The curve of Mystique's lips might have suggested she had thought of that very thing, but in all truth there was no place, no duty that could replace what she had left unfinished in her own world. "You can relax, Mr. Eames. I'm competitive, but not competition." Her head tips back with the pretense of laziness in the action as she settled herself more comfortably into her seat, allowing herself a small tease for the rare respect she gave to a man whose observation skills were at least on par with her own. "Besides, I've learned I don't do very well in teams. I don't think I'll miss waiting for a dagger in my back any time soon."

She did not feel the need to mention that if the hard line of his jaw and the swagger of his step in the real world was any indication, she was, in all likelihood, some years older than him.

"Easy," she said, tongue finding the curves and lines of the sound naturally. "I used to live in Oxford, just off the university campus with my brother." The words were given freely, and where it was not wholly unpainful to speak of Charles in any circumstance, her speech was (relatively) unmarked by it. "I recognized the accent when I 'accidentally' bumped into her in the hotel and she, being quite British, apologized. It probably wouldn't fool anyone who knew her well for too long without a closer study, but most of the time I only need a quick change."