(no subject)
Sebastian has found himself a new Queen.
Jean Grey.
Damn him. Damn his smug arrogance, parading that mealy-mouthed parsnip bitch in front of me as a suitable /Queen/. He wants a partner? Perhaps he can beg lodging from the Xavier mansion, once--
War. Yes. We must prepare, mustn't we?
Add Ryan Bach to the list of people Travis is investigating. Find out how far he is along in ferreting out information on the list of new additions to the court.
Sabby... God, she's strung so tight, I fear she will burst. Though the child has cause, I'll grant. ... Maybe I'll send Henrik over. If nothing else, it might save her from worrying herself into an ulcer tomorrow.
Maybe I'll turn Percy on her.
Julian. ... Oh, you poor, arrogant little fool. You do amuse.
(In a brown envelope with the name 'Julian Keller' in graceful script on the front, is a stack of papers sproting multiple paperclips. The top sheet is crisp linen stationary with Frost Enterprises printed in silver grey foil across the top.)
Julian dear,
I think this got misdirected. You may try sending it to (follows is the office and address listed on the internship application. The official one.)
Sincerely,
Emma Frost
(Attached is the resume and note sent to Sabby)
Dammit Warren. I need you. God. Where /are/ you? Are you really going to force me to beg your forgiveness?
Do I need your forgiveness?
9/10/2005
Logfile from Emma.
Sabitha is prompt and prepared, in a chocolate pantsuit and with her briefcase hitched over one shoulder. She only pauses a moment in the outer room before her chin is lifted, her shoulders set, and she steps forward to knock.
"Come in," is called out at the knock, and inside the office, Emma is seated in one of the chairs ringing the delicate coffee table, a serving tray with all the accoutrements set before her. She glances up from the paperwork she'd been reading over, a coffee cup handle in her other hand, resting it on the chair arm. "Good morning, Sabitha. Would you like some coffee or tea?"
Sabitha enters with quick, businesslike steps, and shakes her head instantly. "good morning. No, thank you." She's already had her daily dose, steeling nerves. Now she'd like to get this over with, shortly. She lowers herself into a chair opposite Emma and settles her briefcase into her lap as she notes, "There are two things I need to discuss with you."
Emma nods serenely, apparently unphased by Sabitha's brisk manner. "And then there are a few things I need to speak with you about as well. But go ahead, dear. You've my attention." That's not always a good thing, but she seems unruffled as she slides the paperwork onto the table and returns to cradle her cup between both hands.
Sabitha blinks solemnly at Emma for a moment, and there's an obvious effort to pull all her thoughts into tired focus. Pay attention, Sabitha! When she responds, she's clear again, and shares, "I've been offered a new position in the office. A sort of... public relations assistant." And out comes a paper, extended toward Emma, which details job responsibilities and the like.
Emma lifts a brow and leans to accept the paper. "Oh?" A quick glance over the particulars, and her lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. "Well, this is quite a coup. I had hoped the initial position would lead to something of this nature, but you've moved faster than I anticipated. Good work, dear. Do you want to accept?" The paper is returned, and Emma settles back, watching Sabitha contemplatively over the rim of her cup.
"It's not a promotion," Sabitha's quick to correct, with a somewhat less satisfied expression. "Just a reshuffling." Her hands fold together, tightly, over the briefcase in her lap. "I thought I'd best see what you want."
"A reshuffling that potentially puts you into closer contact with the right people," Emma argues quietly, dropping her eyes as she takes a sip. "I, of course, see it as an opportunity. But I rarely force my students into career choices that they have no talent or inclination for. If you are so inclined, then take it. If not... this was your doing, not mine. You should have the opportunity to decide for yourself."
Sabitha regards Emma with an even expression, in silence for several seconds. Eventually, she stirs again, and another paper appears from within the briefcase. Several, to be precise, paperclipped together: a note, and a resume. "I received this yesterday."
Another reach, with this time's perusal taking a bit longer, and resulting in a bemused smirk. "Well. He's definitely proactive," she grants, looking up and across at Sabitha. "If a bit presumptuous. But he's still under the delusion that this organization works like a typical college fraternity, albeit one with an unusual house mistress." She pauses and glances over the resume again before pursing her lips and handing it back with a shrug. "Pass it along to the appropriate person within the official structure, and let his credentials succeed or fail on their own." Ie, let him take his chances like anyone else. "He will learn who to come to and stop playing these silly games in an effort to impress me, or he will be just another blip on SIN's alumni list."
Sabitha is not entirely satisfied with this, and it shows, briefly, on her face. "His success or failure will reflect on /my/ judgement, if I submit it with my name attached," she points out.
"Then don't attach your name." Simple, yes? "Or better yet," Emma reaches for the packet again. "Let me handle it instead." She lays the paperwork across her lap and crosses her legs, hands resting lightly on top. She's amused by something, and chances are that Julian will not be. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"
Sabitha nods, briefly, and slides her briefcase to the floor. Buying a moment to, perhaps, brace herself for whatever topics Emma has to discuss. "That's all for now," she confirms, and straightens into an unconscious echo of Emma's posture, legs crossed, hands folded atop.
Emma waits until she has Sabitha's full attention again before speaking. "You are aware of the dual nature of the Club, and that there is friction between the monarchs." Black and White, at least. White and White, maybe? "There is a meeting scheduled tomorrow afternoon. I would like for you to be there. I want all the members of my Court to be aware of each other."
Sabitha is noticeably tense now, with posture that stiffens just slightly and eyes that focus sharply on Emma. One hand comes up, briefly, to rub at the bridge of her nose tiredly. When it drops, she rests it tightly over the curve of her knee. "Of course."
Emma's lips thin slightly, the only indication aside from the sharp gleam of her eyes that she notices the growing tension. "Thank you. There have been some recent developments, and I need /your/ support, especially. Are you still in Sebastian's good graces?"
Sabitha's lips twist into a distasteful expression. "You'd have to ask him that."
"Damn," Emma mutters softly, turning her head to look out at a point near the corner of the room. "I need to know what game he's playing, what his motives are..." A crooked look back at Sabitha and a twisted grimace. "He's introduced Jean Grey to the Circle." And if that isn't bad enough. "As /Black/ Queen."
"He hardly confides in /me/," Sabby answers with blunt tones and blunt expressions that shift swiftly into shock at Emma's last words. Her spine stiffens. "I see." No, she doesn't, not in the least.
Emma says, "We are in similar situation then," Emma growls, letting her frustration and displeasure seep through the previous satisfied mask. "He's playing a game. One I /need/ to know the rules for. Jean is not a complacent patsy, however he tries to justify her by distracting me with fingers pointing at Warren. She is /not/ to counterbalance the Circle. She's to counterbalance /me/." Emma shifts irritably, and glances again at Sabitha out of the corner of her eye. "I did warn you he was unpredictable."
Sabitha watches Emma with quiet stiffness through this all, and meets her gaze once it returns to her. With some amount of effort. "Yes," she answers, and confusions rises, swirling through the forefront of her mind. The Inner Circle, games, and darkly, thickly, a question: why the /hell/ is Emma telling /her/ this?
Because Sabby is the only one in the Circle who may despise Jean Grey as much as she does. And it may be the only way to excuse her next bit of information. "He's preparing for a war, Sabitha, and so must I. I've offered Travis Reed the position of Knight. My spy and..." Eyes narrow as an obvious euphemism is used, "problem solver."
It's not really possible for Sabby's posture to go any more rigid, and so her reaction is perhaps someone less physically obvious this time. All motion stills, and her breath catches in her throat as her mind struggles to process this information properly. When it comes again, she answers on a low exhale, "I see."
"Do you? Do you /understand/ then?" Emma probes, facing her, eyes absorbing the nuances of her face as her powers soak in the flotsam spun off a mind in chaos. "Is this going to be a problem for you?" Ie, is Sabby going to make herself a problem over this.
Pain adds itself to the choas of Sabby's foremind as her lips tighten, and then she answers, "I have nothing to do with him...or his business...anymore."
"So I gathered. But that is not the question I asked."
Sabitha's hands tighten around each other in her lap, and then are forced into relaxation. "I'm not precognitive," she answers shortly. "Are you asking us to work together?"
"If the situation warrants. More to the point, are you going to have more difficulties with your position, with /me/ because of it?" Emma might as well be asking about cloud formations for all the concern in her actions, but she slowly increases the pressure of her powers along the outside of Sabby's thoughts. Just out of the girl's perceptions, but closing in.
Sabitha's mind is awash with confusion and weariness, completely overwhelmed, and somewhere, a tiny hint of rising panic as she struggles through it all to form coherent thought, forceful. "I have never not done what you've asked of me," she points out sharply.
Emma strokes the edges of Sabby's emotions, soaking them in calmed confidence. "No. You've been quite obedient. I would like to ensure your continued cooperation, is all. Especially in regards to Sebastian. Has the relationship cooled to the point that you are in danger? Or can no longer amuse him?"
Sabitha's mind soothes, slowly, barely, and a hint of her tenseness melts away. Her posture loosens imperceptibly. "I don't know," she answers bluntly, and there's a brief moment of rising panic again. "I never know." There's a pause, and then she offers, as lame explanation, "He brought me a coconut."
A coconut? One of Emma's brows lift, and then the other rises to join it. "Well. That seems... benign?" Is there a story there. Does she want to know? "Does he tolerate questions from you?"
"About you?" Sabby questions bluntly.
"About anything. Anything related to business, or the Club, or the Circle?"
"Sometimes," Sabby answers. "Rarely. We don't discuss the Circle." Her eyes narrow quietly in painful thought. "Are you asking me to play spy with him?" And in her mind, flags of danger rise swift and sure.
"I'm asking you to bring me anything you can. I'm asking anyone and everyone for what they know, can deduce, or guess." The pressure, warm and subtle and supportive, cocoons the swelling apprehension. "And you got yourself into a prime position with him. And I trust your judgements."
"He'll know, if I pry," Sabby points out tightly, and then, with those flags spiraling ever higher, adds, "And he'll know, if information he gave to me comes out."
"You insult my subtlety," Emma warns, her voice dropping low. "And your own. But, if you cannot handle Sebastian after all, perhaps it /would/ be better to cut your losses entirely with him."
Sabitha sits silently, with hands that tighten in her lap again and eyes that fix on Emma's, without expression. Waiting, it seems, for her to continue. Or instruct. Or for things to stop bubbling in her head.
"Do you doubt your safety or capability in continuing your interactions with Sebastian?" No expression mirrors no expression, the only animated thing the powers working to keep Sabitha's concerns and paranoias in check.
Sabitha hesitates. Her lips part, midway to speaking, although it is a long moment before she does so. Eventually, she replies, "I don't think he intends to hurt me, now." And through her mind, a feeling of constantly shifting sand, balancing on a tightrope, blurred and faded by the quiet comfort of Emma's soothing telepathy.
"But you are not confident that he /wouldn't/ hurt you, especially if he realizes your... fishing?" There's no accusation or scorn in her tone as she settles back. Just honest interest and thought. No pressure, no pressure, calm, confidence, safety... the empathic projections wash again over her, working against the natural edginess of Sabitha's.
"He's unpredictable," Sabby echoes, and now there's a small, dry smile that settles across her expression, vaguely unpleasant.
"Yes," Emma acknowledges, bowing her head at the point. It remains lowered for a long minute beyond that, and when she looks up, there is a determined tension in her jaw. "I need you to hold on to that relationship as long as you can. And I need you discover as much as possible," she pronounces, expelling a slow breath through her nose afterwards.
Sabitha watches Emma silently, with a fading smile until her expression is tight again. "I told him months ago," she reveals after a moment. "To never tell me anything that he doesn't want you to hear." The words are clear. The meaning... somewhat less so. Emma can interpret as she will.
"I want you to get him to forget that instruction," Emma replies, face setting into expressionless lines, eyes darkening. "If you can. I /do/ realize what you had caught by the tail, Sabitha. I also think that /he/ still underestimates you." Her legs uncross and fold. "I am also assuming that he /hasn't/ already told you anything I would wish to hear," she returns in the same code.
"Circles within circles," Sabby answers quietly, and with a gaze that blurs out of focus for a moment. "He's told me things I've told you. I don't know if they were intentional or not. He may be feeding them to me." She pulls her gaze up, sharp again, to Emma. "I don't think he's underestimating me. But I'll do what I can."
Emma nods, retreating the sense of her presence slightly from Sabitha's perception and adding a simple "good."
Sabitha's gaze lingers. Her responses come slowly, with time to think between them, longer, perhaps, than a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Sabitha might need, but at least they come. "If I'm to do this," she ventures after a moment. "I need guidelines." A pause, and she adds, "And information."
Another push of the empathic feel-good vibes and a composed, "Of course. Whatever you need of me. Something in particular you want clarification on?"
"If he asks me, point blank, if I am reporting to you, what am I to say?" Sabby's clear-eyed and blunt. "Sometimes I can avoid his questions. Othertimes I cannot."
"Sebastian is not a telepath, nor a lie detector. You are to tell him that I own your future, but not your actions, or loyalties, or whatever the situation warrants." Candor meets blunt.
Sabitha's lips twitch upward, and there's a sense of the ironic in her smile before she continues. "Are you going to ask me questions, or am I just to report to you if he drops bits of pertinent information?"
"I'm going to trust your judgement," Emma replies emphasizing the word and turning a piercing look on her. "You need not report the trivial and mundane, but if Sebastian claims business somewhere, speaks of motivations, mentions Grey... I want to know about it. So, no, darling. You may answer that much with a clear conscience."
Sabitha's gaze remains sharp. "How am I to know what is pertinent? None of those topics have ever entered our conversation." Not entirely true, if we're nitpicking, but the spirit of it is: not in the way Emma means, anyway.
"I want to keep tabs on Sebastian's movements, dealings, and motives." A sharp note has finally entered Emma's tone, and she straightens again in her seat, unfolding her legs and coming to an attentive posture. "Those should be fairly clear topics to pay attention to."
Sabitha shakes her head very briefly, short and sharp. "He won't tell me either," she answers. "Not unless he thinks I'm his, and probably not even then." Her expression is clearer, now, as her brain focuses on a particular topic and /moves/. "I'm not much good to tell you about what he's doing. I'm only good to tell you about him." The distinction, perhaps shady in words, echoes clear and crisp in Sabby's mind. /She/ marks a clear difference between speculating on what Sebastian is doing, and where, and why, and speculating on how Sebastian is feeling, reacting. There is a clear echo, through it all, of a wry acknowledgement that it is all, in fact, speculation.
"I'll settle for that." Emma's lip begins to curl into a snarl before she catches it and smoothes it away, though Sabby's tension is catching.
Sabitha nods, very short, with sharp eyes that catch that snarl and linger on Emma's lips for a moment. "Am I to make regular reports, or visit when the mood strikes?"
"I want regular reports, but we can establish methods of getting that information to me. An increasing number of visits to the clubhouse would only provoke suspicion. You do still train here regularly, do you not?"
"Several times a week," Sabby confirms. A hesitation, and then she adds, "The further I am from a student, though, the more suspicious that becomes."
"I'll put Mouse onto securing a communications device for you then," she replies, dismissing the concern with typical boardroom efficiently .
Sabitha nods, and she's silent again, taking almost a full minute to think. Eventually, she asks, "What is his mutation?"
Emma blinks, dragging her mind back to the focus of the conversation. "Strength. He somehow manages to metabolize kinetic energy and harness it." The empathic projections that Emma had begun to bleed off are halted, hovering in support of a system that is overloaded already.
"Strength," Sabby echoes, and there's a sense of resignation (disappointment?) in her mind. "If he decides to hurt me, then, there is nothing I can do." It's question, masquerading as a matter-of-fact statement.
"I don't /believe/ he can turn your particular mutation against you, but no. Do not let him get his hands on you. And scream your bloody head off. If you are in the clubhouse, there are pawns positioned to assist. And I don't think Sebastian would stoop to a murderous rampage on your behalf." The response is just a business-like as hers, devoid of warmth or chill. Just pragmatism.
Sabitha's lips twitch again, and there's actually a faint echo of amusement in her mind before she nods, and this time her silence lingers until Emma speaks.
It lingers for a few minutes, until Emma breaks it with "Is there anything else you wish to know, Sabitha?"
Sabitha is startled out of some thought or another into blinking confusion. "Not at the moment," she answers, and her voice is quiet again.
"Then, if you will excuse me. I really /must/ respond t our darling Julian," she smirks, rising to her feet and catching the paperwork in her hand.
Sabitha's posture tightens once more, and then stretches, unfolds, carries her to stand. She responds with a brief nod, and then she, and her briefcase, are on their way out the door.
Jean Grey.
Damn him. Damn his smug arrogance, parading that mealy-mouthed parsnip bitch in front of me as a suitable /Queen/. He wants a partner? Perhaps he can beg lodging from the Xavier mansion, once--
War. Yes. We must prepare, mustn't we?
Add Ryan Bach to the list of people Travis is investigating. Find out how far he is along in ferreting out information on the list of new additions to the court.
Sabby... God, she's strung so tight, I fear she will burst. Though the child has cause, I'll grant. ... Maybe I'll send Henrik over. If nothing else, it might save her from worrying herself into an ulcer tomorrow.
Maybe I'll turn Percy on her.
Julian. ... Oh, you poor, arrogant little fool. You do amuse.
(In a brown envelope with the name 'Julian Keller' in graceful script on the front, is a stack of papers sproting multiple paperclips. The top sheet is crisp linen stationary with Frost Enterprises printed in silver grey foil across the top.)
Julian dear,
I think this got misdirected. You may try sending it to (follows is the office and address listed on the internship application. The official one.)
Sincerely,
Emma Frost
(Attached is the resume and note sent to Sabby)
Dammit Warren. I need you. God. Where /are/ you? Are you really going to force me to beg your forgiveness?
Do I need your forgiveness?
9/10/2005
Logfile from Emma.
Sabitha is prompt and prepared, in a chocolate pantsuit and with her briefcase hitched over one shoulder. She only pauses a moment in the outer room before her chin is lifted, her shoulders set, and she steps forward to knock.
"Come in," is called out at the knock, and inside the office, Emma is seated in one of the chairs ringing the delicate coffee table, a serving tray with all the accoutrements set before her. She glances up from the paperwork she'd been reading over, a coffee cup handle in her other hand, resting it on the chair arm. "Good morning, Sabitha. Would you like some coffee or tea?"
Sabitha enters with quick, businesslike steps, and shakes her head instantly. "good morning. No, thank you." She's already had her daily dose, steeling nerves. Now she'd like to get this over with, shortly. She lowers herself into a chair opposite Emma and settles her briefcase into her lap as she notes, "There are two things I need to discuss with you."
Emma nods serenely, apparently unphased by Sabitha's brisk manner. "And then there are a few things I need to speak with you about as well. But go ahead, dear. You've my attention." That's not always a good thing, but she seems unruffled as she slides the paperwork onto the table and returns to cradle her cup between both hands.
Sabitha blinks solemnly at Emma for a moment, and there's an obvious effort to pull all her thoughts into tired focus. Pay attention, Sabitha! When she responds, she's clear again, and shares, "I've been offered a new position in the office. A sort of... public relations assistant." And out comes a paper, extended toward Emma, which details job responsibilities and the like.
Emma lifts a brow and leans to accept the paper. "Oh?" A quick glance over the particulars, and her lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. "Well, this is quite a coup. I had hoped the initial position would lead to something of this nature, but you've moved faster than I anticipated. Good work, dear. Do you want to accept?" The paper is returned, and Emma settles back, watching Sabitha contemplatively over the rim of her cup.
"It's not a promotion," Sabitha's quick to correct, with a somewhat less satisfied expression. "Just a reshuffling." Her hands fold together, tightly, over the briefcase in her lap. "I thought I'd best see what you want."
"A reshuffling that potentially puts you into closer contact with the right people," Emma argues quietly, dropping her eyes as she takes a sip. "I, of course, see it as an opportunity. But I rarely force my students into career choices that they have no talent or inclination for. If you are so inclined, then take it. If not... this was your doing, not mine. You should have the opportunity to decide for yourself."
Sabitha regards Emma with an even expression, in silence for several seconds. Eventually, she stirs again, and another paper appears from within the briefcase. Several, to be precise, paperclipped together: a note, and a resume. "I received this yesterday."
Another reach, with this time's perusal taking a bit longer, and resulting in a bemused smirk. "Well. He's definitely proactive," she grants, looking up and across at Sabitha. "If a bit presumptuous. But he's still under the delusion that this organization works like a typical college fraternity, albeit one with an unusual house mistress." She pauses and glances over the resume again before pursing her lips and handing it back with a shrug. "Pass it along to the appropriate person within the official structure, and let his credentials succeed or fail on their own." Ie, let him take his chances like anyone else. "He will learn who to come to and stop playing these silly games in an effort to impress me, or he will be just another blip on SIN's alumni list."
Sabitha is not entirely satisfied with this, and it shows, briefly, on her face. "His success or failure will reflect on /my/ judgement, if I submit it with my name attached," she points out.
"Then don't attach your name." Simple, yes? "Or better yet," Emma reaches for the packet again. "Let me handle it instead." She lays the paperwork across her lap and crosses her legs, hands resting lightly on top. She's amused by something, and chances are that Julian will not be. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"
Sabitha nods, briefly, and slides her briefcase to the floor. Buying a moment to, perhaps, brace herself for whatever topics Emma has to discuss. "That's all for now," she confirms, and straightens into an unconscious echo of Emma's posture, legs crossed, hands folded atop.
Emma waits until she has Sabitha's full attention again before speaking. "You are aware of the dual nature of the Club, and that there is friction between the monarchs." Black and White, at least. White and White, maybe? "There is a meeting scheduled tomorrow afternoon. I would like for you to be there. I want all the members of my Court to be aware of each other."
Sabitha is noticeably tense now, with posture that stiffens just slightly and eyes that focus sharply on Emma. One hand comes up, briefly, to rub at the bridge of her nose tiredly. When it drops, she rests it tightly over the curve of her knee. "Of course."
Emma's lips thin slightly, the only indication aside from the sharp gleam of her eyes that she notices the growing tension. "Thank you. There have been some recent developments, and I need /your/ support, especially. Are you still in Sebastian's good graces?"
Sabitha's lips twist into a distasteful expression. "You'd have to ask him that."
"Damn," Emma mutters softly, turning her head to look out at a point near the corner of the room. "I need to know what game he's playing, what his motives are..." A crooked look back at Sabitha and a twisted grimace. "He's introduced Jean Grey to the Circle." And if that isn't bad enough. "As /Black/ Queen."
"He hardly confides in /me/," Sabby answers with blunt tones and blunt expressions that shift swiftly into shock at Emma's last words. Her spine stiffens. "I see." No, she doesn't, not in the least.
Emma says, "We are in similar situation then," Emma growls, letting her frustration and displeasure seep through the previous satisfied mask. "He's playing a game. One I /need/ to know the rules for. Jean is not a complacent patsy, however he tries to justify her by distracting me with fingers pointing at Warren. She is /not/ to counterbalance the Circle. She's to counterbalance /me/." Emma shifts irritably, and glances again at Sabitha out of the corner of her eye. "I did warn you he was unpredictable."
Sabitha watches Emma with quiet stiffness through this all, and meets her gaze once it returns to her. With some amount of effort. "Yes," she answers, and confusions rises, swirling through the forefront of her mind. The Inner Circle, games, and darkly, thickly, a question: why the /hell/ is Emma telling /her/ this?
Because Sabby is the only one in the Circle who may despise Jean Grey as much as she does. And it may be the only way to excuse her next bit of information. "He's preparing for a war, Sabitha, and so must I. I've offered Travis Reed the position of Knight. My spy and..." Eyes narrow as an obvious euphemism is used, "problem solver."
It's not really possible for Sabby's posture to go any more rigid, and so her reaction is perhaps someone less physically obvious this time. All motion stills, and her breath catches in her throat as her mind struggles to process this information properly. When it comes again, she answers on a low exhale, "I see."
"Do you? Do you /understand/ then?" Emma probes, facing her, eyes absorbing the nuances of her face as her powers soak in the flotsam spun off a mind in chaos. "Is this going to be a problem for you?" Ie, is Sabby going to make herself a problem over this.
Pain adds itself to the choas of Sabby's foremind as her lips tighten, and then she answers, "I have nothing to do with him...or his business...anymore."
"So I gathered. But that is not the question I asked."
Sabitha's hands tighten around each other in her lap, and then are forced into relaxation. "I'm not precognitive," she answers shortly. "Are you asking us to work together?"
"If the situation warrants. More to the point, are you going to have more difficulties with your position, with /me/ because of it?" Emma might as well be asking about cloud formations for all the concern in her actions, but she slowly increases the pressure of her powers along the outside of Sabby's thoughts. Just out of the girl's perceptions, but closing in.
Sabitha's mind is awash with confusion and weariness, completely overwhelmed, and somewhere, a tiny hint of rising panic as she struggles through it all to form coherent thought, forceful. "I have never not done what you've asked of me," she points out sharply.
Emma strokes the edges of Sabby's emotions, soaking them in calmed confidence. "No. You've been quite obedient. I would like to ensure your continued cooperation, is all. Especially in regards to Sebastian. Has the relationship cooled to the point that you are in danger? Or can no longer amuse him?"
Sabitha's mind soothes, slowly, barely, and a hint of her tenseness melts away. Her posture loosens imperceptibly. "I don't know," she answers bluntly, and there's a brief moment of rising panic again. "I never know." There's a pause, and then she offers, as lame explanation, "He brought me a coconut."
A coconut? One of Emma's brows lift, and then the other rises to join it. "Well. That seems... benign?" Is there a story there. Does she want to know? "Does he tolerate questions from you?"
"About you?" Sabby questions bluntly.
"About anything. Anything related to business, or the Club, or the Circle?"
"Sometimes," Sabby answers. "Rarely. We don't discuss the Circle." Her eyes narrow quietly in painful thought. "Are you asking me to play spy with him?" And in her mind, flags of danger rise swift and sure.
"I'm asking you to bring me anything you can. I'm asking anyone and everyone for what they know, can deduce, or guess." The pressure, warm and subtle and supportive, cocoons the swelling apprehension. "And you got yourself into a prime position with him. And I trust your judgements."
"He'll know, if I pry," Sabby points out tightly, and then, with those flags spiraling ever higher, adds, "And he'll know, if information he gave to me comes out."
"You insult my subtlety," Emma warns, her voice dropping low. "And your own. But, if you cannot handle Sebastian after all, perhaps it /would/ be better to cut your losses entirely with him."
Sabitha sits silently, with hands that tighten in her lap again and eyes that fix on Emma's, without expression. Waiting, it seems, for her to continue. Or instruct. Or for things to stop bubbling in her head.
"Do you doubt your safety or capability in continuing your interactions with Sebastian?" No expression mirrors no expression, the only animated thing the powers working to keep Sabitha's concerns and paranoias in check.
Sabitha hesitates. Her lips part, midway to speaking, although it is a long moment before she does so. Eventually, she replies, "I don't think he intends to hurt me, now." And through her mind, a feeling of constantly shifting sand, balancing on a tightrope, blurred and faded by the quiet comfort of Emma's soothing telepathy.
"But you are not confident that he /wouldn't/ hurt you, especially if he realizes your... fishing?" There's no accusation or scorn in her tone as she settles back. Just honest interest and thought. No pressure, no pressure, calm, confidence, safety... the empathic projections wash again over her, working against the natural edginess of Sabitha's.
"He's unpredictable," Sabby echoes, and now there's a small, dry smile that settles across her expression, vaguely unpleasant.
"Yes," Emma acknowledges, bowing her head at the point. It remains lowered for a long minute beyond that, and when she looks up, there is a determined tension in her jaw. "I need you to hold on to that relationship as long as you can. And I need you discover as much as possible," she pronounces, expelling a slow breath through her nose afterwards.
Sabitha watches Emma silently, with a fading smile until her expression is tight again. "I told him months ago," she reveals after a moment. "To never tell me anything that he doesn't want you to hear." The words are clear. The meaning... somewhat less so. Emma can interpret as she will.
"I want you to get him to forget that instruction," Emma replies, face setting into expressionless lines, eyes darkening. "If you can. I /do/ realize what you had caught by the tail, Sabitha. I also think that /he/ still underestimates you." Her legs uncross and fold. "I am also assuming that he /hasn't/ already told you anything I would wish to hear," she returns in the same code.
"Circles within circles," Sabby answers quietly, and with a gaze that blurs out of focus for a moment. "He's told me things I've told you. I don't know if they were intentional or not. He may be feeding them to me." She pulls her gaze up, sharp again, to Emma. "I don't think he's underestimating me. But I'll do what I can."
Emma nods, retreating the sense of her presence slightly from Sabitha's perception and adding a simple "good."
Sabitha's gaze lingers. Her responses come slowly, with time to think between them, longer, perhaps, than a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Sabitha might need, but at least they come. "If I'm to do this," she ventures after a moment. "I need guidelines." A pause, and she adds, "And information."
Another push of the empathic feel-good vibes and a composed, "Of course. Whatever you need of me. Something in particular you want clarification on?"
"If he asks me, point blank, if I am reporting to you, what am I to say?" Sabby's clear-eyed and blunt. "Sometimes I can avoid his questions. Othertimes I cannot."
"Sebastian is not a telepath, nor a lie detector. You are to tell him that I own your future, but not your actions, or loyalties, or whatever the situation warrants." Candor meets blunt.
Sabitha's lips twitch upward, and there's a sense of the ironic in her smile before she continues. "Are you going to ask me questions, or am I just to report to you if he drops bits of pertinent information?"
"I'm going to trust your judgement," Emma replies emphasizing the word and turning a piercing look on her. "You need not report the trivial and mundane, but if Sebastian claims business somewhere, speaks of motivations, mentions Grey... I want to know about it. So, no, darling. You may answer that much with a clear conscience."
Sabitha's gaze remains sharp. "How am I to know what is pertinent? None of those topics have ever entered our conversation." Not entirely true, if we're nitpicking, but the spirit of it is: not in the way Emma means, anyway.
"I want to keep tabs on Sebastian's movements, dealings, and motives." A sharp note has finally entered Emma's tone, and she straightens again in her seat, unfolding her legs and coming to an attentive posture. "Those should be fairly clear topics to pay attention to."
Sabitha shakes her head very briefly, short and sharp. "He won't tell me either," she answers. "Not unless he thinks I'm his, and probably not even then." Her expression is clearer, now, as her brain focuses on a particular topic and /moves/. "I'm not much good to tell you about what he's doing. I'm only good to tell you about him." The distinction, perhaps shady in words, echoes clear and crisp in Sabby's mind. /She/ marks a clear difference between speculating on what Sebastian is doing, and where, and why, and speculating on how Sebastian is feeling, reacting. There is a clear echo, through it all, of a wry acknowledgement that it is all, in fact, speculation.
"I'll settle for that." Emma's lip begins to curl into a snarl before she catches it and smoothes it away, though Sabby's tension is catching.
Sabitha nods, very short, with sharp eyes that catch that snarl and linger on Emma's lips for a moment. "Am I to make regular reports, or visit when the mood strikes?"
"I want regular reports, but we can establish methods of getting that information to me. An increasing number of visits to the clubhouse would only provoke suspicion. You do still train here regularly, do you not?"
"Several times a week," Sabby confirms. A hesitation, and then she adds, "The further I am from a student, though, the more suspicious that becomes."
"I'll put Mouse onto securing a communications device for you then," she replies, dismissing the concern with typical boardroom efficiently .
Sabitha nods, and she's silent again, taking almost a full minute to think. Eventually, she asks, "What is his mutation?"
Emma blinks, dragging her mind back to the focus of the conversation. "Strength. He somehow manages to metabolize kinetic energy and harness it." The empathic projections that Emma had begun to bleed off are halted, hovering in support of a system that is overloaded already.
"Strength," Sabby echoes, and there's a sense of resignation (disappointment?) in her mind. "If he decides to hurt me, then, there is nothing I can do." It's question, masquerading as a matter-of-fact statement.
"I don't /believe/ he can turn your particular mutation against you, but no. Do not let him get his hands on you. And scream your bloody head off. If you are in the clubhouse, there are pawns positioned to assist. And I don't think Sebastian would stoop to a murderous rampage on your behalf." The response is just a business-like as hers, devoid of warmth or chill. Just pragmatism.
Sabitha's lips twitch again, and there's actually a faint echo of amusement in her mind before she nods, and this time her silence lingers until Emma speaks.
It lingers for a few minutes, until Emma breaks it with "Is there anything else you wish to know, Sabitha?"
Sabitha is startled out of some thought or another into blinking confusion. "Not at the moment," she answers, and her voice is quiet again.
"Then, if you will excuse me. I really /must/ respond t our darling Julian," she smirks, rising to her feet and catching the paperwork in her hand.
Sabitha's posture tightens once more, and then stretches, unfolds, carries her to stand. She responds with a brief nod, and then she, and her briefcase, are on their way out the door.