Logs:Square
| Square | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-08-21 "Agendas are not necessarily the only thing we do around here." |
| Location
<HFC> Sanctum - Hfc Basement | |
This luxurious basement lounge is circular, largely taken up by a conversation pit lined with plush bench seating all upholstered in gold velvet. An octagonal table occupies the center, its surface crafted from gleaming black glass. There are four gaps in the circle of couches, two admitting stairs that descend into the pit. The other two postmodern gas fireplaces, each in a shallow brass bowl, one sitting on a black marble plinth, the other white, one topped with a white organically curved flue, the other black. Ringing the conversation pit is a raised gallery containing two recessed, U-shaped booths that can be screened off for a modicum of privacy, two exquisite tropical fish tanks--one salt water, one fresh--two restrooms, neither marked for any particular gender, and a bar opposite the entrance. Between these, the walls are decorated with exquisite artwork from all around the world, paintings and sculptures and pottery and masks. It's quiet in here this afternoon, a small escape from the club upstairs where the arrival of some sort of European royal has put much of the staff in a bustle. Likely, not too long past, Lucien was part of that bustle -- certainly his impeccably tailored but understated grey suit suggests he's recently been working. Right now, though, he's just tucked into a side booth, lingering over a glass of Scotch, forefinger tracing its lip slowly. "{How quickly, exactly?}" His brows have creased, just faintly. The surface of his thoughts are, as ever, glassy-smooth, a tranquil psionic scape that overspills not much at all while almost -- almost -- inviting deeper glances into the (also impeccably-tailored) mind below. "I have contacts, certainly, but there is only so fast I can make bureaucracy work." "{I don't know.}" Hive's French is about as gruff and mumbled as his English, though his accent is at least more distinctly rooted in Montreal. In these elegant surroundings he looks a lot more out of place than Lucien, jeans, scuffed workboots, a chambray workshirt. His glass is empty, his fingers laced on the table between them. "We thought it was getting better but --" Beneath the table his leg bounces restlessly; the hitch of his shoulder is jerky-quick. "Whateverthefuck magic you can work would be -- Great." Emma descends the stairs into the building's basement, slipping away from the above activity. She's dressed in a white satin crepe dress, long sleeved and collared, with pockets over her lower abdomen. Chains of glass and metal, gold and silver dangle from her neck and cinch in her waist, skirt billowing out below where the buttons stop. She's wearing golden louboutins with criss crossing straps that secure on her lower calves and carries a small clutch in one hand and a mostly finished glass of champagne in the other. She lets her effortless facade falter slightly as she escapes the public eye and wanders over to the bar to select something a little harder for her free time. "Don't mind me, gentlemen. I don't wish to distract," She offers softly, gaze shifting over as she passes, her steps slowing. "And I thought what was going on upstairs was a dreary affair. Anything I can do?" Lucien glances up, head inclining; no smile touches his mouth, but the touch of warmth that crinkles at the corners of his eyes is visible enough to those who know him well. "I am well practiced, but even I have some kind of threshold past which I need fortification before the next ludicrous demand." He takes a swallow of his whisky, and tips the glass in Hive's direction after. "Visa difficulties. How much sway do you have within immigration?" Hive tips his chin up in greeting and sits up just a little straighter in his booth. "Not for me, I'm square, for now. It's -- my sister. She needs to get here in kind of a hurry. I know it's not really -- on the agenda but I just -- was hoping maybe someone knew what strings to pull." "Agendas are not necessarily the only think we do around here." Emma grows a little distant as she pulls the stopper on a bottle of scotch on the bar, pouring herself two fingers into a cut glass tumbler. "Especially when it comes to family. What kind of 'hurry' is she in? Recently undermined a government?" Knowing Hive's powers, it's possible. "Political asylum can be expedited quiet easily with a few whispers in the right ears." Drink poured, she turns and walks to the booth and sets down her glass untouched. She pulls out a chair as seats herself on the banquette. Skirts are pulled aside in a fluid motion as she elevates her feet on the chair, melting into a relaxed position. "It gets the job done and we can clean up afterwards." "His sister is quite ill." Lucien's expression does not change, but for a moment the placid surface of his mind breaks in a series of uneasy ripples. "And we have some of the best doctors to be found here, when it comes to tending the precarious health needs of young mutants." He drains the rest of his glass in a long gulp. "Teenager. High school. If we could get her leave to stay for treatment and schooling, all the better." Hive's eyes lower, the bounce of his leg easing. "It's not like that, it's just --" He nods towards Luci as the other man elaborates. "Doctors back home aren't getting anywhere, and I -- just don't want to this to keep getting worse. But fuck if immigration isn't a goddamn nightmare right now." For a moment his forehead creases into a deep frown. "More of a nightmare than usual." "Oh," Emma's quiet realization sounds hollow as it passes her lips, her eyes darkening just a little as she turns her face more fully toward Hive. "Yes, immigration is a nightmare." She lifts her glass to her lips and takes a cautious sip, rolling the scotch across her tongue before swallowing. She taps the rim against her lips as she thinks, the amber liquid sloshing gently in the transparent confines. "She's in Thailand now? And looking to go to school. Well, it can very well fit under Frost Enterprise's scholarship fund. I believe I can get the appropriate sponsorship out of Capitol Hill without drawing too much attention. I know a law maker or two who could use the positive PR of helping educate the masses. And you're sure you're square? Because I wouldn't dream of setting anyone but you up as her guardian in the States." "As soon as can be arranged." Lucien taps his empty glass lightly against the table and then stands, reluctantly. "That seems covered, then. If I can be of use in the process, please let me know." His lips compress, slightly, a small flick of glance cast in the direction of the doorway. "After all this, dealing with the government will seem almost sane." | |
