Friend Or Foe? HF Written by the Purple King, Steven Booth
The first signs of winter had begun to creep slowly into the grounds of the Black Hellfire Club. All around the mansion and its surrounding property, the trees were shedding their tarnished leafs, giving way to their naked barks and branches. A diminutive, yet evident ground frost had coated the ground, like a blanket of snowy white towelling. RKB hurried up the pathway leading from the helipad. Hastily, he glanced at his gold pocket watch, which nestled carefully in his interior blazer pocket. 6:07AM. No bad he contemplated to himself. The Headmaster tightened his sophisticated over coat around his fragile frame, and shuffled upto the front door of the mansion. Casually, almost without thinking, he whipped his identity card out of his briefcase and advanced into the building. The faint wafts from the dining hall met his nostrils, tantalising his taste buds. Steven suddenly snapped from his almost hypnotic trance and proceeded to the offices that belonged to the BHC members, accompanied by his trusty cane. As he progressed down the elegantly furbished hallways, he acknowledged the vast array of noise that was contained within the walls of the mansion. Finally he reached his office and slid his key into the lock, turning it carefully. Once again the lock had refused to open. Becoming somewhat agitated, he began to phase himself through the door. With a sense of satisfaction, the Headmaster advanced to his desk and began to glance over the mass of faxes and e-mails he had been sent. If I die, I bet it has something to do with paperwork he said to himself.
Strider rose from his comfortable bed, and began to fumble around for the alarm clock. Finally he found the device. It was already seven thirty. He’d have to crawl out of bed soon to get to SuperGrover!!!’s briefing. He hadn’t been the White Emissary for long, by the had quickly learned the rules and regulations regarding his career, and was sure that he had made the right choice in returning to the Hellfire Clubs after so long. Lethargically he slid from his bed and wandered into the bathroom, turning the shower on. From a distance he could here his fax machine churning out some sort of message. Another long day he groaned to himself as he allowed the jets of water to massage his body.
“So then, I cart wheeled across the floor, took out three drones with a round house kick and then I took the others out in a matter of seconds. Computer reckons I did it in eleven seconds,” DarkFallenAngel, the Black Executioner, said vividly, trying to catch the attention if the Black Bishop. But Nathan Sommers evaded the young woman, more engrossed in his paperwork than her tales. DarkFallenAngel rolled her eyes and turned in her seat to try and join in with Greg and Monet’s conversation about why breakfast cereal could cause insanity. Monet was half-heartedly listening the Black Knight’s insensible rants. Finally Darkwolf and Rogue entered the BHC’s briefing room, taking their designated seats at the front of room. The gentle hum of activity faded away and the Black King, DarkWolf, began to speak. “There isn’t really much action today. But I do want the whole IC and OC to assemble at the Danger Room at 12.30. Other than that, normal tasks for today.” Darkwolf took a breath, and strolled out of the room, followed by the Black Scribe, Nate Grey, who questioned the King about his evaluation of the previous night’s soccer match. The two friends chatted happily as they descended down the hall. Rogue and Monet then exited the room, followed by Greg, DarkFallenAngel and a very absorbed Black Bishop. Jetfire, the Black Prelate and RKB’s gaze fixed upon one another for a brief moment, their stares cantankerously beaming at one another. “Hey, Steven,” Rogue shouted from the hallway, breaking the fixation between the two men. Steven waltzed past Jetfire, slightly brushing past him with defiance, and followed the Black Queen down the corridor. There was something about Jetfire that didn’t seem right to Steven. He could sense a certain emotion inside of him, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.
“I’ll have one of those too,” Michael Danvers said, as he whipped a slice of chocolate gateau from the revolving desert cart.
“You just can’t beat a decent slab of cake,” David Miner said, greedily masticating on his hot dog. “So did you catch the ball game last night?” Michael snorted, stuffing his lunch into his already full mouth.
David sighed heartily. “Nah,” he said, regrettably, “Professor Booth has ordered everyone on full alert. He seems to think that there’s gonna be a mass volcanic explosion. That is one seriously weird dude.” David laughed, and then noticed the stone-cold face of his colleague.
“That ‘weirdo’ is your employer,” Ian Fitzroy said, leaned down on his shoulder, "don’t forget that. Now, I’ve been sent here to keep an eye on things, on a personal level for Mr Booth. I’d hate to have to report to him that there are some less than ‘loyal’ employees.” Ian could sense the fear lingering in the air. “Now eat up that cake,” he said, dipping his finger into the succulent cream, “it’s mighty fine.” And with that, the former Red Rook waddled down the canteen, back to his office. Ian loved the mornings, especially when he was in control.
Marvel Girl wasn’t a woman to relax and bypass her work as the Grey Queen. In the entire world, there weren’t many things that came before her vocation. But lately, the Grey Queen had found herself in more challenging and difficult situations, simultaneously. The gentle humming of her respiration was almost hypnotic. Before today, Jean Grey ridiculed those telepaths who turned to hypnosis and meditation to relax. But here she was, doing exactly that. The calming atmosphere the morning portrayed only further enlightened the frustrated Queen’s mind. Suddenly a presumptuous rapping at the door jolted her from her thoughts. She snapped to her feet, and trudged to the door. “Yeah?” she barked, before noticing it was Mystikal at her door. “Hi Mysty,” Jean said warmly, “How can I help you?” Mystikal looked slightly agitated. Nervously she began twisting at her silvery hair. “I crashed my car into the gates,” she said blandly. Jean looked at her. “And?” the Grey Queen said. Mystikal looked dumbfound. “It was an accident,” Mystikal whispered, small droplets of water gathering in her eyes, “I usually wouldn’t be driving so early on, but I fancied having breakfast in the town and..,” the Grey Rook trailed off. Jean began to laugh cordially. “Lighten up Mysty, it was an accident. We can fix it.” The Grey rook suddenly shined a smile. Jean rushed into her room and slipped on some shoes. “Anyway, I have a hankering for good old fashioned Italian pizza. And guess who’s coming with me?” Mystikal laughed as the two women clattered down the halls.
Darkwolf sat at his desk, fingering through the expenses list for the Club’s last month. He didn’t realise how much they actually spent. Thank God for our wealthjoked to himself, almost blinking when he realised how snobby that sounded. He could see the sun’s light fighting hard to pierce through those dominating clouds. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good time,” said aloud, “it’s about time I did something about it.” The Black King recoiled out of his exceedingly comfortable chair. Being the King did have its perks. He walked to the door and began to turn the handle, when it fell open, only to reveal the pompous face of the Black Prelate. “Hi Matt,” Darkwolf said, inviting him to sit in the chair opposite his desk, “how can I help you?” Jetfire said nothing as he walked over to DarkWolf’s bookshelf. Silently he began to delve through he volumes.
“Here it is,” he said, as he carefully took the book out of the shelf. “This was Silver’s log,” he said, as he flipped open the leather-backed book, “listen to this, one of his final entries before the Millennium Massacre.” The Black prelate scanned the page and began to recite the text.
“16th December, 1999.
My credit card company called me today, and the news was less than appropriate. Apparently, the Club’s entire history with the company has been totalled. This is one of many attacks against the Club in very few days. It seems we have met some powerful enemies. But nothing can weaken my grasp on the Club. The Black hellfire Club shall stand strong and firm. Anyway, I must go now and order the final objects for the Christmas banquet.” Darkwolf nodded, half expecting Jetfire to drag in Silver screaming, “Surprise surprise.” But Darkwolf had known Jetfire in previous incarnations. He knew him as the loyal and somewhat fanatical Black King Gregor. But that was in the past. “Matt,” DarkWolf joked, "are you proving to me you can read? Cos if it’s true, you can have a cookie.” Darkwolf began to express a cheesy grin. Suddenly the Black Prelate hurled the book through the glass table, situated near the Black King’s bookshelf.
“The Black Hellfire has always stood strong. But you Darkwolf, you have made a mockery of this establishment.” Darkwolf stood, somewhat dumb found. “What the Hell do you think your talking about?” he snarled, “I’m not the one that abandoned this Club twice.” Jetfire span around, making fierce eye contact with the Black King. “You every bit more pathetic than I could imagine,” Jetfire spat, “and I swear, our paths will cross again.” With that he stormed out of the room. Darkwolf silently began to pick up the shattered shards of glass that littered the floor. He couldn’t shed the feeling of…guilt he had. “Life isn’t so simple, my friend,” a familiar voice said, “one can’t piece a life back together like a pane of glass.” Darkwolf pretended to ignore the Headmaster. Finally he began to speak. “What do you want?” Darkwolf said, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. Steven levitated a file over to the King. Darkwolf opened it, and looked puzzled. “Nice snapshot of a castle,” he finally jeered, “now you’ve shared that with me, you can leave.” Steven tutted. “My friend,” he said, as he teleported besides the King, assisting him in picking up the glass, “I know what just happened. And I have a few words of my own to say to you.” The Black King’s jaw tightened. “From what I read in the archives,” Steven said as he brushed the debris into the wastebasket, “the Club was doomed from the day the Millennium Massacre occurred. And Gregor’s incarnation of the Club was pitiable. Then I read how you formed the BHC back to glory.” Darkwolf went to his desk and began glancing over some papers, pretending to disregard the Red Bishop. “You took a group of devastated people,” Steven persisted, “and led them into the Club they are today. With an inner and Outer Circle as strong as diamond, and a promising Academy. You’ve given meaning to so many people’s lives, including the young mutants that walk through the Academy door every morning. Don’t let the words of one cynical man drag you down.” Steven laid his bony hand on the Black King’s shoulder. Darkwolf, for the first time in the presence of the Red bishop, began to smile. “Thanks,” he managed to muster. Steven laughed. “Anyway, what’s this castle picture in aide of, anyway?” the Black King persisted. Steven’s eyes became wide with interest. “Well, I am thinking of having a separate building built for the Academy.” Darkwolf frowned. “Is there something wrong with the facilities provided?” he questioned. Steven shook his head intensely. “The allocated quarters are extremely fine, but I think a larger, more complex building is needed. I remember, back in my hometown in England, Burnley, there was a most fascinating library. It was nothing special, but he architect was extremely interesting to me. I wish to have it erected here as an educational centre and dormitory facility. And the current facilities to be converted into a more ‘hi-tech’ training centre, no just for the Academy, but for the team as a whole.” Darkwolf thought for a moment, his hand carefully caressing his chin. “All will be paid for by me,” Steven interrupted. Darkwolf tutted and gave the Headmaster a flashing smile. “Then, how could I say no?” Steven smiled widely. “Thank you,” he said, “I’ll get things underway as soon as possible.” And with that the Red Bishop teleported out of the King’s office. Darkwolf carefully placed the former Black king’s journal back on his shelf and wondered over to the window. The heavy clouds had begun to fade away, allowing the sun to erupt upon the mansion. Darkwolf grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, on the trail of the Black Queen.
Marnie Fox squirmed impatiently in her chair, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her teacher. It wasn’t like the Headmaster of the Academy, RKB, to be late. Immediately, Steven walked into the room. The whole Academy, consisting of Shadow, Xeus, Dark Phoenix II, Draco, Shifter and DarkFallenAngel, rose to their feet. “Ah, I am glad to see you have finally mastered the art of basic respect,” Steven said, beckoning them to take their seats, “it is a dogma that you learn respect and discipline. Because without them, we are little more than animals.” Steven opened up his brief case and glanced carefully at his lesson plan. “Today,” he said in a bland, genteel voice, “we shall be evaluating the seven major functions of all living organisms.” A gesticulated groan wafted through the room, only to be silenced by the piercing stare of the Headmaster.
“So let me get this straight,” Rogue said as she leaned against her large mahogany desk, “he just walked into your office, hurled abuse about how you’d failed as King and left?” Darkwolf nodded, then gave a nervous laugh, “I was as surprised as you. But, I remember when Jetfire first came to us. RKB warned me that having a rival King in the Court was dangerous.” Rogue just shook her head in disbelief. “Well, we can’t all be as perfect as RKB now can we? So I guess we’re throwing him out of the team.” Darkwolf began to laugh heartily. “Well, yeah. But I do have a few ideas.” Rogue sat in her leather chair, issuing the Black King to join her. “Well, Monet and Nate have come back to the Club. They’ve been in the BHC for a hell of a long time, and I think they both deserve some distinction.” Rogue nodded in agreement. “This has nothing to do with them being our best friends does it?” Rogue joked. Darkwolf pretended to look hurt. “Well, we take away the whole Prelate position, and replace it with a prince and princess. I know we are trying to keep the Inner Circle to six, so we eliminate the mage position to Outer Circle.” Rogue sat motionless for a moment; her hand pressed against her chin in thought. “This would leave Scribe, Mage and Rook open,” she said, “but I say yes.” Darkwolf gave her an excited hug. “Now, I wanna ask you something else,” Darkwolf, said. Rogue beckoned him to continue. “We haven’t had a really good reunion for Monet and Nate,” he said, "and I was thinking, why don’t we go on a trip around South America, back packing and such nonsense.”
Charlotte sat at her office, scribbling incoherently on the front of a scrapbook. She could imagine what Steven would say if he caught her. Defacing a book young lady, is the lowest form of vandalism and should be banned. In my day…. She started to chuckle slightly. Her job as Grey Ambassador wasn’t usually as eventful as she’d have liked. Even her, Queen of Lethargy, found it dull. But, all in all, she was enjoying the Grey Hellfire Club. Idly, she wandered over to the pigeonhole slots in her office wall, flicking through the meetings and engagements of the Grey Court members. Hawkeye had a few meetings, as did Scrib and Siren, but other than that the case was barren. Finally deciding to go and take in some sights of Rome, Rage hurried down to the garage.
“Why have we been called here all of a sudden?” RKB moaned as he entered the briefing room, his tone dripping in annoyance, “I do have classes to teach!” Greg grabbed his arm and pulled him into the seat next to him playfully. Steven merely jeered at him, wiping his blazer as if it was infested with dust. Finally the whole BHC, Academy and all, were present in the sophisticated room. “Sorry to call you all hear,” Rogue said in her professional voice, “but I am here to tell you that the King and I have closely evaluated the Club, and have decided to fix a few things.” There was a tone of mystery hanging in her words. “Nate Grey and Monet have both been loyal members to the BHC in its past incarnations, and have both shown a positive and independent attitude regarding the Club. Therefore, we have decided to promote them to a more demanding role, within the Inner Circle. Nate will become the new Black prince, and Monet will be the Black Princess.” Nathan Sommer’s face began to morph with curiosity. “I thought you wanted a small IC,” he quizzed, “and where’s Jetfire.” Rogue’s facial expression suddenly changed. “Jetfire has kindly left the Black Hellfire Club, and with him goes the Prelate position. And we have demoted the Mage position back to Outer Circle. Speaking of the Outer Circle, we have decided to go for a more traditional name, the Advocates. Now, as the new Black Rook, we have decided that Slider, who recently returned to the BHC, should take that title. And as Scribe, we invite Shifter to the Advocates. Finally, Epyon, we think you have earned a place in the Advocates as Mage.” There was a potent mix of astonishment and inquisitiveness in the room. “Finally,” Rogue declared, “as part of our traditional approach to the Club, the Dragonfire Team will be renamed the Marauders. And we invite Draco to the Rank of Captain and Dark Phoenix II to be Headmistress.” With that the Black Queen took her seat and allowed her male counterpart to take the stand. “The Royalty shall be retiring for a short break, pending our return, Greg is in command. Thank you.”
RKB sat at his desk, a large, decorative glass in his hand, swirling the delicate liquid inside. His mind stretched across the Red Court Mansion. All around he could feel a mottled array of emotions. Lest of all was his almost uncontrollable anger. Abruptly he telekinetically hurled his tumbler into the roaring fire that heated his chamber. Wrapping his silk robe around his body, the levitated across the room and phased through he door, heading down the dimly lit corridors. He took pleasure in his nocturnal wanders. The events of the meeting early today hurled through his head at a cosmic speed. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t informed him about the changes in the BHC roster. It wasn’t your decision to make he argued with himself. Steven pushed the procedures to the back of his mind and finally gave a slight knock at the Red Queen’s door. After several seconds, the Chastity opened the door, her night grown clinging precariously to her well-toned frame. “Steven,” she said, “glad you could make it.” The Red Bishop nodded, and followed the Queen into her room, taking a seat next to the fire. “You wanted to see me about something?” Steven question as he took a glass of vin rouge from a servant girl. Chastity nodded and sat adjacent him. “I have a gift for you,” she said, as she clicked her slender fingers. A very ornamental box appeared on the Red Bishop’s lap. Carefully, he dissected the cover and found inside a very elaborate, highly detailed cane. It was made out of titanium; it’s shimmer dazzling him in the candlelight. Several intricate, yet veiled carvings ran around the stick. And finally a large, blue and red ruby finished off the masterpiece. Steven was soundless. Finally he mustered up some words. “It’s beautiful, Chastity. But, what is it for?” The Red Queen gave him a huge grin, one that didn’t seem to suit her at all. “It’s just a way of showing my appreciation for all the things you have done for me.” Steven gave her a warm, almost paternal smile. Then rather mischievously he took the cane from its cane and began swinging it about. “Hmm,” he said in a low tone, “I wonder how many hellions I can beat up with this?” Chastity rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I must be off, need to make some calls,” Steven said, giving Chastity a quick kiss on the cheek, “thank you once again.” And with that the Red Bishop happily slipped down the hallway. “He seems happy,” Ryan Jensen, the Red King, said as he slid from the shadows, “you are a perfect actress, my Red Queen.” Chastity smiled seductively, defiantly keeping out of his gaze. Ryan began to smile a wicked and devious smile. “Let the games begin,” he whispered in the Red Queen’s ear.
