The Inner Circle
Perhaps he's a straw man; perhaps he's not. Regardless, he's a target, and he gives us a reason to rally around the flag.
/My/ flag. All of them, even her, marched to my beat. My beat, my flag, my Circle - my Queen, my pawns. Mine.
< HFC > Hellfire Clubhouse - Hidden Circle < HFC >
A meeting is called, and a meeting Emma will attend! Doctors and bullets and tubes be damned. But please, never let it be said that she gave up more advantage that she could spare. That's why half an hour before the appointed hour, she'd had her freshly showered and dressed self taken downstairs and settled in her throne (and the wheelchair hidden in a closet somewhere). After all, image is everything.
Enter the Black King - broad shoulders and a black suit with sharp, widely-spaced pinstripes, blood red shirt and black tie fixed with a a silver stickpin in the shape of a Maltese cross. Dress shoes - burnished to a sheen - tap-tap on the white floor, and hamfists hang with fingers loosely curled as he strides towards his throne. A brief pause as he crosses in front of Emma: "My queen," rumbles bass amusement. "Nice of you to join us."
Standing at Emma's left hand, Adel's cane is likewise shoved into closet, leaving him a lean vision of health. His short hair is dark and glossy black, curl at the ends skewing as he leans to murmur. Given their gifts of telepathy, it is entirely gratutious. He smiles as he brushes fingers lightly through her hair, pushing gold back that he might whisper into the pale, pink shell of her ear. He looks past her to Shaw, and his smile deepens.
Hints of the funereal echo in the Black Bishop's garb: black-on-black and more black. The dark suit is tailored close to his form, jacket matte over a whisper of sheer silk, the ebon tie slashed with silver to draw a lighter note, shoes of black Italian gloss -- and the earrings do not match, at all, because they are cheap turtles beaten out of bronze. His clothes wash the Connecticut cream of his skin towards pallor. Sleeplessness shadows the amber eyes; the bruise of his monarch's wrath has faded to the last splotchy yellow remnant over jaw and cheek.
In among the others, and trailing behind, nearly the last to arrive: Bahir. His feet drag, and he looks at nothing in particular. His shirt is pale, striped in pearlescent gray, and his trousers and shoes are black. His hair is messily bound back, a rumpled echo of the parted collar. At least he tucked his shirt in.
Emma turns her ear into that contact, and a slow smile spreads across her face and she lifts her left hand to brush her fingertips along the outside line of Adel's jaw before turning that same heavy-lidded expression on Shaw, adding a lift of her brow to convey the additional meanings of her sardonic murmur, "You couldn't keep me away, darling." Emma tracks his passage with her eyes, then let them slip to Percy's entrance. Telepathy unwraps to let warmth lap at the edges of his perceptions.
"Emma, dear," Shaw says with a black little smile. "We wouldn't complete without our china doll." A brief flicker of eyes up and down the White Queen, and then a miniscule nod towards Adel as Shaw takes his own seat, settling onto the black throne and letting his fingers tighten and curl momentarily over the ends of the arms. Then he looks around, watching the ranks of pawns and pieces with a careful sweep of his eyes.
Percy has little warmth to answer her with: his mood is bleak and tired, still slightly fuzzed with the murky fog of this morning's hangover, and black as his garments besides. For all the dark blaze that edges his thoughts, he flickers a little smile in her direction; he presses his fingertips to his lips to blow her a kiss. His gaze skims over the assemblage of pieces. It stalls on Bahir for one heartbeat; two; and then moves on, lashes lowering over his eyes. He says nothing; greets no one.
Adel straightens, his hand briefly falling to Emma's shoulder, and then he moves away. He takes his seat, folding into it gracefully enough; he bears down heavily on the hand on the table, though, to support his weight.
Careful and correct, the White Rook enters, chastisement showing in the control she exerts over herself. Emma rakes Tyanna over once, then looks away and up at Sebastian. Her smile thins and sets, and she offers him no reply, but instead exerts her own authority with a nod at the pawn guarding the doors. He swings the heavy meeting doors closed, their clang echoing in the quiet of the room and all but announcing the meeting called to order. Emma shifts and leans on her elbow toward him and purrs, "At your convenience, /King/."
Shaw matches Emma's lean with one of his own, his shoulders shifting in slanting as he draws closer to the White Queen. A brief movement of his hand - knuckles, just barely brushing Emma's cheek - and then, "Indeed." He straightens and then stands: "We begin." A beat - silence - and, "We are here because of our most ancient purpose - control - and because an upstart man has made clear his intent to attack that control." A sidelong glance at Emma. "The outcomes of those strategems have become personal and hurt our little family dearly - and, as the news this morning demonstrates, they have become political and hurt our cause and perhaps our survival. I do not intend on letting my club stand for either of these offenses."
The Black Bishop cocks an eyebrow at the White. He leans back on one heel, letting arms fold loosely over his chest.
She does not flinch. She does not allow herself to. Emma sneers and settles back and offers him the sham of her rapt attention instead. "And you propose what, Sebastian? Shall we send assassins after him?" she carols sweetly, letting her gaze drift pointedly to the Black Rook's empty chair.
"Perhaps." Shaw's eyes flicker to Emma. "But assassination is about spite and revenge," he says. "This is about power, Emma - it's always about power." A little smile. "You know that, /dear/." He shakes his head. "If registration is implemented, than eventually we'll be uncovered; already, we've seen the hatred government holds for the network of shadows we run from this room." A pause. "As of this morning, we've lost a fight because we were too consumed with petty, internal concerns to engage with it truthfully - and we cannot allow that to continue." A beat. "We need to target those congressmen and senators who support Lowe who face challenges this year - we need to hit the President himself with rumors and scandal."
Adel widens his eyes at Shaw, as if impressed by his insight and cunning. Thought whispers to Emma and to his brother, << How clever! How unique! Why didn't we think of this before? >>
Bahir's eyes flick back to Adel, irritated and sharp. He pulls his hands from his pockets, the better to fold his arms over his chest and settle against the prop of the wall.
It is Percy's turn to check his watch. In his case, it's because it has the date on it. Nope, no election coming up that he can recall. Percy sighs. He misses parliamentary politics.
Emma's smile disappears and her face darkens at the reference to her encounter with Homeland Security, and she turns Adel's thoughts back on themselves with a dismissive flex of her powers. "Agreed, Sebastian. We've already begun information gathering and planting. But we need to do more than affect the popularity counters. We go after him, we need to bring him down. More than cripple him, we need to paralyze him."
"Yes," Shaw agrees, eyes flickering again to Emma. "But a President without a Congress is a President stripped of many of his powers." A beat. "There is still, however, executive tools - Defense, Justice - oh, and your favorite, Emma - Homeland Security." He pauses. "We need to hit the appointees; fill the departments with scandal, so that he has no tools to hand." A look, then, at Bahir and Adel. "We have certain tools others don't; there's undoubtably going to be court cases coming up challenging this business, and we are better than anyone at getting to judges and juries. If we can mire implementation of X-ID and MRA down in the courts long enough to get a Congress friendly to us, we may be able to rewrite the law. Failing that, if we cut Lowe's legs out from underneath him there will be a sea change in '08."
Percy studies his perfectly manicured nails. His mouth twitches in a faint smirk. He murmurs, "Scandal."
For Shaw's jibe, he earns himself a slanting glare from the White Bishop. Adel rubs the knuckles of his hand, temper rising ugly, but tamed. He tries, very hard, to listen to Shaw.
From the other side of the room, Bahir helps. The link between the twins sparkles with activity, dimmed politely from Emma's vision.
Emma's is not quite so shielded, though only to those with additional perceptions. She shakes her head, pushing slowly to perch on the edge of her chair, posture painfully correct. "If we want to bring this down, we need to ensure that there are no heir's to Lowe's power waiting in the wings, or if there are, that they have nothing to step into."
Somewhere on the muck, Victoria has disconnected.
"Yes." Shaw's voice is gravelly. "When Lowe topples, he needs to be friendless and alone at the last. He can hold up his hands and make a victory sign when he lifts off from the lawn, but... The beat of blades needs to be a funeral drum." A pause. "The twins," he says, "should focus on the courts right now - get to the judges, see to it that cases go our way. Talhurst can focus on discovering - or creating - scandal, and Emma dear..." A turn, a smile, black eyes on the White Queen. "No one is better at discovering the true hierarchies of power than you."
"Mmm. Those poor sixteen-year-old Senate pages," Percy says under his breath, apropos of nothing much.
Adel smiles, and Bahir grimaces; between the two of them, the twins accept their lot readily enough. The lots of others, however -- well, Adel smiles more, and Bahir's expression goes blank.
Emma inclines her head in gracious deference, but an anything but submissive glance up at him follows and she asks sweetly, "And you, my king? What... strengths of yours do you plan on exercising?"
Shaw's smile is lazy. "Command," he says. "Control. With my public persona, darling queen..." He resumes his seat. "I have limited avenues to openly oppose Roger Lowe." He pauses. "Once we've identified keystones, I can make contact and - the viper at the breast - steer them towards the place that benefits us best and hurts Lowe most."
Percy is no longer listening. He's strategizing in his head and trying not to think about rape.
Adel pulls his sleeve back from his wrist, looking down at the glass face of his watch. He twitches the white fabric back down to his wrist.
Angling his shoulder, Bahir wedges himself back against the wall, and turns away from the table's head.
Emma mmms quietly to herself and holds her position with her hands curling over the ends of the chair arms. "Well, then, I suppose the first step is to look at the information already gathered and to establish lynchpins in congress."
"For you, yes," Shaw agrees. "I think the legislature is an excellent place for you to concentrate on, while Percy works the cabinet. Do we know anyone in the lobbying community with ties we can exploit?" The question is offered to the broader room. "Any avenues of ingress we have not considered?"
Adel's side of the room is silent.
So is Bahir's.
"I've a few contacts through Oliver I might be able to lean on," Percy admits after a moment. "But I'm not that optimistic about, er -- well, any of them. It's worth a shot, but--" He gestures vague dismissal, a flicker of his fingers.
"Whatever you can offer, Percy," Emma answers, then looks back at Shaw. "We will all be sure to keep each other informed."
Shaw's smile is short. "I intend," he says, leaning over towards Emma to brush a knuckle against her cheek again, "to keep in very close contact." Eyes flicker to Adel, and then the Black King and his touch withdraws. "Make no mistake," he says to room at large. "While our various side projects will certainly continue, /this/ is to be the focus of the Circle and the Club. If I discover that someone is not..." A pause to choose words. "Giving their all, well." The telepaths in the room can feel black anticipation, rising and then falling again.
Adel returns Shaw's glance with a glitter in his eyes. Teeth spread over a bladed smile in the brief meeting of their eyes, and he continues to watch him after the Black King looks away.
Emma snorts and narrows her eyes, adding cold eye-gleam to the glitter already in the room. "If that is all, Sebastian?" She doesn't wait for an answer before once again signalling the door guarding pawn to spring to his task. "This meeting is adjourned."
Shaw accepts that wordlessly - he opened the meeting, the White Queen can close it - and he just settles back on his throne, waiting and watching for the pieces to file out. Elbow on one arm of the chair, he reaches up to idly scratch at his chin as he waits, mind reflecting on plots and plans and the return of Emma Frost.
OOC: Following this, Shaw helps Emma to her quarters.
/My/ flag. All of them, even her, marched to my beat. My beat, my flag, my Circle - my Queen, my pawns. Mine.
< HFC > Hellfire Clubhouse - Hidden Circle < HFC >
A meeting is called, and a meeting Emma will attend! Doctors and bullets and tubes be damned. But please, never let it be said that she gave up more advantage that she could spare. That's why half an hour before the appointed hour, she'd had her freshly showered and dressed self taken downstairs and settled in her throne (and the wheelchair hidden in a closet somewhere). After all, image is everything.
Enter the Black King - broad shoulders and a black suit with sharp, widely-spaced pinstripes, blood red shirt and black tie fixed with a a silver stickpin in the shape of a Maltese cross. Dress shoes - burnished to a sheen - tap-tap on the white floor, and hamfists hang with fingers loosely curled as he strides towards his throne. A brief pause as he crosses in front of Emma: "My queen," rumbles bass amusement. "Nice of you to join us."
Standing at Emma's left hand, Adel's cane is likewise shoved into closet, leaving him a lean vision of health. His short hair is dark and glossy black, curl at the ends skewing as he leans to murmur. Given their gifts of telepathy, it is entirely gratutious. He smiles as he brushes fingers lightly through her hair, pushing gold back that he might whisper into the pale, pink shell of her ear. He looks past her to Shaw, and his smile deepens.
Hints of the funereal echo in the Black Bishop's garb: black-on-black and more black. The dark suit is tailored close to his form, jacket matte over a whisper of sheer silk, the ebon tie slashed with silver to draw a lighter note, shoes of black Italian gloss -- and the earrings do not match, at all, because they are cheap turtles beaten out of bronze. His clothes wash the Connecticut cream of his skin towards pallor. Sleeplessness shadows the amber eyes; the bruise of his monarch's wrath has faded to the last splotchy yellow remnant over jaw and cheek.
In among the others, and trailing behind, nearly the last to arrive: Bahir. His feet drag, and he looks at nothing in particular. His shirt is pale, striped in pearlescent gray, and his trousers and shoes are black. His hair is messily bound back, a rumpled echo of the parted collar. At least he tucked his shirt in.
Emma turns her ear into that contact, and a slow smile spreads across her face and she lifts her left hand to brush her fingertips along the outside line of Adel's jaw before turning that same heavy-lidded expression on Shaw, adding a lift of her brow to convey the additional meanings of her sardonic murmur, "You couldn't keep me away, darling." Emma tracks his passage with her eyes, then let them slip to Percy's entrance. Telepathy unwraps to let warmth lap at the edges of his perceptions.
"Emma, dear," Shaw says with a black little smile. "We wouldn't complete without our china doll." A brief flicker of eyes up and down the White Queen, and then a miniscule nod towards Adel as Shaw takes his own seat, settling onto the black throne and letting his fingers tighten and curl momentarily over the ends of the arms. Then he looks around, watching the ranks of pawns and pieces with a careful sweep of his eyes.
Percy has little warmth to answer her with: his mood is bleak and tired, still slightly fuzzed with the murky fog of this morning's hangover, and black as his garments besides. For all the dark blaze that edges his thoughts, he flickers a little smile in her direction; he presses his fingertips to his lips to blow her a kiss. His gaze skims over the assemblage of pieces. It stalls on Bahir for one heartbeat; two; and then moves on, lashes lowering over his eyes. He says nothing; greets no one.
Adel straightens, his hand briefly falling to Emma's shoulder, and then he moves away. He takes his seat, folding into it gracefully enough; he bears down heavily on the hand on the table, though, to support his weight.
Careful and correct, the White Rook enters, chastisement showing in the control she exerts over herself. Emma rakes Tyanna over once, then looks away and up at Sebastian. Her smile thins and sets, and she offers him no reply, but instead exerts her own authority with a nod at the pawn guarding the doors. He swings the heavy meeting doors closed, their clang echoing in the quiet of the room and all but announcing the meeting called to order. Emma shifts and leans on her elbow toward him and purrs, "At your convenience, /King/."
Shaw matches Emma's lean with one of his own, his shoulders shifting in slanting as he draws closer to the White Queen. A brief movement of his hand - knuckles, just barely brushing Emma's cheek - and then, "Indeed." He straightens and then stands: "We begin." A beat - silence - and, "We are here because of our most ancient purpose - control - and because an upstart man has made clear his intent to attack that control." A sidelong glance at Emma. "The outcomes of those strategems have become personal and hurt our little family dearly - and, as the news this morning demonstrates, they have become political and hurt our cause and perhaps our survival. I do not intend on letting my club stand for either of these offenses."
The Black Bishop cocks an eyebrow at the White. He leans back on one heel, letting arms fold loosely over his chest.
She does not flinch. She does not allow herself to. Emma sneers and settles back and offers him the sham of her rapt attention instead. "And you propose what, Sebastian? Shall we send assassins after him?" she carols sweetly, letting her gaze drift pointedly to the Black Rook's empty chair.
"Perhaps." Shaw's eyes flicker to Emma. "But assassination is about spite and revenge," he says. "This is about power, Emma - it's always about power." A little smile. "You know that, /dear/." He shakes his head. "If registration is implemented, than eventually we'll be uncovered; already, we've seen the hatred government holds for the network of shadows we run from this room." A pause. "As of this morning, we've lost a fight because we were too consumed with petty, internal concerns to engage with it truthfully - and we cannot allow that to continue." A beat. "We need to target those congressmen and senators who support Lowe who face challenges this year - we need to hit the President himself with rumors and scandal."
Adel widens his eyes at Shaw, as if impressed by his insight and cunning. Thought whispers to Emma and to his brother, << How clever! How unique! Why didn't we think of this before? >>
Bahir's eyes flick back to Adel, irritated and sharp. He pulls his hands from his pockets, the better to fold his arms over his chest and settle against the prop of the wall.
It is Percy's turn to check his watch. In his case, it's because it has the date on it. Nope, no election coming up that he can recall. Percy sighs. He misses parliamentary politics.
Emma's smile disappears and her face darkens at the reference to her encounter with Homeland Security, and she turns Adel's thoughts back on themselves with a dismissive flex of her powers. "Agreed, Sebastian. We've already begun information gathering and planting. But we need to do more than affect the popularity counters. We go after him, we need to bring him down. More than cripple him, we need to paralyze him."
"Yes," Shaw agrees, eyes flickering again to Emma. "But a President without a Congress is a President stripped of many of his powers." A beat. "There is still, however, executive tools - Defense, Justice - oh, and your favorite, Emma - Homeland Security." He pauses. "We need to hit the appointees; fill the departments with scandal, so that he has no tools to hand." A look, then, at Bahir and Adel. "We have certain tools others don't; there's undoubtably going to be court cases coming up challenging this business, and we are better than anyone at getting to judges and juries. If we can mire implementation of X-ID and MRA down in the courts long enough to get a Congress friendly to us, we may be able to rewrite the law. Failing that, if we cut Lowe's legs out from underneath him there will be a sea change in '08."
Percy studies his perfectly manicured nails. His mouth twitches in a faint smirk. He murmurs, "Scandal."
For Shaw's jibe, he earns himself a slanting glare from the White Bishop. Adel rubs the knuckles of his hand, temper rising ugly, but tamed. He tries, very hard, to listen to Shaw.
From the other side of the room, Bahir helps. The link between the twins sparkles with activity, dimmed politely from Emma's vision.
Emma's is not quite so shielded, though only to those with additional perceptions. She shakes her head, pushing slowly to perch on the edge of her chair, posture painfully correct. "If we want to bring this down, we need to ensure that there are no heir's to Lowe's power waiting in the wings, or if there are, that they have nothing to step into."
Somewhere on the muck, Victoria has disconnected.
"Yes." Shaw's voice is gravelly. "When Lowe topples, he needs to be friendless and alone at the last. He can hold up his hands and make a victory sign when he lifts off from the lawn, but... The beat of blades needs to be a funeral drum." A pause. "The twins," he says, "should focus on the courts right now - get to the judges, see to it that cases go our way. Talhurst can focus on discovering - or creating - scandal, and Emma dear..." A turn, a smile, black eyes on the White Queen. "No one is better at discovering the true hierarchies of power than you."
"Mmm. Those poor sixteen-year-old Senate pages," Percy says under his breath, apropos of nothing much.
Adel smiles, and Bahir grimaces; between the two of them, the twins accept their lot readily enough. The lots of others, however -- well, Adel smiles more, and Bahir's expression goes blank.
Emma inclines her head in gracious deference, but an anything but submissive glance up at him follows and she asks sweetly, "And you, my king? What... strengths of yours do you plan on exercising?"
Shaw's smile is lazy. "Command," he says. "Control. With my public persona, darling queen..." He resumes his seat. "I have limited avenues to openly oppose Roger Lowe." He pauses. "Once we've identified keystones, I can make contact and - the viper at the breast - steer them towards the place that benefits us best and hurts Lowe most."
Percy is no longer listening. He's strategizing in his head and trying not to think about rape.
Adel pulls his sleeve back from his wrist, looking down at the glass face of his watch. He twitches the white fabric back down to his wrist.
Angling his shoulder, Bahir wedges himself back against the wall, and turns away from the table's head.
Emma mmms quietly to herself and holds her position with her hands curling over the ends of the chair arms. "Well, then, I suppose the first step is to look at the information already gathered and to establish lynchpins in congress."
"For you, yes," Shaw agrees. "I think the legislature is an excellent place for you to concentrate on, while Percy works the cabinet. Do we know anyone in the lobbying community with ties we can exploit?" The question is offered to the broader room. "Any avenues of ingress we have not considered?"
Adel's side of the room is silent.
So is Bahir's.
"I've a few contacts through Oliver I might be able to lean on," Percy admits after a moment. "But I'm not that optimistic about, er -- well, any of them. It's worth a shot, but--" He gestures vague dismissal, a flicker of his fingers.
"Whatever you can offer, Percy," Emma answers, then looks back at Shaw. "We will all be sure to keep each other informed."
Shaw's smile is short. "I intend," he says, leaning over towards Emma to brush a knuckle against her cheek again, "to keep in very close contact." Eyes flicker to Adel, and then the Black King and his touch withdraws. "Make no mistake," he says to room at large. "While our various side projects will certainly continue, /this/ is to be the focus of the Circle and the Club. If I discover that someone is not..." A pause to choose words. "Giving their all, well." The telepaths in the room can feel black anticipation, rising and then falling again.
Adel returns Shaw's glance with a glitter in his eyes. Teeth spread over a bladed smile in the brief meeting of their eyes, and he continues to watch him after the Black King looks away.
Emma snorts and narrows her eyes, adding cold eye-gleam to the glitter already in the room. "If that is all, Sebastian?" She doesn't wait for an answer before once again signalling the door guarding pawn to spring to his task. "This meeting is adjourned."
Shaw accepts that wordlessly - he opened the meeting, the White Queen can close it - and he just settles back on his throne, waiting and watching for the pieces to file out. Elbow on one arm of the chair, he reaches up to idly scratch at his chin as he waits, mind reflecting on plots and plans and the return of Emma Frost.
OOC: Following this, Shaw helps Emma to her quarters.