Petra was as surprised as anyone by the arrival of the madman.  And he WAS a madman, to interrupt this wedding.  She had stayed at the back, her tardiness something she was not willing to advertise any more than she had to.  Her eyes widened a little as she saw Simon move to confront the man; they widened further as she turned away from him, scanning the treeline for any evidence of other arrivals.<br/><br/><em>This would be the ideal time for others to cause trouble.</em>She slipped a hand into her pocket and fingered the single cuff link there.<em>But the kid gloves are off.</em>An awful thought followed along those lines, and she glanced back at the mansion, where Gwen still remained.  She WAS a mercenary.  She had no real allegiance to the X-Men.  And since this idiot had claimed an employer it was not unreasonable to presume she too could be under someone's employ.  But then again, it wouldn't be like her at all to be distracted by Petra if she were on a job.  Even when they had first met, she'd had some sense of professionalism.<br/><br/>Unless it was a ruse.<br/><br/>"Blast it."  Unaware of how many heroes she was emulating, Petra stripped off her shirt in record time, her eyes fixed on the mansion now.  If Gwen didn't come out soon, she would have to presume the worst.  Her black and white suit gleamed in the sun and she glanced back at Simon and....the stranger.  Really strange.  He had to have known any number of them could have taken him out as he was grandstanding.  Petra would have dealt with him immediately, but it wasn't her call.  Dedika's weapon, humming threateningly was pinpointed at the strangers chest.  But a sword wielder would be fast and clever with a blade, and it was more than likely his mutant abilities would be able to deal with such a weapon - although, with her powers it was questionable that 'weapon' was the correct term for whatever she had pulled out.<br/><br/>Coriolys made no effort to conceal the fact she was stripping down to her suit; she toed off her slip on shoes, the suit's design having soles of its own.  They were as durable as the rest of the suit and perhaps even more so, because they had to withstand the brunt of her abilities.  She stripped down her slacks, and stepped out of them, pushing them under the chair with her foot.  "Fee fie foe fum," she muttered derisively under her breath.  Threats were a fool's way of making war.