ArchivedLogs:Professional Envy and Courtesy

Professional Envy and Courtesy
Dramatis Personae Doug, Emma	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. The Gala is going full-swing, with lots of the usual mingling and back-slapping that occurs at these sorts of occasions. It's not exactly a young man's crowd, but Doug still finds himself in attendance, a prospect he'd been dreading all week. The fact that his friends are somewhere in the crowd doesn't seem to help /him/, trapped as he is with his mother (A tall, blonde woman in a silvery-blue gown) firmly affixed to his arm. He looks decidedly uncomfortable in his Dolce & Gabana tux, and he adjusts the narrow tie with a wince as his mother drags him towards another clump of attendees. "Douglas, you simply have to meet -- " "Mom, can I just mingle on my own, for a bit?" Doug says, extracting his arm from her well-manicured clutch. "I promise that I will talk to people." It's a smooth lie, and one that gets him free, and he smiles politely at whomever was next on Sheila Ramsey's List of People To Know. He wanders, then, his eyes scanning the crowd as he works on reading body language. << That guy's wife is cheating on him. Look how she avoids him touching her. Her lover must be in the room.>> <<That dark-haired woman is planning something with that grey-haired man. Something with his money. She keeps looking at his expensive watch and rings. >> << Hah. That couple coming down the stairs just had sex. Look how she keeps touching her hair and smiling at him. >> It's a fun game. Emma is making her way through out the room, in strapless white silk, her hair pulled up and diamond studs in her ears. She is alternating her attention between a cellphone locked into her bejeweled minaudiere and keeping a careful watch of the people in the room. Her mind is open to eavesdrop, but her attention isn't entirely locked into what she is receiving, on account of getting lost in other mental checklists - number of glasses out on the floor, comparing that to the number of bottles of champagne ordered for the event, how the current hors d'oeuvres is ranking in popularity with the guests and if it is time to switch canapes. She only breaks when she stops to examine groups of people and cues in audibly to what they are talking about and checking her list of attendees to find people that might interact well with them. Doug's game gets an added dose of amusement when the lady in white passes by his mother, and Sheila's spine stiffens visibly, and her face gives away completely the frosty tone she uses when her litle group is passed. When the blonde woman starts moving again, Doug is also on the move, slipping around a serving drone as he takes a glass from its tray, bending to give it a good looking-over. << Doesn't look like the ones in the video, but I can see the bones of it. Wonder how sophisticated the A.I. is. >> But the drone is moving on, and Doug watches it with a bit of regret before his original mission is remembered and he moves to intercept the woman in white. "Excuse me, but are you the woman who arranged this event?" he asks politely, his smile smooth and well-practiced. << God, I hope so. I'd love to meet the woman who managed to get the jump on my mother. >> "Um, yes?" Stirred from distraction, Emma brightens, her professional demeanor sparked into action. "How can I help you?" She looks the young man over and closes her clutch, keeping it in her left hand. She smiles a little, but there's a hint of worry in her posture. Doug smiles, and shakes his head. "Oh, I'm fine," he says. "No need to worry on my account. I just wanted to compliment you on a lovely party. I can honestly say that I've never had a better time at a function." << Seeing my mom have to chew her cheek all night is worth the tux fitting, for sure. Look how she's glaring at me. >> He holds out a hand, then. "Doug Ramsey," he says in way of introduction. "My father is Phillip Ramsey, of Ramsey Biotechs." "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ramsey," Emma allows him the grace of her fingers tonight, not really shaking his head but allowing him the pleasure of holding it, as that is how it is done at such events. When she hears him say that nothing is wrong, the concern starts to evaporate, but some of the lists start to come back. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. To be honest, I thought most of the people not actively vying for the military contracts in question would be bored stiff." Doug grips the proffered fingers lightly, swiftly releasing them as he inclines his head in greeting. "I'm sure my father is having a fantastic time, being in the former category." He smiles wide. "I like to take my pleasure at these things in watching the people, ma'am," he says, nodding at the crowd and scrunching his nose with a small crinkle of his eyes. "I find there's all sorts of things you can learn by watching how people behave from a distance." He smiles. "But I'm sure you know that, if you've been doing this for any length of time." "Unlikely, as Mr. Osborn seems to be winning over several of the generals as we speak." Emma notes, her gaze tossed lightly in that direction before returning to the young man. "I merely suggested that he would be less bored." She nods to him, her attention starting to drift. "Indeed. The room is rife with characters, but really, it's the same old thing everywhere." "Oh, I'm sure my father is somewhere in the mix," Doug says with a chuckle. "He does consulting work for Mister Osborn, so I imagine he has a vested interest in seeing him happy." He bobs his head in agreement with the observation. "Oh, for sure," he says with a small snort of laughter. "Everyone is cheating on everyone, or stealing from them, or about to hit them up for money or business. And all of it under that veneer of /niceness/, when they can't stand each other at all." His brow furrows a bit as he notices the drift in attention, and he frowns. "I hope I'm not keeping you from your duties," he says apologetically. "I just wanted to meet the woman that's had my mother frothing at the mouth for the last month." Emma gives Doug a long look of examination, a hint of confusion in her features. "I'm sorry, I do not believe I know your mother, nor do I know why she would be unhappy with me." She inhales deeply. "But I do have many things to do tonight. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?" "Sheila Ramsey," Doug offers helpfully, and indicates where she's standing, still looking daggers at her son as he leans a bit towards Emma. "She was so mad; she's been trying to score planning an Osborn event for a couple of years, now. When she found out about this, she hit the roof." He smiles widely, and offers his mother a wave that drains the color from her face. "All I've heard for two weeks has been about some upstart named Emma Frost." He smiles, his eyebrows arching apologetically. "Clearly, she didn't know she was out-classed in the field." He steps back when she makes to excuse herself, and tilts his head. "Actually, can you tell me if Mister Osborn will be telling us about the serving robots, tonight?" He turns to watch one as it passes with a tray of hot hors d'oeuvres. "They're simply amazing." << For murderdrones. The tuxes are cute, though. >> "I believe all of the information was released already in the press kits, but he is making a speech later on tonight. Perhaps he will supply some more information then." Emma's true feelings are locked behind walls as she starts going on about his mother, her expression blank and mildly disapproving. "Mr. Osborn chose a venue. I come along with the venue. That is all." She gives him a very polite smile as she steps back, her eyes still cool and somewhat lifeless. "Have a nice night, Mr. Ramsey." "The press kits," Doug echoes, and the wrinkle of his nose states that he did not receive such an item. Or at least was not allowed to look at it. "Of course. I should look at that again." He smiles, and shrugs. "My mother doesn't really think about stuff like that," he admits. "She'll get over it. I think she's doing the Creed fundraiser in the first part of May." His grin slips wide. "I can get you on the invitation list, if you'd like to attend." Her cool withdrawal gets a small tick of his eyebrows, but he nods, almost making a small bow. "You too, Miss Frost. Congratulations again on a wonderful party." And then he's withdrawing first. He barely gets ten feet away before Sheila is latching on to his arm and dragging him into the crowd. But not before there's a distinct (and useless, ultimately) " -- but I just saw Parley! Can't I go and say hello to him?" that drifts back even as they disappear into a clutch of partygoers. And the band plays on.