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Sabella Miller is alive.
The bitch. The clever little bitch. I should have known better.
And Erik is clearly stewing over it. Must have been quite the little lover's spat. About time, darling. Really. Mutant powers aside, she was a little young for you.
I've laid my cards , more or less, on the table with him. I do wonder...
Well. We'll see who can bluff, at the least.
9/12/2005
Logfile from Emma.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hellfire Clubhouse - Emma's Office (#3421RC)
"Miss Frost?" The comm link is clear as a bell. It's the voice on the other end of it that's a little shaky - "There's an 'Uncle Erik' here to see you. He...says he has an appointment."
Emma crosses the room and slaps the intercom and answer, voice composed, "Very well. Allow him to pass. And no escort." She spends the intervening minutes locking away paperwork and excess metal. Just in case this is one of /those/ visits. It doesn't take long, and she's waiting in the doorway for his arrival.
Magneto is dressed, as usual, with extreme care for neatness and detail - the mild grey-tan of his suit, vest, and matching fedora all tailored to exactness. Not particularly well rested, he looks a bit hollow about the face - but not immediately angry or irritable enough for it to be one of /those/ visits - dark tie adjusted in the reflection of himself in a window before he actually rounds the corner for Emma's office. And - oh look. She spared him the indignity of having to knock. "Emma."
"Erik," is the controlled reply, wariness replacing the habitual warmth that might be expected if this /wasn't/ one of /those/ visits. "You're looking less rumpled," Ha! "Do you want some tea or coffe?" she asks, stepping away from the door to allow him to pass.
"Mmm. And I see you've gone for a more sensible shoe, yourself." Erik murmers evenly in passing, a nod proceeding the removal of his fedora as he steps into the office. "Coffee, if you don't mind."
Bemused, Emma follows him in to the room and holds out her hand to take the fedora from him, setting it on a nearby table. "Yes, well, I find these more practical for business meetings. Usually." The coffee order is placed with the kitchen staff, Erik is waved to the comfortable chairs set away from her desk, and she takes the opposite one from him. "What brings you to my door, Uncle," she invites, as she kicks off the afore mentioned shoes and curls into her seat.
Magneto exhales once he's settled somewhat into the indicated chair, jacket buttons undone in the process, so that he can kick one leg up over the other comfortably enough, all things considered. The length of sock exposed in the process matches his tie. Go figure. "Sabella Miller has left the Brotherhood."
Emma blinks. And tips her head up. And blinks again. "I... am assuming you don't mean left as in '/dearly/ departed. Are you telling me that she /isn't/ rotting merrily away?" She takes on a tone of exasperated skepticism.
Magneto arches a slow brow. Oh...right. Hm. Does he particularly care about what he just suggested? Mentally, the answer seems to be a rather flat and resounding 'no'. "Interpret it as you like. It's really only a matter of time before she is, but in the event that she tries anything in the meanwhile, I'd rather not have any fingers pointed in my direction."
Emma is cackling gleefully. Really. Behind the mask. Maybe you can see it in her eyes? Outwardly, she just smiles and nods, tapping a fingertip against her chin. "I understand, Erik. And now she no longer has your island to... haunt?"
"Mmm. Precisely. Of course, given the implications, and Stacey's involvement with the police early in the investigation, I believe it may be best if this information is kept relatively quiet, unless you are interested in shouldering the full financial load of the Brotherhood once more. No offense, but personally, I enjoy the margin of freedom allowed by having two contributors, rather than the one." And from the look in /his/ eyes, he's not particularly interested in losing that freedom. Or having Toxin angry with him.
Or having to rely on Emma to keep his Island afloat. So to speak. "I'd rather not have the paper trail either, darling, so you may be assured of my discretion. But if I come across Ms. Miller, I do reserve the right to play cat and mouse with her." A pause, and Emma's eyes roll over to her Uncle's. "Tell me. How does that little heiress of her's who showed up fit into the picture?" she asks, already confident of the answer.
"I've provided you with necessary information. If you want anything more than that, I'm afraid you're going to have to give me something more substantial than coffee in return." Erik replies evenly, managing a half-smile that might have been genial if he had tried just...a little harder.
"Sebastian has apparently suborned Jean Grey. Brought her into the Club, made her his 'Black Queen.' Is working /quite/ closely with her." Just how closely is anyone's guess, and Emma's doesn't discourage /that/ line of questioning. "And she's playing patty-cake with him for /some/ reason, I'm certain." Emma curls her lip into a misdirected sneer.
Magneto's gaze sharpens slightly at that, intensely intelligent curiosity raking over and through Emma's gaze as Erik seeks to meet it after a moment's idle distraction. The fact that it's curiosity rather than outright surprise might be a little odd - but here and there, in the back of his mind there are measures of blanching startlement at the idea of Jean cozying up next to Sebastian Shaw.
Well, she /was/ looking for that surprise, so it's good that it is there. Its muted nature may just be chalked up to the necessity of a facade. Emma lifts a brow and lets a bitter smirk cross her lips. And lo and behold the wonder of coincidence. The door opens and one of the faceless servants trundle a cart in. Emma turns her head and queries sweetly, "Coffee?"
Magneto nods his thanks to the faceless servant in question, a mild, "Of course." offered to Emma with the resumption of his half-smile - eyes still working to read her expression as well as he can without being telepathic himself. At approximately the same time, his mind wanders elsewhere. Way elsewhere. To the noises Warren's driver made upon having a car dropped on him, notably.
Crunch. Squiiiish. Surely he isn't replaying that incident as a warning to /her/. Emma rises from her seat to pour and serve, handing over cup and saucer with the faintest of china clinks. "What do you want me to do?" she asks quietly, the offer purposefully open ended.
The wet crunch of bone - the screech of metal on metal, glass shattering across concrete, tires hissing...Yes, it's all very vivid, within the confines of Erik's skull, though he's outwardly as placid as he might be expected to be in present company. "Thank you." The coffee is sipped - eye contact maintained, though his posture and glare do relax slightly once he considers himself suitably distracted. "Regarding Sabella?"
A pause, and Emma lets the question hang in the air as she holds his gaze. And then a "yes," accompanied by a small shrug as she takes her own cup and sits back down.
"Suffice to say, if you're curious about this 'heir' of hers, you might try speaking with her personally. It really shouldn't be too difficult to satisfy your curiousity once you've arranged a - shall we say - 'random' investigatory meeting. Somehow or another I doubt she'd be willing to sit down and have a chat with you under any other circumstances." Again, Erik sips - the cacophony in his head having faded to a far more manageable echo if what it was before.
Emma nods and murmurs an appropriately grateful-sounding "Thank you. I may do that," tipping the bottom of her cup up. "I don't suppose you could offer advice on my other problem, could you? You and Jean have... ties of your own, don't you?"
Magneto's brows lift at that, cup set carefully down onto the saucer still cupped in his left hand. "Given that you don't particularly care for either of them, and given that Jean has a history of mentally and emotionally incompetent 'boyfriends' I'm not entirely sure I understand where the problem lies."
"My problem lies in that he's brought her into /my/ domain, and we are not likely to avoid confrontation. I would prefer to have that confrontation with the upper hand. Despite the pacifistic martyr image, she's dangerous, and Sebastian...? Sebastian might be a psychopathic bastard, but he knows what he's doing, for whatever twisted little reasons he's assigned."
"He's been rather polite to me recently." Erik mutters in the face of Shaw being deemed a psychopathic bastard - mindscape kept carefully calm at the surface - mild curiousity fueling his interest in further inquery. Nothing more. Although there is also the nagging thought that he's going to have a headache later and should try to schedule in a nap between prodding at his machine again and checking to make certain Toad isn't dead drunk in his quarters. "So you think they're up to something, is the short of it. In all honesty, my dear, given what I know of both of them, I suspect they believe they are using each other to achieve their own individual ends. Neither of which is probably an appealing end as far as you are concerned, of course."
Emma makes an entirely childish face at the man. "Of course. I take it, however, that you are refusing to assist me in finding out /what/ those individual ends are?" The scrap of information concerning that 'recently' is ignored for the moment.
"Emma, the trouble with games such as these is that - as an indirect participant - I must remain nuetral if I intend to capitalize on the knowlege posessed by both sides. I will speak with Jean. And if I believe you have any reason to be concerned, I will contact you immediately. Keeping in mind that she may not tell me anything at all." In which case he might make up something to make Jean's life marginally more miserable.
Emma gives him a sour, slant-eyed glance. "I would hazard to guess that you have capitalized far more on my knowledge than you have Jeans. That might be something to keep in mind, /Uncle/. I'm far more valuable to you alive than dead, and if these /games/ result in me toasting marshmallows with Sabella Miller, /you/ may lose more than anyone else."
Magneto meets it without emotion - or without any detectable trace if it. Unless annoyance counts - however faint. "My dear, the last thing I desire is to find your blood on my hands. Literal or financial. Whatever you may think of me, I do keep these things in mind." Leaning forward to set his cup and saucer down upon the tray that remains, Erik stands, having no real intention of sitting around and being given sour looks for the rest of the afternoon. "If you do wind up toasting marshmallows, do give me a call. We could make a social event of it."
She's only sour because she's scared! Honest! Look cl-- Okay, maybe not. "Oh, you aren't going to hell, Uncle, darling. I would never imply such a thing," she coos, setting her own cup down and rising as well. "But I do appreciate the sentiment," she adds after a moments pause, dropping the insincerity. She moves for the door to retrieve his hat.
Magneto snorts softly, reality and black humor mingling in tone and expression as he turns to follow, buttoning his jacket as he goes. "I suspect there are few men in the world as damned as I. But at least I will be in decent company."
"Mmm. Perhaps I will finally get you to sit still long enough to actually /finish/ a cup of coffee with me?" Emma ponders, bemused. She holds out the hat and opens the door, catching his shoulder to slow him long enough to plant a quick kiss to his cheek. "Take care of yourself, darling." He may be a source of useful information after all. ;)
"Of course. I fully expect you to do the same." Something akin to exceedingly rusty affection in his eyes even as he rather plainly suspects her ulterior motives, Erik lifts his right hand in lazy fairwell while the left takes his hat and pushes it firmly down over his head. "I'll see you in hell, if not sooner. Have a good evening."
The bitch. The clever little bitch. I should have known better.
And Erik is clearly stewing over it. Must have been quite the little lover's spat. About time, darling. Really. Mutant powers aside, she was a little young for you.
I've laid my cards , more or less, on the table with him. I do wonder...
Well. We'll see who can bluff, at the least.
9/12/2005
Logfile from Emma.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hellfire Clubhouse - Emma's Office (#3421RC)
"Miss Frost?" The comm link is clear as a bell. It's the voice on the other end of it that's a little shaky - "There's an 'Uncle Erik' here to see you. He...says he has an appointment."
Emma crosses the room and slaps the intercom and answer, voice composed, "Very well. Allow him to pass. And no escort." She spends the intervening minutes locking away paperwork and excess metal. Just in case this is one of /those/ visits. It doesn't take long, and she's waiting in the doorway for his arrival.
Magneto is dressed, as usual, with extreme care for neatness and detail - the mild grey-tan of his suit, vest, and matching fedora all tailored to exactness. Not particularly well rested, he looks a bit hollow about the face - but not immediately angry or irritable enough for it to be one of /those/ visits - dark tie adjusted in the reflection of himself in a window before he actually rounds the corner for Emma's office. And - oh look. She spared him the indignity of having to knock. "Emma."
"Erik," is the controlled reply, wariness replacing the habitual warmth that might be expected if this /wasn't/ one of /those/ visits. "You're looking less rumpled," Ha! "Do you want some tea or coffe?" she asks, stepping away from the door to allow him to pass.
"Mmm. And I see you've gone for a more sensible shoe, yourself." Erik murmers evenly in passing, a nod proceeding the removal of his fedora as he steps into the office. "Coffee, if you don't mind."
Bemused, Emma follows him in to the room and holds out her hand to take the fedora from him, setting it on a nearby table. "Yes, well, I find these more practical for business meetings. Usually." The coffee order is placed with the kitchen staff, Erik is waved to the comfortable chairs set away from her desk, and she takes the opposite one from him. "What brings you to my door, Uncle," she invites, as she kicks off the afore mentioned shoes and curls into her seat.
Magneto exhales once he's settled somewhat into the indicated chair, jacket buttons undone in the process, so that he can kick one leg up over the other comfortably enough, all things considered. The length of sock exposed in the process matches his tie. Go figure. "Sabella Miller has left the Brotherhood."
Emma blinks. And tips her head up. And blinks again. "I... am assuming you don't mean left as in '/dearly/ departed. Are you telling me that she /isn't/ rotting merrily away?" She takes on a tone of exasperated skepticism.
Magneto arches a slow brow. Oh...right. Hm. Does he particularly care about what he just suggested? Mentally, the answer seems to be a rather flat and resounding 'no'. "Interpret it as you like. It's really only a matter of time before she is, but in the event that she tries anything in the meanwhile, I'd rather not have any fingers pointed in my direction."
Emma is cackling gleefully. Really. Behind the mask. Maybe you can see it in her eyes? Outwardly, she just smiles and nods, tapping a fingertip against her chin. "I understand, Erik. And now she no longer has your island to... haunt?"
"Mmm. Precisely. Of course, given the implications, and Stacey's involvement with the police early in the investigation, I believe it may be best if this information is kept relatively quiet, unless you are interested in shouldering the full financial load of the Brotherhood once more. No offense, but personally, I enjoy the margin of freedom allowed by having two contributors, rather than the one." And from the look in /his/ eyes, he's not particularly interested in losing that freedom. Or having Toxin angry with him.
Or having to rely on Emma to keep his Island afloat. So to speak. "I'd rather not have the paper trail either, darling, so you may be assured of my discretion. But if I come across Ms. Miller, I do reserve the right to play cat and mouse with her." A pause, and Emma's eyes roll over to her Uncle's. "Tell me. How does that little heiress of her's who showed up fit into the picture?" she asks, already confident of the answer.
"I've provided you with necessary information. If you want anything more than that, I'm afraid you're going to have to give me something more substantial than coffee in return." Erik replies evenly, managing a half-smile that might have been genial if he had tried just...a little harder.
"Sebastian has apparently suborned Jean Grey. Brought her into the Club, made her his 'Black Queen.' Is working /quite/ closely with her." Just how closely is anyone's guess, and Emma's doesn't discourage /that/ line of questioning. "And she's playing patty-cake with him for /some/ reason, I'm certain." Emma curls her lip into a misdirected sneer.
Magneto's gaze sharpens slightly at that, intensely intelligent curiosity raking over and through Emma's gaze as Erik seeks to meet it after a moment's idle distraction. The fact that it's curiosity rather than outright surprise might be a little odd - but here and there, in the back of his mind there are measures of blanching startlement at the idea of Jean cozying up next to Sebastian Shaw.
Well, she /was/ looking for that surprise, so it's good that it is there. Its muted nature may just be chalked up to the necessity of a facade. Emma lifts a brow and lets a bitter smirk cross her lips. And lo and behold the wonder of coincidence. The door opens and one of the faceless servants trundle a cart in. Emma turns her head and queries sweetly, "Coffee?"
Magneto nods his thanks to the faceless servant in question, a mild, "Of course." offered to Emma with the resumption of his half-smile - eyes still working to read her expression as well as he can without being telepathic himself. At approximately the same time, his mind wanders elsewhere. Way elsewhere. To the noises Warren's driver made upon having a car dropped on him, notably.
Crunch. Squiiiish. Surely he isn't replaying that incident as a warning to /her/. Emma rises from her seat to pour and serve, handing over cup and saucer with the faintest of china clinks. "What do you want me to do?" she asks quietly, the offer purposefully open ended.
The wet crunch of bone - the screech of metal on metal, glass shattering across concrete, tires hissing...Yes, it's all very vivid, within the confines of Erik's skull, though he's outwardly as placid as he might be expected to be in present company. "Thank you." The coffee is sipped - eye contact maintained, though his posture and glare do relax slightly once he considers himself suitably distracted. "Regarding Sabella?"
A pause, and Emma lets the question hang in the air as she holds his gaze. And then a "yes," accompanied by a small shrug as she takes her own cup and sits back down.
"Suffice to say, if you're curious about this 'heir' of hers, you might try speaking with her personally. It really shouldn't be too difficult to satisfy your curiousity once you've arranged a - shall we say - 'random' investigatory meeting. Somehow or another I doubt she'd be willing to sit down and have a chat with you under any other circumstances." Again, Erik sips - the cacophony in his head having faded to a far more manageable echo if what it was before.
Emma nods and murmurs an appropriately grateful-sounding "Thank you. I may do that," tipping the bottom of her cup up. "I don't suppose you could offer advice on my other problem, could you? You and Jean have... ties of your own, don't you?"
Magneto's brows lift at that, cup set carefully down onto the saucer still cupped in his left hand. "Given that you don't particularly care for either of them, and given that Jean has a history of mentally and emotionally incompetent 'boyfriends' I'm not entirely sure I understand where the problem lies."
"My problem lies in that he's brought her into /my/ domain, and we are not likely to avoid confrontation. I would prefer to have that confrontation with the upper hand. Despite the pacifistic martyr image, she's dangerous, and Sebastian...? Sebastian might be a psychopathic bastard, but he knows what he's doing, for whatever twisted little reasons he's assigned."
"He's been rather polite to me recently." Erik mutters in the face of Shaw being deemed a psychopathic bastard - mindscape kept carefully calm at the surface - mild curiousity fueling his interest in further inquery. Nothing more. Although there is also the nagging thought that he's going to have a headache later and should try to schedule in a nap between prodding at his machine again and checking to make certain Toad isn't dead drunk in his quarters. "So you think they're up to something, is the short of it. In all honesty, my dear, given what I know of both of them, I suspect they believe they are using each other to achieve their own individual ends. Neither of which is probably an appealing end as far as you are concerned, of course."
Emma makes an entirely childish face at the man. "Of course. I take it, however, that you are refusing to assist me in finding out /what/ those individual ends are?" The scrap of information concerning that 'recently' is ignored for the moment.
"Emma, the trouble with games such as these is that - as an indirect participant - I must remain nuetral if I intend to capitalize on the knowlege posessed by both sides. I will speak with Jean. And if I believe you have any reason to be concerned, I will contact you immediately. Keeping in mind that she may not tell me anything at all." In which case he might make up something to make Jean's life marginally more miserable.
Emma gives him a sour, slant-eyed glance. "I would hazard to guess that you have capitalized far more on my knowledge than you have Jeans. That might be something to keep in mind, /Uncle/. I'm far more valuable to you alive than dead, and if these /games/ result in me toasting marshmallows with Sabella Miller, /you/ may lose more than anyone else."
Magneto meets it without emotion - or without any detectable trace if it. Unless annoyance counts - however faint. "My dear, the last thing I desire is to find your blood on my hands. Literal or financial. Whatever you may think of me, I do keep these things in mind." Leaning forward to set his cup and saucer down upon the tray that remains, Erik stands, having no real intention of sitting around and being given sour looks for the rest of the afternoon. "If you do wind up toasting marshmallows, do give me a call. We could make a social event of it."
She's only sour because she's scared! Honest! Look cl-- Okay, maybe not. "Oh, you aren't going to hell, Uncle, darling. I would never imply such a thing," she coos, setting her own cup down and rising as well. "But I do appreciate the sentiment," she adds after a moments pause, dropping the insincerity. She moves for the door to retrieve his hat.
Magneto snorts softly, reality and black humor mingling in tone and expression as he turns to follow, buttoning his jacket as he goes. "I suspect there are few men in the world as damned as I. But at least I will be in decent company."
"Mmm. Perhaps I will finally get you to sit still long enough to actually /finish/ a cup of coffee with me?" Emma ponders, bemused. She holds out the hat and opens the door, catching his shoulder to slow him long enough to plant a quick kiss to his cheek. "Take care of yourself, darling." He may be a source of useful information after all. ;)
"Of course. I fully expect you to do the same." Something akin to exceedingly rusty affection in his eyes even as he rather plainly suspects her ulterior motives, Erik lifts his right hand in lazy fairwell while the left takes his hat and pushes it firmly down over his head. "I'll see you in hell, if not sooner. Have a good evening."