ArchivedLogs:Mankind Grown Base

Mankind Grown Base
Connections and Complicity
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-02-23 Two nonmembers discuss posturing and connections
Location
<NYC> Hellfire Club - Upper East Side The Hellfire's library, while far smaller than its ballroom in size, is far more prized in content. Hundreds of volumes line the meticulously tended shelves, the rarest kept carefully in climate-controlled cases under the watchful eye of the mansion's librarian. High-backed leather chairs and plush couches provide quiet reading spaces beneath soft lighting, and tall windows look out to the mansion's gardens beyond. The Library at the Hellfire Club is vast and well stocked, containing first editions and old volumes that date back to the club's founding in the early 1800s. They keep a librarian in a small side room whose soul occupation is to keep these books in good repair throughout the ages, despite the parties and the damage that a few hundred years of 'doing what thou wilt' make wreak. The room is large and rectangular, with book shelves creating twists and turns in the walk away as well as many nooks for patrons looking for a little peace and quiet to read by. In the entrance, there are large tables for people needing space to spread out their literary resources and dive in with references. Emma Frost enters the library and consults the librarian quietly to pick up a tome selected previously. She places her tablet on top of it and curls it against her hip on the left side. As she heads deeper into the library, it is apparent that she is dressed a little more casually than normal, in a thick, comfortable white sweater with light cream slacks. Her feet boast flats for once, but designer never the less. In her right hand is a glass of amber liquor. She stalks out a comfortable, overstuffed leather armchair to sink into. Lucien enters not long after Emma, dressed neat in a grey three-piece suit, polished shoes. He greets the librarian quietly, with a familiar nod, and moves away through the shelves; he clearly knows where he's heading and what he's looking for because it takes him no time at all to pluck a volume carefully off a shelf, carrying it over towards an armchair, too. He selects one near Emma, slipping into it with a polite nod towards the woman and a perhaps less polite curious glance at what she is reading. His own is a play -- Moliere, /Le Misanthrope/, apparently in its original French. His mind is rather meticulously polished, a calm glassy wall that does not let through much stray wisps of surface though, at first inspection. It is a day for plays, as it seems. Emma is holding a copy of Christopher Marlowe's /The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus/, and has it opened to about half way through. She's reading it in combination with the tablet she can't seem to let go of, the contents of that screen kept tilted for her eyes only. If she's using it to help translate the incredibly unregulated spelling typical of the time in which Marlowe wrote, no one will ever know. She is mostly content to let people pass by her without looking up, but when Lucien does with his quiet brain, her interest is piqued. She nods back, studying the name on the cover of his book and smiling a little wider. "Hello," she offers simply and quietly, her mind extending further to get a better feel for the other man, as unobtrusively as possible. "Hello," Lucien answers, and his soft voice is tinged with an accent to match the French words he reads. The book draws a quicker, wider smile from him. The telepathic touch finds a mind carefully structured, carefully organized; beneath the meticulously calm surface there are thoughts readable clearly enough. A hope that his companion's meeting keeps her away long enough for Lucien to be able to enjoy the book. A quiet fretting that he gets home before Matt wakes up. And, beneath that, a definite growing /awareness/ of even the unobtrusive mental presence. It draws Lucien's smile just a little bit thinner, tighter, his bright green eyes studying Emma quietly. "I thought Faust always got kind of a bad rap. I know few people who do not make deals with the devil, one way or other." "Faust only gets a bad rap because he got to see exactly what he was agreeing to and with whom he was making a deal." Emma draws back immediately, only hovering to see if there are any strong reactions to misstep. "I've seen you around the club a few times. Usually at parties, rarely alone." Her eyes lower to her tablet once more as she turns off the screen. "I'm still very new here and trying to get to know the regulars at the club." She glances back up, eyes questioning and curious, her fading smile keeping her face friendly. Lucien's smile eases back into warmth as Emma withdraws, his posture shifting just slightly to face her. "Faust was just more honest about it than the rest of us," he says, perhaps in agreement with Emma's statement or perhaps just /wry/. Beneath this, there is a soft mental whisper, deliberate as the presence withdraws: << What are you looking for? >> "I suppose you might call me a regular," he says, lighter, quietly amused. "I am no member. But I have many friends who are." He leans forward, offering a hand, "Lucien Tessier." "And I am only staff," Emma admits with a shy blush. She does not reply right away. Instead she just hovers and waits to see if Lucien is just shooting in the dark. In response to the hand, she untucks herself and deposits her glass somewhere safe in order to reach across to take Lucien's hand. "Emma Frost. I find it's good to know everyone who comes through these halls, not just the ones who have the title of 'member.'" Lucien's handshake is firm, and his touch comes with a subtle flicker of warmth, relaxing, content, until he withdraws back to rest his hand on his armchair again. "Staff?" he asks, with a note of curiosity, "what is it you do here?" And, in silent wry addition, << And do you aim to know everyone /this/ well? >> "I'm the event planner here. I handle all of the coordination of all of the pieces that come together to make one of the parties they throw here work." Emma wets her lips and looks down at their hands when they are joined before looking back up at Lucien. << I was curious. You're different than a lot of the others. You seemed shielded and I just wanted to see what that shield looked like. >> Her mental voice is soft and gentle, the words sounding only vaguely like her, something that fades upon recollection. "And with Hellfire, that's more than just hor d'oeuvres and security." "Oh, goodness, so it's you I have to thank for that delightful soiree last week?" Lucien smiles, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin against loosely curled knuckles. "I imagine that's quite a heavy workload, given -- well." His other hand lifts, gesturing vaguely to the sumptuous elegance around them. << My brain does not work quite like most people's," he acknowledges, perhaps a little tenser at the resumption of telepathic contact but his smile still easy all the same. << What /does/ that shield look like? I do not generally get to see it from the outside. >> "Well, there are others who work with me, with whom I could not do any of this, but that doesn't really detract from how heavy each individual's work load is." Emma leans back and curls her leg underneath her, smiling a little, flirting. << It depends on the person. Sometimes, there is simply nothing. I can look at a person and hold a conversation with them, but they do not register as a mind to my senses - just the quiet before my gifting appeared. You are... like glass or resin, perhaps. There is definitely something between me and you and it would be very impolite to do more than glance through it - like we are doing right now. >> "I'm glad you liked it. It was nice and small and nothing too demanding. My current project is only leaving me scarce moments to myself - and even then, my mind is rapidly running through what I need to do next." "There is something nice about that, though, no? Having a project that really requires you to work at it. What is the affair going to be, if I may ask?" Lucien's smile warms, at Emma's, not simply polite anymore but touching the bright green of his eyes. << Glass. Interesting. Does it get wearying, ever? I pick up on people only when I touch them. But even that much leaves me -- >> His smile curls a little wryer, eyes dropping, for a brief moment, << -- Often making sure to cover up well, in crowds. >> "One of the members is using the club for business, so everything has to be just /so/ to his specifications, only he won't really /say/ what his specifications are. It's just that he trusts my judgement." Emma allows a teensy bit of unprofessional sarcasm to skip across her face as she utters the last few words. "Nothing like having perfection demanded of you without knowing the standards." << It can be taxing, but it's not something I instigate or turn on or off. It's a state of being - and it gives me one hell of a sweet tooth. >> "But I think I can handle it." "Ah, that sort." Lucien's eyes lift back up to Emma's face as he exhales a quiet laugh. "They will not tell you what, exactly, they expect, but I have no doubt they will not hesitate to tell you all the ways it is wrong when you fail to live up to the standards they failed to set." << Mmm. I have heard that before. I suppose there are worse things than having more chocolate in your life. Does it help, at least? With, ah, clients with unreasonable expectations? >> << Not in this case. >> Emma's gaze grows a little vacant at recollection of Norman Osborn's mind. She draws in a deep breath and turns back to her drink for a long gulp. She is not distracted long, inhaling deeply as she refocuses, cheeks coloring. "Oh definitely. I'm sure even if the even is flawless to the average attendee, I'll only be praised if the business venture is successful. Amazing to be judged by something entirely separate and beyond the scope of my duties." She sets her glass down and leans back in her chair again. Lucien studies Emma's face thoughtfully, as her gaze shifts, a curious expression in his face. "It is too bad," he says, mildly, "that there is little way to simply document the happiness of the attendees. I should think that a decent measure of skill of an event planner. Hopefully all your clientele is not quite so vague about their needs. I like it," he says, with a small privately amused smile, "when people are properly communicative about the things they want from you. It makes transactions so much smoother." << Are you accusing me of wanting something from you? >> Amusement touches Emma's thoughts, but she remains physically somber, slowly stirring toward friendliness again. "And here we are talking all about me and I still know very little about you. Tell me, Mr. Tessier, what do you like most about the Hellfire Club that keeps you coming back?" << Everybody wants something, >> Lucien answers, his own thoughts light, but he follows this with, << Perhaps I was simply thinking of the parallels in my own work. >> His cheek settles more heavily against his knuckles, his smile matching the quiet amusement in his thoughts. "The library," he answers unhesitatingly, "I should be very sad to miss this treasure. Books are constant in a way people rarely are." "It is rather amazing. Kind of a calm in the storm." Emma looks up and around. << I won't be foolish enough to say I don't want anything from you. However, at this point, I was just taking stock. >> "I've always found something comforting in polished wood and the smell of old books - and the quiet enforced by librarians." Her fingers run lightly across the top of the arm of her chair, considering. << Would you like to be used? What would you like in return? >> She inhales deeply. "I feel like I would be tempting fate to say it, but - sometimes, I think nothing bad can happen in a library." << And what has your stock-taking found you? >> Lucien has glanced away, too, looking over the stacks of books for a moment. "Fire," he says, with a small curl of smile, "would be a horrible tragedy." << Everyone uses each other, too. Some at least just take care to make the process enjoyable. The things I want -- >> Even through his carefully structured calm, he can't suppress the image that rises, strong, a young man, thin and pale and hooked up to an IV in a hospital bed. << are not so easily reached. >> "I got a Nook and it is incredibly convenient, but the experience is just not the same. The smell of books is one of the most comforting I know." "Oh bite your tongue. One shouldn't utter such a word in a room such as this." Emma smiles, a small laugh in her tone, eyes still scanning the spines of every compilation of words on the shelves around her. << I will keep myself open to medical cures and research as a form of payment. >> "I have this tablet here," she lifts it with a smile, the leather cover falling back across the face, "but I would not curl up with it. I think it represents work more than anything relaxing at this point." << As for taking stock? All I know at this point is that you are a mutant who requires touch and you have concerns that require you to be useful to others. This place is all about loyalties and connections, though, and I know none of yours. >> "I'll hold my tongue better, in future. I would not want to tempt fate." Lucien straightens, letting his hand fall back to rest on the arm of the chair. << I have connections in plenty, >> he answers, quiet and quietly amused, and this comes with its own colouring of imagery, too. Rumpled sheets and bare skin and money changing hands. << But I am not sure, of the sort you are looking for. It certainly holds a measure of influence over some members of this club, though not the kind of influence they'd like to admit. >> "Good. We've had enough of tempting fate today," Emma settles the tablet back in her lap. << If I just needed to impress a few people, those contacts would be enticing, but I have stumbled into something... >> "So, why /Le Misanthrope/?" Her accent is excellent, but a little sterile, as if practiced in a formal setting instead of spoken freely. "Did you need a laugh at all the posturing within the pages?" << Something --? >> Lucien questions silently, his eyebrows raising. "How have you tempted it already?" His gaze drops to the book in his lap, considering. "Oh, I often need a laugh. Perhaps I just hate humanity, lately. Though I am hardly innocent. My job requires as much posturing as anybody's." << Something big is coming. Something big and complicated and delicate. >> Emma's mind focuses on Lucien's, taking in his reaction and any stray thoughts his reaction may stir up. The presence of her mind is definitely palpable, but still does not invade his shields, taking in only what appears on the surface. Meanwhile, her eyes are still laughing and her expression is carefree. "Please tell me that you've found yourself in the characters. Who would you say you are? One of the suitors? Alceste himself? I think I have always considered myself a Eliante, but do see a good deal of Celimene in my day to day life." << Something is after us. >> The surface of Lucien's mind is still largely calm, but his interest is definitely piqued at this -- especially the last of it. Interest, and a slight flicker of anger. << Something is usually after us, >> though, is wry, although still curious. << Something you intend to stop? >> "I feel like I must be Celimene in my life most often as well. In my free time," he admits, drier, "far more an Alceste. I try to move past it. There is always /something/ to love in humanity, no matter how, ah." His smile thins. "Base they grow." << When one sees the face of it and is made complicit by inaction - one should do something. >> Emma's thoughts are quicker, her presence harder, but lingers at the same distance. "I think you might not step foot in this place if you had a problem with how base humanity can get." She smiles knowingly, even if the joy has left her eyes. "But it's good to know that you haven't written us all off yet. I appreciate a lack of extreme loathing in my acquaintances." << Would you try to stop it? >> << One should, >> Lucien agrees, first, even as his thin smile curls a little wider. Wider, but no more /pleased/, really. "That is true enough. There is something about affluence that brings out the best and the worst in people. Though, admittedly, I could say the same about extreme poverty. I have seen enough good, at least, to keep some modicum of faith despite the bad." The question is not answered as readily. It takes a long stretch of thought. << I suppose that depends on whether I /could/. I have many talents, with people especially. I would employ them where they could gainfully be employed. But not waste my energy where it would be futile. >> "One might blame the extremes then, perhaps." Emma inhales deeply and turns to her glass again. "I think after this big business meeting, I'll have to talk to the board about running a nice cleansing philanthropic event. It'll keep things a little more balanced, both for me and for the club's reputation." << I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. I have to supply the right type of people in the most agreeable fashion, to create the right atmosphere for the business of the night, knowing full well that the business at hand is a means of controlling the mutant population to keep humans safe. If I fail through incompetence, I lose my position. If the man in charge even suspects subversion, I will be killed. >> "I don't suppose you'd be my arm candy for an event like that, would you? All good feelings and the upper echelons behaving at their best?" << Controlling the mutant populaton, >> Lucien echoes, with a good dose of scorn in his words. << What is the /right type/ of person for such an affair? >> Undercutting this is a quiet thrum of amusement, the underlying thought that he makes Very Expensive arm candy. "I am quite practiced at being arm candy," is what he says aloud. << Does he know of your ability? >> << He wants mutants - offensively weak mutants with no ties to organizations like the ones that hit Liberty Island. He wants public mutants that have their powers well known. No telepaths. >> There's an air of doom that follows the last description, one that inspires Emma to drink. << I think he wants concerned citizens that he will use as faces of those who agree with him and /back/ him. I'm pretty sure it will end up not going well for whomever I convince to attend. >> "I generally need someone to make it look like I am so good at my job, I can relax and enjoy the party, but in the end, that person has to make it just look like I am doing just that while running about and keeping things working. It's a job, Mr. Tessier, not really an invite." She looks over at him, chin tucked downward and to one side, eyes wide and imploring, the smile on her lips a little mischievous. "It would come with a paycheck." << A man who wants to kill mutants wants a number of mutants who can't fight back to come to his party. >> There's a definite undercurrent of feeling to accompany this. Distaste. Anger. Lucien's fingers drum against the arm of his chair, and his light easy smile does not touch the disturbed thoughts that run beneath. "A job that sounds right up my alley. I would be glad to." << It sounds a precarious position to be in. Perhaps you need mutants who know what they're getting into but are good at playing along. >> << Yes, and there's the rub. >> Emma twirls some of the hair at the base of her neck, smiling. "Good. That just leaves me with the job of arranging an entire fundraiser just to get you to spend some time with me." Her smiles warms a great deal. << I don't actually know anyone who falls in that category. >> This draws a laugh out of Lucien, soft, his smile lighting his eyes as he looks Emma over. "I have no doubt it will be a delightful evening." << I might know a few, >> he allows, thoughtfully, << At least, a few who could play along. Whether they could be /convinced/ is another matter. Though, I can be quite convincing. >> There is an opening of the door, a tall woman in a crisp business suit with her hair pulled back into a bun slipping into the library, thoughts of seeking out Lucien on her mind. Lucien glances her way, then shifts in his seat to pull out his wallet, slipping a business card out from inside it. Black, it has his name embossed in green text, and a phone number. Nothing more. He offers it to Emma between two fingers. "I think our time here is nearing an end. It has been," << interesting >> "wonderful making your acquaintance, Ms. Frost." "Thank you so much, Mr. Tessier," Emma takes the card lightly, lips pulling back in another bright smile. "I look forward to our next meeting." << I will be in touch. >> She opens the cover of her tablet and slips the card inside a pocket, pulling out one of hers. "And this is my line." << Don't use it. Neither of us have any idea who I work for here. >> "Have a pleasant evening." Lucien's smile is bright, as well, warm. When he reaches to take the card, his fingers brush lightly against Emma's, a quick flush of warmth accompanying the touch. "As do I. Bonsoir." His head tips in a quiet nod, his acknowledgment of her unspoken words coming less in language and more in a brief affirmative feeling. He gets up, offering Emma one last smile and then slipping away, to return his book to the shelf and head out, on the arm of the woman who just arrived.