Logs:Luxury Hospitality
| Luxury Hospitality | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-08-14 "What the devil did he do, jilt her?" |
| Location
<HFC> Oubliette - Hfc Basement | |
Not accessible to regular members without escort, this is an exquisitely designed dungeon whose victims are largely, though not exclusively, non-consenting. Beyond a guarded antechamber is is a high-ceilinged room outfitted with St. Andrew's crosses, iron maidens, sturdy cages, and a few plush leather chairs. The walls are decorated with a vast array of torture implements ranging from the vulgar to the arcane. Two hallways leading out from this central chamber grant access to showers, restrooms, small but well-stocked infirmaries, as well as a series of cells always kept under lock and key. Some of these last are fully functional torture chambers--ranging in theme from dim, dingy interrogation rooms to bright, sterile operating theaters--while others are highly secure prison cells, all of them furnished with exceptional soundproofing. Surely Lucien Tessier's access to the nether regions of the Club has been revoked. Surely he's twice as banned from this intimate area, but at the moment here is the erstwhile Bishop, just locking up one of the small cells tucked to the side. He's dressed impeccable but understated as he used to always been in his days working here, tailored grey suit in clean lines that accentuate his trim form. He's got a tray in his hands -- a tea service for one, tea half-drunk. This cell's current occupant can be seen through the narrow slit of window in the door, a tired and very sullen looking young man dressed in a slightly less well tailored bland grey suit. "Oh my, this is awkward." Probably it would be awkward to run into anybody in any dungeon of any kind, but David seems more smug than embarrassed as he prompts his companion (a slightly severe-looking blonde in a pale pink pantsuit and glasses) to go on ahead, with a light touch to the small of her back. He has sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and (he, too, is wearing a grey suit, tie and pocket square gleaming pale silver, shoes black and shiny.) After a pause he taps at one of his wireless earbuds and removes it, his eyebrows worming into a slightly overwrought expression of sympathy that doesn't quite reach his beady eyes. "Are you waiting for somebody?" Daiki is just coming in, combo-breaking here in an elegant black suit with subtle picked stitching over a stark white dress shirt and a metallic blue tie, plain polished black oxfords. He coasts to a stop when he sees Lucien, and though his expression remains unchanged and his eyes are steady behind his glasses, he's suddenly much more compelling, almost impossible to ignore. The intensity ebbs slowly, and he bows to their not-Bishop without lowering his eyes. "I heard you were here." He pauses infinitesimally, glancing at David. It could be to either of them that he asks, "Enjoying the facilities?" "News does travel fast, around here." The !Lucien has been watching David's guest depart, but once she is out of sight he's looking over one man and then the other with a carefully neutral expression. He doesn't bow back to Daiki -- just glances down at the tray in his hands, offering with just the faintest touch of apology: "I would offer you some tea but I am afraid your Queen's guest drank most of it." The faintest hint of amusement tugs in a small crinkle at the corner of his eyes. "Oh, I've been here for business, not pleasure. Have you had a chance to meet her newest, ah --" His eyes flick back towards the closed cell door, and he does not finish this sentence. Though he was quite intensely studying Daiki, David pulls his attention back to !Lucien, then to the cell door, rising on his tiptoes to peer through the slitlike window, not so much because his height requires this as because this sends the look imperiously down his nose. "No, not yet," his nose wrinkles, and he shifts his gaze back to the two men on this side of the cell door. "My, he's not enjoying the facilities, is he? I would never have taken your mother for such a terrible hostess." This is with his voice hushed just enough to sound a little scandalized, though (after all, he's here too) David still looks merely amused. "This sort of hospitality is not my forte," Daiki admits without any noticeable suggestion of embarrassment. He does come up beside David and look in on the unwilling guest. "To what does he owe the pleasure of his stay?" His eyes skip back to !Lucien, keen and appraising. "And what must he exchange for checking out?" "Are you telling me you don't know?" The un!Lucien's eyes positively gleam with amusement, here, and now his form is melting and stretching, considerably shorter, considerably more willowy until Lucien's impeccably fitted suit hangs too-loose on his mother's much slimmer form. "An irony, no? Keeping this team in the dark, still." It's Daiki that her eyes have riveted on here, but given his Whole Deal maybe that's not surprising. She sounds not-at-all-oddly flippant when she adds, "-- after the treatment he's had here, I imagine either his mind or his life, he could make things quite a mess if he went crying to the wrong person. Is it," now the not!Elie is asking David this, her eyes a little wider like he might have some deep insight to offer here, "too-too cliche to say he knew too much? I do think our hospitality suited the occasion quite well. At least it relaxed him enough to loosen his tongue." David's eyes have widened at this transformation; he takes an involuntary step back. "Oh my," he says again, this time without the underlying smugness -- he glances aside at the cell door again, though from this angle he can't quite see through the window anymore. The sympathy he infuses into this next is still obviously, cloyingly false -- "Poor old boy! I take it his ordeal will be over soon." Daiki does not look much surprised when !Lucien melts into his !mother. Even the tug of his power only flares a little, barely notable and certainly not concerning. It does not, however, die all the way back down, leaving him more interesting if nothing else. "That is how I would expect her guests here to check out." There's not even false sympathy in his voice. "What did our...hospitality require of him?" He looks in on the prisoner again, perhaps trying to place his face now against one he might have glimpsed elsewhere. "Soon enough." Elie's form is shifting away again, just a little taller and just a little broader, leaving Mirror behind in their own face and a casually confident bearing that makes their baggily draped suit seem an intentional style choice. "A good bit of information on his boss's schedule and security. Even for a billionaire, Dr. Toure can be so paranoid, you'd think someone's out to kill the man." For a moment David just blinks, mouth slightly agape at this second transformation. Another moment later -- "Dr. Rasheed Toure?" he repeats. "What the devil did he do, jilt her?" "You might indeed think that," Daiki murmurs, returning his gaze to the doomed prisoner. "He is in pharmaceuticals. I'm sure he's done a lot worse to a great many more. Though I had thought Ms Tessier more interested in blackmailing his ilk than fit herself into his social calendar." There's just a smallest tug of a smile at the corner of his lip. "Though I imagine she's looking to fit someone else." "He was involved in some very unsavory science, and she has a bit of a fixation on mutant issues. We all have our pet projects, mmm?" Mirror says this with a casual sort of breeziness, like this string of murders is on a par with Elie's fussy insistence on changing up some of the decorations in the lounge. They're leaning in just a little closer to confide to the others with an air of faint disappointment: "She's been going to some lengths to hide this from our new Bishop -- I do worry that he might not entirely have the stomach for this line of work." But then they're straightening, and, "-- anyway, if you have any last-minute industrial espionage you want to try your hand at... I don't imagine that cell will be so ripe with opportunity much longer," is what passes for a farewell as they cart their tea-tray away. David adjusts his necktie at his throat, watching Mirror go, his eyebrows arching high into his forehead. "Huh," he says, thoughtfully, "now that she mentions it, we do seem rather fixated on mutants. Had you noticed that?" "She's not bothered hiding the others." Daiki sounds just a little miffed, though it's hard to say why. Perhaps he would prefer equal opportunity murder obfuscation. "I suppose this one might hit closer to home." There's a speculative note in this, just the faintest suggestion of interest. "They," he corrects David, somewhat abstractedly. The look he levels at the man next might be considered flat if he were not presently so inexplicably engaging. "She makes no secret of her grudges, though, save this particular one." He tilts his head, a smile in his eyes though not on his lips. "Have you asked her what she's been up to the last few years? I'm sure she would be happy to regale you. But, really..." He nods down the hallway whence David's companion had disappeared. "You oughtn't keep a lady waiting." | |
