(no subject)
Typical voicemail message left on a few phones yesterday evening...
"Hello? You're not answering either. If I die of exposure up here, it will be your fault."
11/13/2007
Logfile from Emma.
=NYC= Hellfire Clubhouse Roof
It's a grey afternoon in New York. The air is chill, but not particularly biting, and the wind is fairly calm in its occasional stirring about the Hellfire Club's roof. Alone for the moment, the White King is posted at a raised concrete corner that faces the ashen outline of the nearest skyscrapers. Wind-ruffled and and working a freshly lit cigarette over into the corner of his mouth, he's garbed in the stiffly-buttoned double breast of a new overcoat, just as black as any of his others.
The roof of the Hellfire Mansion almost deserves a grounds keeper of its own. The ridges and valleys make an interesting silhouette, hiding the flat expanse of the helipad that lies behind it as well as any lurking Magnetos. The thump-thump of an incoming helicopter sounds long before it lands, whipping up even more wind and debris. It sets down and a long-legged figure in white steps out and down, bending over and holding her hair out of her face while the rest of it snakes about in the cool November air. When Emma is out of range, the helicopoter revs up and lifts off the roof. "Erik," she says, coming into range and attempting to restore her appearance.
Magneto's only real reaction to the landing is to squint his eyes against the hot ash the churn of the helicoptor kicks back up into his face. Eventually, once it has gone, he lifts a hand to sweep the silver of his hair back into some semblance of rumpled order. It was long before, and now it is longer, definitely riding the edge of 'permanently untidy' or, at the very least, 'permanently careless about appearance.' "Hello."
Emma holds out a large folder stuffed with papers and runs her fingers through her hair, detangling the golden curls.
Emma is eyed for a moment, and Erik reaches to take the folder in silence. His hands are bare -- probably the reason they were stuffed into his pockets -- and it doesn't take him long to pry the folder open to examine its contents.
"It's a background check on that rather... ardent admirer of yours," Emma offers in explanation, stepping close and angling herself to peer at the contents with him. "Leonardo Maxwell, son of Alexander and Marie Maxwell. They seem to do little except make appearances at various social gatherings. He received a degree in psychology and appears to work with a few patients. I have to wonder if their mental illnesses weren't catching." She smirks and looks up at him out of the corner of her eye, as if waiting for his reaction.
"Christmas already, hrm?" Despite having said so, Magneto's reaction is...rather non-reactionary. His brows twitch downward, the tip of his cigarette twitches upward, and he slides the papers out to rest on the folder's front. "Charming."
Aw. She was hoping for a pat on the head, or perhaps a sucker. "He's making himself quite a nuisance, and a public one at that. Searching the internet for mentions of you, me, us, mutants in general, mutants in specific... Though I think I frightened him. He seems to be trying to have gone into hiding."
A deep drawn breath is expelled smokily into a convenient breeze, and Erik turns the first page, then flicks carelessly through the rest. "Grmph," is his verdict.
Emma sighs and leans into him for a moment before pushing off and turning away with the apparent intention of heading for the door leading inside. "If you kill him, he'll die happy, I'm sure," she carols.
"The problem is that the death penalty seems a bit steep for stupidity," Erik mutters after her, with no resistance offered against the lean aside from an automatic return of pressure. He turns to the last page. "Even of this magnitude."
"I thought the death penalty was your solution to every problem?" Emma laughs, turning around a few steps away to reply to him.
Magneto lifts a brow at her back over his shoulder. Stubborn refusal to be amused, here.
Magneto lifts a brow at her, mouth set and stubble bristled. Stubborn refusal to be amused, here.
Emma smiles obnoxiously. "If you do not plan on killing him, do you plan on doing /anything/? I just ask so that I know what to expect."
"So far my plan to pretend as if he does not exist has been thwarted by your ongoing interest." The folder is tipped in her direction, and brow still lifted, Erik looks down to begin the process of sliding papers back into manilla.
"My interest is only in your welfare, darling," she purrs, hands lacing behind her back as she leans forward slightly.
"I'm sure." Cyncism laced thick in the low rumble of his voice, Erik shakes everything back down into place with reasonable neatness, and refastens the cover.
"You aren't used to people caring for you, are you Erik?" Emma presses, taking a step back toward him. "I met with Mystique the other day. She ran into your admirer and came straight here to warn you. She was quite alarmed by his grandiose schemes to elevate you into god-hood."
Something changes in Erik's expression without it really /changing/ beyond the sudden downward level of that lifted brow. There is stiffness about the blank of his face when he lifts his scruffy chin, and a coolness in the line of his glare. Not quite warning or defensive, but not far from either. He doesn't reply.
Emma reacts to the subtle shift in a rather stupid way. She presses forward, back into arm's length, and says "She is worried about you. Is there a reason she should be worried about you?"
For a span of silence spent looking carefully over her face there is a suspicious lack of fresh smoke about Erik's person. When he finally exhales, it is through flared nostrils, and his jaw hardens behind the cloud. "You're lying."
"Am not. I could sense it," Emma retorts childishly.
Magneto's eyes flicker away, briefly evading contact before they return at a suspicious half-squint. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I can?" She bounces up onto her toes, then rocks back on her heels. "Besides. You've always taken /such/ an interest in my love life. I thought I should return the favor."
Eyes hardened into steel to match the set of his jaw, Erik's mouth twitches with irritation, and he looks away again before turning to pace a few short steps in the same direction. It is a move likely spurred by the sudden rise of a desire to strike her while she's within arm's reach.
Emma's laugh sounds out behind him and she claps her hands in front of her. "Erik! You /are/ bothered!" She almost sounds delighted. She slinks after him to catch at his arm, wrapping one hand loosely around it while the other trails a finger up the fabric of his sleeve. "Why does it matter, hm?"
Adrenaline shivers through Erik's interior at the touch, only to missfire into a flinch and a contained fizzle of electromagnetism in the stead of more violent action. He is tense almost to the point of immobility, with muscles knotted into iron beneath her hands. "It doesn't."
The lights from the landing pad flicker, attracting her attention. She looks out across the rooftop, then back to him and slowly tightens her grip to feel the tension separating his muscles into tight cords of steel. "You're lying," she echoes in a teasing, murmuring tone.
Smoke wavers away in a slow, controlled breath that stretches thin at its end, and like a leaden blanket, the resonant, familiar thrum of magnetism drapes in heavily over the silence. Whether or not it is intentional is difficult to determine. His thoughts are blackened and viscous, with molten metal radiating waves of deadly heat just beneath the surface when he turns his head to look at her. "I am not so accomodating as Sebastian. Find someone else to cater to your masochism."
There is a certain element of masochism that runs in all those who fly the Circle's banner. The pull of magnetism tickles at ear and presses into the small of her back. Molten metal meets glacial ice and steam is the result. She lowers her face to hide the triumphant smile and fiddles with his sleeve for a moment longer than is perhaps wise. "As you wish, Erik. It doesn't make it any less true." Her hands fall away and she steps back.
Magneto flexes and restiffens his shoulders after her, and the internal structure of the Hellfire Club flexes with him. Raw power groans through steel girders and uproots plumbing. A small electrical fire starts here, a restroom begins to flood there. He turns back to focus hard upon the helipad, and gives her the silent treatment once more.
Emma rolls her eyes sideways and appears to listen to the internal protestations of the Clubhouse. And then she simply laughs and spins on the ball of her foot, falling into an easy stride toward the door inside.
The door, as it were, is jammed firmly into the warped metal of its frame, and Erik is already moving in the opposite direction. There is a fair chance that he will be gone by the time she gets around to realizing that it isn't going to open.
11.13.07 - Emma and Erik and Rooftops are /not/ a good combination.
"Hello? You're not answering either. If I die of exposure up here, it will be your fault."
11/13/2007
Logfile from Emma.
=NYC= Hellfire Clubhouse Roof
It's a grey afternoon in New York. The air is chill, but not particularly biting, and the wind is fairly calm in its occasional stirring about the Hellfire Club's roof. Alone for the moment, the White King is posted at a raised concrete corner that faces the ashen outline of the nearest skyscrapers. Wind-ruffled and and working a freshly lit cigarette over into the corner of his mouth, he's garbed in the stiffly-buttoned double breast of a new overcoat, just as black as any of his others.
The roof of the Hellfire Mansion almost deserves a grounds keeper of its own. The ridges and valleys make an interesting silhouette, hiding the flat expanse of the helipad that lies behind it as well as any lurking Magnetos. The thump-thump of an incoming helicopter sounds long before it lands, whipping up even more wind and debris. It sets down and a long-legged figure in white steps out and down, bending over and holding her hair out of her face while the rest of it snakes about in the cool November air. When Emma is out of range, the helicopoter revs up and lifts off the roof. "Erik," she says, coming into range and attempting to restore her appearance.
Magneto's only real reaction to the landing is to squint his eyes against the hot ash the churn of the helicoptor kicks back up into his face. Eventually, once it has gone, he lifts a hand to sweep the silver of his hair back into some semblance of rumpled order. It was long before, and now it is longer, definitely riding the edge of 'permanently untidy' or, at the very least, 'permanently careless about appearance.' "Hello."
Emma holds out a large folder stuffed with papers and runs her fingers through her hair, detangling the golden curls.
Emma is eyed for a moment, and Erik reaches to take the folder in silence. His hands are bare -- probably the reason they were stuffed into his pockets -- and it doesn't take him long to pry the folder open to examine its contents.
"It's a background check on that rather... ardent admirer of yours," Emma offers in explanation, stepping close and angling herself to peer at the contents with him. "Leonardo Maxwell, son of Alexander and Marie Maxwell. They seem to do little except make appearances at various social gatherings. He received a degree in psychology and appears to work with a few patients. I have to wonder if their mental illnesses weren't catching." She smirks and looks up at him out of the corner of her eye, as if waiting for his reaction.
"Christmas already, hrm?" Despite having said so, Magneto's reaction is...rather non-reactionary. His brows twitch downward, the tip of his cigarette twitches upward, and he slides the papers out to rest on the folder's front. "Charming."
Aw. She was hoping for a pat on the head, or perhaps a sucker. "He's making himself quite a nuisance, and a public one at that. Searching the internet for mentions of you, me, us, mutants in general, mutants in specific... Though I think I frightened him. He seems to be trying to have gone into hiding."
A deep drawn breath is expelled smokily into a convenient breeze, and Erik turns the first page, then flicks carelessly through the rest. "Grmph," is his verdict.
Emma sighs and leans into him for a moment before pushing off and turning away with the apparent intention of heading for the door leading inside. "If you kill him, he'll die happy, I'm sure," she carols.
"The problem is that the death penalty seems a bit steep for stupidity," Erik mutters after her, with no resistance offered against the lean aside from an automatic return of pressure. He turns to the last page. "Even of this magnitude."
"I thought the death penalty was your solution to every problem?" Emma laughs, turning around a few steps away to reply to him.
Magneto lifts a brow at her back over his shoulder. Stubborn refusal to be amused, here.
Magneto lifts a brow at her, mouth set and stubble bristled. Stubborn refusal to be amused, here.
Emma smiles obnoxiously. "If you do not plan on killing him, do you plan on doing /anything/? I just ask so that I know what to expect."
"So far my plan to pretend as if he does not exist has been thwarted by your ongoing interest." The folder is tipped in her direction, and brow still lifted, Erik looks down to begin the process of sliding papers back into manilla.
"My interest is only in your welfare, darling," she purrs, hands lacing behind her back as she leans forward slightly.
"I'm sure." Cyncism laced thick in the low rumble of his voice, Erik shakes everything back down into place with reasonable neatness, and refastens the cover.
"You aren't used to people caring for you, are you Erik?" Emma presses, taking a step back toward him. "I met with Mystique the other day. She ran into your admirer and came straight here to warn you. She was quite alarmed by his grandiose schemes to elevate you into god-hood."
Something changes in Erik's expression without it really /changing/ beyond the sudden downward level of that lifted brow. There is stiffness about the blank of his face when he lifts his scruffy chin, and a coolness in the line of his glare. Not quite warning or defensive, but not far from either. He doesn't reply.
Emma reacts to the subtle shift in a rather stupid way. She presses forward, back into arm's length, and says "She is worried about you. Is there a reason she should be worried about you?"
For a span of silence spent looking carefully over her face there is a suspicious lack of fresh smoke about Erik's person. When he finally exhales, it is through flared nostrils, and his jaw hardens behind the cloud. "You're lying."
"Am not. I could sense it," Emma retorts childishly.
Magneto's eyes flicker away, briefly evading contact before they return at a suspicious half-squint. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I can?" She bounces up onto her toes, then rocks back on her heels. "Besides. You've always taken /such/ an interest in my love life. I thought I should return the favor."
Eyes hardened into steel to match the set of his jaw, Erik's mouth twitches with irritation, and he looks away again before turning to pace a few short steps in the same direction. It is a move likely spurred by the sudden rise of a desire to strike her while she's within arm's reach.
Emma's laugh sounds out behind him and she claps her hands in front of her. "Erik! You /are/ bothered!" She almost sounds delighted. She slinks after him to catch at his arm, wrapping one hand loosely around it while the other trails a finger up the fabric of his sleeve. "Why does it matter, hm?"
Adrenaline shivers through Erik's interior at the touch, only to missfire into a flinch and a contained fizzle of electromagnetism in the stead of more violent action. He is tense almost to the point of immobility, with muscles knotted into iron beneath her hands. "It doesn't."
The lights from the landing pad flicker, attracting her attention. She looks out across the rooftop, then back to him and slowly tightens her grip to feel the tension separating his muscles into tight cords of steel. "You're lying," she echoes in a teasing, murmuring tone.
Smoke wavers away in a slow, controlled breath that stretches thin at its end, and like a leaden blanket, the resonant, familiar thrum of magnetism drapes in heavily over the silence. Whether or not it is intentional is difficult to determine. His thoughts are blackened and viscous, with molten metal radiating waves of deadly heat just beneath the surface when he turns his head to look at her. "I am not so accomodating as Sebastian. Find someone else to cater to your masochism."
There is a certain element of masochism that runs in all those who fly the Circle's banner. The pull of magnetism tickles at ear and presses into the small of her back. Molten metal meets glacial ice and steam is the result. She lowers her face to hide the triumphant smile and fiddles with his sleeve for a moment longer than is perhaps wise. "As you wish, Erik. It doesn't make it any less true." Her hands fall away and she steps back.
Magneto flexes and restiffens his shoulders after her, and the internal structure of the Hellfire Club flexes with him. Raw power groans through steel girders and uproots plumbing. A small electrical fire starts here, a restroom begins to flood there. He turns back to focus hard upon the helipad, and gives her the silent treatment once more.
Emma rolls her eyes sideways and appears to listen to the internal protestations of the Clubhouse. And then she simply laughs and spins on the ball of her foot, falling into an easy stride toward the door inside.
The door, as it were, is jammed firmly into the warped metal of its frame, and Erik is already moving in the opposite direction. There is a fair chance that he will be gone by the time she gets around to realizing that it isn't going to open.
11.13.07 - Emma and Erik and Rooftops are /not/ a good combination.