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Everything goes by uneventful when there's a sour taste in your mouth. From the end of the plane ride to getting in the helicopter, Erskine paid no mind to the environment surrounding him. Things happened and he busied himself with his own mind and that awful taste—a biting iron, like he bit too hard on his tongue. The man who'd chauffeured him, alone of all things, kept to himself for most of the trip. A few things had been uttered, but they verged on simple requests and questions he could answer with a movement of his head. The helicopter drained everything else out and Erskine was left with the subtle waves of the ocean below.

Upon landing, Erskine took one step down the terrace to look back. The thought of going home felt bland on his tongue; a fleeting thought to entertain, though nothing more. And Erskine continued down with his bag clinking along the stone steps of the mansion's tiny hangar. It didn't take long to get settled within, having been escorted until the man gave a quiet nod and flourished a hand toward many of the seats for him to take his place upon. Ignoring the sets of eyes and the faces that came with, Erskine situated himself the furthest from anyone, not having it in him to converse with whoever had already arrived. Waiting was easy, but talking after everything that happened seemed monumental. Everyone lost someone, to whatever came and went—everyone in that particular room no longer had a family to go to, but what they'd lost in comparison, didn't seem much comparatively. But, Erskine never pretended to know what went on in other people's heads when he had far too much concern himself over with his own.

The usually brash individual fell into the soft cushions of the couch with his eyes closed and his body radiating a warmth to combat the AC flowing through the likely pristine air. They never quite did open until the dramatic arrival of their host and would be mentor, or whatever he liked to call himself. A jolt ran through him at the start of another joining their group. In his slumber a few more had arrived and settled in with the others, having taken the hint and straying away from the slumbering Erskine. The sun filtered in from the bay windows, setting beneath the Caribbean water in a spectacular display. It felt weird that this man barged in as he did, now speaking a mile a minute, having caught the attention with such grandeur in his show.

Having missed half of the speech, it took awhile for Erskine to fully catch the gist of the man's message. Likely that he'd been straddled to a circus show like this, however, Erskine couldn't find it in himself to complain. Circus show or not, this literally was his last resort, having nothing to go back to in the U.S. aside from staring down the length of a barrel or waking to a circle of scientists. Of course, if circumstances were better, he'd have been more than willing to join a Kick-Ass recreation, sans Jim Carrey, just for the fact that the idea behind it was exhilarating. Unfortunately, the situation seemed far more dire than anyone in here truly knew, excluding the man who'd just given them a corralling bout of Deus Ex Machina.

After his exit, Erskine took a quick collection of the bodies within the room, frowning at the mention of powers. In a better mood, he'd jump at the offer. Unfortunately, circumstances hadn't favored Erskine and he wasn't about to share much of himself until things looked brighter than what he'd just left in Chicago. Speaking of which: Erskine scooted forward to rummage through his luggage in order to extract a packet of seeds from. Taking a plastic baggy from within one of the front pockets of the suitcase, Erskine made the walk outside in order to gather what dirt he could find within the mansion's own front gardens. Afterward, Erskine found his seat once more, still slightly secluded from the others, to examine the items he'd retrieved.

From the look of it, the bag of seeds looked like a motley crew of random plants—a pot luck of randomness. Picking one might yield a surprising turn out or an epic failure. However, Erskine could tell anyone who asked what seed was what, from the shrubs to flowers to trees. It didn't seem like much to Erskine, though the man appreciated the thought of getting what he bargained for. And, like people, there was always a plant with a personality for the occasion. This one, however, he'd let fate deal with.

Parsing through the bag with his eyes closed, Erskine let all but one seed filter through his fingers and stuffed that one inside the baggie of dirt he'd acquired. With a deep breath, Erskine cupped the bag in his hands and watched quiet as one could in his situation—awfully quiet, actually. Burrowed deep within the bag, the seed took root, spreading through the dirt in a pace hundreds of times quicker than normal. Finding the walls of the bag, the seed burst from its husk to sprout the wiry frame of a flower. A pair of fans cupped the bottom of the bulbous flower blooming at the top, a deep purple that faded into a light lavender and eventually white the deeper inside one delved.

And all Erskine could do was frown, as quiet as he ever was, at the iris in his hands.