Attrait Makes a First Appearance

~JASON MCALLISTER~
*he looks up at the large metal building, whistling slightly* Wow...what a piece of work...*a passing tourist smiles and nods to the young man, grinning* (Tourist) Yeah! A real beauty, ain't she? Looks like a dream (Jason) *he blinks, looking at the tourist strangely* Who cares about the looks? That's the damned biggest radio transmitter and blocker in the damned world! In World War One they used it to block German transmissions... (Tourist) *the man blinks, then walks away slowly* Ooookay... (Jason) Hmph...idiot...*he shakes his head and walks closer to the tower, just smiling a bit*

~J.X. AMORCEE~
** He kept his eyes narrowed, strained against the spotlights. His grey eyes, pupils pinpricks, as like telescoped they examined the sculpture in-front of him With a careful and critical eye he finally brushed his gaze to a small painting of a tiger playing chess with a bar-maid. A thin white brow rose as he then ripped his gaze away from that as well. His day off, one glorious day he allowed himself to take. His short near military cropped stark white hair clutched his well tanned skin. He rolled his eyes towards a passing tour group, the lot of them speaking English, it seemed everyone lately had been attached to that dreadfully drab language. He nodded to a few people who passed by, folding an arm over his chest a hand wandering towards his chin, as if in a statuesque appraisal to the next piece of art. The theme having been modern surrealism, not his cup of tea, but it was still something that should be appreciated and respected. He then allowing his ears to dull out the intense background of American's ohhing and Ahhing, a small smile as they appreciated his country, their attractions. He nodded again at a passing child, a smile passing over his lips as then again moving in silence to the next exhibit. His suit seeming very proper, a mandarin collar, long sleeved button up black silk. His trousers the same pitch, off set by the silver clasp at the waist. He moved his hand from his chin absently as he picked a small piece of white hair that managed to fall to his shoulder un-noticed. . .and discarded it. He was clean, muscular, efficient looking. And though at the same time seeming. .kind. **

*he smirks to himself, looking up at the tower* Heh...well, I guess isn't as boring as I thought it would be...though I have to admit I care much for the waiters...*he rolls his eyes, sighing softly* Thank god they've got fast food places here...I'd die otherwise.

** He finally managed to near the exhibit he wanted to see, the main attraction. The crowd huddled, near hostile around the new exhibit's center piece, three blue and neon green mannequins, dressed in WW1aviator gear, suspended form their feet from the ceiling, one completely naked aside from the hat, the other reaching towards the ground. In the back something like a parachute billowed out and neon pink, hanging from several beams on the ceiling, like a spider's web. He mentioned to a few people - Excuse me. . . please, move.-- and as if he could control the lot of them they parted. His voice seeming to echo and bounce in their ears and minds. . and they simply complied. He looked over the structure, with much the same repose. A single finger tapping his chin, and then he simply retired from the crowd, letting them be ravenous and gawk at the 'thing' some fool passed as art. Again, he reminded himself it was to be appreciated, . . . somehow. A low chuckle as the moment of silence, while he watched, seemed to collapse in on itself like water washing away any serenity it had. He retried from the museum, and slowly walked towards his town car. The chauffeur bounced to allow him in and he slid to the all leather interior, treated as an ambassador, though with far less protection. After all when did someone like him need protection? He was more than adequate of protecting himself. He motioned towards the driver with a single absent hand, -home- looking out of the heavily tinted window's, at his country's heritage. A small radar device directly in front of him beeping and humming softly. A few screens like two dimensional holographs appeared as he neared the base. He glanced at a few of them and 'touched' them off, glancing behind their glow, a single dot. . . as they passed the Eiffel tower. He rose that same brow again, interesting. . . an UNnatural, here in Paris of all places. . . and /no/ one had identified him. . . her. . .it. His people were getting lax, he then hailed the car to stop, and exited the car himself. He then glanced towards his wrist, a sleek black watch seeming to be a small replica of the radar. He glanced at it once, and smiled. . . a class S even. . . even the techies should hav IDed this boy-child by now. . . then again there had been that /incident/ . . .he sneered. As he slowly walked below the famous archway, then towards the towering iron structure . . . towards the bleep. **

*he sits down on a nearby bench, opening up his backpack to look at his guide book* Hmmm...Let's see...tomorrow I'll go back to that army museum, and...then I'll take a train to the beaches of Normandy. Then, off to Germany...^_^ hehe...this vacation is shaping up, Jase m'boy...shaping up but good!

** He slowed his approach his ears straining to pick up an individual voice on the back-drop of the others, though he was not Scratch. .. and it was near impossible. He had refined his abilities quite well in the years of training. He too knew of the method of approach, he walked slowly, his hands at his sides, looking up at the structure. hearing the boy mutter to himself, something about the army, and spoken in English . . He kept his eyes on the tower as he approached, his hand falling lightly on the bench as he said in perfect English. . . not a trace of his accent. When he admitted to learning a language he learned it completely, and perfected even the atones to his voice in the lightest. ** It truly is a wondrous structure. . . the tower. ** Glancing towards him as he nodded towards the bench, as if to ask if he could sit as well. Not waiting for an answer but in no way rude about it, he sat, his arm then resting atop the back of the bench as he looked upwards again. Saying off handed. . ** You know. . not many people realize the realism of what this structure has been through. The battles it has seen from it's high perch. . battles is the reason they kept the blasted thing. . ** Almost a Nostalgic air to his voice as he breathed the phrases out. His attention seemed to be focused entirely upon the tower, the lights, the awesome perspective. . **

*he blinks as you sit down next to him...finally...someone here who could understand /why/ he had come...not just the art-loving nutcases. He smirks, nodding* Yeah...one of the reasons I came here, actually. That and the Musee de l'Armee. *he offers you his hand, a smile on his face* How're you? I'm Jason McCallister. ^_^ *the boy was totally unassuming...apparently what you said just got his attention and kept it...good and hard*

** Few things surprised him, very few. He sat back wondering if the child had no fear. . . if he were RUNner it was like simply waltzing into the lion's den. If he were undiscovered he had simply fallen into his hands. He tested a quick theory . . . ** The giant iron G.U.A.R.D. of this city, holds many secrets, though many people fail to see the real purpose she was placed here. . . prevent a hostile take over yes. . . but seeming this like every race upon the planet had an idea of a take over itself, no one sheerly just -defense-. . . I am Jean Xaviar Amorce. you may simply call me J.X. ** His voice saying the name with a French flair, that surprised most people. He tensed his muscles unnoticeably, as if to pounce if the young Jason tried to bolt at the mention of G.U.A.R.D. the word ran chills down the spines of many UNnaturals, even those currently under G.U.A.R.D.'s employ. . . though if the word meant nothing to him, and was passed in the normal turn of conversation, it would be nothing. And a different game of cat and mouse all together. He extended his hand with not so much of a hesitation with giving his name, seeing if the child would be as reluctant, or eager to meet his acquaintance. **

*He laughs, shaking your hand normally enough* The guard of the city, eh? *he smirks, looking up at it again* Well, I guess that is a kinda fitting name... *he smirks back at you, a clever look on his face* Interesting theory, Mister J.X. I'd say it's a fair assessment of the history of the world...always at war, you know...one way or another...

** He gave a firm grip, despise that the stark white hair made him look years beyond his age. He then withdrew his tough leather like hand and grasped it to his other, laughing lightly, a deep rolling chuckle that seemed to carry a bit of his looming power with it. Seeming to echo, to comfort, to seem very much like a voice that demanded respect. He said then lightly, the same effect would take place to one without mental shielding, a suggestion placed from the vibration in the inner-ear, a lulling feeling. . ** Please call me Monsieur, or simply J.X., Mister even now seems so. . . ** He wanted to use the word American, but instead he simply supplied ** Formal. ** He looked towards the tower in silence for a moment, allowing the words to seem to dissipate in the cool night air around them. Finally saying then as if in delayed response to his question ** They world is /always/ at war. Whether it be with cannons and airplanes, to simply trying to see who will colonize Mars first. Each race has to prove they are better, faster, stronger. That they are smarter, and in all of this proves their own naiveté about how they are destroying themselves. A foil of humanity, though perhaps we should be thankful it's not worse. ** He smiled leaning back, still fully alert, as he added then ** Though of course as right-winged as that sounds, it's the truth, though I as a human, hardly abide by it. I think that wars build character, soldiers learn respect. ** He glanced finally at the boy again ** Like you, you know respect,

*he shrugs, smiling back at you* Okay, J.X., no problem. *he smirks, shrugging slightly* Respect was kind of drilled into me. I've lived on a military base since I was born...basically grew up /as/ a soldier. *he laughs, grinning at you, as if already you and he were good friends* So, J.X., where are you from?

** He listened carefully to every word, drinking it in. New blood, this made his smile twist ever so lightly. New fresh blood, the term not to be used lightly. Not as in blood to be shed, but a pulsing heart seeming eager. He could taste the benefits reaped from the boy. ** I am from Valence originally, but have spent a great deal of time here in Paris for. . . a very long time. Some refer to me as a permanent resident. **He then turned fully, a hand falling to his chin again, as if just thinking of something. Saying again in the same manipulative tone, a small suggestion, stronger, and a bit more urgent. His words should make an individual feel excited, though still at ease completely with /him/. ** Perhaps if you like I could show you a few military installations, something that I usually don't offer people I have just met, but you my boy are /special/. I could pull a few strings. . . if you are. . . intersted that is ** his powers seeming to increase with every word, making the deal finally sound irresistible. . . and finally as if on the very last word, unbearably necessary.**