ArchivedLogs:Diplomat's Dance

Diplomat's Dance
Dramatis Personae Alice Lambton, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-03-28 '
Location <NYC> Hellfire Clubhouse - 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. There is music and there is mingling, there is dancing and there is very fine food; there are people in varying takes on Black Tie adorning the Hellfire Club's ballroom in a rather conservative sort of festivity. There is absolutely no chaos. Just polite conversation, or snide conversation masquerading as polite conversation. Through it all Lucien has been working, although one would be hard-pressed to tell that. He mingles, talks, offers a small smile to this person, a few words to that one. He shakes a /lot/ of hands, lays light kisses on a lot of knuckles, offers a lot of dances, and perhaps he simply knows many people here or perhaps the champagne has just been flowing enough, but where he goes things go /smoother/; smiles come easier, snide mellows into amiable, people leave just that might more inclined to enjoy themselves. But at the moment /he/ is, perhaps, taking a moment to enjoy himself. It's hard to say. His expression, sans conversation, is schooled neutral, but he has a flute of champagne and he is not looking /displeased/ at its existence. He /is/ eying one of the passing drones with a very intent expression; it carries a tray of small tidbits largely falling into the seafood category. Oysters. Gingered tilapia. Smoked salmon and caviar. Sesame tuna. His champagne flute taps once lightly against his lips without being drunk and he reaches almost absently into a pocket of his tuxedo jacket, fingering something inside. Events of this nature are very rarely considered 'pleasure'. Whether one is here to see or be seen, network or push an agenda forward, few people are fooled by the trappings. Or, at least, few /intelligent/ people. And Alice would certainly class herself as one of these. She's done the mingling rounds, touching hands with politicians, generals, philanthropists and activists. Where /she/ goes, moods tend not to lift, even if it's smiles all around--she's here to observe, and too many know it to truly relax in her presence. There are more still left to greet and yet somehow she has found her way to the side of the fray, entering into Lucien's line of sight. Smoked salmon? She'll have some of that, outstretched hand bringing the drone to a halt so she can make her selection. In her other hand is a flute that matches Lucien's, perhaps slightly lower in volume. Green eyes are fixed not on the selection of food but rather on the man with his hand in his jacket. Alice observes him levelly and with a faint smile that could be interpreted as invitation. She did, after all, wrangle the drone he'd shown interest in. Lucien catches her eyes, catches that smile, it's obvious from the lock of his green eyes onto her own. But despite the perhaps-invitation it takes him a moment before he moves, slipping nearer, though not too near the drone that she is choosing from. "Ms. Lambton, isn't it?" His voice is quiet, though it leans more towards reserve than any sort of deference, easy-confident enough to project over the background hum of music and conversation; the soft francophone accent that his words are dipped in mellows them still further. "Senator Carruthers had been seeking you out not long past. I think she has since been cornered by reporters but hopefully she can catch up with you soon." "You are correct, sir. Thank you for letting me know...but the good senator will have to wait until I've had time to refresh myself. Duty is /so/ taxing." Alice studies the morsel she's claimed before nipping a bite from its corner. She doesn't look especially drained. If her poise were to slip, there would doubtless be another layer of it beneath the first. Once she's chewed, and dabbed a crumb from the corner of her lips with a fingertip--so inelegant but rather more casual than her appearance would suggest--she curls them into another smile for Lucien. "Mr. Tessier, correct? I've been hearing good things about you. You've impressed a number of people." When Alice has claimed her fish and the drone has moved on, Lucien steps in to -- not /close/ the distance but shorten it, close enough for handshaking distance. He does not offer one, given her champagne-and-fish hands-full, but he does at least slip his own hand out of his pocket, now. "Tessier, yes," he says with a small smile of his own. "Have you? I admit you seem to have left an impression on a fair few yourself. And this is a relatively hard to impress crowd." Alice turns her head to assess the nearby crowd, the tip of her pinky touching her lips, the remainder of the cracker held in raised fingers. It is a thoughtful and analytical look, as if she's attempting to discern which of the attendees he might have spotted her schmoozing with. "Mmm...so it would seem we are both worth discussion and notice," she says when she looks back to Lucien, smile deepening by several degrees. "I should consider myself fortunate to be classed with you. Are you enjoying yourself, sir? Finding the soiree interesting?" "Fortunate," Lucien echoes, with a small twitch of lips, "to be classed with me, among all these notable faces." He takes a slow sip of his champagne, eyes sweeping the room absently but ticking back over to Alice after a moment. "Interesting. Well. Gather this many prominent minds in a room and --" His hand turns up, fingers spreading. "I imagine most anyone with an interest in technology, military assets, mutant issues -- has cause to be interested." His gaze settles on Alice, over another sip of champagne. "Have you found it worth your time?" "Very much so," Alice responds, but only after she's finished the last of the hor dourve. She eats quickly, neatly and with apparent enjoyment, for all that the snack made up three bites at most. And small ones, at that. With that done, she takes the few steps needed to position her at Lucien's side rather then before him--as if they were two old friends surveying a battle field together. "How often does one get to see people from such radically different groups come together in a single room? A single /public/ room. It's been worth it if only to see the looks on people's faces when they catch their first glimpse of Osborn's honoured guests," she says with a glint of amusement. "Which of those three would you say interests you most, Mr. Tessier?" "Some of them are rather striking," Lucien murmurs, a bit dryly as his gaze flits between a highly-decorated general and a very sparkly photokinetic. "Mr. Osborn seems to favour bold moves." His small smile remains; it bears the same quiet reserve as his voice as he watches the room dynamics. "I have no /vested/ interest in military contracts. The pace of modern technology holds its fair share of intrigue. One need only look at the news, though, from day to day, to know that mutant issues are becoming highly relevant to most people's lives. This venue provides an interesting chance to pick people's brains on their views of the matter." He lowers his flute, holding it in front of him. "And you, Ms. Lambton? Just work, or has your interest been caught?" "Mr. Osborn seems to favour all eyes on him." There might be an edge to this but with such cultured murmuring, who's to say? Alice touches the rim of the flute to her lip, she sips, she scans the room. "A hundred years ago, he would have been comfortable in the center ring of a traveling circus, I think. Surrounding himself with clowns and tigers, summoning the band to play while striding to take the spotlight. The man does know how to put on a spectacle," she says, eyes tracking a bowtied drone humming by. She doesn't reach out to stop it. "For me it is always and ever work, Mr. Tessier. Like you, I find it important to stay abreast of opinion. It is vital to what I do, particularly under the current administration." "A hundred years ago?" Lucien's eyebrows raise, his lips curling slightly upwards. "Funny, that, I might have said that is /exactly/ where he is today. Though I suppose that leaves the question of who are clowns and who are tigers." One finger taps slowly at the stem of his glass. He watches the drone, too, though only briefly and without any of the wariness he showed the last. "Dressing the robots was a precious touch. -- I suppose politics is all about so much opinion. Though too much soaking in the opinions of others can leave little space carved free for one's own." "Mmm, but he lacks the red coat, the top hat," Alice points out as she adopts a smile to match his own. A glance slides towards Lucien, the light in her eyes making them seem to sparkle. "I suspect the bowties were not /his/ touch. It takes a special sort of person to properly appreciate a bowtie." The matter of politics...she might agree with him. Her head tilts, a shoulder shifts, the combination of both implying that he could very well be correct. But mention of it is enough to send her gaze swinging back to the room. This time she's tracking the general as he retreats from pestering the sparkly one. "It has been a common complaint against politicians. The parroting of opinions. It does rather make /my/ job more difficult, as I am responsible for getting them all to behave and communicate." "You would think merely parroting the opinions of others would make for a more malleable group." Lucien's gaze catches Alice's only tangentially, emerald eyes flicked sidewards in a brief glance as he sips at his champagne. "I suppose that is a vain hope. People often cling so much harder to what they have been told than to what they have reasoned out. Perhaps they trust more in authorities than in themselves." His lips twitch, slightly. "For whatever value of authority their advisors possess. -- This particular matter has inspired some rather unusual bedfellows, though. Does it make them any easier to work with, when public opinion is fairly solidly united?" "You sound like a diplomat, Mr. Tessier." This comes with a longer period of study, time spent with Alice simply watching him and letting her smile linger on her lips. "Unfortunately, me and mine tend to be viewed less as authority and more as glorified messengers by those whom we would most like to influence. I don't know that public opinion has too great an impact, in truth. If it happens to coincide with the views the powers that be prefer, all the better. But there are ways of changing that opinion, should it /not/ align with current goals." "In this company?" Lucien's fingers uncurl, gesturing towards the room at large. "Perhaps I have to be." His eyes shift, settle, on an elegant-looking reporter in a sari across the room. "There are. Though the current administration and the general populace seem to have been aligned enough, of late, when it comes to mutants and their dangers. Still, there's always those --" For a moment he is quiet, watching the hovering path of a drone floating by. "-- who threaten to /wrench/ the conversation towards their purposes." "Mmm." A helpful sound. It allows Alice to sound engaged--as she seems to be--while indulging in her own private thoughts. She sips her champagne, lets her focus trail away. For a moment, she's watching the same reporter. In a the next she's turned her attention a large, powerful looking man and his lovely wife. "That is a risk in any arena. If I were to ask you your view on mutants and their dangers, Mr. Tessier, would you give me the diplomat's answer?" "It is, indeed. Though this matter seems to attract a wealth of, ah." Lucien's eyes are seeking out the party's nominal host, though they stop intermittently at that same sparkly photokinetic. "/Colourful/ personalities." It is only now that he turns, a slight shift of posture to face Alice rather than looking at her sidelong; his expression is much as it has been, quiet, composed, a small curl of smile on his lips. "Are you asking me my views on mutants and their dangers, Ms. Lambton?" "I'm sure Osborn would not have it any other way." Alice actually laughs after she says that, the sound of it lower and rougher around the edges than her voice would have otherwise implied. "Mm...no, Mr. Tessier. I am asking you if you would give me the diplomat's answer. But good show for having discerned the difference." Her smile twists deeper, knife-like, as she lifts her champagne to him in a mild toast. "Not many would have caught that. You are to be commended." There's an amused glimmer of laughter in Lucien's bright eyes as he taps the rim of his glass lightly against one lower lip. "As you said, it is all so much work. I would hardly be doing mine if I did not listen to what people were /saying/ rather than what I wanted them to be saying. Perhaps our work is not /so/ different, in the end. Encouraging smoother communication involves listening to a good bit of it myself." His eyes slip away, catching sight nearby of a greying woman, dressed elegant as they all are, pausing on her way over to examine a hovering tray of desserts. "Mmm. Senator Carruthers is approaching. Have you refreshed yourself adequately, or should I provide a brief distraction?" Alice follows the course of that glance. Her smile is immediate, perfect, pristine. She looks pleased to see the Senator. "You have a refreshing way about you, I think I should do just fine. Thank you, Mr. Tessier." A lightning-quick look flashes up at his eyes and for a moment, he's treated with a deeper smile. One that shows teeth, and deepens the wrinkles that have begun to gather at the corners of her eyes. "I shall look for you later in hopes of getting that answer from you, mmm?" With that, she turns from the man to close on both the desserts and Carruthers. "Magda, darling!" And so the dance begins anew.