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Date & Time: July 29, mid-morning
Location: the training facility
Characters: Erik & YOU
Summary: Erik trains and also has manpain
Format: Prose to start, will switch to quicklog if you prefer.
Warnings: none for the time being

It was after breakfast that Erik found himself in the training facility of the Initiative hold, relieved that it appeared relatively empty. He had felt rather reclusive as of late, particularly after finding himself fading in and out of existence, and had spent much of his time secluded in his apartment reading whatever could be obtained from the Initiative's library. When he felt like he needed some air, he had resorted to going for runs outside of the facility -- regardless of his own experience with the Masked. Perhaps even in spite of it. If anyone was to run across them again for any reason, he would prefer that it be himself rather than someone who would be less prepared for the encounter.

Today, it was a different kind of training that Erik had in mind. He unsheathed the dagger that he had chosen upon first being brought to Exsilium, allowing it to float above his palm for a moment before spinning in place and then shooting at a target across the room with merely a thought. It was simple enough to practice aim in this way, and he found himself sighing as he looked about the room for a manner of practice in which he could actually challenge himself.

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Loki appeared in the room merely out of coincidence—he had been doing a round of exploratory adventuring within the Initiative Hold, and it was the sound of Erik's dagger impaling itself into a target that caught his attention. He did not initially intend to engage with the man, not at first, but having stopped to glance into the room where he was practising so diligently (and with such genuine apathy), Loki found himself intrigued.

He was not using his hands to throw these knives, and yet he did not look inhuman at all. What was this? What was this place, and what were their people?

Needless to say, Loki invited himself into the training room without a second's thought—his arms behind his back as he cased the room; walked quietly. "In what way are you able to do that?" he asked, voice clear and loud enough to be heard in the open space of the room.

With a slight crook of his fingers, the dagger shot across the room once more, the hilt returning to Erik's palm. He took the time to return it to its sheathe before acknowledging the man who had appeared within the room. When he looked at the new inhabitant of the room, it was in an almost calculating manner, appearing to carefully assess the individual he was looking at.

"It is the nature of my mutation," he replied in a rather straightforward manner.

There was that word again. Loki's eyes narrow after a second, and he seems only further intrigued, rather than less. "You are a mutant," he stated, his voice matter-of-fact; even intrigued. He drops his hands to his sides as he continues to regard Erik with great and increasing interest, and while he has a mind to begin to pace 'round him and get a look up and down him—he stops himself, knowing such actions foolish. "Like Mystique."

Then, after a few more moments' pause, he is meeting Erik's eyes again. "But you're not 'Charles'," he states, tests, with a low challenge in his tone that details his existing distaste for the man—of whom he knows nothing but what Raven has told him, and taken into his own context.

That, and what he has seen on the network.

Erik gave a small nod. He was still growing accustomed to the nickname Raven had chosen for herself, as he heard it so much less often than her actual name. It was the tone that the other man used to speak Charles' name that made his jaw set, his gaze harden.

"I am Erik. Charles is my companion," he replied flatly, meeting Loki's eyes with a challenge of his own in his expression.

Straightening up with a sharply inhaled breath, Loki eyes Erik with a cold gaze. He takes those words and thinks them over for only a moment, before his tone changes. "I see," he says, and allows himself to drop a fraction of his displeasure, at least for the sake of continuing to establish this conversation.

"Your companion. You know the girl, then?"

Erik was unsure what had caused this man to regard Charles with such animosity, and could only find himself with a great distaste for this stranger at the moment, regardless of whether or not he seemed to know Raven. He gave a curt nod. "She is Charles' sister. She is like family to me."

Loki seems satisfied enough with the descriptor of Raven's familial-like qualities with the man, and he is shifting his attentions elsewhere—on the target—before they are back on the mutant standing before him. He finds himself with an inherent anger and developing fascination with these humans called mutants. They are capable of so much more than he was accustomed to, and it was both irritating and so very, very promising.

Erik, however, was not like Raven. He would not be of any instantaneous use to Loki; this he knew. Even so, animosity should not be his first course of action, and it takes Loki a second to convince even himself of this. Then, he's backtracking. "Forgive me," he says, his voice patient. "I know nothing of the man but what I have been told. Perhaps I shall reserve my judgement."

Erik was only partially satisfied with that response. It still held the undercurrent of animosity, and only raised more questions for the mutant. He wanted to know who had been speaking to him about Charles, and what sort of things they had been saying to draw such a contempt from him. He made a mental note to speak to Raven on the matter, since this man apparently knew her.

"I would advise as much," he replied, a faint frown remaining on his features. "I believe you have been mislead."

Loki certainly would not defend each word from Raven's mouth, and he has no reason to believe all of them now. After all, she is a young girl, and they are wont to complaints rife with bias. Still, he observes Erik as they speak, and doesn't appear to vocalize his understanding just yet.

"Have I?"

Making his way into the room, Charles stepped quietly, though not without making his presence known with a nudge of his mind against Erik's. He was certain that the man would recognise him even without words, and he was rather counting on it as he came up alongside him. "Searching for more of a challenge?" he asked, letting a small grin crawl over his features.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched Erik. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much of a good one, though perhaps—I could assist in other ways."

The nudge against his mind was indeed a familiar one, enough to almost soothe Erik for a brief moment. He turned to face the telepath, smiling just a bit and giving a slight nod. If anyone would be able to help Erik with training of this sort, it would certainly be Charles. "Your assistance is certainly welcome. Their training equipment is somewhat lacking in satellite dishes, it would seem."

Charles is glad to be able to soothe Erik, and it shows in his expression as he looks rather pleased. It has been so long since he's seen him here in this place, and Charles cannot help but gaze at him as though he's never been more glad to see another face in his young (but arduous) life. He finds himself in a position where he truly has to "snap out of it", and turns away to look at the targets.

"Yes, it would, wouldn't it?" he asks, before he's placing a hand on Erik's arm. "What could I do, to be of help?"

Erik's body turned toward Charles slightly, seemingly unconscious of the way he was drawn to him. He seemed to consider the question for a long moment. "I am open to suggestions. Ah, particularly of training exercises that you believe would be of benefit. I feel that I have not been challenging myself enough."

Charles just nods, taking in the man's words as he does. "Well, I imagine we ought to find ourselves something a bit more challenging—more challenging than throwing knives. I'm sure you're well-equipped to aim them, hm?" he murmured, before he began to pace, back and forth—considering where he ought to find them exactly that—more to work with.

"Unless, of course, you should like to throw knives at me. But I do not imagine you need to," he shared, laughing softly.

Erik chuckled a bit and gave a slight shake of his head. "That will not be necessary. I have had enough target practice, I think." He watched Charles pace, eyes following the younger man around the room. "We may have to think bigger. Unless you have something else in mind."

"I'm afraid I've not got anything in mind, at this moment," Charles was murmuring, as he stopped his pacing and turned to face Erik more appropriately. He was biting down on his lower lip after a second in his thought, before looking up from the ground to meet Erik's eyes.

"Though perhaps there would be structures large enough, were we to exit the City entirely?"

It hadn't been long at all since Magnus had arrived but it felt like a brilliant idea to go and have a look at that training facility this place had. Perhaps shoot a few rounds, or swing a few punches as a means of stress relief - because god knows he needed it. The irritation was boiling under his skin, and he honestly couldn't think of a better outlet, as he holstered the handgun he had chosen upon his arrival.

But when he entered, he had done so just in time to witness the knife floating over the man's hand, before launching into the target without its handler so much as blinking. His disbelief had been suspended a bit as it were - that with meeting his doppelganger Loki and finding out that said doppel was in fact something a bit more than human - so this wasn't as big of a shock as it could've been. But still unsettling, or extremely fascinating.

Maybe a bit of both, as he approached, with something a kin to wariness - a tension in his shoulders. "That was," a beat. "Impressive." Because honestly, it was.

A bit crazy, because he didn't fully understand but. He could only imagine how useful this could be. And it really was impressive.

Erik noted the arrival of the other man, but did not seem to fully acknowledge his presence until he was spoken to. He caused the knife to return to his hand with a gesture, placing it in its sheath once more.

"You think so?" he replied, trying not to sound almost bored -- not with the man, but with the training itself. "It is not much of a challenge, I am afraid," he explained after a moment, turning to properly face this newcomer. He had come to learn that people in this place originated from all sorts of worlds: some full of magic, others perfectly mundane. This man's tone suggested that he was not accustomed to seeing such things.

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hope you don't mind! c:

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