ArchivedLogs:Daedalus Mingles
| Daedalus Mingles | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-03-28 ' |
| Location
<NYC> Hellfire Clubhouse - Upper East Side | |
Emma Frost throws a mean party. The Hellfire Club's Main Ballroom is lit in a gorgeous amber light (not too bright for certain guests), making the affair seem warm and inviting, which is important when military contractors arrive with their spouses and and need to be lulled into a sense of community instead of competition, and mutant heroes are invited and need to be both elevated to the level of civic heroes, and shown to be utterly relatable, friendly and approachable. And there are robots, that are for some reason wearing adorable little tuxedos as they float around the room serving drinks and hor d'oeuvres. Emma herself is dressed in a beautifully simple, strapless white ball gown, with artistic draping in the front that tugs the fabric this way and that to enhance her small chest, while sweeping around to dip down into a short, elegant train. Her hair is up, neck is bare, and small diamond studs appear in her ears, but most of her glitz is focused on a small, jewel encrusted minaudiere in her hand, with a small loop around her wrist. From time to time, she's seen peeking into that tiny clutch purse and reading things off of an electronic screen, but mostly, she seems to be monitoring her handiwork, and smiling to herself. She's trying to locate Tatters and send her on to see Osborn, but doesn't seem to have success approaching her - as others seem to want her time. Two galagoers wind their way through the gathered crowd, the lead effortlessly sidestepping suited partygoers and weaving around trailing gowns while the young lady following in his wake is keeping a closer eye on where she's going and the many hazards in her path. The man in front is Cameron Caleswood, the rather less notorious scion of the historically notorious Caleswood family. He looks...well, he looks more /professor/ than businessman or politician, presently outfitted in a tailcoat and bow-tie, with his glasses, weathered face and receeding hairline making him look older than his middle years. As he finds himself near Emma he pauses to greet her with a wide, friendly smile, fingers reaching up to adjust his glasses as he speaks. "Emma! You have /outdone/ yourself this time. The tuxedo-drones are simply precious." In contrast, what he's thinking is...well, what he's thinking is an uninterrupted, repetitive drone of "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit..." spoken in an avian, chittering voice that sounds nothing like his own, words echoed in the mind of the young lady behind him. This is his aide Zarita Sara, a Spanish woman who's otherwise soft features seem to be creased in a habitual frown, with a halfhearted attempt at a friendly smile pasted atop. Her dark hair has been teased and pulled into a loose bun, and she wears white gown of her own, with clean lines and textured shoulders, an emerald necklace setting off her startling green eyes. To Emma, she just nods, her smile turning warmer and more genuine for a moment, and her mental recitation pausing for a moment as she exclaims, accompanied by a mental, chittering laugh. << Emma! You look /stunning/ tonight. >> In the social stratosphere, invited as an aid to a well-respected lawyer in the city, Parley is a rather small fish swimming a few tiers above 'the Help', with just a smattering of interest for an opinion piece that earns mostly receptive sentiments. Discrete smiles and genuine investment in conversation and opinion mitigates some of the less comfortable glances to the thin ridge of fur spiking up down the back of his neck. In a charcoal suit, he's trying to figure out if he should be Smiling or Sternly Nodding to a rather large man with a massive mustache that is currently mopping at a delicate perspiration on his broad balding forehead while explaining the challenges of screening non-visible mutations amongst military recruits. Parley has settled on SmileNodding. Though it looks either vaguely bewildered or possibly just MANIC. "-bearing visible traits are more /honest/, to be frank," the fellow Walruses, "though I feel there must be a single physical display all mutant members surely share, if there was a more thorough inspection process." "I wouldn't know," Parley admits with a small smile, dipping down behind a glass of water, "I'm afraid we're rare enough we don't always get much exposure to one another. I think I've - been meaning to pass a message to Ms. Frost, you'll have to excuse me." He extracts himself, carrying water in one cheek as he walks to quietly swish around in his teeth. << (-gah.) >> He shares this comment with Emma, scanning her present company for signs that this may not be a time to Engage her. << (-aaa, that is. Grommitmeyer?)(no, i'm wrong.)(there's so many names to remember.)>> "Don't say that around Norman Osborn, My dear Mr. Caleswood," Emma chides in a gentle fashion, reaching out a hand to him with a warm smile. "They are rather recent additions and were not cleared with him and I'm not sure he likes them at all." She draws in a breath, eyes scanning the crowd over his shoulders, gaze finally falling on Zarita. The fellow telepath is greeted with a warm feminine hug, one, where their shoulders lightly touch while arms pat lightly at the other's back. While friendly, it does not include cheek pressing fake kisses. "But thank you all the same. It has been a fete, bringing all these people together." Few people cherish diversity like /this./ << I see you took a page out of my book with your color choice, darling. It looks magnificent on you. >> Emma friendly, but cool and shielded, especially against the mindnumbing recitation style of shielding. She goes so far to tune it out, she barely recognized that Zarita was addressing her at first. << and that emerald? Where did you get that? I must try a loan from that shop sometime. >> She approves, she really does. << Cameron Caleswood, dearest. Mutation researcher. >> Her mind offers a calm reflection upon this introduction - no need for panic. Not that Emma believes Parley will. << and his assistant, Zarita Sara, telepath. >> Watch your Ps and Qs, love. << I will introduce you, if you're interested. >> "Indeed? I suppose Norman doesn't really /do/ 'precious,' does he?" Caleswood's expression is friendly and neutral, and the projected nonsense obscuring his thoughts prevents a twinge of amusement from slipping past -- but one doesn't need telepathy to detect the /cattiness./ "Speaking of our host, do you know where he's gotten off to? I'd been intending to pay my respects, but he seems to have vanished." He takes the offered hand and lifts it politely, then steps out of the way of his assistant, his eyes scanning the crowd as he speaks. There are a few advantages to being tall, after all, and a vantage point is one of them. Zarita returns the formal sort-of-hug politely and slightly awkwardly, betraying a lack of ease with this whole Actually Touching People thing. The scratchy voice in her mind is far friendlier and warmer, however, betraying genuine pleasure at the conversation -- it's not often she actually /gets/ to speak with other telepaths, and she always seems excited (cheerfully, perhaps tiringly so) for a chance to run into Emma. << It is a fine book, hehehe! They wanted me to go with a /green/ but I said ‘no' and we settled on the necklace. Would you believe it's synthetic? I know that is less classy but we made it /ourselves/ but I can put you in touch with the fellow we had set it. >> Stepping back once again, her ears twitch as she catches a hint of additional conversation upon the mind-waves, but politely makes no comment upon it, though her recitation has slowed and quieted to better facilitate conversation -- especially in her own mind, while the shield upon Caleswood retains more attention. << (-caleswood.) >> Parley conveys a vague grimace for forgetting. Right. He accepts the calmness offered into a little mental basket and channels it back to Emma like a dropped handkerchief; his own mind isn't shielded, it's more broken down into a fine mist of particles and spread out wide, so that it hardly bears a charge on the psionic radar. Where thoughts should be, just a gray hazy gap is suggested. << (please. introduce me.)(did you know?)(i interned for a year at a mutant genetic research lab after high school.)(did he just say ‘osborn' and ‘precious' in the same sentence?) >> "Ms. Emma Frost," he greets when he's in range, the greeting slung underhand-quiet to not interrupt the flow of her conversation. His dispersed presence subtly plays in the physical as well; his appearance practically rises up out of the Unknown Abyss, "I'd like to thank you again for inviting my employer and me to this event." His empathy is open but passive in function; the recitation of mental shielding isn't heard nearly so clearly as its white-noise hum of /intention/. Hrm. He delegates to what can be inferred between spoken lines, then. Curious smile? << Science is truly magnificent in what it can create these days. >> Emma does not mind Zarita's voice, especially since it means she doesn't have to listen to as much latin recitation. She keeps her attention focused on Caleswood as Zarita steps back. "No, I believe that he tries to distance himself from precious as much as possible. He likes heroes and bold moves. Babies are our future - not cute and cuddly precious things," Emma adds some amusement to her tone as she describes what she knows of Osborn, gently, avoiding cattiness herself. "Oh, you know Mr. Osborn. He's trying to track down all of his guests of note so that he can get photographs with them. If he is catching up with Ms. Nox, then they are having a very privatized photo op, on account of her skin issues." She looks over when Parley makes his appearance, reaching out a hand not to be taken, but to gesture him into the group. "May I introduce Mr. Parley? He is here as a guest of Mr. Osborn, but I think you might be interested in knowing that he interned with a mutant genetics research lab after high school." "I shall keep an eye out for him, then, thank you." Caleswood nods a formal thanks, then straightens as a new face appears. "Oh, indeed? My organization has its roots in traditional medicine--" To Parley he turns and presents a polite, welcoming smile and a curious (but discreet) look over, pausing to chuckle ruefully as he corrects himself mid-introduction, "--traditional /modern/ medicine, I mean to say, but there is /so/ much we can learn from researching mutant phenomena, should we not be too timid to pursue such a course. May I ask where you worked?" There's a practiced note to his tone as he says this, as though it's a spiel he's recited many times before. Potentially many times /tonight,/ it's that kind of evening. Enough that he's-- "Oh dear, my apologies, I've forgotten to introduce myself. I'm Cameron Caleswood, of the Daedalus Group." At his side, Zarita stands quiet, smiling, giving Parley a little nod. Caleswood's mind remains an indecipherable mess of latin and white noise and bored, rote recitation, a sentiment that (while appropriate) is more clearly Zarita's relationship with the task. Her own mental presence is far more active, and though she only gives the newcomer a glance her telepathic scrutiny is looking his mind up and down, leeeaning around to peer at it from different angles, chattering softly to itself before pulling back to hover behind Emma's shoulder. She doesn't dig, and doesn't even /poke,/ but her presence is large and very busy, seeming to emit a low, titanic rustling as it 'moves.' "PA Genentech, out of..." Parley's smile is sterile-edging-on-apologetic, not improving because he's now Stating The Obvious, since it's location is in the name, "well, Pennsylvania." But only so long as it takes to pass on this point, brows furrowing to add a hair more sincerity to, "I would lie if I didn't say part of my interest wasn't due to discovering I was also a mutant. I learned," he slides his gaze past Caleswood to watch a ROBOserver drift past - drat, he wanted that caviar, "a lot about myself in the process." His eyes snap back, "Do you enjoy your work, Mr. Caleswood?" << *boop*. >> The flutter-rustling of Zarita dragonflying around his parameters earns a very light nose-nudge from his silent mind. It's bemused, not unwelcoming. << (you're attentive.) >> It conveys more in an amalgamate suggestion of concepts than tidy words. Emma gives a little smile and takes a step back, much in the same way that Zarita is behind Caleswood. "Ah, gentlemen, I believe I see Mr. Osborn now. I will leave you two to the technical discussions while I go see to his," holiness's, "wishes and make sure his schedule is still progressing well." She gives a small nod to Zarita and gives Parley a mental fur scritching before stepping back. "I will catch up with all of you later." "Do convey my well-wishes, will you? I shall need to catch up to him as well, before he becomes /too/ embroiled in his business." Caleswood smiles regretfully at Emma and bows his head, then adjusts his glasses and peers back towards Parley. "Oh yes, they are reputable. And it is always noble to seek to learn about one's own nature. And I...do enjoy the research, and the intellectual challenges it presents. Not so much the task of administering a corporation, which takes up enough of my time that abandoning it to do the gruntwork directly feels like an indulgence. But such is necessary, and we get more done this way." << Oh! Well being attentive is my /job./ I certainly can't not pay attention in a place like this, there is so much that requires keeping an eye on... >> Zarita's mind-voice seems to /hover/ as she speaks, looming to the side and peering down at Parley at an angle. << It--oh, farewell, Miss Frost! >> The telepath smiles blankly at the conversation, but turns her head to watch the woman leave with a sense of disappointment, but soon her attention is back on the conversation at hand -- which presently includes a low, whispered exchange with Caleswood. << Sir, he's a telepath too. He's keeping low and is really hard to pin down, but he is one. >> << ...Miss Sara, are you /chatting/ with him? >> Caleswood's expression doesn't betray the secondary conversation he's carrying on, though Zarita at least has the grace to look slightly rueful. << ...yes. >> << Well...carry on, I suppose. >> And with that he returns to the verbal exchange, leaning forwards and smiling curiously. "Tell me, what is it you do for Mr. Osborn? I was not aware he was dabbling in genetics." "Oh, I," Parley does /not/ say ‘hope not' to the idea of Osborn digging into genetics, passing a single millisecond with his mouth /wanting/ to, /almost/, and then not, "-don't think he is. I'm afraid you probably know more about Mr. Osborn's projects than I do. I'm only tangentially a guest; I'm a communications aid for Claire Basil - she's a lawyer Mr. Osborn had interest in. I'm mostly just here to be nonthreatening." But he's vaguely rushing through this answer offhand, to get back to, "My internship was a few years ago, but I've been catching up lately since I've moved into town. Actually, I've been trying to find someone that could explain Gabel's cyclic allele theory to me..." His polite-neutral expression has opened up to something considerably more interested and less formal, crossing his arms and leaning off to one hip. Though outwardly he has a smile and a nod alone to bid Emma farewell, inwardly there's a deep stretch of mental spine beneath her scritching. He murmurs after her << (your dress looks nice.) >> And somehow manages to convey that he will talk to her later nested within it. When he turns mental awareness back to Zarita's mind, he kind of -- tries to /bunch up/ a little, pulling in the worst of his ragged-flowing edges to let her at least /see/ where he is more clearly in shape, a hard oddly spiky little /nugget/ of mind hunkered in the center; as though this were a polite thing to do, in the telepathic community. << (there's a lot). >> He agrees, and many many things imply themselves like shapes behind a screen with ‘lot', a touch of penny-bright interest sewn in behind it. While outwardly, his face has only a sharp interest in the answer Caleswood gives him, inwardly -- there's the sense of a smile. << (it's interesting.) >> Implied: you are as well. And this man(Caleswood/intelligent/must wonder... just what is it that's brought all these ‘interesting' people to one place. But also Interesting? SCIENCE. And other telepaths. Perhaps for a little bit, he'll get to /enjoy/ a conversation. << Oh! Here they go. Did you /know/ Parley was a supergeek when you introduced him to Cameron? I've stopped recognizing nearly /half/ the words they're using. >> As Emma retreats from the conversation, the looming, rustling shade of Zarita's mental presence follows, tagging along at her shoulder. There's a sense of polite tentativeness as she follows; if Emma was done talking to her she would have dismissed her too, yes? << In a matter of speaking, yes, I did know, >> Emma admits as she starts circulating throughout the party. << Why do you think I left as soon as they started into biology? I'm one of those dreaded engineers they both didn't understand. >> She is still keeping a wary eye out for the ellusive Tatters, who she's beginning to guess doesn't really wish to be found if she really is present. Her mind is only moderately shielded, allowing her clean and professional mind to leak out as she reviews what food is meant to be out on the floor now and how many glasses have moved from the stack near the bar. << They're all terribly geeky here tonight - with a few exceptions. >> Aww. Yeah, there's Elliott in her mind scape. No time to dwell now. << Don't play too much with Parley, honey. He's a dear, but has a tendency to evade - and Caleswood will lose the only actual conversation he can probably get tonight. >> << Oh, I’m sure he has other people to /talk/ to. But that is /work!/ >> Zarita follows along with a low (yet cheerful) rumble, expressing a sense of sympathy for her employer’s plight, an amused chitter arising at the image of Elliott. << Oh yes, we’re surrounded by /military/ types too, I do not think he gets on with the either. >> But /you/ seem to, left unstated by all but a mental smile. At the relaxing of shields and the sharing of thoughts and minutiae, Zarita seems to curl around the contact, brushing her mind close and responding to the thoughts with vague impressions of her own: ooh, those were tasty! And that looks like enough. She isn’t presumptuous with her feedback, but some of her tension relaxes as well in a multi-stage cascade -- first her discipline pulls back to reveal the tension in the first place, /then/ she relaxes, transparently happy to brush minds with another of her kind. (This is marred slightly by a flash of guilt, and of warning, as a further thought leaks out, and admonishment from Caleswood that Emma Frost is NOT a person to relax around. With an embarrassed little shift she tucks the thought back away, burying it under a confidence that she’s still in control, still knows what she’s doing. If she’s shied back imperceptibly, put a /tiny/ bit more distance between their minds, well, that’s understandable.) And then another thought pushes the worries from her mind. << OH! You are looking for Miss Francis, yes? She is, um, /that/ way, by the buffet. She is big and gray and eating all of the appetizers. >> Emma radiates enjoyment of Zarita's company when she settles in relaxed, sharing a little bit of information to keep her companionable. Yes, Elliott has caught Emma's attention. She has strong hands and a good body, and those dress whites means that she can hold her own in what is still considered a mostly men's world. And Emma respects and enjoys those qualities in a woman and looks forward to and opportunity to - well, those thought are not really for sharing. She wants to spend the next few days in bed with her, that's for sure. OH. Yes! The kitchen /did/ out do themselves in those appetizers! << Oh my. I should arrange an actual meal for her if she is that hungry. >> Emma knows that the food was designed to keep people mildly satiated, but are completely reliant on the idea that people either came already fed, or came to be drunk. << Thank you, Zarita. What can you tell me about Miss Francis? To be honest, she wasn't in my research assignment set. I'd appreciate any information that might make her more comfortable here. >> Silk shiftly gently around her thighs, Emma moves toward the buffet line, letting her gaze fall on the larger woman, the coordinator's brows rising in thought. The scale and skin color were not an exaggeration on Zarita's part. Emma opens her minaudiere and extract her phone, sending a priority text message to the kitchen. << What might she like to eat? >> She reaches out her mind to try and get a feel for the woman before disturbing her. What foods does she seem to be favoring? << I don’t know if she’s hungry! She might just be /bored./ >> And so Tatters is, as she picks a small pastry off the top of a passing serverbot, then stops to give it a /look/ and hold her hand out towards it, the gesture keeping it stopped in its tracks. As Emma approaches she is eyeing a nearby man in a suit with restrained politeness as the older man (of a military bearing and a few drinks in, by the looks of things) has Opinions at her. With a sigh she tosses the pastry in the air, tilts her head back, and opens her GAPING TOOTHED MAW to swallow the little bit of desert with a noticeable GARUMmph, snapping her jaws shut once more and wiping her mouth as she looks back down at the man and waves politely for him to continue. Instead, the fellow quickly makes his excuses and wanders hurriedly away, leaving the gray-skinned mutant to sigh in mock loneliness. Nearby, someone titters. And she...well, she actually looks reasonably /nice/ tonight, wearing a well-tailored black gown with an empire waist and with her hair done up in one of those buns with the chopsticks. Her rough, often goblinoid features have been smoothed and shaped into something more regal and, well, /orcish,/ her stooped posture straightened to something taller and more statuesque, and apparently rather muscley. Through her mind runs Zarita’s constant faux-Latin recitation, its tone quickly turning apologetic and rueful at Emma’s inspection. << Um! >> The telepathic aide continues, with a chittering shrug. << I think she mostly takes what she can get. Poor girl is homeless, you see. >> The sympathy gleaned from the comment seems rather thin and obligatory: Zarita doesn’t necessarily hold a ton of respect for this girl, and there’s distinct a sense that the feeling is mutual. << Perhaps she’d be more comfortable if she had something to box, she really is quite the brute. >> Emma watches from a distance and puts her cellphone away, message unsent. She wanders over when the other woman is left alone for a moment. She clutches her minaudiere in her left hand as she extends the right. "Miss Francis?" she asks politely, but forward. "I'm Emma Frost, one of the people coordinating this event." << Really, Zarita. I get the feeling you don't like her all that much. No charitable thoughts? >> She chides the other telepath with a small sense of humor. << She seems very unique at first glance, and to be honest, I quite like how she handled that old coot. There needs to be more ways to avoid conversations like that without being verbally rude. >> << Honestly, I don't know if being polite is a /priority/ for her-- >> As if to specifically contradict the telepath's claims, the smile Tatters greets Emma with looks perfectly friendly, if a bit guarded. She has a look Emma is probably quite familiar with, of someone in an unfamiliar environment, surrounded by people who don't necessarily have a reason to view her charitably. The hand she shakes Emma's with feels slightly rubbery and calloused, and her grip is firm. "Hey. I'm Jill Francis, but you knew that, I think? What Can I do for you?" From across the ballroom Zarita sighs ruefully. << We...don't particularly get along, no. >> And then, quieter. << ...if it means anything, /she/ started it. >> With a minor effort, the prior impressions are given a more forgiving spin, 'impolite' turning to 'speaks her mind' and 'punchy' being recasted as 'brave.' The transition is grudging, but occurs without /too/ much argument, and with meek little shift of apology. << I won't interfere with personal matters then, my apologies. >> Emma sends a small note of sympathy with regards to difficult clients, before focusing more of her attention on Tatters. "Well, first of all, I wanted to offer you a slightly larger meal, if you were hungry. You seemed to have an appetite and the portion sizes offered right now are less than filling. If you had a preference, I could order something up for you." Emma returns Miss Francis's grip with a firm one of her own, not bothering with a demure attitude around the woman. "I'm sorry if I seem bold, but most of the time, we're catering to people who are afraid to alter the shape of their clothes with a healthy meal. It's a pleasure to find people not so concerned with that." She releases Tatters' hand and drops hers down to rest atop her other. "And when you are done eating, I was hoping you'd have time to take a picture with Mr. Osborn." Over the mindwaves, Emma may catch muffled snippets of an exchange between the other two women, over their pre-existing connection. << ...so who ... she? >> << ...ent planner ... club. Not ... Osborn's people. >> << got it... >> << do ... >> In contrast with Zarita and Caleswood, Tatters is less experienced at juggling multiple conversations, and so there's a moment of her of her standing looking blank and slighlty confused before she catches up and shakes her head, returning her attention to the woman before her. "Oh, um, it's no trouble, really. I've already eaten, and I'd feel silly, like, sitting off to the side chowing down while everyone is all mingling and dancing." The girl smiles an obviously heartfelt apology at rejecting the offered hospitality. "And, um, I've already /had/ a tailor-lady whine at me over how hard my figure is to 'flatter,' so I mean, there's nowhere much to go." Her smile doesn't particularly change from this sentence to the next, but something seems far less genuine about it as she continues. "And I'd be /more/ than happy to join Mr. Osborn for a picture." Beneath Zarita's shielding there's a faint but palpable sense of /wincing/ from the girl, and another muffled snippet of conversation. << man ... supposed to /say/ ... him? >> << just ... yourself! He ... bite you, not ... of people. >> "Well then." Emma considers, the topics Tatters brings up are hard to tie together in any sort of coherent response. The mental link providing more dissonance. "I think you look wonderful and don't think you should return to a tailor that had the audacity to say such things about you." She shakes her head. "People shouldn't be forced to conform to one person's definition of beauty," says the woman who looks like she's spent hours at a salon and years in the gym in preparation just for that night. "And I'm sorry about the photo op, but it's Mr. Osborn's party and he is insistent. If you don't mind staying here, I'll go find him for you and bring him to you." Tatters gives Emma a blank, polite smile, not having much to say to her rote response, and nods in assent at her suggestion. "I'll be here! Thanks for your time." By Emma's shoulder, Zarita's harsh voice sighs like a flutter of dry leaves, touching lightly at her hosts's arm as she commiserates. << Not much of a conversationalist, is she? >> Emma laughs inwardly as she nods and steps away to find Osborn. << Most of the people here are the same. They just fill silences with useless words and judge others by the useless words they produce. >> Emma may be bitter. | |
