ArchivedLogs:Be Dangerous

Be Dangerous
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien	Wednesday, 2015-06-03 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location
It's not /far/ afield, really; well enough out of the city to /feel/ like a world away from the bustle and noise of Manhattan but still in-/state/ and close enough to make the drive for an overnight visit still worth it. Mountains and woods and a deep clear lake and the little cabin tucked along the lakeside is, admittedly, too well-appointed to make this getaway feel anything like /roughing it/. Even so, Lucien is dressed far more for being out in /nature/ than his usual elegantly tailored attire. Lightweight hiking boots and long grey hiking pants and a green-and-grey short-sleeved shirt in some sort of /performance/ fabric designed to wick moisture and keep cool. There hasn't been sight nor sound (nor mental ping) of other /people/ in the vicinity since they arrived -- which is, really, how Lucien quite prefers his days off. Off to the side of the cabin, right now, the lake stretching off to their left and the woods to their right, there's a free-standing target that's been set up some fifty or so meters beyond where they stand. There's a black armguard strapped to the inside of one of his arms, a small finger tab worn on his other hand, though for the moment his /own/ bow sits in its case beside them. "Hand to jaw. Keep your stance firm and you should be fine." Emma 'roughing it' is probably exactly as most would expect. Far too practical to be the pretty, pouty princess in stilettos in the woods, threatening to break her ankle with every uneven step, she is instead outfitted in the best the outdoors goods store has to offer. Solid hiking boots cover her feet in light colors, natural suede and bone white providing durability and breathe-ability over dense and durable treads. Low waisted cargo pants cling to her hips, lining her legs with pleasantly sized pockets that do not detract too much from graceful way the durable faded khaki brushes against her legs, tied off mid calf at the moment. A gray edged white sports bra compresses her chest away from the wire of the bow she is holding, the thick material also providing some protection against stray recoils. She has an unzipped, light weight, white hooded tee shirt, the weather making it difficult to decide exactly how she should dress. "Mmmmhmm," is her only reply to Lucien's instruction, her head pointed toward the target, while the plane of her body faces the lake. It is quiet here! It is exactly what she needs. She focuses for the first time on one brain and one brain alone. Not Lucien's, as his is as calm and glassy as the lake beside them. Her mind is focused on itself - and that target. Fingers in their fingertabs tense just a little more, feeling the vibration of the strain in the bowstring before gently relaxing and letting go as she breathes out. Amazingly enough, this time, she hits the target. Not the center, mind you - but the target itself. "Mmm." There's a quietly pleased note to Lucien's voice, at this. He steps in behind Emma, one hand trailing down against her shoulder to rest at the shoulderblade. "Try and relax your shoulders a little more. Draw from your back. You'll have a smoother release with less tension in your arms." His hand drops down to the small of Emma's back, his eyes shifting down towards the target. "It won't matter how well you aim until your form feels -- comfortable. Natural. After that things just fall into line." Emma nods as she surveys her kill, head tilting a little as she makes a mental measurement from her distance. Her eyes close briefly when Lucien lightly touches her, the tension in her back sending a shiver down her spine when he points it out. Her head tilts down as if embarrassed. "Ah. I will try harder, but this may be the best 'relaxed' you're going to get out of me at the beginning of our time together. I may need to float in the lake for a while for a .. true tension-free stance." Despite her protestation, she's loading up another arrow and raising it against the bow, staring down toward the target as she pulls back the string, more mindful of her back and the muscles there. "Well. We'll have plenty of time for easing that tension away. I turned my phone off. It feels oddly liberating." Lucien's fingers trace up along Emma's back again, sliding out to adjust her elbow slightly downward. "Try from there." It's only after Emma's had time to loose her next arrow that he questions (eyes focused out towards the target), "-- have you had much cause to build up a lot of tension, lately?" Inhaling deeply, Emma takes a moment to savor that breath before letting it out, the arrow chasing the last of the air escaping her lips. She watches as Lucien's gentle correct increases her accuracy by an inch or more. She smiles gently and turns her attention back to the man behind her, looking over her shoulder at him. "This is probably the furthest I've been from my technology in ages and it feels like there's a cord between me and my tablet, trying to pull it back to my hands." She glances back down at her arrows. "I envy your liberty. I'll get there." She nocks an arrow and leaves it pointed down at the ground. "New suitor at the club, I suppose. I've not had anyone pursue me this hard in a long time." Her mind presses only briefly against his before pulling away, like fingers grasping at support in a shaky moment before pulling away; some things are better left unspoken. "He's seen my work around the club." Here, she gives the impression of clean up work, helping members of the media and club alike from asking too many questions when a recently well seated and popular member starts to slip away from his membership as if he was never there. "I think he likes me," Here, it's a quick whisper of a financial ledger, a quiet accumulation of stocks, a slow and steady build toward a majority stake, "but I can never tell which he likes more - me or the work." "What you need," Lucien tells Emma with light amusement, "is an understudy. I find mine quite valuable for escaping my obligations every once in a while." A small curl of smile flits across his face as her arrow flies truer. Against her brief press of mind, his own just tenses more solid -- cool-glassy surface to touch up against. "Your work does speak well of you. There could certainly be /worse/ reasons to be pursuing you." His fingers lift to knead gently against Emma's shoulders, fingertips dipping below the white fabric of shirt to put a whisper of calm-relaxation in with the slow rub before his hands fall away. He takes a step back, leaving Emma this next shot on her own. "Do you reciprocate his interest?" "Oh, an understudy. I had one of those once and he scampered away. I'm never quite sure if I gave him too much freedom or not enough responsibility." Emma's arms start to relax as Lucien begins massaging. She is still for a while, even after he pulls away, eyes opening slowly, gaze directed at the ground between her booted feet. "Mmmm. I really don't know. There's something about his interest that won't just let me dismiss it." The conglomeration of the respect for her elegant work around the club - the easy way she steps into difficult roles and solves some of his problems before he has to ask enhances his obvious lust with restraint and an almost recognition of her as an equal, not just a secretary to diddle at the office. There is some fear, however, at the fact that he found out about her secret project - not because he was interested in her, but because he was interested in acquiring the company himself, following the shares and money as only an expert could. That company deserves to be torn away from the man who holds it for all he did to (her/brother), but its hers. "Part of me is warring with the notion that keeps popping up in my head is that he'd like to make me a kept woman. And it's ridiculous to think of myself in that way - relying on anyone for anything." Emma lets the arrow fly, closer still to the center of the target. "But if I don't take advantage of this - what would I be missing out on?" "The trick is to let them step into the role /just/ often enough to be worth their while. And make sure the role they're /actually/ playing in the meantime holds their interest. Even if it is not quite in the spotlight." Lucien's eyes settle on Emma as she sights the target, draws the bow. The curl of his lips is warmer, pleased, when the arrow hits closer to home. "I have difficulty seeing you as anything less than independent," he admits, "and if he thinks otherwise -- perhaps he's sorely misjudged you, as well." The cool clear surface of his mind shivers and softens, just enough to allow a wisp of thought to surface; a quietly pensive musing that being underestimated can sometimes come in handy. "What /would/ you be missing out on? What is it that he has to offer /you/?" The initial thought is quick. He's offering Emma a sizable share of the company, something he's already acquired in the process of researching Frost Enterprises. What comes with it is the notion of elevation in the club, from staff to member - and a hint of maybe something more. << He's Inner Circle. >> she confides with more purpose. << What we've been looking for. >> She selects another arrow and examines its length quietly. "It's a seat on his board, if everything goes well, some sort of executive level management otherwise. It's not something to dismiss easily. Legitimacy." She frowns and exhales. "There will probably be criticism from people in his group, 'old men,' he says, 'that need shaking up.' I don't know precisely how long term the notion is, but he said his people are putting together an offer to put on the table. What I wouldn't give to read his mind." << Well, >> Emma amends coyly, << what I wouldn't give to just dig in. His surface thoughts are cunning. I can't claim to have indexed them all. There's always something beneath the surface, but the promises seem genuine. >> Lucien's brows raise. One arm crosses over his chest, fingertips resting in the crook of the other. His othe hand lifts, forefinger tapping lightly against one cheekbone. "Well." His eyes flick along the length of the arrow, and out to the target. "Relaxed, and steady." His hand tips outward towards the distant target. "It does sound like quite a lot that you have been seeking." Though now there's another ripple of musing; underestimating /him/, probably also a dangerous game. "It is an opportunity you'd regret letting go. Just don't lose sight of your target." << I'm on the edge of a knife here, >> Emma admits. << He'll take the company himself if I don't. There's something he wants and needs there. It would raise the value of my stocks if I do nothing, if he doesn't tear the company apart and assimilate it when he gets what he wants. But he is threatened by our kind. >> She raises the bow and draws back the string, calming herself as she lines up the shot. Her elbow shifts to get in the right position and she draws in another breath, letting it out while still poised and ready. She releases and the arrow flies true, right on the edge of the center circle. << If I don't try, we'll never know what he is - they are trying to do. >> "Hmmm. Yes. I should very seriously consider what he is offering." She lowers the bow for now, out of arrows, eyeing the target from afar. There's a quiet musing underneath. Even if she loses everything she's been working for, the information she could get from him could be survival of their kind. << I can empathize there. >> Lucien's mental voice is dry, undercut with a rippling suggestion of an ever-charming smile, yellow eyes flashing briefly out of Osborn's face, a gnawing hunger only barely kept at bay. << Perhaps you need to make sure you don't go into this without backup. You've been working hard to lose it all at this point. >> His lips twitch faintly upward. "On target, that time. Is it starting to feel more natural or should we go for that dip in the lake before another round?" He's wandering off, already, down the long stretch of space to go collect the quiverful of arrows from the target (and the grass around it.) << He's threatened by our kind because we are dangerous. >> And in quiet background whisper: << (/be/) (dangerous). >> << Absolutely. >> Emma replies, riding that thought with absolute agreement. "I think it's becoming more natural. We can go again. Besides, I could use another opportunity to learn from," << (admire) >> "your form." She follows after him, bow clasped behind her back, watching her feet a little at first, then turning her gaze further ahead, picking out rougher bits of ground before she gets to them. "How about you? How is Broadway treating you? Any darlings sneaking into your dressing room and waiting for you when you finish?" "Broadway," Lucien's answer comes with a quiet grunt as he tugs one deeper-lodged arrow out from the target, "is delightful. My side job," here there's another flicker of yellow eyes, "has well prepared me for working with megalomaniacs." He flicks a clod of dirt off the head of one of the arrows that had lodged into the ground, collecting the bundle of them into one fist. "Does your new suitor like the theatre? You should bring him. I'll comp you good seats." "Well, I'm glad that you've had some pre-training for the grueling spotlight." Emma smiles, despite the inner recoil at the repetition of those yellow eyes. "I would love to see you - whether my suitor is interested. I suppose I could ask him to take me despite his interest. It is a prerogative of those in this type of situation. I suppose I will have to trade off for something I have no interest in." << Are you... (safe) >> she can't help but wonder, reaching out a hand for the arrows with a bright smile. "Come, come. I'll be your arrow caddy and you the expert at ... There really is no way I can finish that sentence without an obvious double entendre, is there?" "Tell me he's not into monster trucks." Lucien exhales a quiet laugh, keeping one arrow and setting the rest in Emma's outstretched hand as he heads back down the clearing to pick up his own bow, and continue twenty meters or so past the original fifty-meter line. << When are we ever safe? >> He nocks the arrow only once Emma is back behind him, stance open as he draws the bow and sights it. "Can entendre be physical? I think I could finish it for you." His drawing fingers relax, loosing the arrow; he doesn't lower his arm until his arrow thuds in near the centre of the bullseye. The very slight smile that curls his lips comes with a softer-distant echo of previous thought: << (be) (dangerous). >>