[Quicksilver]

The thing about security cameras is that they needed a clear view of someone's face or some equally incriminating aspect of the person before they became useful in any way, shape, or form. This made the mutant known as Quicksilver very, very happy, as his job for tonight required him to be in and out and on with his life. Even though the man was positive that he was going to get caught on cameras, he highly doubted that anyone would notice him specifically in the crowd of chatting suits and short dresses, which caught Pietro's eye occasionally, but he was far more interested in the baubles around the necks and wrists of the women and the money the men kept flashing around.

The event was a gala for the anniversary of one of New York's greatest treasures - the Metropolitan Opera - held in the main hall of the Met itself. Among other things, like securing an invitation to the shindig via some of his "friends", the setting of the gala made Pietro's life very easy. The main hall of the Met branched into a t-shape, packed with well-dressed individuals who weaved between conversation partners and made their way to the winding staircases that led up to two additional levels. The ceiling above was graced by the famous Met chandeliers, over a dozen pieces of artwork formed of glass and metal, shaped into round galaxies of stars.

The crowd, mixed with the winding staircases flowing with people, and the dim lighting all added for a perfect atmosphere for some selective pick pocketing and basic thievery. Pietro, under the guise of one 'Iosif Sidorov', an alias that Pietro could hold up with his passable Russian, mingled the best he could. He restrained himself from talking to the same people for too long, instead using the mostly empty wine glass he was carrying as an excuse to leave the conversation. The glass had been full at one point in time, though Pietro had quickly drained the contents with a satisfied half smile.

Every so often, between glasses of wine, Pietro would excuse himself to the men's room, taking the moment of peace to deal with the trinkets he picked up as the hours ticked past. So far, a rather charming diamond bracelet, two wallets, and a clasp from a purse that contained what appeared to be sapphires. The latter required Pietro to actually cut part of the silk-cloth handbag and was by far his proudest acquisition of the night. His treasures were deposited in a small pouch attached to the inside of his lower leg by a band. It kept any quick pat downs or friendly touches from finding the evidence immediately.

As he returned to the event, Pietro spotted a find he couldn't just pass up. A woman, young and looking very bored, with what could only be assumed to be her date, seeing as the man appeared to be a significant amount older than she. Waiting until the other man ambled off to do whatever and leaving his date behind to chat with an older woman politely, Pietro sidled up carefully, a hand in the pocket of his suit (a piece of clothing that Genome himself would have approved of, even with the lack of a tie). He looked dashingly European with his suit, an attribute Pietro usually carried without needing fancy threadware to enhance, and the characteristic look was only enforced by his thickening of his natural accent, which tromped over the English without a care. With an almost instinctive quality, Pietro ignored the passing looks he received for his hair color once people realized that he was not as old as a glance told them he should have been.

But now the accent it came into play, and even Pietro had to admit it was painful to distort English in this manner, but he continued with the charade regardless. With a slight smile, Pietro took a sip of his wine, looking at the woman with interest. "The lyustra, erm, chandeliers I t'ink you sehy, t'ey are beautiful. Never have I been in t'is... opera house, but I t'ink I shehl another dehy." God, that was terrible. At least Pietro's natural accent with relatively bearable. The act worked, if only barely, as the woman returned his smile, a look of polite boredom on her face, though Pietro did have her attention for the moment, if only probably to simply figure out what he was saying. The accent was a bit thick, not Pietro's usual lilting tone, though it was based around his tendency to mispronounce the letter "a" (something the man could not break, or at least refused to renounce in public) and a rolling of the letter "r" that reminded ignorant fools of a spanish voice, a reference that only annoyed Pietro.

"Your dehte, it seems," He began, tipping his glass towards the direction of the older man. "Is eh bit preoccupied to notice ehll of t'e... beauty ehround." With that, Pietro made an obvious nod towards the chandeliers, follow shortly by intentionally deviant glance over of the woman that ended in a smile that reached up to the man's eyes.

Tonight could be his lucky night, for the suggestive glance over had reminded Pietro why he was even bothering chatting with this woman. A necklace laced with diamonds and rubies hung from the woman's neck, far older than the woman herself and far, far more valuable to Pietro. He had to have it, and he would have it.

Met Opera ; Chandeliers

[Quicksilver]

The drink in his hand did absolutely nothing for Pietro, but he continued drinking the wine anyway. It served as a disguise in one form, and, though it took a substantial amount of alcohol to get Pietro anywhere close to tipsy because of his quick metabolism, he did enjoy the drink. The only fallacy in the consumption of alcohol for humans was the danger of inebriation and damage to the body, and it turns out a metabolism that fit the name Quicksilver proved to neutralize most of the good and bad of the drink. It meant that the action in and of itself was pointless, however, except in the form of a ruse. It meant that Pietro could keep his full faculties during this entire undertaking, which was important to the mutant.

Because it would not do to put on a bad show for the humans, now would it? Poor people, forced into this stuffy room which was becoming stuffier as the hot air escaped with small talk about weather and politics and business as if the interests of the flatscans were of any importance to Pietro. He was grateful, though, that he did not have to put up with the feeling of a tie around his neck. He had no negative memories of the article; however, he was inclined to avoid any clothing that could be used to stop him or restrain him. Perhaps it was paranoia, but Pietro liked to think of it as preemptive planning. His sleeve could be grabbed or hooked, and the back of his shirt grasped at to stop him, but a fist clasped around a tie would bring Pietro to his knees faster than he could comprehend it.

Plus, it was simply unpleasant. He could not imagine the idiotic reason fashion would decide that an article of clothing representing class and power and importance should resemble a collar or a noose. Perhaps the upper class wished to appear as servants to society, benefactors that would discomfort themselves in an effort to please. Or perhaps it was a symbol of power indicating they could wear a noose and nothing would happen to them. Hrmph, the arrogance of humanity astounded even Quicksilver sometimes. Pietro thought that was completely dim in light of the fact that the men chose to wear ties, but their wives would wear jewels and precious metals that could do far more for haughty appearances than a piece of cloth knotted and pulled tight around your throat.

Pietro, quite frankly, was fine with that symbol of power and wealth. It kept him occupied and entertained for the night. This... past-time was much preferable to spending his night wandering around the Brotherhood Headquarters and finding problems he needed to fix. Besides, his occupation as a full-time terrorist and mutant supremacist did not pay as well as blackmarket transactions, and he certainly could not cadge wealth from the Brotherhood's stores. At least, not without risking life and limb.

Here, here Pietro was risking nothing, because in this crowd of humans, he could easily escape with the same amount of effort that it took him to move. Hopefully, if he worked a little magic - brought by distracted targets with baubles and the ability to move quicker than most could react – he could leave without worry, and the young man with the white hair would never been seen again by these people. Unless it was under a different set of circumstances, but then again, Pietro highly doubted those circumstances would be at all pleasant.

That was not the case at the moment, since the woman with the fascinating necklace was definitely tiring of her former companion, who appeared to be conversing with an older couple far across the room. Undoubtably, the topic was as boring as the man himself, and it was with this sentiment in mind that the woman seemed to turn her interest to Pietro. Not without pause, of course, as she took a moment to watch her date in careful calculation and came to the conclusion that the older man was not going to be paying her any attention this evening, so she might as well get her money's worth in wine and entertainment. ”Yes, well, let's just say the beauty he is interested in has more to do with financial acquisitions than anything else.” There was a note of disdain in the woman's voice, and she continued to stare a little less than fondly at her date before turning her gaze toward Quicksilver.

He played the game, smiling politely, and though he could not claim that the gesture was honest, he could claim that a false politeness was useful. At least for his own personal game. But, let' us go back to destroying English. Pietro felt that if any of his coworkers could hear him, he would be ostracized for the ridiculous nature of his words, even more than usual, perhaps, but at least on normal days Pietro could defend himself. Here, he felt he had no justification for mangling the language, other than to make himself sound like he understood New York as much as any foreigner (who did not spend time here) could. It was not necessary, but Pietro was increasingly bored and he does what he wants. "I hehve never been to t'is event before,” Pietro began, waving his wine-carrying hand with a gesture toward the crowd. ”T'ough it seems t'eht you hehve hehd t'e pleasure of ehttending more t'ehn you wish.”

The proof that she was forced into events and social gestures such as this was hanging around her neck, and the woman simply reinforced the thought by absentmindedly touching the necklace as she stared blankly into space. So, it was a bribe. Reality was rudely thrust upon her as the host began to make an announcement, and the entire room turned their heads toward the noise. The moment was near, and Pietro did not feel like leaving tonight without his prize.