaviors," Erik replied, opening the vehicles door.
"And I love you for that," Charles bantered, ignoring the stunned disdain on Erik's face. "And as problematic as you trying to date a man intent on disbanding your gang at least to an extent may be, I don't intend on quitting until my people feel safe."
Erik stared a few more seconds, before giving a grunt of acquiescence, slipping into the vehicle and backing it out of the garage, mind a miasma of considerations and contemplation.
"What are you doing?" Raven asked Hank, technically off-clock but curious what he was doing.
"I'm chatting with support." Hank frowned, "I'm talking with the company that owns the group conversation service that the Steel Vipers use for communicating, and I'm trying to see if maybe they could help us in any way."
"Not going well?" Raven assumed.
"They're being extremely slow. I'm guessing whoever I'm speaking to isn't used to requests of this sort and is confused as to what to do." It wasn't exactly abnormal, but it was still exhausting and annoying, even if it wasn't their fault (and the fact that if he was idle half as long as they were, he'd be disconnected.)
"What have you said so far?" Raven asked, and Hank complied, moving over to allow her to settle down and read what was visible.
We're investigating a case for a group called the Steel Vipers and were hoping you could help us in some way.
I'm not entirely sure what you're asking me to do.
We're especially interested in who their leader is, if you are capable of giving that to us. He goes by Magneto.
Please hold on.
We're not permitted to release this information to you.
It's for an official investigation into a criminal organization.
You would need to speak to a superior and provide proof of your affiliation.
Can you do that?
"So they do know who Magneto is?" Raven asked, knowing that information would be a huge break in the case.
"It sounds like it, doesn't it?" Hank himself seemed somewhat excited about the prospect. His attention perked somewhat as he got a reply, and gave the technician the department's phone number, before sending a thank you and leaving the chat. "So now we just wait for them to call us, and hopefully we can work something out." Hank grinned, looking at Raven.
Raven grinned back, "Charles will be thrilled if this gets us somewhere."
"Yeah, Charles… How's he been doing?" Hank's grin faltered somewhat.
"Ecstatic." Raven reclined in her seat, not needing to stare at the computer screen further. "I mean, I don't think he's had a crush since college.
"Sometimes I forget he's been to college," Hank muttered, along with something about fitness and intelligence.
"Yep, he was drunk one night and told me about it. A woman named Moira. He never really went into any true detail, just a lot of monologue about her mind and how marvelous it was to observe and be in the presence of." Raven shrugged and rolled her eyes.
"Well, I suppose that someone with powers like his might look for different qualities in their potential sexual mates." Hank scratches his head. "It may sound crazy to us, but it's entirely possible that his qualifications require a mate with an … appealing … mind."
"You couldn't find any better word to describe that?" Raven deadpanned.
"Well, I … no." Hank coughed.
"And can you stop using the word mate?" Raven shook her head, spinning side to side in the chair.
"It's basic biology," Hank defended. "And, also," he hesitated, "why I don't understand homosexuality."
"You? Really?" Raven stopped. "I've heard that a lot recently, but didn't expect it from you."
"No! Not—homophobic," Hank emphasized. "You know I would support him no matter what. But a man and a woman can have kids, which is how it's supposed to be, and why we're attracted to and want, well, sex. But it doesn't work between two men, obviously, so I just don't understand it."
"So you're saying that heterosexual people who don't want kids shouldn't be able to fall in love either?" Raven countered.
"Well…no, I guess not." Hank's nose wrinkled.
"Because we're more than biology," Raven summarized. "We're human and love is a complicated thing. That's all there is to it." She shrugged.
Hank blinked, then flinched as the door suddenly opened.
"Dr. McCoy?" the officer called, "Someone's on the phone for you."
"Oh, yes, of course." He composed himself before walking over to get it. "Hank McCoy," he greeted once he had it. "Yes, that was me. We're investigating a gang that uses your application for communication purposes. … The Steel Vipers, yes. … We're most interested in who's leading the group. … Magneto, yes."
Raven watched, trying to ignore the annoyance of only hearing half the conversation, and Hank grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
"I understand, yes," Hank stated as he wrote something down. "You can't tell us anything associated with the account? … I see. … No, that would only serve to make them suspicious, I think. … Can you do that? I'm not sure if it would help, but it couldn't hurt. … Okay. … Thank you. Goodbye." Hank hung up the phone and sat it down.
"What did they say?" Raven asked immediately, even though she knew he'd tell her soon enough.
"They made sure that I was aware that there's no guarantee that the name used to register the account is a real one, but they did give me the name associated with it." Hank handed the piece of paper over.
Raven glanced down and saw the name Max Eisenhardt.
Max Eisenhardt is one of Magneto's many names in the comics. I won't even say alias, because I don't think anyone's completely sure at this point.
Disclaimer: I don't know Polish.
Disclaimer: Charles's analysis of gang behavior is my not-so-educated guess, do not take as fact.
The group chat app that the Steel Vipers use for communication is a conglomeration of many features and apps and is not any one in particular.