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Description
"Hey motherfucker, who's the fool?"

A gathering of villainy was how it was presented to Charmcaster. Fellow aspiring world-conquerors coming together to plot out ways to kill the hero-trio they so loved to hate. There were some she recognized from her younger days, familiar faces, familiar animosity, back when she first gave the whole working-in-a-team-thing a shot under the pathetically uncreative moniker of Negative Ten.

Which, when she thought about it, hadn't been that terrible an ordeal. It had almost worked. Up until the moment they all remembered what selfish, back-stabbing, manipulative individuals they were. The whole thing sort of imploded at that point. The alliance collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, then it was every man, woman, and freak for him, her, itself. Charmcaster remembered vowing never to try anything as stupid as trusting someone who wasn't her or completely under her control when she fled.

So why was she here? Why was she in this dark, abandoned warehouse that smelled of pencil shavings and floor polish? Why was she sitting atop one of the sealed crates, listening to the ranting freak who stank like he's never encountered the concept of gargling?

"Why the fuck should the Circus Freaks listen to you, old man?" he demanded, the floor hissing from the acidic spittle that dripped from his mouth.

"Because you've always been better minions than cohorts," the silver-haired scientist explained calmly, slowly, making it obvious he doubted the trio of pale mutants could understand his words. "And you are all clearly lacking in mental alacrity, which I am more than capable of providing."

Thick cords of red hair tipped with solid metal spheres bore down on the ground, a hair's breadth from where the aging Animo stood.

"We all got something to bring to the table, which puts us all on even footing," Acid Breath continued.

"But we aren't equal," a smooth voice countered.

The Circus Freaks turned towards the source, as did Animo, Charmcaster noted. The mana-witch didn't so much as shift in her seat nor did she let anything but a bored expression appear on her face. Unlike the obvious surprise of the three mutants and the clear suspicion of the scientist.

"You want to make something of it, newbie?" the mouthy mutant growled, gesturing to his large companion towards the young man masked in a metal helmet. The shrugging of unconcerned shoulders prompted the brute to grab him by the front of his metal collar, yanking him up off the ground with the intentions of doing more than shaking him violently.

"And just what can you do, punk?" The self-proclaimed spokesman of the Circus Freaks sneered, his mouth parting in a wide grin that revealed rotting teeth.

Charmcaster held her breath. And it had nothing to do with the stench of the mutant's breath. Thumbskull was suddenly on the floor, and the mana-witch couldn't believe his already pale skin could take on a deathlier pallor. Twin obsidian beams flecked with silver shot out from gauntlet-clad hands, each shaft of dark light colliding against Frightwig and Acid Breath's chest, cocooning the two in blackness, and sending them to their knees.

"I can shut you up," the masked man stated casually, as if he was merely commenting on the weather. "Whether temporarily or permanently is entirely up to you." The smile behind the metal was audible and Charmcaster felt a shiver race up her spine as she realized just why she was here. Her lips curled into a smile of their own when her sharp violet eyes met with the pair of faded blue lurking behind the helmet.

Maybe she will give this working-in-a-team-thing another shot. Sans the trio of pale mutants and the silver-haired scientist of course.

Description
"Hey motherfucker, who's the fool?"

A gathering of villainy was how it was presented to Charmcaster. Fellow aspiring world-conquerors coming together to plot out ways to kill the hero-trio they so loved to hate. There were some she recognized from her younger days, familiar faces, familiar animosity, back when she first gave the whole working-in-a-team-thing a shot under the pathetically uncreative moniker of Negative Ten.

Which, when she thought about it, hadn't been that terrible an ordeal. It had almost worked. Up until the moment they all remembered what selfish, back-stabbing, manipulative individuals they were. The whole thing sort of imploded at that point. The alliance collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, then it was every man, woman, and freak for him, her, itself. Charmcaster remembered vowing never to try anything as stupid as trusting someone who wasn't her or completely under her control when she fled.

So why was she here? Why was she in this dark, abandoned warehouse that smelled of pencil shavings and floor polish? Why was she sitting atop one of the sealed crates, listening to the ranting freak who stank like he's never encountered the concept of gargling?

"Why the fuck should the Circus Freaks listen to you, old man?" he demanded, the floor hissing from the acidic spittle that dripped from his mouth.

"Because you've always been better minions than cohorts," the silver-haired scientist explained calmly, slowly, making it obvious he doubted the trio of pale mutants could understand his words. "And you are all clearly lacking in mental alacrity, which I am more than capable of providing."

Thick cords of red hair tipped with solid metal spheres bore down on the ground, a hair's breadth from where the aging Animo stood.

"We all got something to bring to the table, which puts us all on even footing," Acid Breath continued.

"But we aren't equal," a smooth voice countered.

The Circus Freaks turned towards the source, as did Animo, Charmcaster noted. The mana-witch didn't so much as shift in her seat nor did she let anything but a bored expression appear on her face. Unlike the obvious surprise of the three mutants and the clear suspicion of the scientist.

"You want to make something of it, newbie?" the mouthy mutant growled, gesturing to his large companion towards the young man masked in a metal helmet. The shrugging of unconcerned shoulders prompted the brute to grab him by the front of his metal collar, yanking him up off the ground with the intentions of doing more than shaking him violently.

"And just what can you do, punk?" The self-proclaimed spokesman of the Circus Freaks sneered, his mouth parting in a wide grin that revealed rotting teeth.

Charmcaster held her breath. And it had nothing to do with the stench of the mutant's breath. Thumbskull was suddenly on the floor, and the mana-witch couldn't believe his already pale skin could take on a deathlier pallor. Twin obsidian beams flecked with silver shot out from gauntlet-clad hands, each shaft of dark light colliding against Frightwig and Acid Breath's chest, cocooning the two in blackness, and sending them to their knees.

"I can shut you up," the masked man stated casually, as if he was merely commenting on the weather. "Whether temporarily or permanently is entirely up to you." The smile behind the metal was audible and Charmcaster felt a shiver race up her spine as she realized just why she was here. Her lips curled into a smile of their own when her sharp violet eyes met with the pair of faded blue lurking behind the helmet.

Maybe she will give this working-in-a-team-thing another shot. Sans the trio of pale mutants and the silver-haired scientist of course.