ArchivedLogs:Creating the Story

Creating the Story
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien, Nox	2013-03-21 '
Location <NYC> Hellfire Club - Upper East Side
Monochrome elegance at its finest: the Hellfire Club plays home to New York's elite, and has spared no expense in making that clear. Black and white marble tiles the floor, the pattern distinctly that of a chessboard. Rich wood paneling lines the walls, and the alcoves of the entry hall hold statues reminiscent of chess pieces. Meeting and dining halls provide plentiful space for the club's members to congregate, whatever their needs. 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 main ballroom of the mansion is vast and opulent, its ceiling vaulted and the balconies above curving gracefully away from the grand staircase -- an ideal place from which to Make An Entrance. The hallways that branch off from the staircase run in opposing monochrome: the stark white court's quarters to one side, the dark black court's quarters to the other. Upstairs, on the second floor of the Hellfire Mansion, there is a greenhouse built over one of the balconies. The sun (and heating system) keeps the room warm all year round, so that the lush greenery has a chance to flourish. Filled with trees that have been thriving for decades, plants keep the air fresh and flowers that lend a subtle fragrance, the solarium is a popular place for Hellfire members to come and relax. Dinner is being set up there tonight and all but one table with three chairs has been cleared. The sun has set and the stars (as many as can be seen in New York City) are out - but more noticeable than even the moon is the flood of lights from the surrounding buildings, twinkling here and there with neon. Emma stands beside one of the large window panes gazing out, a glass of white wine held in her fingertips. She is dressed in a simple white dress, sleeveless and knee length, a wrap hanging about her shoulders, keeping out the slightest chill. The garment hugs her frame and slides off her hips in a gent cascade, leaving her thighs swathed in ripples of fine fabric. Her heels are comfortable, but far from flat, giving her a little height and a slender leg. Her hair is down. When she spies a clock tower that indicates it is time for the meeting, she turns around to examine the staff's work, looking at the small menu cards left on the plate. She finishes her drink and hands it off to a waiter before heading to the door to meet her guests. Lucien is a punctual person. He is arriving to the Club on time, dressed crisp and neat in a well-tailored dove-grey suit that does not really fit in with either half of the Club's monochrome motif. When they are shown through to the greenhouse he has a smile on his face, warm, polite; his mind is its usual carefully-cultivated tranquil when he sees Emma at the door. "Ms. Frost. Bonsoir. May I introduce you to Ms. Nox?" Well, clearly he may. He /just did/. The woman with Lucien is doing an admirable job of covering her nerves. Only the restless drift of her shoulder-length hair gives Nox away. Otherwise, she is all gentle smiles as they stroll through the Club. Unlike her escort, she appears to have taken the color scheme seriously--she is wearing a black trench coat (of inferior make) over a little black dress (of equally inferior make). Her skin does complement Lucien's suit, though in a darker shade. "Ms...Frost," she murmurs, intently studying the other woman. Somewhat taken aback, as this face registers as familiar, she glances up at Lucien. "Lucien, Darling." Emma strides over and offers a hand to Lucien, her tone reserved, perhaps even pleased, but her words are short and warm. "It's good to see you." She turns and looks to Nox, her chin tilting to one side as she too sifts through recognition. "Ms. Nox," Her lips press together to contain her amusement then stretch out into a warmer smile. "It's good to see you again. I should have realized that it would be you - but for some reason failed to." She extends her hand to Nox after Lucien is done with it. Lucien does not offer a handshake; he reaches to take Emma's hand, together with a calm-happy flush of warmth, and dip his head to press a light kiss to her knuckles. "Emma." The exchange draws his eyes between the two women with a hint of surprise. "I did not realize you two were acquainted." Nox stands quietly during the ritual of greeting, her hands folded before her and her eyes shifting back and forth between the pair. "The jazz club...during the storm. Ah, yes." The whispered comment is more for her own benefit. She smiles again when Emma's hand is offered and reaches to take it. "A very brief meeting. We enjoyed a song together. It is a pleasure, Ms. Frost. Thank you. For meeting me. For...arranging. This." "It's my pleasure. Please, come. Sit." Emma turns and gestures a slowly sweeping arm toward the table and walks over, boldly pulling out a chair and offering it to Nox. On the plates in front of them is a simplified menu, offering two options for each course, depending on what the individual orders. There are water glasses on the table filled with chilled water and wine glasses standing beside them, empty and waiting on a bottle. "It will be nice to be able to ask you questions for a change." Telepathy stretches out to run over the surface thoughts of Nox's mind, picking up anything Lucien might be thinking as well, by general proximity. Lucien slips into his chair only after the women are seated, picking up the menu to look it over. "Meeting over music. That sounds -- pleasant." He oddly sounds a trifle surprised at this last word. He glances over the menu, and for a moment his thoughts are turned to: Guinea hen. With truffle rissotto and pear puree. That sounds delicious. Sometimes, pretentious places are delightful. Certainly when it comes to their menus. But he moves on past this to consider the two women with him, idly turning over the potential for anything /bad/ to happen to Nox out of this. There is definite worry, there, concern for the shadow-woman, but in his carefully-structured mind it presents muted and calm: clinical appraisal of What Might Happen, rather than fretting. "I just appreciate the time taken to meet with us," he murmurs quietly. "Given your employers specifications -- well. I think the good will garnered by the good Nox has done of late should hopefully carry some weight." As ever, there is a direct correlation between Nox's physical state and the "sound" quality of her thoughts. In this instance she is relatively whole so while that velvet nap might catch at Emma's mind, it doesn't obstruct. Will this be a disaster? So much danger lately and now Lucien is up to his neck in it. The concern and affection there is stronger than the thoughts themselves. But soon all of this is taken over by the low recitation of reading--the wild mushroom risotto with burnt butter and sage briefly tempts her mind away from fretting. "Though one understands if there is still concern," she interjects softly. Tunnels, tunnels and a sense of personal immensity, flicker through her thoughts. She is...much larger on the inside than out. "Hopefully to meet will be to allay them." "Oh, it definitely carries a lot of weight," Emma assures them both as she waves in a waiter to take their orders. She orders a white wine to go with the fowl and vegetable dishes, choosing the guinea hen for herself as well. "Mr. Osborn mostly wishes to know more about your past, to get a better feel for you and an understanding of your position on mutant affairs." She smiles sweetly as she leans back in her chair, her water glass cradled between her fingers. << We are looking for terrorist ties, >> she informs Lucien while gazing politely at Nox, << mostly to keep from press embarrassments, I think. Osborn has turned this into a media circus. >> Emma finds this utterly unsurprising, but it's nicer to think of the gala in terms of embarrassments rather than death tolls. << What have you told her about me? >> Lucien delivers his order, together with quiet-warm thanks to the waiter. He reaches out to curl his fingers around his water glass, too, lifting it for a sip. "Nox is a transplant to this city, as many are. It's all too common, really. People hear that New York has so many mutants, perhaps it might be a bit safer --" Something troubled crosses his expression, drawing his brows into a frown, but it doesn't ruffle the tidy calm of his mindscape. "Perhaps one day it will be. But currently the city does not do so well at taking care of its people. It is perhaps all the more impressive, the lives Nox saved, given her own precarious situation. The streets are -- not a kind place to live," he murmurs with a touch of regret lacing the words. His answer comes to Emma after a moment, carefully rising out of the otherwise-quiet of his mind. << He has seemed to want to make a spectacle of himself. Nox is rather the opposite of a terrorist, though. >> Given the calm of his mind, the image that surfaces here is likely deliberately chosen: a girl, teenage, slim and pretty but pale and shaken after her kidnapping ordeal. << My own sister would have been lost without her aid. I told her the truth. You are in charge of the guest list for this soiree. You are the one to, ah. Impress. >> The final order is placed, a smile offered to the water before she too reaches for her water. The word "labs" drifts to the surface before being displaced by the lines of Lucien's story. Nox, who is unaware of the words flying between her table mates, looks at him with quiet gratitude for bold sketches of a story that is in no way echoed in her own mind. "It was only a matter of timing. To be in the right place, at the right moment," she whispers, the modesty genuine even if much of the tale isn't. Rumpled nerves are settles briefly by the touch of glass to her lip, the coolness of the water as she sips. Her eyes shift to Emma over the rim of the glass. Emma smiles as she listens, letting her eyes dance between the pair as Lucien speaks more than their new companion. << Osborn was as giddy as a school boy in a candy store to hear he could have the Shadow Woman at his party. Barring confessing to wishing to kill him right here at the table, she's pretty much in. >> Her face remains pleasant and warm as her mind latches onto the words floating around in Nox's head, studying them and collecting information before letting them drift away again. She is careful - gentle even, but she is paying close attention. "I have found very few people as prepared as you when they were in the right place and the right time. I very much understand if you do not want to talk about that incident. What else do you do here, in the city?" << Giddy. Was he. >> This comes quiet, but with no small measure of contemplation. << Why is the thought of Norman Osborn happy so disconcerting? >> Lucien hardly looks disconcerted, though. He sips slowly at his water, his expression simply thoughtful. "Fortuitous, certainly, but Nox has rather a penchant for being helpful. There are so /many/ homeless children in the city. Knowing how difficult the life is, herself, a fair deal of her time is spent simply making sure the others who share her situation can find their way to shelter. It can be hard to be so young and -- have no idea what resources are even available to them." His fingers tap absently against the side of the glass. "It is not a pleasant memory," Nox agrees. Naturally, bits and pieces of it surface--Tatters being smashed against the ceiling and swallowed by the thing. People running under a wing of shadow. Carnage's white eyes open and staring, its many mouths gaping. The girl from Lucien's thoughts pale and staring at a computer screen. The water in her glass trembles as her fingers go unsteady--or perhaps diaphanous. She recovers quickly though and sets the drink down. "As...as he says." Children's faces, none of them "normal, flick through on a blurry slideshow. Lucien earns another glance. "I hope it will not be an issue that I am of the streets. It is...very beautiful here. Mr. Tessier has told me that there will be very distinguished people present." "Yes, there will be a fair amount of distinguished guests at the gala. There will also be a number of military contractors, so the mood may not be very reserved and gentile at all." Emma takes a drink of her water and then sets it down, her eyes catching the movement of the waiters as they bring in the appetizers. She scoots her chair in a little closer to the table and pulls her napkin into her lap, getting ready to eat. The wine arrives momentarily, and is served to Lucien first for sampling. "It will not be an issue at all. I can help you with your wardrobe if you are concerned about that, and make sure you have everything you need to make the night a success. She continues to sift through Nox's thoughts and grows perhaps a touch pale at the images of Carnage. Her smile remains. "Do you dance? Perhaps I will teach you to waltz." Lucien says this as a sudden thought, glancing over to Nox. He takes the wine, swirling it in the glass, tasting the first sip. A nod pronounces it suitable for dinnering. When he rests his hand down afterwards it is closer to Nox's; he doesn't take her hand but a slight shift of position brushes his fingers up against her arm. It comes with cool soothing calm. Steadying. "That would be appreciated, thank you, Ms. Frost. I am afraid I have had no cause to keep a formal wardrobe." Nox is mirroring Emma's own movements, napkin plucked from the table and laid across her lap. "Will I..." She pauses here, concern focused on a recurring theme: visibility. "Will it be required that I speak? Or is my presence enough to satisfy Mr. Osborn?" With the napkin settled, she rests her arms against the table again--and when Lucien's talents felt, steals another look at him, coupling it with a small smile. The fondness in that brief contact is again strong. Thank you, she's thinking. Oh thank you. "I have forgotten most of my dancing. Lessons would not go amiss." << She thanks you, but I suppose you can tell. >> Emma is inwardly amused and at the same time... << I feel a bit terrible dragging her into this. I'm sure she could take on an army if she took out that thing, but feeding her to the press and Osborn seems cruel. It's an entirely different arena than what she is used to. >> Emma's hands are slower when she realizes Nox is watching, quietly picking the outside most fork to eat the appetizer with, watching the waiter fill all of the other wine glasses. "I do not believe you are scheduled for speaking or answering questions, but I will make certain. For the most part, I think Mr. Osborn simply wishes you to be there so he can show he cares about mutant kind and supporting their heroes." Lucien, too, lays his napkin across his lap, folded in half. << She is a good person. >> That is -- all that Lucien allows himself to say, on the subject of dragging Nox into this. There are quiet echoes of feeling that accompany it; muted, as most of his thoughts are, but strong enough they ride along with these words anyway. Affection, concern, protectiveness. Caution. "He is a philanthropist," he says mildly. A little dry, but only a little. He picks up his fork, too, to begin eating. "All of mutantkind could rather use some good press, these days. I suppose someone wishing to highlight their heroes is timely." << Even just to further his own agenda. >> After double-checking with a peek at Emma, Nox takes up the correct fork and begins to tease apart the appetizer. Hunger is not a crucial concern but she eats enough to be polite. "If I must speak, a strong microphone is best," she says, not without a hint of humor. "And no spotlights. I would not want to...horrify or startle by disappearing." With these practicalities imparted, she focuses on the food before her but her attention drifts elsewhere. Dressing, dancing, attention...all of this fuss. She clings to the thought that it is necessary. And at least she won't be alone. "Is it true he is now calling for an investigation into Mr. Holland's prosecution?" Dangerous. For all involved. Emma lets out a little sign as her eyes unfocus through some of the thoughts she reads, specifically the affection the pair shares. She is quick to renew her smile and projects nothing on the topic to Lucien. Nox provides ample distraction. "Yes, he is. He made the announcement on the air and expressed to me that he is keenly interested in following through. Are the two of you acquainted?" She takes a bite, then washes it down with some wine. The flicker of familiarity this name brings means the answer is a yes, from Lucien, but he does not say this. What he does say is, still dry, "A philanthropist. Though perhaps conveniently, Mr. Holland's case seems /made/ for tugging heartstrings." He eats slowly. Small bites of food, most of his attention on the conversation. "Mr. Holland is known among many circles for the good work he does." This is true. It is also true that Nox's familiarity with Jackson goes beyond his activism efforts. << The laboratories... >> swirls through her thoughts again and, << ...must ask...any who need to hide... >> So much to do, so much to do. Her own sigh is entirely internal; it affects her smile not at all. She lifts her fork to her mouth again and then dabs her lips with a napkin. "It would be wonderful if he were reunited with his children. He is a loving father. One can only imagine the effect this separation has had on him." Lucien's remarks give her pause though. She hesitates, then adds, "Mr. Osborn seems to understand PR very well." The portions of food are small in order to enable multiple courses and distracted eaters. Emma finishes hers quickly enough and leans back with her water glass again, sipping as she considers and combs through some of her observations. "So I have heard," she utters quietly into the rim of her glass. "I find the entire situation deplorable and hope for a quick resolution." She pauses just for a moment and then glances between her two guests before changing the subject. "What we need to do right now is to focus on your PR." Emma smiles sweetly and she adjusts her shoulders, "You are going to a party where everyone will simply be talking all night about everything from the weather all the way to the point of debating whether mutants should be wiped off the face of the planet - these topics do come up when party goers have had a little too much to drink. What you need to do is know what /you/ want to talk about so that /you/ can talk about it, no matter what your conversation brings up. Have you given thought to why you are going to this party?" "These topics come up," says Lucien, and it is quiet and a little /wry/, his not-very-amused amusement, "even in the absence of alcohol, whenever the topic of mutants is at hand. I have ceased to be surprised how many people consider extermination a perfectly legitimate option." He doesn't answer the question of why Nox might be going to this party, though his hand does shift towards her again, calm-cool supporting once more. Nox's eyes briefly close as Lucien's efforts take effect. The calm shores up her smile, allows her to look at Emma without wavering--or flickering out of view. "We are probably fortunate that while many people will speak of extermination, only a handful will actually attempt to put it into practice. I...had thought in this sort of environment, it would be considered poor manners to say such things to someone like me though." Ah, naivety. "But if it were to come up, I would be tempted to say that it is the same for mutants. Many who might seem dangerous but only a few who actually are." "To be honest, responding at all to such topics will only drag you into debates with people who have well rehearsed and cutting answers that will be difficult to rebuff." Emma leans forward and grabs her glass of wine, finishing it before holding her glass out to one of the staff for a refill. "The best defense is to change the subject and to divert discussion to topics you are unshakably an expert on, or are so passionate about, they will find it difficult to counter or interrupt you." When the staff returns, they bring the salad course and Emma receives a refill. "I still am dreadfully curious as to what you are getting out of this gala," She asks again, still quiet on the mental front, listening. "What does anyone get out of such things?" Lucien's wine remains untouched, past his first assessing sip, but he has nearly drained his water and accepts a refill of /that/ before starting his salad. "Visibility. A chance to make connections. One cannot live forever on the streets," he says, with a flick of apologetic glance to Nox. "And I have long since learned myself that," here there is the /faintest/ upward twitch of his lips. Small. Brief, "properly selling yourself to the right people is essential for making that upwards climb." "I will remember that. To change the topic." For the first time, Nox reaches for her wine glass as the plates are being changed out. After that first sip, she continues to hold it, watching the liquid circle around as she tilts her wrist. Lucien's answer on her behalf wins a small, wan smile--with 'visibility' echoing loudest in her thoughts, though hers range more towards the concept of protection and safety than upward mobility. "It is an impressive opportunity," she agrees politely, "and an excellent venue in which simply appearing might help some realize we aren't all...to be feared. I am also curious. I have never /been/ to a gala, that I can remember."" "Well, my dear," Emma responds, setting down her glass when she picks up the next fork for salad. "Here is what I propose. I believe we shall keep that wide eyed wonder, that sweetness to your character and make you out to be as gentle as we can. Talk about children on the streets, tell them about how you protect them, do your utmost to appear like an older sister to all, young yourself and just trying to make it. I... will see about making you the belle of the ball, if we can rest the title away from Mr. Osborn." She tucks into her salad for a while, silently scolding Lucien, << you're going to have your hands full during the party. You might never be able to leave her side. >> Emma is disappointed, but not angry. Lucien is eating his salad, quietly. << People can be surprising. Even to one of your talents, I would wager. I think she may do better than you give her credit for. >> There's no particular weight of emotion attached to his thoughts, only quiet contemplation -- of, admittedly, what coaching might be necessary before attending such a function. "Sweetness," he says aloud, an actual smile curling onto his lips now. "Amidst all the government and military types, a touch of innocence may be refreshing." Though, for just a moment, it is Jackson's face and not Nox that surfaces in his mind. And, as in his last conversation with Emma, a passing flash of lambs being led to a slaughterhouse. "The belle of the ball..." It's a thought which makes Nox squirm inwardly, images of dark corners and heavy shadow springing up in her mind. These are where she'd rather be--spotlights /hurt/. They hurt enough that she reaches up briefly towards her eyes, but turns the gesture into a useless bid to brush her restless hair back at the last moment. "Whatever you feel is best, Ms. Frost. I cannot feign innocence, but it should not be so very difficult to manage gently. And bringing attention to the plight of children on the street...yes." That she can do. "Would it be considered rude to wear sunglasses to an event like this? I imagine there will be a great many lights." "Sunglasses will be permitted. We'll get some that are stylish enough to accentuate your gown." Emma sets her fork down, deep in thought, processing quietly. << I actually don't doubt her ability to survive the night. I just imagine it will go better with you at her side. >> Her mental voice grows more distant, more akin to his own vocal tones than hers. Her hand reaches up and brushes against her lips briefly. "Well, I will also talk to the lighting department. To be honest, I do not imagine spotlights will be used, but it will be a brightly lit room - which I can get them to tone down a little bit." She draws in a deep breath and considers. "I just want to give you some sort of foundation to fall back. I want to also paint you as beautiful, because it draws cameras." She smiles a little, embarrassed. "Forgive me. I'm getting lost in the details of what I need to do. I'm making poor table company." << Many people find their nights smoother with me at their side, >> Lucien replies, and despite the quiet tone of amusement there it isn't particularly smug or bragging, more a simple assessment of the feelings his mutation can bring. << But you needn't worry. I said I would be there as you need me, and I will. >> "On the contrary," he says, lighter, a quick smile touching his lips, "Business is what is is, but /I/, at least, am quite enjoying my present company. You can hardly be faulted for being good at your job." He picks his glass up again, sips water slowly. His eyes slant to one side, briefly glancing towards Nox. "It should not be a difficult painting to manage. You have quite a striking canvas to work with." "There is nothing to forgive, Ms. Frost," Nox is quick to assure the other woman, her smile deeper this time. "I am very grateful to know that you will be handling these details. They are not a strength of mine. I'll do everything I can, I promise, to live up to expectations." Do her cheeks grow darker, slate to charcoal, at the consideration of her appearance for this event? Perhaps. She hides it behind another sip of wine and then sets the glass down, to retrieve her fork. Her appetite has not improved but an effort will be made--along with an attempt to practice the art of "diverting the topic". "Did we pass the room here where the gala will be held...?" "Very good, my dear. You're catching on fast." Emma doesn't bother answering Nox's question either. She instead begins to chat about dresses and designers, asking her questions about the types of shoes she's already worn, whether her skin takes to make up or not - and a myriad of other little things, allowing Lucien the opportunity to opine as well. The rest of the meal is just as delicious as the beginning fare, and whether or not Nox develops an appetite is not commented on. The desserts - because there are two at Emma's behest - are amazing, melting on the tongue like Nox's shadows in daylight, leaving on the memory of something delightful.