Tinkering in the Lab
Emma Frost was down in the lab, tinkering away on a machine that would help her expand her mind’s power exponentially. To be perfectly honest, the machine wasn’t unlike Cerebra at all. To say that it was a smaller, more portable version of Cerebra wouldn’t be off the mark at all. Really, it was the netbook of Cerebras. With four times the power.
People tended to forget just how smart, how educated Emma truly was. All they saw was the artfully bleached blonde hair, the artistically sculpted nose, and the best body that money possibly could have bought her. (The body was indeed flawless, in diamond form or flesh.) But that’s not all that she was about. Before there had been the beauty, there had been the brains.
A small static burst of electricity caused Emma to go diamond, and she flipped the machine over, wondering what she’d done wrong. Perhaps she’d ask Henry about it later, see what he had to say. In the mean time, a drink sounded positively delightful. She turned away from the machine and reached into the bucket of champagne on hand. She poured herself a fizzy flute and sat back, taking a short break, letting her mind wander.
She hadn’t gone to visit her brother this week, and she supposed she should make time for that. Perhaps this weekend. An extended visit would be nice. She may even be able to break through whatever it is that was plaguing him.
A queen can dream, at least, Emma mused as she set her flute down. The truth was that Christian was so far gone that Emma didn’t think he’d ever be able to come out of it. But she could dream. And she could hope. Her brother was the only relative around who Emma gave a damn about anymore, and she’d be damned if there wasn’t a way to fix him.
She looked at the machine that she had taken to calling Cerebrette. (Well, at least until a better name came her way.) Someway, somehow, she would find a way.
Emma stood back up, smoothed down her jeans, and went back to work on the machine. By tonight, it would be in tip-top shape.
People tended to forget just how smart, how educated Emma truly was. All they saw was the artfully bleached blonde hair, the artistically sculpted nose, and the best body that money possibly could have bought her. (The body was indeed flawless, in diamond form or flesh.) But that’s not all that she was about. Before there had been the beauty, there had been the brains.
A small static burst of electricity caused Emma to go diamond, and she flipped the machine over, wondering what she’d done wrong. Perhaps she’d ask Henry about it later, see what he had to say. In the mean time, a drink sounded positively delightful. She turned away from the machine and reached into the bucket of champagne on hand. She poured herself a fizzy flute and sat back, taking a short break, letting her mind wander.
She hadn’t gone to visit her brother this week, and she supposed she should make time for that. Perhaps this weekend. An extended visit would be nice. She may even be able to break through whatever it is that was plaguing him.
A queen can dream, at least, Emma mused as she set her flute down. The truth was that Christian was so far gone that Emma didn’t think he’d ever be able to come out of it. But she could dream. And she could hope. Her brother was the only relative around who Emma gave a damn about anymore, and she’d be damned if there wasn’t a way to fix him.
She looked at the machine that she had taken to calling Cerebrette. (Well, at least until a better name came her way.) Someway, somehow, she would find a way.
Emma stood back up, smoothed down her jeans, and went back to work on the machine. By tonight, it would be in tip-top shape.