When a Queen Kneels
Cutscene: When a Queen Kneels
Author
IC Details
Synopsis:

Emma Frost has a Very Bad Night.

IC Date: May 02, 2019
IC Location: New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted: 03 May 2019 03:59
Rating & Warnings: G
Associated Plots

It had woken her in the middle of the night, only a little while after she'd retired for the evening.

It wasn’t the first time that Emma Frost had been disturbed by someone encroaching on her thoughts while sleeping. New York was thick with people in general, and—despite recent legislation—still had a respectable metahuman population. A decently large community of psionics who usually respected each others boundaries.

Except that this mind was young. Scared. In pain.

Emma had met more than one of those, too. Had been swayed to pity. Now isn’t really that different.

Like that handful of times before, the woman rouses herself and gets dressed to see what can be done about it despite the fact that it's nearly midnight.

She takes a cab, and knows something is wrong before the car even stops in front of an old warehouse.

She gets out anyway, sends it on its way with a generous tip, and spreads her feet in a wide and defiant stance to look at the rundown property. Her mind unfurls like a spring blossom, her ability stretching out her consciousness and finding bodies all around her. Her blue eyes remain closed, seeing no one.

It will be like that, will it?

"Where is the girl?" she asks of no one in particular, her voice resonating confidently from the brick as though they'd answer her. It resonates through their minds.

Her features school themselves into something appropriately murderous—her mind stretches out and drops the first assailant before he even steps fully into the open, his brain telling his body that it’s experiencing more pain than it ever has in its thirty something years of awareness. Blinding, searing, crippling agony. It feels good to unleash for the first time in what feels like forever, and the telepath's carmine lips curl upwards in a vicious smile.

Perfectly manicured fingertips settle on her perfectly powdered temple in a practiced centering technique as she does much the same to the second man who dares approach the White Queen. So, too, the third. And the fourth. And the fifth and the sixth.

She stretches a hand out punch through a new gunman’s mental defenses—expecting them to be meager and insufficient like what came before—and seize control of both him and his firearm.

The telepath hisses as she feels something sharp as it hits her squarely behind her shoulder blade instead. She can’t reach it to pull it out, but the pain is searing hot and it swiftly begins to spread that warmth through the whole of her body. It gets harder to breathe as her body grows more lethargic. Less responsive.

She drops a few more men to their knees, but then falls to her own. The blonde tries so very hard to get back to her feet, but the world is spinning and growing increasingly out-of-focus and dark.

The last thing that Emma Frost hears is the pounding of boots and a metallic click as she’s hoisted up enough for the dampener collar to be set about her neck.

The extra world known only by the world’s psychics goes suddenly and disturbingly silent, and then follows the rest of the world as the telepath loses her fight against the powerful tranquilizer coursing through her veins.

The world goes completely black.

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