Logs:Faults

Faults
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Mirror, Wendy, Daiki, Winona, Elie, Hive, Kyinha, Emma Frost
In Absentia Jax, Rasheed, Matt, Sera	2023-12-31 "Won't it be an exciting day for us when those threads start to unravel." (part of lean in.)
Location the closing of the year
23 november. macy's, herald square. There are several different casts here in various stages of preparation for their performances. With its star's impending departure and a highly anticipated joint performance from real Cap himself, this one is certainly getting the most buzz. Perhaps it's the tiring crash-course rehearsal that's given an extra edge to Lucien's quiet voice, or perhaps it's that this particular inquisitive guest is certainly not supposed to have access to this stall that is serving today as his makeshift dressing room. "I didn't realize I needed to check in with you before dispatching a piece. There are still many loose ends to tie up from this summer and if you have a pressing need we've another Knight quite at liberty." His expression is a touch pinched as he checks over the fastenings on his costume armor. "But if you are just fretting, I assure you I am on top of this." It was not Emma Frost who made her way through the staging area to accost Lucien and will no doubt not be Emma Frost who leaves, but it is the White Queen's cool disregard that stares him down now. "Yes, you always are, aren't you?" Where her arms have crossed over her chest, one finger taps, light and impatient, at the crook of her arm. "And won't it be an exciting day for us when those threads start to unravel." --- 2 december. le bonne entente. This venture has been thriving, and on a Saturday it is all the busier. The areas dedicated to drinking and dining and dancing are all packed to the gills with chic clientele, but beyond the bustle the hotel has no end of quieter treasures tucked away for those who take the time to learn her secrets. Like many such corners hidden throughout, this little balcony nook is unlabeled but inviting with the comfortable chairs, warm firepit, the winterblooming camellias and hellebores livening up the space. Was Wendy coming out here looking for some privacy? Perhaps not -- she doesn't seem at all surprised to find the space occupied. She doesn't make it to the other empty chair, something on the open computer screen catching her eye and pausing her for a shameless over-the-shoulder peek. "Isn't that kind of premature?" She's waving a hand in the direction of the computer as she drifts the rest of the way to fold herself carefully into the seat, "It's all going to be even more true next week." One hand flits up to touch fingertips lightly to her lips as if stifling a laugh, though she isn't actually giggling. "Can you imagine how mad the Swifties will be, they're sure she's going to be named." As she settles back in her seat, her brows are pinching delicately, head cocking to give Daiki a scrutinizing look. Her lips purse, and when she adds, "We do have it taken care of, you don't have to worry," it has a tone more of evaluation than reassurance. Daiki's expression shutters into a polished almost-smile, small and reserved and just this side of disinterested -- but only for the barest instant. When he recognizes Wendy he relaxes, and though the shallow curve of his smile doesn't change much it is genuinely pleased and not merely relieved (though it is, also, relieved). He leans back in his seat, subtly rolling his cramped shoulders while giving her a better angle on his half-written thinkpiece: "Person of the Fucking Decade: Jackson Holland's Candidacy Illuminates Rift in Mutant Community" (it's a working title). "Premature?" he echoes, more perplexed than his habitually even intonation alone might suggest. "I can imagine so much." Maybe that prodigious imagination is carving the small furrow between his brows now. He leans forward now to pick up his teacup, but then just holds onto it while his eyes sweep over the glittering cityscape beyond the river. His lips purse, then relax, the faint betrayed frown that has started to develop smoothing away, too. "Nn," he concludes, closing his laptop and pushing it aside with a kind of defeat that does not show in his serene countenance. "Now I know to leave some zingers for the sequel. Thank you." The tug of his smile when he glances at Wendy again is crooked and a little rueful. "I've worked with him for a while now. I've looked up to him since I was too young to know my own worth." His smile fades thoughtfully as his eyes dip to the tea in his cup. "I trust that he has it all taken care of, but." --- 6 december. le bonne entente. Tucked into a quiet corner of L'Entente, Winona sips from her cup of tea. She holds it near her mouth a few extra moments to steal a moment to formulate a response to her companion. When the cup is placed down back on the side table, she crosses one leg over the other and intones, "We're taking care of it," without any elaboration on what said 'we' consists of. She nibbles her bottom lip lightly, eyes narrowed and focused into the middle distance, as if staring at some imaginary thing. "Not," she adds, a hint of the weight of her task leaking into her voice, "that I would turn down any leads. I never received an organizational chart, they seemed pretty happy keeping their info siloed." Her foot bounces a couple of times restlessly. "A lot of it, it's been a puzzle that didn't want solving." Elie's rapt attentiveness is touched with concern that does not seem very much assuaged by Winona's assurance, but she sounds completely sincere with, "Please have no thought that I would doubt you! I would still be in that dreadful place without your courage and hard work." She cups her own tea close, as though its warmth might ward off thoughts of Lassiter. "But alas, I was there for many years, and I did pick up a few things." Here she leans in toward Winona, her soft francophone accent taking on a hushed conspiratorial intensity. "Having edited that footage, you must surely know about Dr. Toure. Imagine my horror when I found him masquerading as an ally to our people -- even our fearless raiders, my sweet Matthieu..." She lifts one hand to cover her mouth, briefly unwilling to trust her voice. "And now he's laying low at S.H.I.E.L.D., of all places. Can you believe the nerve! I only found out because Lucien works there, too -- oh, but I loathe to think of him so near my darling boy." It's surely by main force of will that she keeps from shuddering at the prospect. "I hope you and your collaborators can do something about that man before he grows bold enough to hurt us again." --- 9 december. hellfire club. The tasteful small touches of Winter Holiday Cheer that have been sprouting through the club are blissfully absent. Down here there's no faint touch of pine scenting the air, the elegant basement lounge mostly just touched with rich coffee and the chocolatey-warm pastry Mirror is currently snacking on. The capricious architecture of their mind is even more restless than its usual. It could be a testament to their long practice around telepaths that Hive's question does not reflexively prompt its answer to surface; their fidget-flit of thoughts is dancing between a million things and none of them the contact he's requested. Then again, maybe it's telling of something else; the niggling irritation that accompanies the brief flashes of Lucien in the mix is only growing. "Should you even be coming to me about this?" They nibble at a flaky scrap plucked delicately from their kouign-amann. The image of Sebastian Shaw that rises in their head is deliberately cartoonish, a glowering caricature of a man cloaked in his own shadows. "That tyrant who runs your Court can't stand me I doubt he'd want me in your business." Hive looks like he could probably benefit from a Ridiculously Fatty Pastry of his own, just a gaunt and fairly shaky conglomeration of bones slouched in too many layers across from Mirror. He has not availed himself of the Club's first-class kitchen, though, only clutching tight to a plain black coffee. "Please. That motherfucker can't stand me either, but he trusts me enough to let me do my goddamn job." His dour expression is briefly lightened by the knowing twitch of smile that cuts across his face. "I'll ask Lucien." --- 14 december. wendy's apartment, le bonne entente. Having interrupted herself by taking a bite, Winona is swirling her hand around as an indication that she has more to say. "-and now-- mm, this is good-- and now that bastard has a job at SHIELD. He shouldn't even be alive, much less--" She furrows her eyebrows and puts her fork down so that she can properly clench her fist while still gesticulating with the other. "After editing the doc-- And now I don't even know what's going on with these people. There's still lots I want to get done, but how, when I can't even be kept in the loop about the consequences of my own work!" "Lucien works for them." A small crease has pinched itself between Wendy's brows, and she nods emphatically in agreement with Winona. "I know we're new, but there's so much we aren't in the loop on. I don't know why he wouldn't have told Daiki about our -- and Lourdes just got sent halfway across the world to do who knows what and I can barely keep track of who Mirror is let alone what they're supposed to..." Albeit still coherent enough, Wendy's words are rendered a little choppier than they might usually be by the liberal application of wine. She's taking another swallow now, and, more pensive, slicing off a small bite of her scallion latke. "I know we probably can't topple a new evil empire every year," admittedly, there's a keenness buried underneath her wistful tone that suggests she's not ruling every other year out as a feasible schedule, "but we should have some idea of what comes next." --- 17 december. chez tessier. Though it's grown late into the afternoon, Elie has not yet changed from her church finery, at once elegant and bold without being quite as attention-grabbing as her usual. The Tessier Guest Routine seems second nature to her, and perhaps its the cozy familiarity of the tea routine that makes the casual intimacy of her tone, her occasional small touches, seem like a warmth and not a presumption. "{-- quite glad I've been going to church here with Sera or you would have had to wait in that miserable rain.}" There's a concern in her voice that suggests this possibility would be quite as unthinkable as leaving her own children out in the cold. "Without a doubt he'll be along any minute, just, you know how many irons he keeps in his fires. With all his new projects it is a mystery where he finds time to sleep, or --" But here she pauses, brilliant green eyes levelling on Daiki with only the briefest thoughtful purse of her lips. The shake of her head is so small as to barely be noted, and she slides him a mug of the fragrant sencha. "It is wonderful he still makes the time for you." Daiki is not easily coaxed out of his rigorously cultivated New Acquaintance Routine, but somewhere between the chill of the rain and the warmth of the tea, his resolve is wavering before the Tessier matriarch's solicitous hospitality. "{Thank you, Ma'am.}" The faintest flush of pink touches his cheeks, and he gives a small bow as he draws the mug close to inhale its delicate steam. "I know it's no small matter for him to make time for me, and I'm sorry to pull him away from his --" He wets his lips, glances at Elie, then quickly away. "-- family." The shallow hitch of his breath is easy to miss, but the abrupt intensifying of his personal magnetism is impossible to ignore. His shoulders tense, then ease again when he takes a small sip of the tea, blinking away his tears behind fogged lenses. "He knows it's a difficult day for me, and there aren't many who can deal with..." He looks up at Elie again, eyes slightly wide with a surprise he cannot quite mute. "...seeing me as I am." --- 21 december. xavier's school. Kyinha's attention keeps straying to the wan winter sunlight slanting through the window. Deep down in his bones, this should be the longest day of the year. There's a dance waiting there he does not have the strength to let out, but he wears the white anyway, even if makes the ashen cast of his skin look that much sicklier. He drags his eyes back to the notes on his tablet, double checks that they've gone over all the properties that need Hive's evaluation for renovation or construction. << {All on the wrong side of the world,} >> comes in Nheengatu, a little giddy and a little self-conscious. << {Next week, Oxalá, I will go home.} >> Out loud, more sedately, "I've been thinking. This is something we can also do, internationally." He doesn't have to say "in the Black Court", probably doesn't even really need to think it. "I don't see why Shaw would object, either, it could be wildly lucrative." There are no profits crunching in his mind, though, just vague sketches of ecologically sound development for devastated varzea land and new livelihoods for river peoples who have lost the tides. He is warming to the pitch he hadn't really planned to make, now. "I don't contribute much but the bankrolling, really. But you could be Lucien's counterpart on our side, not only the literal architect of the properties." His confidence in and regard for both men burns bright. "He is very shrewd, he must know you have a better eye for this in more ways than the technical, and surely would value your input?" Hive may not even have yet even agreed to take this project on, but his browser tabs are belying his interest far moreso than his flat and haggard expression. He's clearly tumbling headlong down several exciting planning paths, but something in Kyinha's words pulls his attention sharply away from where he's been surveying the topography of one possible Miami site on Google Maps. "This is a solid investment, I'm sure not gonna tell you where to put your money, but --" He's worrying at the edge of his thumbnail with his teeth, eyes narrowed on Kyinha as he slumps back in his seat. << Motherfucker's got his entire court under that well-manicured thumb. Maybe that works for them, >> though on this count, under the bludgeon-thump of Hive's words there's a deep skepticism reverberating, << but our shit does not need to get tangled up with him. >> Outwardly he exhales, a quick dry puff. "... he is shrewd as fuck," sounds more like complaint than compliment, even if the fact he follows it with a grudging, "that hotel was fun to build," suggests that ultimately he will probably accept the work. But the sledgehammer of his mental voice is dropping decisively again as he turns his attention back to Kyinha's extensive notes. << Besides, all this shit on the horizon with Roxxon, we're gonna need you focused. >> --- 25 december. hellfire club. Emma Frost is bored. It doesn't take telepathy -- or some esoteric and no doubt inferior infomancy -- to figure that out and she clearly does not care if her subordinate knows it. She's barely glanced up from her screen the entire time Wendy's been in her office, and the sharp tick of her icy blue eyes to the other woman now is distinctly annoyed rather than alarmed or intrigued. "Did you have some urgent need of Lourdes?" Her tone is delicate and patient, suggesting she finds this conversation wholly beneath her, but in her magnanimity has decided to indulge the pawn who inexplicably saw fit to trouble her with it. Though not, evidently, magnanimous enough to actually consider Wendy's answer. "Whatever it is, it can't be more urgent than a Knight's business, which is certainly none of yours. We are playing a bigger game here than whatever assignment you're on, and if you need more instructions you should go to your bishop." She picks up her half-drained wine glass and takes a slow sip, her lips coming away just a shade redder for it. The wine fortifies her enough to grace Wendy with a flat, considering look before returning her attention to the screen. "I'm sure Lucien has it well in hand." Out of some ingrained habit, Wendy's expression is arranged into a proper deference, useless though this might be for a telepath who can read clearly enough that she feels not in the least contrite for bothering Emma. She's considered several replies along a theme of I don't care about Lourdes, it's about the bigger game here but discards all of them as variably unhelpful or unwise. Her thoughts have lingered a beat longer on whatever assignment you're on like she is putting together the pieces of a puzzle, but whatever she's seeing in her tipped-up glance at Emma is arcane to the other woman's senses. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," she allows with a small bow of her head, "I'm sure he does." --- 27 december. le bonne entente The minute pinch of Daiki's brow isn't a frown, his expression otherwise serene as ever, but he might well be weighing the cost-benefit of a frown right about now. Or maybe he's just thinking. "Fury was an Army Colonel and a fed before he worked for the UN, so it's a safe bet he got involved through contacts in the DoD or DHS." His brow has smoothed out, but his lips compress lightly now, perhaps out of the same dissatisfaction stubbornly bent on expressing itself. "That's just an educated guess, though. However it happened, it happened well after I'd blown Prometheus open, so Lucien wouldn't have had any reason to tell me if he knew more than that." He pushes his glasses back up where they'd started to slide down the bridge of his nose and studies Winona impassively. "S.H.I.E.L.D. was very much in the mix during your Prometheus assignment, and he was very much in the mix with them, but..." Though a habitual quirk of his speech, this particular hanging "but" feels somehow portentous, and maybe it's recognizing this that prompts him to add, more lightly, "...this is just the court's attitude toward pawns. Someone should teach them a thing or two about chess." Winona listens with a focused expression, eyes fixed on Daiki's face as if she is trying to read something beyond what she is hearing. She fixes some hair that has dropped over her eye without breaking her gaze. "Someone should," she agrees, with a vague nod and finally allowing her eyes to drift about. "You did great work on Prometheus before, your research was--" An firm nod and affirmative gesture marks the end of this aborted sentence. "Guess it makes sense we're on a 'need to know', but if part of my work is going to be pulling multiple threads together then..." Her eyes fix back on Daiki, and her teeth work on her bottom lip for a few moments. She repeats the nod, now even more firm. "Someone should." --- 31 december. le bonne entente. In here it's exuberant, anticipatory; with lively music and cheerful revelry Janus is just about to turn his face towards a new year. Wasn't Lucien only recently getting ready to usher in the future with his loved ones? Yet here he is, not with castmates or siblings but sauntering casually over, wearing just the faintest glimmer of smirk together with the sharp suit that accentuates his broad musculature. "{I do hope you're enjoying the festivities, Mother. No doubt toying aimlessly with my friends has been some entertainment, but perhaps in the New Year you ought to aim a little higher, no?}" If it troubles Elie that she's ringing in 2024 alone, it certainly does not show. In fact, she looks rather pleased with herself, surveying the crowd with a sort of regal hauteur as though she were the one responsible for this dazzling fête. She does not start, but her good cheer cools as she turns to arch one imperious eyebrow at her son. "{Mm. Rather illuminating, also.}" Her usually pleasant voice is just this side of saccharine. "{Though it does speak to your aims that you're here taunting your poor beleaguered mother instead of --}" The glance she darts in the direction of her other children might have been reflexive, but freezes there in their midst on -- Lucien. Her eyes snap back to the one beside her with a quickness, but there's nothing of disbelief in their uncanny green depths as they take in the cut of his jacket, the edge in his smile. She takes one step toward him, the focused intensity of her interest almost palpable even amidst the ambient excitement at the countdown. "{Well, my dear, this ties the old year up quite nicely. And in the new one?}" She touches the brim of her glass lightly to his and raises it up. "{I daresay I shall.}"