Emma's New York -- Abandoned Lower Level Under the 42nd Street Station -- Manhattan. Sunday Evening
They'd gotten back to Fandom fairly early, so Emma had headed out again the moment she'd unpacked.
A quick change of clothes and a portal later, Emma was in New York. Her New York, and some of the tension that even her trip to the Bahamas hadn't been able to remove slowly eased from her shoulders.
It felt...good, being back. Stealing a hot dog, counting out her change at the bodega, jumping the turnstile, and eventually making her way down into the long-forgotten tunnels that she and Hank called home.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank!" she called, climbing down the ladder for this particular entrance. "Fuzzy? Are you here?" All she got in response was the faint echos of a baritone singing a hideously off-key (and off-meter) rendition of 'Dem Bones,' so Emma rolled her eyes and headed back towards the set of rooms and tunnels that housed Hank's lab. "Haaaaaaaaank!"
"The toe bone's connected to the heel bone!" was her only answer, as Emma rounded the corner to find Hank dancing with a skeleton. His long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and apron splattered with blood. "Would you care to dance, mademoiselle?"
"No thanks. You two darling lovebirds keep canoodling, and I'll just tidy up," she replied, shaking her head. "What have you been working on?"
"Some brain experiments. Rats. Mice. Raccons. Cats," he answered, bowing to his dance partner. "I can hold more, after whatever you did last time, but things still keep itching at the back of my brain. I can't quite remember."
"We'll work on it," Emma promised, sitting on what seemed to be a clean-ish section of table and starting to sift through his papers. True, he'd pull it all out again after she'd filed it away, but maybe some of it could be used for fuel. The hot water pipes for the station above kept it from getting too cold, but Emma didn't have fur like Hank, and she wanted a fire in the stove while she was here. Junk, junk, junk, file, junk, file, file, file...
"...Hank," she asked slowly, flipping one envelope open and drawing out the letter inside. "What is this?"
If it had been possible for the dark-furred man to go pale at her tone, he might have. "You told me to watch for parties. 'Find me ones that sparkle,' you said," he offered. "And I found that."
"But it's a bad party, Emma. I don't want you going."
"It's not a bad party, it's the best party," she objected, turning the invitation over in her hands. "Look, it's even for the 'Future Leaders of Tomorrow' and all that. Other people my age, Hank. Nothing bad is going to happen that I can't handle."
"No." Hank's face settled in the mulish expression Emma knew so well, and he shook his head. "You aren't going."
"It's a chance to get inside the Hellfire Club!" Emma argued. "I'm going."
"Too dangerous. What if they remember? What if they suspect?" he growled. "I don't want you near Leland, Emma. He wants to hurt you. He will hurt you if he sees you and remembers."
"Then I make sure he doesn't remember," she snapped, stuffing the invitation down her shirt and glaring at him. "I can't hide away my entire life hoping to never run into him again. This is New York. If we get everything we want, I may very well end up at parties with him all the time."
"Now are you going to help me, or not?"
There was a long pause as Hank looked at the floor, conflict evident in every line of his body. "Fine," he finally grumbled, yellow eyes meeting her gaze. "But you are not going alone. I look out for you."
"Hank, there is no way you can watch me inside the Hellfire Club. Not without getting spotted," Emma shot back. "It's impossible."
"Then you aren't going."
"What if I took other back-up?" she suggested, an idea starting to turn over in her brain. "Friends, like me, with powers. Will that work? And I'll check in with you as I leave the party."
"What kind of friends?" It was grudging, but not an outright no, which Emma took for encouragement.
"I told you about Jack. In my letters, remember? He's a detective and very clever," she promised, mentally thinking up who she could bring on a trip like this. "Or Jonothon. He has powers too, and could keep me safe. Or there's Karla or Beka or Rose or George...I'll be fine, Hank, I promise."
"Alright," he allowed. "But you check in right after the party. And I'll still be watching outside."
"Deal," Emma concurred, hopping off her perch on the table and offering her hand with a wide grin. "Don't worry, Hank. Everything is going to go exactly to plan."
[OOC: Establishy, NFI, NFB due to distance.]
A quick change of clothes and a portal later, Emma was in New York. Her New York, and some of the tension that even her trip to the Bahamas hadn't been able to remove slowly eased from her shoulders.
It felt...good, being back. Stealing a hot dog, counting out her change at the bodega, jumping the turnstile, and eventually making her way down into the long-forgotten tunnels that she and Hank called home.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank!" she called, climbing down the ladder for this particular entrance. "Fuzzy? Are you here?" All she got in response was the faint echos of a baritone singing a hideously off-key (and off-meter) rendition of 'Dem Bones,' so Emma rolled her eyes and headed back towards the set of rooms and tunnels that housed Hank's lab. "Haaaaaaaaank!"
"The toe bone's connected to the heel bone!" was her only answer, as Emma rounded the corner to find Hank dancing with a skeleton. His long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and apron splattered with blood. "Would you care to dance, mademoiselle?"
"No thanks. You two darling lovebirds keep canoodling, and I'll just tidy up," she replied, shaking her head. "What have you been working on?"
"Some brain experiments. Rats. Mice. Raccons. Cats," he answered, bowing to his dance partner. "I can hold more, after whatever you did last time, but things still keep itching at the back of my brain. I can't quite remember."
"We'll work on it," Emma promised, sitting on what seemed to be a clean-ish section of table and starting to sift through his papers. True, he'd pull it all out again after she'd filed it away, but maybe some of it could be used for fuel. The hot water pipes for the station above kept it from getting too cold, but Emma didn't have fur like Hank, and she wanted a fire in the stove while she was here. Junk, junk, junk, file, junk, file, file, file...
"...Hank," she asked slowly, flipping one envelope open and drawing out the letter inside. "What is this?"
If it had been possible for the dark-furred man to go pale at her tone, he might have. "You told me to watch for parties. 'Find me ones that sparkle,' you said," he offered. "And I found that."
"But it's a bad party, Emma. I don't want you going."
"It's not a bad party, it's the best party," she objected, turning the invitation over in her hands. "Look, it's even for the 'Future Leaders of Tomorrow' and all that. Other people my age, Hank. Nothing bad is going to happen that I can't handle."
"No." Hank's face settled in the mulish expression Emma knew so well, and he shook his head. "You aren't going."
"It's a chance to get inside the Hellfire Club!" Emma argued. "I'm going."
"Too dangerous. What if they remember? What if they suspect?" he growled. "I don't want you near Leland, Emma. He wants to hurt you. He will hurt you if he sees you and remembers."
"Then I make sure he doesn't remember," she snapped, stuffing the invitation down her shirt and glaring at him. "I can't hide away my entire life hoping to never run into him again. This is New York. If we get everything we want, I may very well end up at parties with him all the time."
"Now are you going to help me, or not?"
There was a long pause as Hank looked at the floor, conflict evident in every line of his body. "Fine," he finally grumbled, yellow eyes meeting her gaze. "But you are not going alone. I look out for you."
"Hank, there is no way you can watch me inside the Hellfire Club. Not without getting spotted," Emma shot back. "It's impossible."
"Then you aren't going."
"What if I took other back-up?" she suggested, an idea starting to turn over in her brain. "Friends, like me, with powers. Will that work? And I'll check in with you as I leave the party."
"What kind of friends?" It was grudging, but not an outright no, which Emma took for encouragement.
"I told you about Jack. In my letters, remember? He's a detective and very clever," she promised, mentally thinking up who she could bring on a trip like this. "Or Jonothon. He has powers too, and could keep me safe. Or there's Karla or Beka or Rose or George...I'll be fine, Hank, I promise."
"Alright," he allowed. "But you check in right after the party. And I'll still be watching outside."
"Deal," Emma concurred, hopping off her perch on the table and offering her hand with a wide grin. "Don't worry, Hank. Everything is going to go exactly to plan."
[OOC: Establishy, NFI, NFB due to distance.]