[ He's lucky she's forgiving, or at least that she's willing to shelf the things that she's angry at him for. It doesn't take long for the little girl - Angel, her name is - to be brought right back down to the dregs where she belongs, and so she can't be too angry that he's simply been too busy to grant her her freedom. She knows the plan was time sensitive.

It doesn't mean she can't take it out on him, later, when they're behind closed doors, where she can see her aggravation and aggression painted out in bruises on his skin as she runs a white leather over his skin. She's got her own ways of dealing with things. ] There's no need to hide anymore, you're correct in that. The radiation of the United States and Russia is already starting to weed out the weak from the strong. [ she inspects her nails a moment and looks at him. ] Eventually, we'll need to grow. There's plenty of uncharted space on the island. We'll need to go recruiting soon.

[ She needs company, other than Charles Xavier and the Sunshine Gang. She needs pretty men and women to look at, new lovelies to manipulate into their cause.

It is somewhat charming to see him so pleased, so happy that everything is going so well for him. Part of her wants to continually ask what he expected from the situation - after all, they had succeeded. Did he expect anything less from them? Despite her own rather realistic view, she smiles once he offers his hand and takes it in kind, twirling in his arms over to the record player in the corner, turning on a bit of jazz, the strap on her little white dress sliding down her shoulder. ]

And just how do you want to celebrate, hm?