ArchivedLogs:Cat's Paw

Cat's Paw
Dramatis Personae Emma, Parley
In Absentia	2013-03-19 '
Location <NYC> Hellfire Club - Upper East Side
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. After receiving such an intriguing request via email, Emma went ahead and worked a meeting with this ‘Parley’ into her next day’s schedule. This means he is scheduled early in the morning - or at least ‘early’ by Emma’s schedule. At 10:00am, the cleaning staff is just finishing in the Event Coordinator’s office, wheeling their cart out as Parley is shown in and encouraged to sit in one of the checkered seats near her desk. A second set of staff members filter in after that, opening up one of the panels on the wall and turning on a light to simulate daylight inside the dark little cove. There are gauzy drapes to enhance the effect of an open window. It’s a nod to the natural world that keeps the office’s owner a little more sane. One woman brings in a tray with a fruit dish and a carafe of coffee and asks Parley what he might like for breakfast assuring him that it is quite complimentary. After that staff has cleared and a few minutes later than she’d like, Emma sweeps in from the outside, unbuttoning her large white coat as she moves. She smiles upon seeing Parley (wherever he has chosen to be) and heads to one of the other hidden cabinets to stash her coat inside. “Good morning. I am sorry about the lateness - I’m generally here more around noon when I don’t have an event at night.” She draws in a deep breath and tugs on her suit jacket to straighten it back into place around her waist. She’s wearing a suit of antiqued white, with slacks that cover up most of her darker boots. “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Parley?” Parley arrives punctually with a shaved three minutes to spare; there is no high fashion to his attire, though he compensates with neutrality, beige turtleneck, charcoal overcoat - newly bought, but T. J. Maxx level to any with an eye for designer wear - and common black slacks over cheap men’s shoes that nevertheless gleam. Maybe he could pass at a distance. To someone not currently wearing their bifocals. He spares himself heavily from the worst weight of pretension by a neutrality in posture, spine upright but shoulders and chin so slightly tipped down in something vaguely secretarial. His spiky hair is messy. It’s /brushed/ and it’s bound back in a nub of pony tail. But its grain is plagued by cowlicks. Some problems are easier to solve than others. By the time Emma enters, he’s unwound his smoke-gray knitted scarf and tucked himself into the first chair indicated to him, accepting a plate of eggs, sunny side up, and a cup of coffee without seeming to feel so compelled as to thank the staff member that brings it, or even glance to their eyes. The room is quiet save the click of a fork when Emma enters, and even with his seat directly opposite her desk, his presence has a sense of drifting off to the side - a close look may link this partly to a rather diffused gap where his mental signal should be. But only partly. He’s also just quiet. “I’ve been made very comfortable, Ms. Frost,” by the time Emma is within eyesight of his face, he has lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, and then lowers them back to his place,. “I was wondering if I couldn’t revisit the conversation you had last week with my employer, Ms. Claire Basil.” “Why, of course,” Emma replies matter of factly, spending a little more time in her cabinet, brushing through her hair quickly and washing her hands on a hot towel left in a drawer for her. She puts it all away as she checks her makeup and steps back to her desk, drawing in a deep breath before lowering herself into her seat. She glances down at the fruit provided and picks up a silver fork, dantily taking a piece and nibbling on it. “Is this about her, or is this about your participation in my upcoming soiree?” “Ah? Are we calling it yours now?” Parley gives his head a quick twitch-shake to remove his hair from his left eye, looking up. Emma pauses and looks at him for a long moment, before shaking her head and selecting another piece of fruit. “The Oscorp Gala and Demonstration,” she amends, “I have far more at stake in it to completely divorce myself from some claim to it, but yes. It is not mine.” She lifts a bit of cantaloupe to her lips and asks, “So what would you like to discuss?” “I imagine by now,” Parley licks yoke from his thumb, “you’ve probably managed to recruit a fair number of mutants into attendance. You’re very persuasive. What I wonder,” he sets his fork down, leans back in his seat, “Is whether you’ve been able to find a mutant that /isn’t/ attending to...mmh. How can I phrase this. /Oppose/ the whole operation? They have a phrase for arguing a point that stands against no opposition from its own audience. It involved a choir and I imagine a very large soapbox.” “Preaching to the choir?” Emma offers, after a little bit of consideration. She finishes a bite of fruit and then pushes the fruit plate to one side. “I may have found one or two people that rebell from the norm, but I am curious as to what you have in mind right now.” Speaking of which, Emma takes a moment to refocus her mind on the other person in the room, putting more effort into overcoming that natural deterrent of his. The mounted effort finds very little resistance. Parley’s mind sags softly beneath the pressure, and then slits open as though Emma were pushing a finger through wet paper. What she finds inside is... nebulous. Thin. Gauzy sheets of smoke that watch her, fully aware of the invasion. Watching her in mind - and with his eyes, gazing at her from beneath the shelf of his downward-tipped brows. “You’ve invited Jackson Holland.” It’s not a question, really. His mind rolls over into her hands as a soft compression of rosetted fur and organic matter, difficult to read but not combatively. Polite. He even gives her a mental image, bright colored hair. Piercings. A subtle glimmer of warm-bright inner glow -- so helpful! Yet there’s no suggestion of personal bias. Just curiosity and... something steel-hard and polished smooth, as though worn down by many hands before Emma’s. Emma blinks at Parley’s mind, a mixture of concern and fascination coloring her telepathy, like a doctor discovering the ravages of a new disease. Her touch is gentle after the initial penetration, gently caressing, looking, studying, but not hurting. << is this how your powers had molded you, or is this a result of... all of that? >> ‘That’ is explained with a few choice images gleaned from other minds in her acquaintance, some of the less traumatizing scenes where there are scientists in lab coats, perhaps a scene of the exterior and the escape. Physically, Emma smiles and nods easily. “Yes, I have invited Jackson Holland. I expect that he will do a very good job presenting the case that there should /not/ be heavily weaponized individuals with anti-mutant leanings, as the police seem to have these days.” She draws in a deep breath and starts picking at her fruit again, craving the sugar. Parley’s mind contracts like a muscle against Emma’s gentle caress, when she flips through her delicately ‘phrased’ imagery - a slight stiff-necked quality to the manner in which he does not look away; considers the images; almost forces himself to explore them. He cannot dig into another mind, but light as mothwings he can be felt fluttering thoroughly through what she gives him, filtering for their source of /origin/. << (ah.)(‘that’). >> It’s almost a humorless chuckle, belying a slight bit of... irritation. Gritted jaw. << (they leak ‘that’ so easily). >> He speaks in loose, inelegant concepts, amalgamate chunks of thought and image. << (to answer?) (...) (i do not know.) (- ha ha.) (they do not have ways to take comparative samples beforehand.) >> There’s a sudden pulse, voluptuous and /thick/, that rolls a heady wave of /adrenaline/ into Emma’s touch; not Parley’s, but somewhat a /gift/ he’s giving her. << (bold to ask!) (mmm) (so polite) >> “Oh, haven’t you heard?” Parley asks, smiling back at Emma. Or at least rolling up either side of his lips, holding his fork in one hand and picking at the tines with the other. “It seems he’s in a bit of trouble with social services now. Anti-mutant prejudice, I’m sure, by people out to make life hard for a minority. It would be inconvenient if it distracted him from more frivolous obligations. Few things dampen interest in a party more than the loss of one’s children.” He lowers his eyes to the fork. “Would you or Mr. Osborn be interested in a full mutant endorsement to argue in /favor/ of Oscorp’s projects?” His eyes flick back up. “I have a /spotless/ record.” “I find it amusing that you think my hold on him that loose, but... thank you for the new information,” Emma replies coolly, lips pursing in amusement. She draws in a deep breath as she pulls out her tablet and opens it up, moving through her files to find the contact sheet that she now needs to update. “Now, then. Is your offer to help Oscorp dependent on the situation with Mr. Holland, or is this a separate issue for you?” Despite outward appearances, Emma’s mind is racing with the surge of adrenaline, using it to help her focus and process faster. Her telepathic touch is firmer, pressing on that part of Parley that sent the surge discouragingly. << What is it that you want, Parley. I don’t think humans should endorse Mr. Osborn’s projects, let alone a mutant with everything to lose. I am not sure you understand the scope of the situation and what you are proposing. >> “I think they’re rather connected regardless of my offer,” Parley admits, sipping his coffee off to the side. “Frankly, as an oppressive tactic, it’s /clumsy/. On paperwork, Mr. Holland is the very figure of the struggling lower class - three jobs, attending school, fostering three underprivileged mutant children. On top of that, he’s had two very inconvenient photo-ops to demonstrate his dedication to peaceful resistance. I’m especially fond of the image of the policeman ticketing him while he clutches his child, after /protecting/ that same policeman /from/ a mutant. I can’t help but to feel that taking further civil action against him, one that targets his children, all of whom are clean and healthy and dearly love him, on top of the already controversial laundry list of harassment and persecution he’s undergone since the year started is bad enough. But to then shine a spotlight on him and hand him a microphone is practically media suicide. He’s a perfect martyr. I can argue in Oscorp’s defense, Ms. Frost. But I can’t work miracles.” The pressure on his mind once more finds only a faint textural resistance, a soft chuckle at the retaliation, and it then dissolves, evaporating around Emma’s mental touch only to reform just beside it the next moment. << (i understand more than you might think) >> His patchwork voice, by contrast, is dry as lead. << (every player in this game knows this is a farce. and every player in this game knows one /another/ knows.) (but.) (i will play along as well.)(/if/.) >> He spider-creeps delicate touches around her mind; breathless flickers, licking with small soft tongues. << (this goes away.)(-they’re targeting /everyone/.)(they’ll know. you know. i know. Osborn will likely know(-?-)(but.) i do not have everything to lose, Ms. Frost. i have /nothing/ to lose. (the only bargaining chip i own is /myself/ and i will /use/ it.) but i have no interest in a sacrifice.(want more. CHIPS IN. high yield) a puppet is still a representative; this sets a precedence to get a mutant foot in the door of these operations for the /future/.(can you see?)(if this goes well, we can /all/ gain.)(...except the labs. haha.)...and Osborn is a business man. (the players may know. but the public does not.)(and the public is watching). >> Parley is holding up a hand apologetically, “I understand that this isn’t anything Oscorp is responsible for, but the /public/...” The word /thrums/ with his mental reference to it. “I’m only expressing my concerns about the obstacles we may be facing. My only mutation is in complementing human intercommunication. I do not /have/ force fields or flight capability or super human strength. I have no more capacity to defend myself against mutant criminal behavior than any human, and much as I admire Mr. Holland’s bravery and willingness to sacrifice himself, I do not think it /efficient/ to depend on mutant vigilante justice to protect the city when smarter standardized technology equipping our police forces would have made scenarios like the one Mr. Holland was involved in /obsolete/.” He leans forward over his knees, lacing his fingers. “I sincerely support the goals of Oscorp and would like to see them succeed.” << (provided his goals align with my /own/.) >> Emma considers this for a moment, her keyed up brain continuing to spin. “As much as I appreciate the lengths you are willing to go to in order to help your friend, I am not entirely sure more sacrifice is what the situation calls for.” << It’s entirely possible that I will be feeding you to a beast and jeopardizing myself by doing so. >> Thoughts begin flowing together, augmenting the words she speaks with more information and depth - more so than the words themselves express. “You don’t even know what you are precisely agreeing to support. What Mr. Osborn is suggesting is weaponizing the police and military forces with devices that will require the city and state to change ordinances for explosives within city limits.” << You remember those drones outside of the facility? That is Oscorp’s donation to that cause. And those are just the tips of the iceberg - as there are also automated bombs that are able to follow mutants around. >> “The collateral damage alone should cause anyone to pause - human or mutant.” “Here is what I recommend - I recommend that /I/ take this information about Mr. Holland to Mr. Osborn and see what what he thinks about it.” << If I sent you in, the nature of your mutation may actually trigger something devastating. >> “I have met a friend of his son’s and know that he is a loving father who understand the value of spending time with one’s children.” That’s a bit of a stretch gleaned from the conversation with Peter, but Emma’s running with it, based upon what she gleaned from Osborn himself. << There is darkness within his brain. I’ve seen it - and when I brushed against it, it reacted. I feel it was a blind reaction, but I am not fully sure what it is capable of. Parley, that thing within him is /mad/. It is deranged, it is dangerous, and it stretches into all portions of his regular gray matter. It wanted to kill me >> and here, an echo of that demon’s voice screaming for Emma’s eyes seeps in with a vein of cold sweat, << and I barely touched it. Are you sure you’d be able to control any and all psionic effects created by your brain not to accidentally put more pressure on it than you’d like? >> There’s mental image of Osborn with his hand in his pocket, an impression of Emma’s wariness. << Plus, he’s working on ‘anti-telepathy’ devices and I have no details on what that means. It could be even more dangerous than I can express right now. >> Emma leans back in her chair as she snags a cube of fruit between two fingers and brings it to her mouth to chew. When finished, she continues, “It very well may be that OsCorp may see this opportunity to intervene as a way to secure good favor amongst the mutant community. He will at least want to know how desperate or devastated his guests may be. -- But why should I send in you?” << It is a huge risk and I do not seem to benefit from your sacrifice. >> Parley’s head tips to the side, “I don’t really think what I’m proposing involves sacrifice at all, Ms. Frost. And while Mr. Holland is an acquaintance of mine, I’m not sure I could refer to him as a friend - my interest in this matter is, admittedly, more political.” Supporting his coffee beneath his nose with either hand, he inhales the steam. There is... no audible thoughts to accompany. Only a gently gray, swaying silence of awareness. Possibly, this makes its own statement. “I’m not suggesting that I would wholesale back every individual expenditure of Oscorp blindly. What I’m offering is the voice of a /moderate/ in a crowd of extremists. A counter-argument that is not screaming its predictable rhetoric so loudly it’s lost its meaning. Having a mutant willing to speak in a /neutral/ platform on these matters would benefit all sides. The nature of Mr. Osborn’s...” he swills his drink into a mirky whirlpool, “/premise/ is concerned with the protection of Americans, is it not?” Sip. “The rest is surely just a matter of ironing out his...” the side of his mouth twitches, - smile? /facetwitch/? - “/execution/.” From the smokey-gray silence, the small red *dart* of warning that lightly unfurls to tap Emma’s mind is barely a breath to her mental ear. << (i’m very accustomed to darkness, Ms. Frost.) >> And from seeming the opposite ear comes his second whisper. << (and i am not a telepath.)(if i depended on my /mutation/ alone, i would likely be...)(*lurid mental image of a meat-grinder*)(recycled organic material by now.)(to me, this is beyond mutants vs. humans.) this is just my way IN. support, oppose, it is all the same. (frankly; it’s all so many lies.) i do not care if i look bad, if that is the role i must play. (so long as i accomplish what i want.) what i want is to /equalize the power/.(...into the favor of... hmmm...) >> He curls in his coffee to hold against his chest, making room for the bowing of head; it’s vaguely ‘ethnic’ in its neatness. “I, of course, would leave it in your hands to take or leave these matters to Mr. Osborn’s attention. And appreciate you making time for me this morning regardless.” << (the only thing i have to offer is myself.) >> he does not apologize in this admission; it’s hard and smooth and callous. << (but if i live, i will become more.)(i will /become/ useful.) >> Behind his hair, he is studying her face. << (and you will have my mind.) >> There’s a sense of a shrug. << (and if i do not, i imagine i will be dead or returned to my cell.)(hn, do you think i don’t know this?)(and you will probably have to implement whatever escape plan of lies you are probably already forming as we speak.) >> << (you strike me as being adept at lying, yourself.) >> << Are you swearing allegiance to me? >> Emma is confused by this statement - the offer of his mind. She considers it for a moment, turning in her chair, thoughtfully. "It's an interesting proposal." She finally turns to face Parley and rests her elbows on the desk, studying his features. << You do realize that I will have to distance myself from you initially, allowing you to propose your support as a way to clear up some of these legal issues that you are associated with, in order to not have anything fall back on me. I cannot protect you. >> There is the distinct feeling that she does would rather like to. "I will contact Mr. Osborn and let him know that you have intel for him and a proposition. I will leave it in your hands." Through all this, Parley is only forming a simple, bemused smile with one finger resting against his lips. As though telling someone 'shhh'. He closes his eyes. "That's all that I ask for." "Very well, Mr. Parley." Emma rises slowly and smiles, extending a hand to her meeting companion. "Barring Mr. Osborn's disapproval, I will see you at the Gala." Rising as well, Parley's cool, dry fingers curl around Emma's hand delicately. And then briefly, lightly constricts. "Until then." "Until then," Emma releases his hand and gestures lightly toward the door, before finding her seat again, watching him go.