ArchivedLogs:Minds and Monsters

Minds and Monsters
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-04-19 '
Location <NYC> White Queen's Office - Hellfire Clubhouse
Despite Emma's love for the color white, she has chosen to decorate her office in rich wood paneling and black and white to keep with the main entry hall's theme. Her desk is wide and her chair black leather. The chairs opposite her desk are upholstered in black and white check. Her couch, by far her favorite place in the room, is a long, white chaise lounge, adorned with beautiful scrolled wood and high backs and arms where available. A single black, wing backed chair sits with a couple small circular end tables in accompaniment. The best part of the room are the closets and cabinetry hidden in the paneling around her desk, providing the event coordinator the ability to coordinate to each event. Emma has missed a large portion of her day due to being in the ballroom with the construction teams, making sure that the demolition and shoring up processes are underway, then the late morning and early afternoon out at a luncheon that required some time and travel to accomplish. She returns to her office around two, slipping out of her blazer and hanging it up in one of her closets. She settles into her desk chair, taking a moment to unwind. Unfortunately, that moment drags out and it is almost twenty minutes until she is able to book up her computer and start thinking about work again. Let's see, who is on her appointment schedule. That would be Lucien! Perhaps. Perhaps he is just BARGING IN. Except Lucien does not barge so much as politely knock, three soft raps that are accompanied by a quiet, << Knock, knock. >> The mind outside the door is calm as usual, a quiet-waters surface that shows little on its smoothness. Lucien is dressed Hellfire-club appropriately, for once fitting in with the colour scheme; black slacks, a white button-down with epaulets on its shoulders. << It's not locked, >> Comes Emma's reply, her words sort of ghosting away with distraction. When the door opens, she is seen to be frowning at her schedule. She grumbles a little and glances over at her tablet and then back to her computer, jaw working in small circles, never quite clenching, but showing every desire to. She pauses, looks up at Lucien and takes in his appearance. << Feel free to lock it behind you. >> "Lucien, darling. It has been too busy. Are you working today, or did you come just to see me?" In other words, how much time does she have? Lucien slips in, pushing the door closed and looking Emma over as he stands beside it. He locks it when she says to, and lets his gaze drift over her face again. "I have been working. I am done, now. You look as though you could half use a break yourself." He glances from her face to the computer, and back. "Though whether your schedule permits you one, I do not know." "I would love to know too, but unfortunately, I'm having trouble syncing my tablet with my network calendar. I swear, it's temperamental some days." Emma sets the tablet down with a scowl and leans back in her chair in frustration. She turns her eyes to Lucien and considers him quietly. << It has been too long. What have you been up to? >> There's some interest in his life, but it comes with an undercurrent of weariness, almost as if she expects him to be embroiled in disaster. "Mmm. What sort of --" Lucien drifts closer, glancing down at the tablet, over at the computer, he reaches for the former though he does with a questioning look -- may I? << Too long, >> he agrees softly. "Technology sometimes exists just to thwart us, I think." << Work, mostly. You seem harried. >> << If all I look is harried, then I am succeeding at something. >> Emma lets out a deep breath and slides out of her chair and gestures that Lucien take it. "I am probably creating my own problems by trying to force it to work. My luncheon just took longer than I had hoped." She leans a hip against the edge of the desk, looking toward the back wall. "I should really get some more photos in here." << What is harrying you? >> Lucien sits, picking up the tablet and glancing to the computer as well. Taptaptap. Taptap. "Mmm. I hope the food was at least good." He glances up at the walls, contemplative. "And what would you elect to hang there?" << Who. >> Emma corrects Lucien, but for the most part does not say more. "Yes, the food was delicious and the wine excellent. The company was all business and the meeting ran late." She exhales and examines the wall once more, with Lucien. "I don't know. That's the good part. I can go to galleries and studios with an open mind and see just what is available - and in the end, if I see nothing but art, my day will be enriched. << Knowing too much will only cause you problems, Lucien. I do not want to drag you into this without warning you. >> "Do you know, Mr. Holland paid me a visit the other day. He left some of his own art on my garden wall. I am sure he would be more than willing to come vandalize your office." This is offered with a large dose of amusement. "Unfortunately these days buying his art is likely a political statement. Shame. For all his delinquency, he has /quite/ an exceptional talent." << A warning. That is considerate. Would that everyone showed the same care before dragging me into complicated situations. >> This has a quietly wry note that suggests recent /experience/ with similar. But the warning does not stop him from asking, instead: << Who? >> << This man, >> Emma flashes Lucien the image of the fully formed Goblin standing so very close to her in her own apartment, with the memory of the heat of his breath. << and his very wealthy associate. >> This reference does not get a face. No, she leaves him out for right now. She smiles a little as she listens to Lucien go on about Jackson's art. "Well, maybe when I'm rich and powerful, I'll make sure he gets a studio where he can display his work, and make sure it's firebomb proof." Not that it is all that uncommon to fireproof a studio or gallery, the way she says it indicates extra precaution. "But yes, I probably shouldn't display the art of a prominent mutant activist in my office." << -- In your apartment? >> Lucien's brows crease deeply. Perhaps at the COMPUTER, he is frowning at it as he plays with it and the tablet. "The rich and powerful have a long and storied tradition of being patrons of the arts." << Home visits by monsters are a trifle unsettling, yes. What did he want? >> << Yes. My apartment. >> Emma is tense, now that she is actually discussing the matter. She closes her eyes as she centers herself. "Come now, you can see it, right? Me, in galleries, patron to the arts? I think it is the best ways for the rich and powerful to extend their influence - certainly less sordid than some of the other ways we know of." She looks down at Lucien and her tablet. << He has a problem with his mind and his mutation. He requested my help clearing up the problem. His associate is promising me a lot of... well, something - certainly not security, but something - to help him with his associate's problem and some of his own. Apparently telepaths make the best spies. >> There's a psionic eyeroll. << He had the audacity to suggest I just go off and seduce his competition, like I am just at his disposal for vague promises... >> She lets out another deep breath and closes her eyes. << Sorry. >> << One thing I have learned, in this profession you /always/ take payment up front. >> This is dry, though there's a mild note of concern laid under it. Outwardly, Lucien is still just fiddling with the machines. He frowns at one point, grimacing and turning the tablet towards Emma; it is asking her to re-enter her account password. "Oh, certainly. It helps that you have excellent taste in style." << -- Problem with his mind? >> This is, perhaps, a trifle more /interested/ than it needs to be. << Yes, >> Emma replies as she exhales again. "Any luck with that?" She is curious about the technology, peeling herself away from the edge of the desk to peer more purposefully at the work that Lucien is doing. Her fingers type over a quick sequence of letters, numbers and special characters that don't seem to follow an obvious rule. She slides the tablet back to him. << He has a mutant version of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. Hyde would like to eat me, but Jekyll would like to be without Hyde, if possible. >> That summarizes it nicely. << Knowing any of this may get you maimed or killed, I am sorry to say. >> "Perhaps," Lucien murmurs, and once Emma passwords he is just -- waiting. There is a little circled arrow-y icon in the top corner as the tablet re-syncs itself. << I seem to be stumbling into such things, lately. A mutant alter ego, that sounds inconvenient. It is a mental problem? >> He is thoughtful with this musing. << And what will it get you? It does not sound like the safest position for you to be in. >> His lips curl into a smile, briefly, and he hands Emma back her tablet, schedule properly synced. << I have not had a chance to really dive into the problem, but it seems like he has an actual physical issue in his brain. >> Emma picks up her tablet and exhales again, smiling a little to herself. She walks away from the desk and moves to her chaise, stretching out across it. "Thank you. You are a miracle worker." She inhales deeply and studies her schedule. "I am apparently free for a while." << Not helping him would also be extremely unsafe. I am in an extremely difficult place. But his associate has paid me in information so far. I will take what I can get. >> Lucien turns his chair, facing Emma, his fingers lacing against the flat of his stomach as he looks her over. There's a small smile on his face, head tipping in acknowledgment about the compliment. "I have a way with stubborn things," he says lightly, flicking his glance from the tablet up to her face. "Good. Sometimes breaks are necessary." << Helping him -- until you have a chance to neutralize him? >> is his quiet musing. << A physical issue -- >> This gives him more pause for thought. It's somewhat reluctant when he dredges up, << I have a way with stubborn brains, too. >> Emma pushes herself up on an elbow and looks over at Lucien. She considers. << I don't know, Lucien. It's a big risk and I am not sure what reward you could reap from it. You would be outing yourself to the individual, his associate and his security. >> She slides the tablet under her chaise as she swings her feet onto the floor. Hands slide through her hair and pull it into a single fistful at the base of her neck. << And he's extremely unstable. What if we can't help him - and we can't stop Hyde? What he turns into is fearsome. >> << What reward to reap from aiding the very wealthy? >> Lucien says this dryly; the question is likely rhetorical. His head tips back, gaze tipping up to the ceiling. << I have no desire to help him. I have little desire to see you dead, and dangerous and unstable are not conditions conducive to long /life/. >> Though there's a quiet stirring beneath this sentiment, something lingering unvoiced beneath his words. It doesn't break through the glassy calm of his mind, though. << I'm just being practical here. I don't want to just survive these things. Call me an optimist, but I would like to prosper from some of this shit. It might make it seem more worth it. >> Emma inhales deeply and releases her hair. "Would you like some tea?" She is on her feet again, heading for the beverage nook in her cabinetry. She snags a pen from her desk as she walks by and recaptures her hair and uses the pen to secure it in a small bun at the base of her skull. She flicks a switch to turn on the electric kettle. << Optimist. >> Lucien says this amused and like it's kind of a dirty word. Also like he doesn't actually believe it. His gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, his own fingers combing absently into his hair as Emma releases hers. "Thank you, no," is quietly polite as he tips his head back down, and pushes up out of his chair. His shoulders stretch slowly as he steps around from the desk towards the door. "I was just checking in. It had been a while." "Oh. Well." Emma is a little deflated by Lucien's rapid departure. She pulls herself back together and nods politely. "It was lovely to see you. I hope you have a good evening." She pauses and then asks, << Do you have the current address of that architect we went to so much trouble to secure? I need to get a hold of him and see how much longer he's going to be out of commission? >> Lucien pauses, eyebrows raising at Emma's deflating. "It is always lovely to see you," his answer comes warm and easy. << Yes, I know where he lives. >> This is a little bit more clipped than previous words, a twinge of irritation tightening a muscle in his cheek. Very briefly. << Should I tell him to contact you? >> << If you cannot give me the information directly, yes, please. >> Emma is not chiding as she makes this distinction. She is okay with the idea of other people having secrets. She gives Lucien a small smile. "Until next time?" Lucien just tips his head in a slight nod, and heads out. << Lucien, wait. >> Emma sets down the tea strainer and turns off the electric kettle. << I've already managed to get one person severely attacked - almost killed. Forgive me for being distant. I'm still not sure I have your complete consent to involve you. I wanted to call you since he broke into my apartment, but I didn't want to put you at risk. God, Lucien, he literally eats people. >> She exhales and shakes her head. << He saw us together at the gala. He knows I'm a telepath. This darkness inside him has been threatening me since he first had me to his office to plan the gala. It's physically hard to say it - to think of sending him after you too. >> She moistens her lips. << It's Osborn. >> Lucien does wait, pausing with his hand on the door and his brows creasing. There's a moment of quiet, and his hand tenses on the doorknob at Osborn's name. He turns, heading back into the room. "You know," he murmurs aloud, "I think I just may have that tea." He leans against the arm of the chaise, studying Emma's expression. << I have seen what he does to people, >> he admits, quietly. << The girl at the gala -- >> His lips press together, thinly. << ... you should, perhaps, move. >> A pause, and then, contemplatively as he still studies her face. << Do you think you can do it? Help him control that thing? >> Emma flicks back on the kettle and fidgets. << I don't know. I don't know. His mind - Lucien, I've never seen one like it. It's incredibly sensitive even when he is human. He can almost feel me when I'm trying to be gentle, and when I put the slightest pressure on it to try and actually glean things, he knows instantly. I have a vague picture of that mess inside his brain, but I can't access it - and I'm not sure I would be safe if I tried without his full support. >> She gets out two tea cups and then begins eyeing the tea selection. "Black or herbal?" << I need more information, but there are so few living victims left... >> She turns to look at Lucien. << Wait. I'm sorry. You've seen? >> Nudge, nudge, more please? "Please. Black. The day is young, yet, I will take all the caffeine I can get." Lucien's eyes fall to watch the tea preparation. << I have seen, >> he answers slowly. << The girl. After he ate her mind. She -- >> His lips thin. << The architect brought her to me. To fix what he did. Salvage her mind. His abilities are -- unusual, I have never /seen/ a mind like -- >> This train of thought cuts off with a slight dip of his head, Lucien's words growing an almost clinical /curiosity/ when he mentions the Goblin's power. Or the victim's ruined mind. Emma fills a tea ball with black assam tea, then fills another with a blend that contains notes of chamomile and catnip amongst other herbs. She does not prewarm the cups, but they are quite thin and will warm quickly. She waits until the kettle starts to boil before lifting it off its stand and pouring the peak boiling water in on her herbal tea, waiting another count of five before pouring it over the black tea. The kettle is deposited back on its stand. She turns away and lets them brew as she looks at Lucien. << Does she live? What kind of damage is there? >> Her mind is still racing, trying to absorb the information, stressed from the day she has been through already. Lucien watches this in quiet, his arms folded across his chest loosely. << She lives, >> he says, at length. He straightens, pulling away from the chaise to drift closer to Emma. << The damage -- extensive. It took a good deal of work to even bring her to proper brain activity. More still to consciousness. Bringing her to proper /functioning/ is -- >> He exhales, quiet. << A work in progress. >> "Damn him," Emma utters as she stands and waits on tea to brew. << That architect isn't shaping up to be as useful as I hoped he would be. >> There's a pause, frustration on her face. << Well, maybe I just wanted to believe that he only induced unconsciousness. >> She scratches at the side of her neck and stares down Lucien's tea as she waits for it to brew. There's a hint of counting in her head, as if she is counting the time for proper tea brewing. << She was a vegetable. She would likely be dead now, if he had not brought her to me, >> Lucien points out, though this is a somewhat reluctant irritable admission. << I doubt there are many others equipped to help her. Though I am not sure harboring terrorists is the greatest career decision. I somehow doubt anything good would have happened with them in government custody, though. >> He is slipping closer, as Emma waits, almost absently lifting a hand to rub her neck, at the base of her skull. His touch comes with a wash of soothing, warmth, comfort. It relaxes, a wash of something more pleasant lightening mood. << Osborn wants her, badly. >> Emma is stiff under Lucien's hands, but starts to finally loosen up as his mutation takes affect on her. Her eyes close as she mechanically lifts the tea ball out of the black tea, less concerned with the brewing of the herbal. She holds it aloft until it stops dripping, then places it on a saucer on the shelf. Then her hands come to rest. << I am glad I didn't have to lie earlier, when he asked me where she was. I'm a very good liar, but I don't like to be in situations like that. >> There's a beat and then, << not with him. >> << Monster or not, I do not envy the man who tries going through Hive to claim a prize off of him. >> Lucien's hands slide down, when Emma rests her hands down too. Slipping down along her arms, the cocktail of warmth persisting. << And monster or not, he is a man. And men can be neutralized. You just need to find where to push to make them come crumbling down. >> Emma nods gently, eyes following his hand down her arm. She looks up at Lucien's face, lips tensing briefly into a smile before relaxing once more. << Before this, my monsters were more metaphorical. >> She draws in a deep breath, mind clearing. << Makes me wonder if the ancient beasts of myth were actually myths, or just our predecessors - the planet's first attempt at mutation. >> She turns a little more to face him. "Your tea?" << Metaphorical monsters are harder to kill. >> Lucien is /totally/ an optimist, see. His hand lingers on her when she turns, fingers tracing down to rest against hers, the contact enough to continue the wash of feeling. "Mmm. My thanks. We should sit." His other hand is reaching for the tea, taking it by the handle to lift it and inhale its aroma. "There are some things in life that need to be savoured." And some /times/ in life that you need to take a moment to savour them. So they sit. And they tea. For at least a few minutes, monsters can wait.