Logs:Baton Roue

Baton Roue
Dramatis Personae Matt, Mirror, Wendy
In Absentia Elie, Lucien	2024-12-30 "She was almost gotten rid of."
Location <HFC> Sanctum - Hfc Basement
This luxurious basement lounge is circular, largely taken up by a conversation pit lined with plush bench seating all upholstered in gold velvet. An octagonal table occupies the center, its surface crafted from gleaming black glass. There are four gaps in the circle of couches, two admitting stairs that descend into the pit. The other two postmodern gas fireplaces, each in a shallow brass bowl, one sitting on a black marble plinth, the other white, one topped with a white organically curved flue, the other black. Ringing the conversation pit is a raised gallery containing two recessed, U-shaped booths that can be screened off for a modicum of privacy, two exquisite tropical fish tanks--one salt water, one fresh--two restrooms, neither marked for any particular gender, and a bar opposite the entrance. Between these, the walls are decorated with artwork from all around the world, paintings and sculptures and pottery and masks. That Matt has had a busy day is probably evident to anyone who's paid even a modicum of attention to local news, and here he is now working through supper, if that's what the hot dog is passing for. He's shed his suit jacket and is now in his admittedly still sharp shirtsleeves, bright white broadcloth dress shirt, a green paisley tie, gray sharkskin vest and trousers, and polished black dress boots. He has his laptop open, its holoprojector canted to display a list of properties above its screen, and his tablet propped up beside it with a densely populated spreadsheet, though what he's actually working on seems to be just a friendly email. He hits send, checks something off on the spreadsheet, and leans back to study the holographic display as he sips his tea. Across the lounge, a dark-skinned statuesque woman -- likely not all that familiar around here, the London Court has been somewhat distant since the changing of the guard in the White Court here, and yet for all their wide berth here is their bishop(?) engaged for some time in an intent conversation with Sebastian Shaw. He is leaving now, though, with little heed paid to the others in the lounge; the woman plucks up her half-finished Zombie and slinks towards Matt's table, insinuating herself across from him in a rustle of emerald silk. "{Is it the French in you?}" she's asking (accent impeccably Parisian). "{Or just the bisexuality.}" Matt has set his work aside along with the greasy hot dog wrapper balled on one of the Club's fine porcelain plates with her approach, not bothering to offer her the seat she is clearly going to take. "{Pardon?}" His bright green eyes take in his counterpart(?) with not entirely guileless interest as she sits. "{I have been amply accused of both, but I do not know what I am meant to be attributing. Nor to what I owe this pleasure.}" "{I'm tempted to call it a certain fickleness in your nature,}" the pseudo-London-bishop is replying lightly, "{but really I think you're quite committed. To an unending string of blunders, but it's consistent nevertheless.}" It's possible Wendy has come in here specifically seeking her Bishop, but the pawn's casual meandering path through the lounge makes it difficult to tell. It seems almost accidental when she lands at Matt's table -- unlike the "visiting" "Bishop", she probably ought to wait for an invitation. And, at least, she is not sitting -- just resting her fingertips lightly against the back of the bench seating. The tilt of her head is small and curious; the small narrowing of her eyes may be as much from trying to piece this statement together with her limited French as it is from trying to identify the visitor. She doesn't speak, yet. Matt's eyes narrow, too -- presumably not for any difficulty with the language. He studies the person across from him impassively over the brim of his teacup while he takes a sip. "Do you have some business to discuss? You can combine that with the derision, you know. It saves time." He looks up at Wendy. "It's Mirror. Do you have some business to discuss?" "I imagine she could piece that together without your --" There's a beat as the mirrored bishop lifts her drink to sip at it, small. "-- insight. My business here is done, I'm moving on to pleasure. Indulge me, because I'm dying to know --" The bishop is transforming, smoothly, Elie's form now filling out the elegant drape of her dress. Maybe it should feel wrong, the almost prurient gaze the White Queen is turning on her Bishop-slash-Favorite-Son, but somehow it just seems Fine. Also Fine is the derision dripping off Mirror's borrowed voice. "-- just how wrapped around this bitch's finger are you?" Wendy's brows pinch. Her head is dipping small and thoughtful, but she wisely refrains from offering her opinion on the question. "I -- did have questions but you --" Her eyes dart between the -- Rook? Queen? and the Bishop. "-- seem busy." Matt rolls his eyes theatrically. "Her business here is done, also." Evidently this audience calls for something stronger than tea, because he reaches across the table, lazy-quick, to swipe at Mirror!Elie's drink. "Her credibility is destroyed and she's not worming her way of out those charges, which she will definitely just add to if she comes back. Do you think physical confinement will stop her? This woman got Prometheus to pay for her bachelor's and master's degrees, and then pay her!" He turns one hand palm up at Mirror!Elie. "She will land on her feet anywhere. I'm just making sure that's somewhere else." He turns back to Wendy. "I was busy, until this --" He flicks a dismissive hand toward the image of his mother. "-- happened. Are your questions private?" The Not!Elie plucks her drink back up -- it looks oddly languid given the alacrity with which she is lifting it just out of Matt's quick swipe. "Completely, then, is what I'm hearing." "I'm -- rethinking my questions." Wendy's hands have clasped together in front of herself, her gaze kind of ping-ponging between the two higher ranked members here. "You -- obviously know your mom better than us," though there's something here in Wendy's not-entirely-diffident caution that somehow implies she isn't One Hundred Percent sure of this fact. She does not add in the but that is practically shouting out of her words, just creases her brow a little deeper. "I think I'm just confused why you'd try to help get rid of her only to -- you know." Matt settles back against the cushioning of the bench seating and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I'm sorry to say I know her quite well..." He stops and sits up straighter. "Though given I did recently discover I did not know her quite as well as I imagined, it would be foolish to imagine I've definitely got a grasp on her now." He stares at Wendy, brows furrowing lightly. "She is gotten rid of. Her career is over, and the feds have her dead to rights." His frown deepens. "She cannot have this kind of access to power again, but that doesn't mean she has to physically be in jail. She was locked up for eight years, however much she made of her time in the labs. It was just unnecessarily cruel." Mirror's form is shifting again, Elie's skin warping and darkening until they are back in their own tall and angular body. "It's actually almost impressive to watch the contortions working in real time. Like an art form, really. You can't genuinely think she's just going to slink off and accept defeat? I may not know the woman like you do," somehow there's a decidedly salacious tone here, too, "but if we were taking bets I'd put good money that she'd be back here before the New Year." "She was almost gotten rid of. I feel like you're maybe --" Wendy hesitates, her mouth pursing. "Lucien won't be happy." Her hands wring in front of her. She gives her head a small shake, an even smaller bow. "What do you think comes next, then?" From the flick of her gaze, this question is directed far more to Mirror than Matt. "Of course not." Matt's reply isn't quite a snap, but it is unironically incredulous. "She is biologically incapable of surrender. That's why I changed all her passwords, but I still need to contact..." His frown dissipates all at once. "This would be quite a lot easier if she were locked up. Why." His expression remains placid, but he has gone pale. "She is a vindictive bitch. But bails can be revoked." "In theory. If you've got the pull. Our old Bishop, well." There's a small and amused curl to Mirror's lips as Matt pales. They're pulling themselves up out of the bench, drink in hand. They take a long sip, dark eyes boring into Matt for a moment longer before they turn to Wendy: "When you're done rethinking, come and see me, mmm? Your talents really are wasted mired in all this sordid family muck." They lift their drink to Matt, nothing at all warm in the quick smile they flash him, and then, in another rustle of silk, are sweeping off. Wendy bows her head through this exchange, her hands clasping together a little tighter. She looks up again swiftly at Mirror's offer, but doesn't make any reply. She is studying Matt, long and intent. "Maybe you should take the rest of the day off," she suggests, gently. "It sounds like you're having a -- bit of a struggle." Matt, for his part, looks deep in thought, and does not respond until Wendy addresses him. His gaze snaps to her and his face hardens for an instant before returning to its previous thoughtfulness. "Perhaps that would be wise." His voice is quiet and aggressively even, but there's a fine tremor in his hands as he collects his devices. "You are very kind, thank you." "Around here, that is what's important." Wendy gives another small bow, and slips off.