(no subject)
8/27/2005
Logfile from Emma.
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Hellfire Clubhouse - Emma's Private Quarters
Percy can only catch the glitter of metal at his wrists in his line of vision with his head thrown back against the pillows, the soft-lined cuffs and sturdy headboard to which they are attached serving as firm restraint (as though he'd want to go anywhere anyway, but that's not what this particular game is all about). Sprawled naked and more or less helpless to Ms. Frost's tender ministrations (ahem), with his hands anchored firmly behind his head, the younger Talhurst son has not even a sheet to cover his nudity for decency's sake. They're both in the mood to be a little indecent, after all.
Well, he brought the whip. Which is currently tracing tickling lines from sternum to...ahem. Sensitize the skin before letting the fun begin, you know. And who's indecent, darling? Emma's clothed. More or less. In fact, it /is/ technically more, if you count the boots. And I'm afraid Percy must, as one of their heels is digging into his thigh, holding a leg still. Conversation? Um, assume something appropriate.
Back straight, chest out, leonine head and broad shoulders held with a distinct air of obdurant, elegant pride tainted with arrogance, Erik sweeps the door open with a gesture, and little more - stepping into the room before he's had a chance to really...take a look...at what happens to be going on. Brows falling almost immediately as his glare levels first upon Percy, and then Emma, his expression reveals little more than the dimly shining charcoal of his dress shirt or black of his slacks until the left brow begins to arch. Slowly.
Percy is not really, for once, in much of a position for excessive speech. Mostly there is a whimpered gasp, which could have every bit as much to do with boot-heels or - ... well, anything going on, really - as with the nature of the, um, visitor. "Ah -- Emma?" he manages, her name a soft strangled sound from the back of his throat. The amber eyes have gone quite round, which could be all part of the playacting, but the use of her name in that particular tone is, well, not. Especially not from the somewhat less erotic track the busy mind has jumped to.
The whimpered gasp is rather unnecessary. Emma is already turning around. Slowly. The booted heel lifts as she moves to drop off the bed, trailing her foot afterwards. "Erik?" has all her attention. Less than pleased, but oh, so not embarrassed by the state of dress he's found her in. Or undress for Percival. Poor pet. She folds her arms and shifts her weight to one hip. "I do have a telephone."
Magneto smirks faintly at the sudden change in her posture. There really...isn't any other response to this situation that's even remotely appropriate, in his mind. "And rest assured, I will be certain to make use of it next time." Pausing to tamper absently with teh button of his right sleeve cuff, it's with an arched brow that he finally looks up again. Although, not all the way. "Those are very nice boots."
"I like them," Percy volunteers weakly, with a rattle of handcuffs against headboard as he shifts a little, though there's really no way he can hide his nudity from the international terrorist leader at this point. Ah, well. It's not like he has anything to be ashamed of.
No. Percy is a quite competent representative of the gender. *pat* "Yes. I do believe you will." At Percy's interjection from behind, Emma looks over her shoulder and smirks lightly. "Where are my manners? Erik, this is Percival Talhurst. An old friend of mine. Percy, Erik Lensharr. And even older family friend," she introduces as if there were tea and cookies on the table instead of... well, naked Percy's on the bed. Blue eyes scitter back to Erik's face.
"Mmm. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Talhurst." Lifting his right hand slightly to indicate that he would offer it to shake if Percy happened to be in a better position to return the gesture, Erik meets the blue of Emma's gaze unfalteringly, steel and ice mingling with vague amusement somewhere in depths of of his frigid glare.
Percy is, as ever, the soul of gentlemanly courtesy. "Charmed, I'm certain, Mr. Lensherr," he answers: clipped, Oxonian, perfectly correct light tenor, with only the slightest tremor of do-I-laugh-now-or-just-die hidden in its midst.
Aww... Percy. Emma takes pity and leans to gather the edge of a sheet, tugging it up, just high enough and passing deft hands over the handcuff clasps. << Forgive me, darling. He /is/ an insufferable old churl, but he is family. More or less, >> she passes delicately to Percy before turning again to face Erik. "Is there a reason for this pleasure, Erik?" she asks as she moves toward and past him, gathering a robe off a chair and opening the door.
Magneto chuckles quietly to himself at the question, smirk winding dutifully into place as he turns to let her out, only to follow a moment later. Ladies first, after all. "I'm not entirely sure why you're asking /me/, my dear."
Percy sits up in Emma's bed, hands released from their imprisonment, and carefully sets the handcuffs aside, rubbing absently at his wrists. "I'll just wait here, then, shall I?" It's practically under his breath. The sheet is something of a godsend; there's vulnerable and then there's vulnerable, however meager the protection thin cloth might represent.
Emma actually pauses in the doorway to send the poor man sitting in her bed an apologetic look. Aw. Discomfited Percy is really rather sad. Once through the door, however, her attention is brought sharply to bear on Erik. "Because I'm not the one who showed up in /your/ bedroom unannounced, darling," she replies as she slides into the robe and ties it shut at her waist.
"You could just erase his memory of the intrusion." Erik mutters, her look back not passing through the net of his interest as he seats himself before her desk with all the lazy ease of one who has just walked in on a game of chess. "And I, generally, make an effort to lock my door when there's any chance at all of a whip being involved in what's going on behind it."
Emma follows his movements, turning to face him, but not moving from her spot. "My office door is locked, and only the most brazen would consider breaking that down. But I didn't think you had shown up to test my security. Which I've turned off, by the way. For the moment." A pause, and she finally moves to seat herself behind her desk, pulling her feet up into a girlish curl. "So why /did/ you show up?"
"To inform you that I currently have someone within the senate keeping a close eye on things for me while spreading a little defamation here and there." Erik drones flatly, and not without a dismissive noise for her security. "What do you know regarding the Friends of Humanity?"
"They are an activist group gone underground and turned rather terrorist. They seek the extinction and/or control of mutant-kind. I'm currently gathering intelligence on them and attempting to track down their leadership. Why?" The rest of Erik's information is acknowledged with a short nod.
"The inside I have is currently making low level contacts on the fringes of the organization. Let us...simply say that I intend to draw the Nation's attention towards an evil that exists within its midst that has not had nearly enough done about it thus far. But any intelligence you are in possession of would be of assistance. I have a few individuals back on the island who would be more than glad to eliminate a few cells here and there." Managing a small smile for that, Erik leans back a little to cross one leg over the other.
"I'll send it as I gather. Right now, all I know is that they may or may not be recruiting out of underground fight clubs. I suppose if you had one or two brawlers who weren't obviously mutant, they might be able to infiltrate, but I would appreciate you holding your more disreputable associates from destroying the ring until we at least get /names/ to track."
"I have one or two that might fit in rather well. But I have no intention of disrupting your investigation if you are making progress. In the meanwhile, if you come across anyone in dire need of destroying, you have my phone number." And, that, apparently, is that, for Erik lifts his brows, uncrosses his legs, and moves as if to stand. "Anyway. I thought you might like to be informed."
"Well, if you happen to stumble across Scott Summers, you have my full permission to do so," Emma replies, smiling thinly. "Apart from that, it is the usual set of people." She unfolds and stands after him, moving from behind her desk to head for the unlatched balcony doors.
"Well, so long as I have your esteemed permission, my dear." Dry in the face of her smile, Erik passes off a lazy nod of farewell as he paces out onto the balcony - one last thin smile cast back at her before he turns to put a black booted foot up onto the ledge. "I'm sorry for interrupting your twisted bondage fantasy. I will call next time. Or knock, at the very least." And with that, he steps up, and over.
Emma stands by the door, glancing at him in demure sweetness. "I promise to drop everything when you do, Uncle, dear," she purrs, laughing in bemused exasperation at his sense of the dramatic. Shutting the door after, she turns and faces the one that Percy hides behind, taking a moment to let out a slow breath. Oh, bother.
Behind that door is Percy, sprawled on Emma's bed, apparently conducting a thorough examination of his fingernails. His legs are crossed. He's had time to drape himself like an image of indolence and to appear reasonably poised again, except for the part where he continues to be very much a naked man, save for that single decency-clinging sheet.
Emma breezes through the door, a oddly purposeful (or maybe not so odd, considering the scene Uncle Erik interrupted) gleam in her eye. "So sorry, darling," she murmurs, launching onto the bed, and onto the oh, so elegant naked man therein. Rolling into a straddling seat on his chest, she arches a brow down at him and waits for the inevitable question.
Percy gives Emma an arch-browed look strangely at odds with their present position, amusement hiding in the amber eyes but not much else; he's had time to get over the shock of holy-shit-Magneto, at least on the surface. "He /also/ has very impressive boots," he remarks: cheerfully obnoxious, determined not to display that he's been rattled (at least, not display any more than he's already been forced to). "Lovely shirt, too. Do you know who his tailor is?"
Emma sits back (oof!), stretches her legs out to either side of his shoulders, and starts to work at the thigh-high boot's zipper. "I'll be sure to ask him next time we speak," she says, offering a glance dancing in their own brand of merriment. "Though if it turns out that he's located at the super secret terrorist base camp, do you still want his number?"
Percy sighs mournfully. "I'm afraid that although I am willing to go quite a long ways for the cut of a suit, I'm not actually at the point of desperation where I plan to risk life and limb." He lets his head tilt to one side, rolling against the pillow. One of his hands comes to rest splay-fingered on Emma's near hip, though the other one has yet to prove so adventurous. "/My/ family isn't /nearly/ so interesting," he remarks, voice low and amused.
"Yes, well, maybe one of these days Oliver will surprise you all and get a speeding ticket," she smirks, leaning close in a stretch to run the zipper down the length of her leg. "Erik..." She pauses thoughtfully, tugging her foot free. "Erik's relationship is a little hard to explain. He invested with and knew my father, so he's known me since I was a little girl. He stepped in after I severed my ties to the Frosts, and has been, after a fashion, a surrogate uncle." Her eyes grow sharp again as they fall back to her Bishop's face. Total honesty now? "We maintain a mutually beneficial relationship now. Affection is irrelevant." But there.
"I imagine he'd be an extremely useful man to have on your side," Percy answers mildly, eyes glinting with amusement again. "What with one thing and another ..." His voice shifts to a wry drawl. "As opposed to Oliver, who is useful largely if you're in need of something to drop-kick." Poor Oliver. Such open contempt.
"Useful and unstable. Not an easy combination to depend on," Emma mutters darkly, a not-so-fondly exasperated glare shot toward the door. The other boot is unzipped and pulled free, and Emma slides from Percy's stomach to stretch out at his side, one leg still draped possessively over him, her head pillowed on the bounds of sheets and comforter bunched at the foot of the bed. "I've collected an inordinate number of associates who answer tot hat description."
Percy rolls onto his side as well, to face her with his impish grin gleaming in half-lidded amber eyes. "Well, darling, you can certainly depend on me to be /neither/ of those things," he answers in a dark-toned purr.
Emma reaches across to his feet resting temptingly near her head and runs a nail lightly down their soles. "Neither useful, nor unstable? Then tell me counselor, why /do/ I keep you around?" she replies in silk tones to match his.
Percy chuckles, curling his toes at her. "I'm quite scenic," he points out cheerfully. "And sometimes I'm funny." Smirk touching the curve of his mouth, he tilts his head and takes hold of her available foot with one hand to bring his lips to her toes: the better to suck on them, my dear. Oral fixation, what? Never heard of it.
Emma mhmms and eyes him, her toe wiggling against the restraint. "I'm sure that must be it," she purls, idle fingers exploring as the curtain falls on this scene.
ooc: Um. Okay. This wasn't /my/ idea, I want it noted! But... um... Yeah, don't know what rating this is. At least PG-13 for suggestive...um. situations. But, yeah. Magento pays a call on Emma, and meets Percy. He /really/ should have called first. Or at least knocked.