ArchivedLogs:Networking

Networking
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-03-17 Lucien gets himself a (legitimate?) job.
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. 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. Given the nature of Emma's next appointment, she has opted not to change from her relative level of comfort - cream white slacks, stark white blouse with a warm, draping sweater wrapped around - and remains somewhat reclined on her chaise. Her glasses are on as she focuses on her tablet, scrolling through video, with an ear piece in only one ear. A mug of tea rests on the table beside her, steam still curling up into the warm office, diffusing the scent of black tea and roses into the air. Lucien is somewhat casual, too, in attire as he heads towards Emma's office. His slacks are grey, his dress shirt pale pink, his shoes polished. He is sans tie and jacket, though. Not /too/ dressy. Neatly tailored and presentable, his mind is as carefully groomed as the rest of him, a glassy-sleek surface that, while not resisting probing, does little to encourage it, either, tranquil and composed with little by way of surface thoughts to draw attention. Knock, knock, knock. Quiet and precise on Emma's office door. Emma's gaze shifts from the video she is watching to the time displayed in the corner of her screen. She pauses the video and pulls herself up slowly, stretching to put energy back in disused limbs. "Coming," she replies, just loud enough to be heard and gives another stretch before getting to her feet. Heels clack quietly against the hard wood floor, falling silent as she pulls open the door. "Good afternoon, Lucien. Thank you for coming by." She steps back and opens the door wider, allowing him entrance. "Ms. Frost." Lucien's smile is small, but comes quick, polite. He steps inside, and the smile warms with the breath he draws in, taking in that scent of tea with an immediate faint relaxation. "Good day. My apologies, for taking your time. It seemed a conversation better had in person than on the phone." Emma closes the door behind them and nods to herself. "Mr. Tessier," She corrects herself quietly. "Yes, I agree - but please do not feel like you ware intruding at all. My office time is meant to make myself available, and what you spoke about on the phone seems most helpful." She moves to the left side of the desk, noticing his appreciation of the tea. "Can I offer you anything?" "Tea would be delightful," Lucien answers immediately; the promptness of the reply makes him tilt his head down, smile just a hair apologetic. "One of my largest vices, really. But as addictions go, it is one I never feel particularly compelled to rid myself of. How has your planning been going? Are there many interested in being a part of Oscorp's soiree?" Given the careful-neat grooming of his mind, it's likely the mental image that floats up here is deliberate rather than a stray thought; a neat line of lambs being led towards a slaughterhouse. "Given Mr. Osborn's specifications, you'd wonder if anyone was good enough." Emma jokes lightly as she opens up a cupboard and clicks on an electric kettle. She then preps a tea ball. "I'm having a china rose that is delightful. Do you mind if I make the same?" She is already starting the process. She sets the mug on a warming plate. Inwardly, she is amused. She imagines little name cards around the necks of the lambs, but uses the generals he is wining and dining rather than the mutants up for slaughter. << Now how on earth do we talk about this verbally when I've only discussed it telepathically before. >> "So, tell me, Mr. Tessier, what are your thoughts on mutants? I know I invited you to this event without really discussing the details. Perhaps, we ought to talk about what you know about Mr. Osborn himself." "China rose sounds wonderful, thank you." Lucien drifts further into the office, approaching the couch but not sitting. "Mr. Osborn, well. I know he is rich and famously successful. I know he is reputed to be rather a workaholic. I know his company produces some fairly cutting-edge technology." << I know he wants no telepaths at this party. I know he's got something to hide. >> "Well, his spin on cutting edge technology has taken a turn for the -- how do I put this? He's taking all of his military technology and making it pro-humanitarian, I guess. Instead of offensive, he wishes his devices to be used to secure peace and order domestically, in regards to mutant outbreaks." Emma drops the tea ball in the mug and then pours the boiling water over it, watching the steam rise up almost instantly. "Milk or sugar?" << It gets worse. I can't tell if he's teasing me, or if he's actually found some way to stop mutants. Given his flare for the destructive, >> Emma flashes Lucien some of the devices that will be unveiled at this party, << 'anti-telepathy' could be a lethal term. >> "Thank you, no. Black is fine." Lucien's fingers rest on the back of the wing-backed chair, tracing absently against it. "That is wonderful. You hear so much about chaos and violence, lately, and so little about people just trying to keep peace. I am sure law enforcement will be well pleased, especially given some of the --" His lips press together; there's an image, here, of mummified bodies from the news. "-- Troubles this city sees sometimes." << Lethal. Would he risk killing people at such a public event? Wholesale murdering mutants is, still, at least, I believe, a crime. >> There's a pause, and a quiet note of worry to the: << Will you be safe, there? >> "Some of Mr. Osborn's devices will require new city ordinances." Emma replies dryly, hovering over the tea while it brews. "but yes, that is generally the idea. I feel I must say it out loud despite the understanding we have - all of this is confidential and cannot leave this room." At length, she removes the tea ball and sets it aside for later cleaning. She picks up the mug and hands it to Lucien as she passes, heading for her seat on the chaise. "Please, relax." << Oh, he's definitely not planning on hurting anyone at the party. He really wants it to be a model of good planning and hopefully warm welcome, on the behalf of concerned citizens and law enforcement alike. >> She appreciates Lucien's concern. << I know not to push him - and I am trying very hard to make sure there are no telepaths on the guest list, but I am only looking into the supposedly mutant guests. Should one of the contractors bring a telepath, I have no idea what will happen. >> There's a pause as she pulls her thoughts together on the topic. << I do not think it will be lethal at the gathering - but possibly painful. I hope you will find a way to cover for me if I disappear or look weak. That appears more and more what I will be paying you to do. >> "In my profession, I am well used to confidentiality," Lucien assures Emma with a faint twitch of lips. "Thank you." That is for the tea, which he claims carefully in his hands. He slips around the chair, to take a seat at it instead. He cradles the mug in long fingers, lowering it to rest on his lap. "Well, if it will help keep the streets safe, I am sure the city will give strong consideration to allowing his countermeasures." << I am good at covering. But also good at aiding with pain. I will do what I can to be of help. >> << I appreciate it. I do not put it beyond him to shock the room just to point out he can. >> Emma takes a long sip of her tea, no longer as hot as it should be, but still filled with wonderful aromas and flavors. She takes a deep breath after and smiles over the rim at him. "I am glad that you are reasonable about this whole engagement. I guess I have been talking too much to mutants lately. When I bring it up to public mutants, looking for spokes people, I end up with a lot of walls and a lot of people upset with me as if I am building these devices to attack tiny children and the cutest puppies." She considers for a moment. "I don't suppose you know anyone amongst your acquaintances that wouldn't mind being a voice of reason at a very high end party?" Lucien, meanwhile, is waiting for /his/ tea to cool; his eyes turn down, watching the steam rising from it with a slight smile. "Anything to help those trying to keep our city safe," he murmurs, to the tea. "I suppose those already in the public eye for their abilities would have --" He turns up one hand in a shrug. "Perhaps more sensitivity to the issue. I imagine they hear similar things often from those who are not quite so well-meaning." His mind has an image of Norman Osborn kicking puppies. "I have been talking about the soiree with me acquaintances, yes. I have a few who seem to fit your standards, and are perfectly willing to lend their names to help in the efforts." He's shifting, to slip a small notebook out of his pocket and open it up. Emma's brows rise as she sees the slip of paper, considering. "Oh. You have come prepared." She smiles and waits, pulling her legs up onto the chaise. Legs cross at the ankles. "I like that in a business acquaintance." She takes another long drink and sets her mug down, pulling open her tablet to find a contact list in her files. She projects the image of Norman kicking puppies while kissing babies. << That's more like it. >> "I am a veritable Boy Scout," Lucien answers. So very solemnly. Ignore that twinkle in his eyes. He flips the small notebook open, offering it over to Emma. There is, on it, a list of people. Short descriptors. Contact information. Mutations. A prominent lawyer with a large firm in the city, his power that of generating small pockets of cold or heat. An oncologist at Sloan-Kettering, with the power to detect diseases in people. An architect with superhuman reflexes. An editor at the /Times/ with an overdeveloped memory. And so on. People in respectable positions, with powers none too threatening. He absently toys with the image of Norman kissing puppies and kicking babies. << I should likely have considered him dangerous even sans warning, >> he admits, idly, << it is difficult to reach such a status if you are /not/. >> << Well, Remember the Worthingtons. Some people inherit. I hear Warren the third is a softie, in comparison to his father. >> Emma leans forward, slipping one foot back onto the floor for balance and accepts the notebook, brows quirking as she runs over the names mentally. "Oh my. This is a wonderful list. I may have to see about having you on a stipend of some sort." She holds the list in one hand and begins inputting the contact information into her list. She is silent while she works, but Lucien does have his tea to keep him company. "Please don't ever say you're something as boring as a boy scout again, my dear Mr. Tessier. While well prepared, the title does not suit you at all." "As I said upon our first meeting," Lucien answers lightly, "I have some connections. I am only glad they are helpful. I spoke to all of them first about whether they'd be alright with being known openly as mutants so there is no problem there." He is quite enjoying the company of his tea! He sips at it slowly, clearly savouring. Against the rim of his cup, his lips curl into a smile, amused, laughter in his eyes. "Boring, goodness, perhaps you never attended summer camp." "Alas, no. My family felt scouting adventures were above them -- and I had more challenging ways to spend my summers as a youth." Emma's face remains polite and professional, but the warmth behind it disappears. She turns to her tea as a disguise, sipping as she digs within to renew her pleasantness. "Tell me about your adventures in summer camp then. I'm imagining something along the lines of campfires and zip lines." Lucien studies Emma's expression thoughtfully, for a moment, his tea lowering back to his lap. "Smores," he says, deadpan, though beneath this quiet surface there's a twinge of discomfort rippling across his otherwise polished mental landscape. "My childhood prepared me for many things. Is the list enough? I could reach out some more, but I only approached those whose comfort with such an event I felt most sure of." "I didn't think it possible to sum up an entire experience in one word like that, but you have astounded me." Emma admits, finishing up her transferring of the information before leaning over to hand the notepad back. << It seems like neither of us had happy childhoods. >> She drags a finger against Lucien's hand when she deposits the notebook in his hand. "In the end, we only need five, so hopefully, between these names and the ones I have already submitted, Mr. Osborn will be pleased." "I have many talents," Lucien answers, amusement breaking into the deadpan expression to soften it. << This city, these days? Who does, >> is his answer, light and -- well. Not genuinely as glib as he makes it sound, given the inward clenching that happens beneath the words. His smile is easy, though, as he takes the notebook back. "I do live to please." It's a quiet murmur, his hand pressing into the light touch; there's a subtle wash of feeling that accompanies. Warm, happy, contented, but with a subtle veining of pleasure that is less innocent. "So I see." Emma replies with a small tug at the corners of her mouth. She doesn't bother to correct him about the location of her experiences, as neither of them are natives. << I don't suppose there are some things that you would like me to make you forget? >> she offers, her tone honest and frank at first, and then followed up with something that cannot be regarded as anything but innuendo, << or /help/ you forget? >> "My mind keeps coming back to keeping you on stipend here. Obviously, you would be free to have your own life, your own clients, but for a monthly wage, what might you be willing to offer the Hellfire club? Anything beyond those contracted consults, you would be compensated for, do not worry." << Our experiences make us who we are, >> Lucien answers, after a long silent moment of thought, << I'd no sooner lose mine than lose my identity. But, >> His lips twitch as, out loud, he says, "People are what I do best, though I do not know how many organizations tend to keep someone of my particular talents on retainer. Then again, I actually would hardly be surprised if Hellfire /did/. I am sure they are used to catering to all sorts of requests, around here." << But forgetting for a /time/, >> he is continuing silently through this, << can be its own kind of pleasant. >> << I understand. I would not have thought less of you for accepting that offer, just so you know. >> Emma smiles and stretches a little, rolling one shoulder and tilting her head to elongate her long pale neck. "I believe we call them networking consultants. And then, of course, there's the concierge staff, but they are full time and consistently about. All in all, it's a far cry from the courtesans of yesteryear, as everyone has their freedom and legitimized pay checks." << but I don't have to tell you about the quagmire that results from dealing with people of our member's quality and wealth. >> "Every once in a while, you might get swept up into a long boring meeting, but you can choose your clients here just like you do on your own." Lucien's eyes sweep down, briefly, from Emma's face to the stretch of her neck, falling at length to his tea. He lifts it, to drink deep. "Consultant. Yes. That," he admits, with a spot of amusement, "is what I put on my tax forms." << Mmm, yes, I am well-versed in handling this type of person. >> It's possible there's an undercurrent ripple of impropriety accompanying /handling/, but Lucien's expression is proper! Polite. At least until the slight curl of his smile that accompanies his eyes lifting back to Emma. "So long as I am still free to choose my associations," he murmurs, more quietly, "I will be pleased." "All Hellfire would request is that you make yourself available to the club as a whole on the terms that you agree upon - for official club functions, attracting new members, and helping with some of the event coordination, I suppose. I am being a little bit selfish with that request, but having someone like you in my department will make some of the mergers discussed here go more smoothly." Emma smiles and finishes off her tea, setting it and her tablet aside and sitting up. "Any agreements reached between you and our members will be considered side ventures, unless of course, we offer to foot the bill. You can still decline, risking only the retainer should you decline too often." Both feet placed firmly on the floor, she gets to her feet, looking to return her mug to the cabinet it came from. "But that's only common sense. Why would we continue to employ you if you didn't like the work we offered?" "It is work I am good at," Lucien says, with a small smile. "I enjoy things I am good at." He finishes the tea, setting the mug down on the table. "I mean, there are few enough ventures where you go, do your job, and people leave -- quite so satisfied." He stands, too, then, picking his mug back up to follow after Emma, offering her the empty cup. "Be selfish all you like. I predict working with you will be quite a pleasure." Emma turns to accept the mug, allowing herself a small blush at their close proximity. Inside the cupboard, there is a small tray for used dishes and a small trashcan, lidded to minimize smell. All of that will get cleaned up later. She puts Lucien's cup near hers on the tray and turns around to smile at him a little more. "I'll have legal prepare a ten ninety nine - unless you would prefer a double u two?" She reaches out to run her fingers against one side of his collar, pretending to straighten it. "I'm glad you enjoy your work. Employee morale is important to me, even amongst contract workers." "A W-2 would be simpler for tax purposes," Lucien murmurs, but it's rather a /distracted/ murmur, at the moment. His head tilts, just slightly, towards the fingers Emma runs against his collar. His hand lifts, fingers resting lightly against Emma's wrist. This, again, comes with a quiet-subtle brush of warmth, of pleasure. "Work is a good deal more pleasant," he admits, lips curling up at the corners, "when you enjoy who you are working /under/." Emma runs a fingertip against Lucien's neck, tracing the sensitive valley along the jugular. She lets out a pleasured sigh at the quiet thrill that accompanies his touch, a small giddy laugh hitching her breath. "Oh, I'm meant to put you to work, am I?" She considers this briefly. "Well, you should know, I am very devoted to my job, working hard for those under and over me, making the office a place that everyone enjoys coming." Fingers move down to unbutton Lucien's first button. The swell of warmth grows, no longer quite so subtle, nor the pleasure it carries with it. Lucien's hand moves to her hip, gently guiding her back against the cabinets as he leans in, mouth meeting hers. "And you are quite good at it. I have no doubt," he murmurs, and this is deadpan again, "that we will both enjoy coming."