12/24 - Scott, Magneto
12/24/2007
A quick to the city is called for by the needs of the young, namely the need for a gift for young Nate that someone else didn't get for him. Scott drives his Mazda quickly down the lanes, surely breaking speed limits here and there between Salem Center and New York, but he doesn't get a ticket. A quick stop at the store turns into 45 minutes as he returns one gift and gets another in it's stead. But, he figures, while he's in the city he might stop and see Emma, since she's been on his mind so much lately with no success in pushing her mental image aside for current concerns. A single bouquet of roses are picked up, 8 red, 4 white, and he drives to where he figures she'll be, Frost Enterprises. Car is parked and the man proceeds toward the doors, bouquet in hand but no card, and no notice that he's on his way, not that she generally needs it.
As at the Club, there are certain people that immediately flag security. Known criminals, unknown criminals, and former lovers included. His entrance is noted and a series of notes, beeps, and warning lights tripped, ending with a quick phone call upstairs while Scott is detained at the front desk. Good thing he is too, as they would have passed in the elevator otherwise. Approximately 90 seconds after his entrance, the polished doors of the private elevator behind the receptionist's desk open, and Emma steps out, looking both anticipatory and distant. << Scott. >>
To say that Scott gets a rush through his system at seeing Emma right now would be an understatement, barely restrained longing in his voice as he says, "Hello, Emma," Scott says, having to gulp a few times to clear his throat before he holds out the flowers to her, "Merry Christmas," he says, sounding more like a nervous teenager than Scott Summers at the moment, his emotions even worse, like that of a love sick fool for Emma but he's restraining his impulses for the moment, since there are others around.
The flowers are a nice touch, she has to admit. She didn't put that impulse into her mental imperative. Emma rounds the receptionist desk, quite aware of the eyes studiously Not Watching, and takes the flowers. "Why thank you, darling. How... unexpected." She gestures toward a door down the wall next to the elevators that is now unaccountably disgorging a set of guards interrupted in their breakfast, judging from the doughnuts in hand. Inside the room is a veritable fortress of cameras, circuitry, and confidence. The latter is attributable to the woman dressed in white with red silk peeking out at collar and sleeves. In more ways than one.
Assuming that they're to go the door, since she gestured the direction of the door he assumes that is where she wants him to go, so he proceeds that way. "I hope the Christmas season finds you well," Scott says, still trying to control the amount of longing for her from bleeding into his voice to much. This is Scott, he's not about to just let his feelings out in a public place, so he's fighting it tooth and mental nail
They do enter, and Emma turns to face him once they are in relative solitude. Her ire has lessened slightly in the face of absolute exasperation so far this Christmas season, so she at least grants him privacy. "Well enough. You?"
"Better now that I've seen you.. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for weeks," Scott almost blurts out once they're alone, the command to just about prostrate himself making him act contrary to how he might normally in expressing himself but he's at least managed to not do it in public in front of the receptionist and whoever else.
"Oh?" Emma's brow creeps up. She doesn't appear particularly surprised by the revelation. She does, however, step closer. "What do you think about, Scott?"
"about you, about us. About how I screwed everything up the first time between us. About regrets," Scott says quietly, longing to reach out and grab her and hold her, but keeping control over that for now. "About how I wish I had you back.." he whispers after all of it and a few moments of silence
Emma smiles, tucking the good humor in the expression deep into the corners, leaving it looking more like the slash of a dark-edged scimitar. "You do? /Really/? Scott. This is all so sudden." She steps closer, now in arms reach. "Is it sudden, Scott? Is it really?" She reaches up to turn the collar of his shirt down and smooth it into place.
Scott blushes, his hands moving to her waist if she doesn't pull away, "I don't know?" Scott says unsurely, his voice wavering slightly. "I feel like a love struck teenager, you're always on my mind, in my dreams," Scott says quickly, the words tumbling out as he gazes into her eyes
She doesn't. She doesn't precisely give any warmth through the contact either, however. "Mhm. Love struck? You poor thing." She waits.
At the far end of the lobby, to Scott's back, even footfalls track heavy over the marble floor, heralding the arrival of a man who really should not be here. Elegantly dressed in a pale, ashey grey suit over a pinstriped shirt, Erik is prying at the last bit of breakfast stuck in his teeth with one hand, and holding a brochure for Frost Enterprises in the other. Only half-reading it, really, he paces on for several steps before he is framed in the open door of the security room -- if at a distance. Initially, he takes no notice of the pair. He is reading, after all. But eventually, he stops, and squints. His toothpick lowers.
"What do you want me to say, Emma? What will it take?" Scott almost begs, sounding the fool and feeling it, a flare of shame at the way he's acting arcing inside of his emotional landscape. Poor poor Scott. "I want you back," he adds. He doesn't notice Erik, his full attention on the eyes of Emma as he says what he does
Emma however, does notice Erik over Scott's shoulder. "Shit." Eloquence indeed from the White Queen. She pulls away quickly, her fingers the last to leave. Her powers swell, blanking out the memory of of the last ten seconds of everyone within eyesight of the terrorist. Including Scott. Oh, dear.
The back of Scott's head is the last thing to be identified, and Erik lifts a brow. His expression is skeptical. Dissapproving in a half-hearted way. And aimed directly at Emma over the poor boy's shoulder before he rolls his eyes and takes the necessary steps to be out of their line of sight again. The toothpick lifts back up into his molars.
A blink as Scott tries to get his bearings of where he was, since he was on a train of thought and it just got majorly derailed. "I want you back, Emma," he says again, even though he just said it and has no clue that he did so.
Emma rolls her eyes and drops her head on an exasperated sigh. << The least you could have done was wear a disguise. Are you /trying/ to expose us? >> she asks to the departing White King. Scott's repetition draws a baffled look before she realizes that she hadn't directed the wipe away from him. "Oh. Yes. Of course," she replies vaguely.
<< Next time I shall wear a hat. Though I hardly think it will matter if you are intent upon provoking Charles. >> And with that, his battered shielding hoists up into place, and he tracks on about his business in Emma's business.
"Damnit, what do you expect me to do, Emma? Do you want me to beg?" Scott says, sounding rather like he's begging now to his own ears. He's exasperated and confused, and still wanting her. Blasted mental controls!
"No," she says, dragging her face if not her entire attention back to him. "I just want you to continue wanting me." In distraction, honesty of sorts. She leans forward and brushes a kiss against his cheek, then pushes past him and out the door. << I am not provoking Charles. Yet. >> she broadcasts after Erik, intent on stalking him down.
She pushes past him and he just stands there looking after her, a forlorn look on Scott's features. This isn't how he expected it to go in his mind, her adjustments having removed what little realistic expectations about the encounter that he might have had. As it is, he just stands there looking confused, starting after her.
Erik catches Scott propositioning Emma. Tsk.