ArchivedLogs:Of a Mind

Of a Mind
And an Entrance
Dramatis Personae Emma, Parley
In Absentia	2013-04-19 '
Location <NYC> White Queen's Office - Hellfire Clubhouse
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. Peripheral evidence marks Parley’s passage, a shadow rolling over the ground, fingertips trailing marble walls. Nothing terribly commanding, even in fitted charcoal-gray sports jacket, black turtleneck, black slacks, brown shoes. He’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses, too, which he pushes up his nose with a middle finger, his other hand knocking softly on Emma’s office door. There are small signs of wear to him; his eyes sleepless and vaguely red-rimmed, slightly squinted with dryness, but they seem to more give him an air of /industriousness/. It could put to mind dim light in libraries, writing in neat penmanship or scanning text on computer screens. He makes no attempt to hide his mind. Just the opposite; he pulls it into a firmer shape like some deep, secret muscle that flexes viscerally to identify himself. Emma answers the door herself, wearing comfortable clothes, clothes that very much look like her pajamas from her apartment. She opens the door wide enough to allow Parley in then closes the door behind him, throwing a deadbolt. She looks him over for a moment, inspecting him. Her arms cross over her chest as she begins to circle him, scrutinizing his person, concern etching lines on her forehead. She steps back and nods a little to herself as she moves to the beverage nook. "What would you like?" “Um - You don’t keep coffee do you?” Parley’s head dips down slightly while he’s assessed, though high collar and long sleeves hide fur as much as they hide any other signs of wear - possibly the /point/. He’s not limping, nor seeming in any physical discomfort, studying Emma back - not /extremely/ covert, but quietly. And then when Emma moves for the beverage nook, he slips along into her wake, “How is repair work organizing coming along? The caution tape clashes a little with the hall.” His mind, when it rises up, is slower. More sluggish, and it has to untangle itself from brittle and plummeting wet holes that may as well have their own internal ‘Caution’ tape cordoning them off for all the flat /mislike/ he has in navigating around them, to touch light against her mind, << (i spoke with)(Norman Osborn.) >> "Well, I am still down one architect, but I feel that will be resolved soon," Emma has a keurig in the beverage nook. She opens a drawer and examines the offerings. "Medium or dark roast? I don't suppose you're a flavor person?" She steps away and sweeps a hand over the k-cup pod selection. She stifles a yawn and leans against a nearby wall. << With /Norman/ Osborn? >> Emma asks for a little bit of clarification, as it is important in these situations. << How did that go? >> “You should sit down. I can make it.” Parley insists quiet-voiced, skating fingertips over the coffee variety, apparently intent on touching ALL of them before he selects one. He might also reflexively arrange them into a different order, sorted out to be symmetrical in their display. He selects a medium, hazelnut flavored, and hits the button to prep-heat the keurig’s water supply. “Ahh? Will your architect be returning to work, then, or are you intending to replace him?” << (he did not)(kill me.) >> That Parley’s mind is sedate-even in clarification, undramatic. << (we spoke.) >> The humor fades only in the final addition, like a smile fading to something grimmer. Pensive. << (...)(he carries a great burden.) >> "He has been asked to contact me. I will figure things out from there." Emma does indeed take Parley's advice and moves over to the black wing back chair, settling into it and pinching at the bridge of her nose. << I am very glad you did not die and decide to appear before me as a coffee drinking ghost. I would very much not like to be haunted, thank you. >> Her mind is cool and tired. She continues to rub, but her fingers move to the sides of her head, digging gently into her temples. << I do not wish to steal your thunder, but I spoke with Osborn as well today, and was pleased to find out that you are now working for him and he trusts you to be a go between himself and me. I am incredibly impressed, dear. >> She looks over to the chaise longing to be asleep on it, but avoiding it for that reason. << also curious how you managed it. >> When the coffee is made, filling up a mug he’s probably developed a preference to over the course of a few visits, Parley creams it, plucks a sugar cube out, but tucks it directly into the side of one cheek. The cup is set beside Emma’s elbow, and delicately he spiders out his hands against the back of Emma’s shoulders. His thumbs compress the bundle of knots inside either of her shoulder blades, inquiring an unspoken permission? << (go between?) >> Parley sounds impressed, with some brief, savage clinical edge, as though it were someone else’s accomplishment. << (i told the truth.) >> He unrolls his mind slowly against hers. It’s delicate, but not so pleasant as it has been at other times. More raw. But as it licks along the outside of her mind, channeling in narrow microthreads of her powerful shield and laying them back down cleaner, neater, it winces once, then less hard, and with a hard deliberate compression, he ruthlessly begins to force his mind to relax against her shape. His jaw begins to unclench and ease once he reaches this state. << (i told him he can’t rely so heavily on aggression.)(that he needed to go gentler, and threaten less if he wanted to keep his allies.)(And that he could not afford to be so predictable.) >> He pauses. << ( -- is this counter to)(your desire?) >> Emma accepts the coffee, then softly moans approval when his thumbs begin to work on her back. Her head hangs forward and her eyes close, fingers preemptively grasping the coffee mug and holding it in her lap to prevent any slips from her elbow knocking it over. The aroma of the hot beverage seeps into her senses and her body begins to relax under the massage. She is nowhere near as tense as she was earlier in the day, but she is still a long way away from relaxation. << No, no, this is fine. He offered introductions, so I will hazardly assume that he believes we have no prior relationship. Try to keep that in mind should we ever be seen in public together. >> That thought is hinted at as 'rarely'/'never' in the range of possibilities. Her mind feels the touch of Parley's mind, her shields softening a little in response, not to expose more to him, but to reduce the amount of repulsion they give off. It also provides her an opportunity to get a good feel for what state his mind is in, wisps of concern following along the telepathic link. << He seems to be heeding your advice. I won't tell you to tread carefully, but I do not envy the knife's edge you must walk along. >> << (i am accustomed.) >> Parley answers semi-distractedly, << (preferably)(i should have limited known public connection)(to /either/ of you.) >> His thumbs roll in to use the rounded, but much stronger heels of his palms, pressing hard and steamrolling over tension knots; it’s attentive, not quite detached but it’s... careful, in a way. Not for his own sake but seemingly more hers. Light touches that acclimate himself to her, and her to him, as they work. << (or anyone.)(except Claire)(-san). >> It could also be theoretically interpreted as Miss Claire, but the English equivalent wouldn’t quite be accurate. Her concern is acknowledged but - politely set aside when it reaches him. It’s her interest that he coaxes, offering a callous, slightly brighter. << (i can show you.)(it is interesting.) >> His expression of ‘interesting’ is galactic, complicated as a fractal image, a million microgears fitted together to churn the universe in great cosmic cogs, cold and firmly focused on cause and effect. << (...when you are ready.) >> Is his only concession. Still cool, but not directed at her - just existential. Strict, and sidestepping not-quite-visible inner hesitations to focus on what must. What should. What needs to be. "It's been a long day." Emma notes, out loud. She straightens up a little and takes a careful sip of the coffee. She continues to sip in silence for a while. << I need a moment to wake up. >> “It’s been a long month,” Parley interprets wryly, his touch remaining undemanding in its ebb and flow of contact in her shoulders, biceps, neck and upper back, friction-rubbing circulation to the surface of her skin until its warm and pink. His eyes are settled somewhere across the room, studying the decor, any changes the room might have. He continues gentle grooming at the boundaries of her mind, growing steadily more accustomed to its flavors and scent, its feel and temperature. The further he eases, the more difficult it is to tell where precisely her senses terminate, where his begins. << (take your time.) >> Emma does indeed take her time. She takes time to enjoy her coffee in silence, and to slowly absorb the alertness that comes with it. She takes her time as she sets the cup aside and waits for Parley to finish his work on her shoulders, her mind sharpening and strengthening in the meantime. It is not a very long wait, but it is filled with empty moments, the sound of a single mechanical clock near her desk, gently ticking away the seconds. She eventually draws in a deep breath and looks over at Parley. << Show me. >> Parley nods, eyes remaining settled a last moment longer, staring unblinking somewhere across the room. They shift to consider Emma. His hands slide off her shoulders, after smoothing straight her clothes, and he takes in a slow breath while combing fingers through his hair, a long slow swipe to either side, from hairline to nape. He then takes a few steps back from her seat and the desk, and folds his knees to sit on the ground, folding lotus style, wrists hung off either leg while resting his back against the wall; it’s a practiced motion, as is (his jaw tightens) the indifferent seize of mental fingers he makes to the outer wall of his mind, twisting hard and then opening it to her. It’s not actually abrupt, but the businesslike /ease/ of it might make it feel so. The glimpse inside is matte anonymous gray, wispy. << (come.)(see.) >> His message is carefully uninflected. << (i have a theory.) >> Emma shifts and rises when Parley moves, but when he settles against the wall, she settles into the desk chair, turning to look at him, her lips pursing and twitching to one side in concentration. She dives in to explore his mind, her presence felt stronger than what she has ever permitted between herself and Parley to date, examining the shape of what he exposes to her and the contents of each memory and thought. << Tell me your theory. >> Like a million fractured mirrors, the flat dark gray of Parley’s mind /lights up/ with Emma’s presence when she enters, following her progress inside and reflecting her back in bright twinkling diamond-white glitters, pooling out from her ‘footsteps’ in ripples as sharply edged and streamlined as fish scales. He has the sense for a final moment of (deep breath? straightening a tie? clenching fists. setting jaw.) settling into a composure, and then, directs. << (here), >> Parley’s lack of immediate ‘voice’ makes the direction he indicates more a shifting around to merely show her. << (is where he-) >> a few possible word-concepts are flipped through, like a rolodex, some which hold an insidious stovetop heat that he nimbly snaps his mental fingers away from. << --(entered.)(it did not seem intentional.) >> The sense of darkness and instinctive /devouring/ that was the Goblin’s initial contacts is replayed, like an old movie, while Parley watches ‘alongside’ Emma, unflinchingly directing her attention here. /There/. To certain points, where he pauses the show, this strange landscape an incubated result laid out for investigation. << (it seemed more)(instinctive/unexpected)(i am --...soft.)(he is Hunger.)(but primarily, i think he functions metabolically on a physical level.)(the mental is - secondary? - more opportunistic.) >> The deeper into this explanation he takes her, the more indifferent he becomes with details, demonstrating clinically the difference between teeth gnashing with mechanical, /efficient/ motor memory through his arm (in body, his fists form carefully, maintaining equilibrium) and the less familiar and opportunistic /pressure/ that had expanded into his mind. << (i do not know how) but it is possible (probable?) that this is what is happening more slowly in mr. osborn’s own body. (the strain must be tremendous.) >> And then, almost idle, almost /sudden/, he turns full attention on Emma. << (--are you still intending to keep me in the dark?) >> << Keep you in the dark? >> Emma replies suddenly turning her focus very intently upon her guide. << Parley... >> There's a pause, Emma's presence there, but not, like a computer terminal briefly unresponsive because it is so linked into the mainframe server, processing, but not reporting yet. << I don't know what I have to offer yet. What do you want to know? >> << (you’ve been communicating with him.) >> Like cramming items into a closet for a little haphazard house cleaning, Parley is idly shoving his mind into a better arrangement now that he’s made his presentation. << (i do not know what he has already told you.)(i do not know if you already have a plan.) >> A few delicate cracks are stamped down, hardened absentmindedly, soldered down in businesslike fashion while, in the physical, his fingertips grip carefully into either knee. << (you do not have to tell me)(anything.)(but if i do not know what you need)(i cannot help you reach it.) >> << You will know things soon enough. He wishes to go after a member of the club's inner circle, as they are angling after him now. He's trying to save his ass and make it look like I need him somehow. He wishes me to be his Mata Hari - likely with the same ending in mind. >> Emma is displeased with Osborn, but not enough to turn away yet. << As of right now, I do not have a plan. I need some time to come up with one. I have a name, but I am not comfortable giving it out yet. >> Emma starts to pull away, leaving Parley's mind and becoming more cognizant of her own limbs. She swallows the moisture that built up in her mouth and lets out a deep breath. << I know I can use you and I value that. Please do not feel that I am shunning you from information. I just need more time. >> << (as you like.) >> Parley accepts. From the outside, his inward renovation isn’t visible, his hands unclenching. He looks so slightly relieved to have her withdraw, though, exhaling slowly and pulls in his feet to stand. Emma leans on her desk resting her elbows on the surface as she scrubs across her face. << Osborn doesn't let me inside yet. You've given me the best information I've had yet. I will repay you. Do you have a preference for what kind of computer you'd like? And what address I should send it to? >> Standing now, straightening out his sports coat, Parley makes a light ‘hff’ sound in his nose. And after a moments thought, head tipped on side with his eyes slipped idly off to their far corner, he offers. << (- whatever you think would be most fair for the work i do.)(i trust you to be honest.)(send it to)(hmm...)(my apartment.) >> He touches her hair, a very gentle brush of his palm. << (i tease you.)(but don’t be too spoiling)(it only encourages me.) >> He leans down, touches his temple to the top of her head, his arms - more wiry now, with developing weaselish muscle, complicated and sharper in contrast with his scrawny housepet days of yor - loosely curling around her shoulders. << (i could stay.) >> << There is encouragement - and then there is hazard pay. Will you really go and allow yourself to be mauled again if I give you this computer? >> Emma eyes him, moistening her lips in consideration. << Perhaps I should let you know that I would rather pay you with smaller amounts over the course of many years than give you large bonuses every time you survive something dangerous. >> She leans back in her chair, turning her head into the touch, eyes closing momentarily. << You know I prefer you alive and well, right? >> When the topic of his departure comes up, she considers again, but the scrutiny she shows him is less severe. << Stay if you like, leave when you feel like it. I may go back to sleep soon. I haven't really decided. >> << (getting mauled was not)(my plan.) >> Parley protests dryly. << (but i will use--)(*another /something/ is shoved into place, like a drawer shoved closed*)(-what i am given.) >> There are levels of meaning to this, a settling thoughtfully into a long mull as he slips loose of Emma to /prowl/ her office. << (--he/it) >> yellow eyes are shown, sharply, /intimately/ proportionate in their mental shape and presence, << (will fight viciously if he knows)(what you intend to do.) >> Speculated neutrally, while Parley slips out of his loafers, tucking them out of immediate sight beneath the couch with a nudging sock-toe. Hop. Parley perches idly on the arm of the couch. Frowning slightly with a wrist hung off his thigh, his head dips down, slipping off his glasses to press his forehead into his palm. Mash. << (can mr. osborn keep secrets from Him?)(i wonder.) >> << I believe the initial plan is to shore up Osborn's defenses, then see what is possible. It appears like he sleeps when Osborn is in control, so we have a window of time in which he is not conscious and cannot act, but I am unsure what knowledge he absorbs upon waking and what Osborn can keep from him. >> Emma speculates quietly as she watches Parley move, prowl, and get settled. << You should know that I wish to use you more in line with your giftings. I appreciate the intel that you gathered from his facilities, but it seems like the price was too steep for that. If it had cost you your life - and it very nearly did - I would not be pleased. Yes, we are going to work with the benefits of your previous actions - which have been plentiful, but in the future, try to stick to communicating information instead of retrieving it yourself. >> A slow shift of gears, quick-light as a small wristwatch mechanism, can be felt ticking in Parley’s mind, watching her from the corner of his eyes. << (are you inviting me) >> he slides up a tired corner of his mouth, << (to stop trying to offer suggestions?) >> << I want your suggestions, Parley. I want you to use your mind. I do not want you to act on suggestions. >> Emma raises an eyebrow at him, studying his reaction. Parley presses his mouth against his fist, eyes closing. A short inward breath. << (alright.) >> He answers. << (i can agree to that.) >> He slips his glasses back on, shifts around to hook his ankle around the arm of the chair, set his hip down above it and lounge with his elbow propped on the back of the couch. << (you realize)(if mr. osborn changes his mind partway through the procedure)(and lets Him loose)(he could do you very serious harm.)(you would be in the jaws of the creature.) >> It’s the rough equivalent of thinking out loud, allowing her privy to the regiment of this thought as he explores it. Lays it out on cool mental tile, in a lab room set in the hind brain, shining light on it in a way ingrained and familiar as sunlight through trees. << (its power is not just psionic.)(it’s--)(*the memory of hard /pressure/, clamping like iron around his wrist - “DOWN, BOY!” *)(--very strong physically as well.)(and fearless of damage to itself.) >> He runs his thumbpad thoughtful along his fingernails. << (i wonder)(if mr. osborn would consent to being restrained.) >> << He had better, >> Emma sniffs dryly as she scrubs her hands over her face, luckily her makeup having been removed a while before, so there is no smearing. << Yes. I am fully aware that either of them could kill me at a second thought. I do not relish being in this position and am seeking options that would allow for my continued existence. >> Like an internal deck, Parley glances Emma-ward from an absent-minded shuffling through many practical and thorough varieties of restraint chairs he’s familiar with, his mouth twisting so slightly on one side. He offers. << (i could probably mitigate)(the psionic threat.) >> Like a flash of mirror in a dark room, he flickers Emma’s diamond-sharp mind back at her. Like a pretty silver coin. << (i am a conduit.)(work through me - like a glove.)(i am strongest when i’m focusing)(someone else.) >> Though of course, the dismal crux. << (physically, however...) >> Well. Many things are not ideal. << Physical power is definitely something we lack. >> Emma agrees. Much thought is put into the issue during the course of the night, many options are weighed and considered, but many lack a final, successful positive conclusion. In the end, sleep wins out over problem solving as the next day is sought with all of its possibilities.