ArchivedLogs:The Unusual

The Unusual
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien
In Absentia	2014-07-22 Part of Future Past and Prometheus TPs.
Location <HFC> Lounge - Hellfire Clubhouse
The Lounge at the Hellfire Clubhouse is designed as get-away from the demands of the day or a way to set a more intimate mood than the dining room itself. Painted a light neutral shade with dark polished wood, the color scheme itself gives a sense of relief in an otherwise monochrome theme. Comfortable seating dominates the room in creamy beige leather and brighter brocade upholstery. Plush booths and dining chairs surround small tables designed to keep the parties on the light end. A small balcony to one side provides an escape -- frequented often by smokers or just those who wish to take in the view of Central Park. It is a multipurpose room, offering a tea service in the mornings and afternoons, small appetizers and light meals throughout the day, and a full bar at night - and for everything in between. Like a snowy white tiger stalking prey, Emma sits in one corner of the lounge, her presence taking up the entire booth. Elbows rest on the table while a single martini with two olives is perched between her fingers, held directly in front of her face. Light sapphire eyes stare over the rim of the drinking vessel, but she makes no move to drink. She's waiting and thinking, her mutation held well in check, but her mood remains readable to those skilled in body language. She's distracted. Preoccupied. Contemplative. Not interested in others at the moment. Her mood has been growing this way over the past week or so, the puzzle that steals her attention leaves her with very little to offer others. She is able to perform her tasks with her usual diligence, but her conversations have been a hair shorter, her touches a breath lighter, her smiles fleeting. Wearing a fine cut suit with sharp lapels that join just below her breasts, exposing an ivory translucent blouse below, she waits. It's obvious. Her expectant gaze is settled on the door, studying those that enter. She knows Lucien should be by soon. She is patient. Lucien is by soon, as predicted, coming not from outside but from one of the club's guest rooms. He's in grey slacks and a green dress shirt -- maybe there was a tie at some point, maybe a jacket. Not at the moment, though. He doesn't head straight for Emma but for the bar to get himself a Manhattan. Priorities. Emma stirs when Lucien enters, her other sense fixing on him long before her eyes. She lets out a breath that ripples across the surface of her martini then takes a sip, letting the vodka slide along her tongue before it starts to burn down her throat, the salt from the olives setting off the flavors nicely. She sets the glass down and settles her gaze upon the small stick that keeps the olives handy, her fingers twirling it lightly against the divot in the bottom of the glass. She extends her mind to press a small tap to Lucien's mind, not invasive, but also not her usual soft brush. << Busy? >> The tap at Lucien's mind finds its glossy-smooth surface hardening, snapping reflexively into a tighter /clench/ that presents only a slippery-icy surface to telepathic senses. He is quiet through retrieving his drink, tipping his head in thanks to the bartender. << For you, never, >> finally surfaces as his fingers curl around the glass; he makes his way towards Emma's table, leaning in for a light brush of cheek-to-cheek airkiss before he takes a seat opposite her. "Lucien, darling, how delightful to see you," Emma greets him when he enters her field of vision, a small smile pulling at her otherwise preoccupied visage. She returns the polite affection and turns her attention to her drink once more. << Forgive the brusqueness, please. It has been a while since I've had cause to debate lofty morals at length. I'll spare you my inner turmoil and cut to the conclusion: Your plan - there are some problems with it. >> She lifts the drink and takes another sip, following it with a single olive from the end of her spear. "How are you?" One corner of Lucien's mouth twitch-tugs upward, brief as he swirls the drink in its cocktail glass. "It has," he answers Emma lightly, "been a trying week." He tips his glass faintly towards her. "I hope yours has been better." Internally, dry and crisp: << Only some? >> "Draining, but not unmanageable." Emma smiles as she tips her glass in return, the warmth not quite reaching her eyes. << Your agent, Mirror, is more concerned with making a tragedy happen on camera than the slim chance that the rescue will be successful. Your brother is there. I thought you would have an interest in insuring his return. >> She sets down her glass and rests her forearms on the table, folding her hands on the surface. "Oh, I'm curious. Do you know anything about archery?" "You always do manage well." Lucien lifts his glass, sipping slowly at his drink. << Successful. >> This is dry, too. << Such a subjective term. Mirror and I are both /quite/ concerned the raid be successful. >> His eyes lower, lids slipping half-closed as the drink rolls down his throat. << My brother is there. >> Just that, flat and devoid of emotion. Outwardly, his brows lift, his lips curling slightly. "I know quite a lot." << I've only ever had one family member that I could stand, >> Emma muses quietly, her torso leaning forward as her gaze searches his face. "I thought you might. I have maybe romanticized the idea of you with a bow without actually asking you the question before. I fear you have done nothing to stop that." Her smile softens and looks a little less out of place with the hint of worry behind her eyes. << If it were my brother, I would move heaven and earth to insure his safety. One of my sisters, on the other hand... >> And she leaves it at that. << If you are aware of the circumstances and find the sacrifice acceptable, there is nothing more to say. >> "It's rather picturesque, by the way, my mental picture of you, utterly focused, drawing back the string, letting the arrow fly -- hitting your target. Please tell me you're good at it." "Romanticized?" Lucien quirks a brow upward, faint amusement skating across his features. "I did not realize you gave much thought to my pasttimes." He takes another slow sip of his drink, his mind hardening again at the mental talk. << You have, >> comes back very softly, << no idea what I would do to see my brother home safely. >> His fingers tighten against his glass. "I rather excel at it. In practice there is a tranquility to it. Just clear your mind, give all your focus over to it -- but, ah. The reality of /using/ my skills involved a lot more rotting flesh and undead mouths trying to take chunks out of me. Not quite so zen as a nice mountain retreat, but it kept me alive." "If it helps, I was imagining you at a mountain retreat, with a cabin and a lake. It was very picturesque and not a zombie in sight." Emma finishes her drink, finger toying with the stick quietly. She turns the problem of the raid over in her mind and exhales softly. << ...I believe could imagine. I just... wanted to make sure you had all the information you needed. If there is anything else I can do, please let me know. >> "But -- I could definitely see how useful it is. Maybe you could show me some time." Lucien's eyes widen faintly; there's the briefest shiver of surprise across his mind but it soon vanishes. "-- It was. Picturesque. Were you by any chance beginning to /learn/ proper shooting form yourself?" His lips press together, forefinger tapping against the side of his glass. "I have showed you. Or I will." << These dreams... >> It trails off, too, hand lifting to press forefinger and thumb against his eyes. << If I told you I had already seen my brother's safe escape, would you think me insane? >> "Dreams?" Emma's brow furrows a little, her lips parted in a quizzical expression. She inhales then wets her lips and inhales again. "Huh. Now that you mention it. Maybe also talking about job opportunities?" Her head cants to the side a hair, fingers lifting the olive to her mouth so she can pull it off the stick with her teeth. The stick is replaced in her glass as she munches thoughtfully. << That's you're only assurance that your brother will be safe? A dream? >> It doesn't quite seem enough for Emma, but she didn't have the dream. << Maybe. >> << It has not been one dream. Many. Many dreams shared across many minds and all telling the same story. All leading to the same future. And already beginning to come true, in small ways. I should like to see them fulfilled in larger. >> Lucien's brows furrow again. << ... parts of them, at the least. Prometheus's downfall. Matt's safe return. >> He sets his glass down, inclining his head in affirmation. "Risky ones, from the sound of it. But," his smile here is /very/ small, "I suppose little worthwhile in life is /without/ risk." << And being dangerous? >> Emma asks this silently, given the original silent nature. << I had suspicions about Buckland, but... could he really? >> She casts a glance toward the bar and lifts her glass, asking for a refill. The bartender knows her well enough to be looking. "Risk. Hmmm." She turns her attention back toward Lucien and studies his face. << Interesting. Many minds. Whose minds? >> << And being dangerous. >> Lucien's face has slipped into quiet contemplation, eyes fixed down on his drink. << Your mind. My mind. Jackson and Micah and all their children. Others of their acquaintance. Others of /mine/. It seems widespread -- but they all share a common thread. A common narrative. >> The waiter brings over another vodka martini and slides it across the table into Emma's reach. She offers a brilliant smile and slides the drink to rest in front of her. She stirs it lightly with the swizzle and considers it. "I think... I'm a little excited about the lake and the cabin. Maybe we should go up there sooner rather than later." << Interesting. I'd be more interested in the whole narrative. >> "We could go. I have plenty of archery supplies. I know a couple different getaway spots up in the Catskills. And I suspect," Lucien's tone slips back to wry, "that soon enough we might all be able to use a vacation." He's quiet after this, sipping at his drink. His mind stays cool and blank, taking a while of deliberation before floating forward -- amusement, faintly self-directed: << Snapshots of everyone's lives. Progressing forward. Some quite well. Others -- >> He exhales slow. << It predicts this upcoming raid goes badly. That the massacre gives us the leverage we need to finish taking Prometheus down. >> "Mmm. We keep saying we should get away for a weekend, but we don't do it nearly enough. I suppose it's partially the job descriptions we hold. It might be easier to get away on a Monday or a Tuesday." Emma lifts her drink in a quick salute before taking a sip. Her drink is cold enough to start to accumulate perspiration, unlike her last. << Personalized, I suppose. Well. I shall have to start paying more attention to my dreams. >> Her lips twitch as she sets the glass down and reviews the information. << I suppose this also helped motivate your plan. If the unknown individuals in the lab were doomed before the raid started, it makes it easier to be... more at ease with writing them off. It's a very unusual approach, but I... suppose it works. Here's to hoping Mirror's enthusiasm doesn't change the presumed result. >> << Most of our lives, >> Lucien answers with a ghost of something -- tired, creeping in to the previous amusement to leech it /out/ of his words, << seem to consist of the unusual. >> He tips his glass in return to Emma's salute. "Perhaps next week." Though it's always next week, isn't it? "Yes. Next week. Now be good or I'll actually put it on our calendars." Emma raises an eyebrow and smiles a little brighter. << Here's to the unusual. >> And she takes a drink.