(no subject)
It's Friday night, which means that the club is dark and throbbing and filled with sweating bodies moving to the shifting beat of techno music. It's the end of finals week, which means that the crowd is perhaps more academic than usual. Part of that crowd is Natalie, on the fringes of a group of department acquaintences she's come out with, most of whom are male and most of whom look like they're having trouble with fashion, the beat, and finding girls to dance with. Natalie is unsympathetic, swaying on her own in tight blue jeans and a long-sleeved blouse that dips to reveal that, mathematician or not, she does in fact have cleavage.
Travis isn't trying to put finals out of his mind, but there's many reasons to find oneself in a club on Friday eve. Not the least of which are escaping the growing holiday cheer outside. He's dressed in his own pair of tight blue jeans and loosely buttoned shirt. Spotting a familiar face, he leaves his perch on the sidelines, weaving through people until he slips into place behind her, leaning forward to add a greeting, "Well, the evening just got quite a bit more pleasant."
Natalie startles at the sound of a voice behind her, and she whips around with an ungraceful wobble to face Travis. It takes a moment for him to sink in (we'll call it dulled reflexes thanks to the bar visited before the club), and once he does, she peers at him, blinking through the thick veil of dark hair that's whipped into her face. "Hi."
"Hi," Travis echoes in return, keeping time with the music. "Well, I guess this answers your question the other night. Good to see you, by the way."
"Uh huh," Natalie answers, and lifts a hand to brush hair from its cling against her cheek and over one shoulder. "Lucky running into you like this. Since, you know, you lost my number."
"Lucky indeed. Lost your number?" Travis asks, lifting an eyebrow at her. "Why makes you think that?"
Natalie lifts her eyebrows in return, silence pointed.
"Maybe I'm just trying to play hard to get," he replies, with a slight twist of the lips. "Mysterious aura, of sorts. Or wondering if you'll call first."
"I don't have your number," Natalie reminds, matching that twist of the lips with one of her own.
"Oh?" is Travis' response to that. "Easily rememdied. Make sure you don't leave here tonight without it." He glances about the club, taking in the variety of patrons. "Particular reason for the revelrie tonight?"
Natalie studies Travis, feet having stilled in the course of conversation, and combs her fingers through loose locks as her gaze settles into an intentness helped along by alcohol. Eventually she answers, "End of the semester. We're all done today."
"Ah. Reason enough for celebration," Travis nods, swaying slightly with the beat. "Congratulations. Another batch 15 units closer to adulthood."
"Is that what makes them adults these days? Passing calc?" Natalie squints at Travis as a series of strobes goes off.
"One of the steps in the journey, perhaps," Travis allows. "Although I'm not sure an equation can fully count as rite of passage." He glances up at the ceiling, cocking his head to listen as the music changes. "Well, what do you know. I might actually /like/ this song."
"Do you?" A moment longer and then Natalie nods, hair swinging forward again. "Good. Buy me a drink and then dance with me, Mr. Reed. I'm celebrating tonight."
Travis's mouth turns up in a small smile. "Far be it from me to interrupt a /celebration/, then. What's your fancy, Miss December End of Semester?"
"Surprise me," Natalie responds, and her smile turns mischevious as she echoes his. She bounces upward, stretching to full height on her toes, and blinks evenly at him. There is most certainly a sense that he will be judged on his choice.
"Full of surprises tonight," Travis promises, sliding away and through the crowd toward the bar. There's a slight wait, being Friday night and all, but he finally returns, two tumblers in tow. "Hardly a celebration without whiskey on ice," he says, passing one of the glasses her way.
In the interim, Natalie's taken up twirling with a classmate, grinning up at him as she ducks under his arm and then spins back out. Travis's return catches her by surprise again, and she untangles herself to accept the drink with brows lifted in question. "Wow. Trying to get me drunk, huh?" The question earns a laugh, even if only from her, and she grins into a low giggle. "Drunker," she amends.
"Hardly a crime in that," Travis says, lifting his free hand up in defense. "And end of term definitely warrants it, if there ever was a time. So cheers" he says, extending his tumbler toward her.
"That," Natalie determines sagely, "Depends on your motives. Is it good whiskey?" She tips her glass toward his, clinking easily and then raising it for a sip without waiting for answer.
"If it's not, I'll be having a word with that bartender," Travis quips, before raising the glass to his own lips for a drink. "Does it meet your approval?"
Natalie wrinkles her nose after her sip, reply enough, and her next drink is a longer one, intended to down the liquid fairly quickly. She lowers her glass and studies him seriously. "And you dance?"
"I suppose that would depend on who you asked," Travis says, before tossing back the rest of his drink and reaching for her empty glass. "For you? Tonight? I dance."
"Good," Natalie declares, handing over her glass with a slow smile. "Do you waltz?"
Travis stacks the glasses, reaching behind him to set them off to on a shelf to one side. "Do I waltz?" he repeats, a bemused expression on his face. "I have been known to, when the mood overtakes me."
"Really?" Natalie's clearly both surprised and impressed as she steps into him as soon as his hands are free. One hand slides up to his shoulder, warm and clinging to counter unsteadiness. "Is that a new thing now?"
"I do a lot of...entertaining for clients," Travis explains, falling into step as one hand slides into position at her back.
Natalie's brows slide upward, arching high. She settles in against him, touch far more comfortable than it would be in a sober state, and wonders, "What sort of entertaining is that?"
"Dancing, of course," Travis says, amusement in his face as he looks down at her. "For the occasional high society client. More occasional than my accountant would prefer."
"Waltzing," Natalie sings up at him, grin easy and loose as she slides her free hand up to grasp his, sloppy formal positioning. "C'mon," she prompts, cheerful tease. "I'm waiting."
Travis glances about the room. "Well, I guess we will make them move out of the way," he comments, extending his arm, and taking the lead. "Sa'shame there's not a more...appropriate music," he comments, the timing of the steps clashing horribly with the techno beat.
"We don't have to waltz," Natalie allows.
"This is your celebration," Travis gives a small shake of his head. "We'll waltz if you want to."
"I think that you have not had nearly enough alcohol for this to work properly," Natalie opines, head tilted up toward him.
Travis chuckles at her observation. "Well, then, we have a dilemma. Do we dance, or do we drink?"
"I've already had plenty to drink," Natalie answers, and she sways back, the brace of her hand against his shoulder letting her lean backward to look up at him. "You're the issue here."
"What's the fun in that, then?" Travis asks, looking her in the eyes. "Would hardly be mannerly of me to drink while you watch."
"Then stop talking," Natalie advises, irritation let loose as easy as laughter and smiles with the lubrication of alcohol, "And do something fun."
"Something fun," Travis appears to be quite amused at this version of Natalie. "But you don't have any suggestions for what this 'something fun' would be?"
Natalie's hands drop away as she steps back, squinting at Travis again. After a moment she shakes her head and spreads her palms flat as she shares, "I'm way too far gone to figure you out tonight." Her hand flutters in a vague gesture.
"Fair enough," Travis says, with a nod. After a moment's pause, he pulls a paper from his pocket, scribbles down a sequence of numbers. "Nothing so complicated as yours," he says, pressing the paper into her hand. And with that, he's off, disappearing into the crowd.
Natalie stares down at the paper in her hand with a deep sense of bafflement and then lifts her head again to watch Travis move off. She remains there, still, for a moment until a skinny boy with ratty hair sidles up to ask "What was that?" Natalie, in drunken confusion, admits, "I have no idea."
=NYC= White Queen's Quarters - Second Floor - Hellfire Clubhouse
The phones had started ringing within minutes of the earliest interruptions to Saturday broadcasts, and there had been little sleep in the information networks that night. Emma clicks the mute button and turns around to face her assembled pieces. "I do have to wonder just how thoroughly they searched that campus before they were called off." She drops the remote on her desk and folds her arms across her chest, pressing wrinkles into her silk blouse.
Perched on the edge of Emma's desk with the collar of his dress shirt parted over the hollow of his throat, Adel leans back to pick up the remote and turn it in his hands. There is a gleam of silver at his side where a cane leans against the desk. "How long did they have?" he asks, practical, "and just how much ground to cover?" Practical /and/ ignorant!
Eyes focused on the broadcast, Sal's face is set in an expression of horrified disgust, with brows drawn in and lips thinned to an unhappy line. Once the sound is muted she watches for a moment more, then turns toward Adel, smoothing the lines of her grey suit. "More ground than if they'd raided us," is not exactly /precise/, "counting the grounds as well as the main building itself."
Travis is leaned against the far wall, facing the television, and those gathered. "How long they searched is irrelevant," he comments from his space across the room. "If there's something you want them to have found, there's ways of slipping additional pages into reports. Whether or not there's a formal investigation or it's swept under a rug."
"It looks like the entire operation happened in under an hour. Closer to half, actually--" Emma breaks off and glances aside at her Knight with a tightly amused smile. "That is the question, isn't it? What secrets does Xavier's mansion hold that could have been found? What might already be known? And what might be used to take the government's focus off of /our/ activities."
Adel flips the remote end over end in quick and clever hands, toss an idle thing as his attention turns over others present. His gaze fixes back on Emma with a silent lift of his eyebrows.
"That isn't a lot of time, then," Sal muses, "to find anything but a lot of frightened children."
"Bleating children," Percy remarks, though the whole of his attention has shifted from screens to a contemplation of his manicure. "Indiscreet."
"Not to mention the /hours/ of questioning that may or may not have taken place afterwards," Travis reminds them. "All of which eventually makes its way onto paper."
"Children aren't the only ones who can be indiscreet," Emma points out, dovetailing with Percy's comment to make her point. "There is no way they would have been allowed unfettered access to the children in the wake of that mess. However, we have other... resources." An image of eyes shrouded in red dance across her thoughts as she straightens and places her hands at the small of her back. "Xavier's little toy soldiers, dressed in black leather. Perhaps it's time that they make a mistake... And not just in their wardrobe either."
Sal's eyebrows lift in silent query: not quite pointed enough for a prompt, but definitely a sign of interest.
wardrobe /choices/ either
Between one flip and another, Adel catches the rope and taps it his lower lip. "Can we have white leather?" he asks, proving that he's really paying rather a great deal of attention.
"What sort of mistake?" Percy asks lightly. "Rescuing the wrong damsel in distress? Maybe there are special fines for caped assault and superhero delusion."
"Your princess is in another castle," Travis says dryly.
Sal just rolls her eyes. Real mature.
Emma rolls her eyes too. << White is our color, isn't it? >> "No, /children/. Like trusting the wrong people. Or more precisely, trusting them to keep your secret." If they want to play a game... "Do you remember the reports of crusaders in leather who occasionally have appeared at various incident sites?"
"We all saw the news reports when Magneto decided to play hardball with them," says Percy helpfully. He folds his arms over his chest and leans his weight back on the brace of a heel. "That was a laugh."
"That /was/ fun," Adel echoes without enthusiasm, giving Percy an irritated look for no better reason that the reminder of his presence here.
"I know what was on the news," Sal reveals, shifting her weight slightly from one side to the other. She looks to Percy first, then Adel -- skips over Travis, and focuses on Emma.
"Those were Xavier's pets. His staff doubles as a security force of some sort. One that operates with at least some level of governmental awareness. They would have to, if the reports of some of their equipment is true."
"Governmental--?" Adel's thoughts gloss briefly bitter behind a brittle smile. "My. What sort of equipment?"
"The jet, for one," Percy volunteers. "They have a jet."
"Oh, really now?" is Sal's first comment, her thoughts flicker faintly with images of certain people linked to the school, now done up in black leather. At Percy's note, though, her eyebrows lift. "They have a jet. Well, now."
"I want a jet," Adel sulks.
"You can have a jet. I'll get you one to go to Washington in." Emma lifts a brow at her Bishop. "They have considerably more, if my suspicions are correct. And they've been operating for quite some time. Both of those circumstances require a blind eye. I think we should consider... performing a miracle."
Percy slants a sidelong look at Adel, and then, without actually physically clenching his teeth, ignores him. "A Christmas miracle?"
<< You buy me the best presents, >> Adel mock-purrs. "Bringing sight to the blind?"
"Crusaders," Travis chews on the word thoughtfully some moments later. "A secret slipped from the right people could make their...crusade more arduous and refocus attentions. So the question is, who's /already/ aware of this and who /needs/ to be aware?"
Emma beams angelically, Lucifer's light brightening her eyes in appreciation. "I am full of grace, darling. It seems appropriate," she says with a laugh and quick kiss blown toward Adel before sobering to answer Travis. "We are aware of it. That's enough. As for the need to know... Well. There are only a handful of people who everyone stops to listen to when they speak."
"Sounds like you have an idea," says Adel, slowly, feet thump-thumping against the side of Emma's desk as legs swing.
"Somehow, I get the feeling you're not referring to Jerry Springer," Travis says, crossing the room to settle himself closer to the desk.
"We have access to the leader of the free world. He is a relative unknown and his every move is being analyzed to see which way he will blow," Emma spells it out.
(OOC) Travis says, "Gonna have to slip out. Sorry, guys. Just gonna say Travis is there in the background. I'll catch the rest of the log later"