In the Theater of Smiles and Laughter
Roleplaying Log: In the Theater of Smiles and Laughter
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Trish Walker starts to work a plan at the Hellfire Club. Unfortunately, the poor little thing has no idea how far over her head she's dived.

Other Characters Referenced: Sebastian Shaw
IC Date: September 19, 2019
IC Location: Hellfire Club, NYC, NY
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 21 Sep 2019 13:18
Rating & Warnings: PG
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

The social opportunities at the Hellfire Club are myriad, and they run late into the evening. The Club's activities - now well past the unfortunate hiatus that had its doors closed for so long - are back into full swing at the townhouse, and its depravities once more stretch the imagination behind the closed doors of private lounges and the upstairs chambers.

The air hangs thick with the sweet smell of one trio's pipe tobacco in one of the larger rooms where a pianist is presently performing an intense arrangement of classical selections: dark and violent. The lights have been turned low, leaving the cavernous fireplaces to provide most of the light as they've been lit for the first time in the season.

Here, despite the larger room, the gathering here is smaller. Men sip their spirits in fine suits, some decidedly more dated than others, while women wear decidedly less. Among them, is the familiar form of Emma Frost in her more scandalous fare - cape, and thigh high boots, and corset - as she sips from a glass of claret and speaks to one of the male members of the club.


Deep breath in, deep breath out. Despite the fact that Trish Walker has indeed been a member since she turned 18, she has never before sought to climb the social ladder of the club in such the way that she intends to now. She walks up the steps to the home of the Hellfire Club, places a smile on her face, and enters as much as she has before, with the confidence that she does belong here, just as much as anyone else. She removes her long coat, leaving it with a coat person near the entrance.

Tonight, she wears red stiletto heeled shoes with a matching bright red, form fitting dress that stops just more than half way to her knees. Her hair falls down her back, blonde, shiny, and wavy. She listens for a moment, soon drawn to the sounds of the piano. Her heels lightly tap the floor.

Soon, she finds her way the large room where the music emanates from, eyes adjusting to the light. She takes another silent moment, as she sets foot further into the room, to take in the occupants. She hopes to find a kind, if not familiar, face.


Shaw isn't here in the room, so Trish won't have that, at least. There's a face from the boat party, though, who recognizes her when she comes in and feels he has the grounds to act as though he knows her. He raises his glass in salute to her, even as he continues to lean in to smell the perfume of a woman half his age as she laughs softly.

Emma catches the lift of his glass at the edge of her peripheral vision, as she twists her head just enough to see what he's saluting at. She doesn't need to, really, as she's already stretching her psychic awareness in that direction to see who's entered her dominion.

To see what lurks at the top of the woman's thoughts.


Trish nods to the man who raises his glass to her. She offers a little finger wave to him. When a server walks past, she flags them down and asks for a side-car. With drink ordered, she lets out the tiniest of sighs, her guard let down for the briefest of moments.

Her thoughts are on the Hellfire Club. More specifically its inner workings. Who runs the club? What happens behind the scenes? Who runs the place? She's taken it for granted for so long, but now…now she wants to find out.

Her drink arrives rather quickly, for which she's thankful. She takes a long sip as she looks around once more. Her eyes land on a blonde woman who…yes, she met her on the boat, too, didn't she?


Emma's expression remains unchanged as her own thoughts wrap around and envelop Trish's own. She's been spying on the members of this club for years - sorted through countless minds. What's one more?

She sips her wine, tilting it up over her shoulder in such a way as that it gives the CEO an opportunity to assess the arrangement of the room better. When she finds questions in the celebrity's thinking, she feels her liquor-soaked mind coming into a very sharp focus.

She smiles at Trish, subtly, squares her shoulders, and then also lifts her glass in wordless greeting.


This time, Trish has her own glass to lift in response, which is exactly what she does when Emma lifts hers. A smile returned, the woman of TV and radio fame brings her glass up and takes another sip. She considers Emma for a moment, grey eyes staring through the darkened room at the other woman. It's definitely nice to have another woman who's a member.

It might be nice to start with another woman member of the club. Sure, she could flirt and flatter all the men 'til kingdom come, and probably make some headway at some point, and she plans to, but that doesn't mean she can't also make headway with the other women in the club as well.

Casually, she saunters over to Emma. "Well, hi." She says with another smile. "Nice to run into you again…" She furrows her brow for a moment and then brightens again. "Emma, right?" Business owner. It's important to know the powerful women in business, after all.


"Well met. That's right," Emma says in confirmation, chuckling airily. "Emma Frost, of Frost International.”

She should feel guilty, perhaps, for the way that she rifles through Trish's thoughts, searching through them to try to find the reason why she cares about anything transpiring in in this building, save where to get a fresh drink and something conveniently distracting from the trials and tribulations from everyday living. "How are you this evening?"

She doesn’t.


"Emma Frost. That's right. A pleasure, again." Trish smiles. "Trish Walker." She introduces again, in case it's needed. After all, last they met was on the boat cruise, even if she is a celebrity.

"Oh, I'm doing quite well, thank you." She looks around as she says, "It's always nice to find myself within the comforting walls of the Club. I've always been made to feel like I have a place here."

Turning her gaze back to Emma, takes a sip of her drink. "I was disappointed that we didn't get more time to visit on the boat." She says softly. "I've always admired women such as yourself. Strong, independent, and business owners. We need more of you in this world." She lifts her glass again, this time in a little cheers motion, before taking another sip.

—-

Emma continues to watch the other blonde with a constancy that may seem to a naturalist much like a lioness at the watering hole, refusing to shift her gaze despite occasional interruptions by her glass's interposition between them. "Well, the boat was so crowded. It was difficult to keep track of everyone. But that was a lovely party, wasn't it? Mister Elliot always throws the most delightful outings. Just an impeccable taste in wine.” Her glass swishes in Trish’s direction demonstratively. “Although, you still need to come see us when you're ready to talk a boat of your own."

"It was quite the lovely partly. It was such a wonderful night, on such a beautiful boat." Trish nods, smiling still. "And yes, I've meant to arrange a meeting. Perhaps one can be booked soon. I'd rather like a boat to call mine." She brightens a bit at a thought. "I could even celebrate the purchase by holding a gathering of my own for members of the Club. It would seem only fitting."

There are a few thoughts, hopes, that scatter through her mind that such an event might even get her closer to a supposed inner circle, one not all are privy to.

"Would you know of good place to keep boats and yachts?" She pauses and smiles. "I suppose I should know of at least one. The place Mister Elliot keeps his."

——

Emma chuckles softly, and her eyes shine wise. “Don’t let me chase you off the idea, but… Perhaps the better place to start, Miss Walker, is by finding something of a playmate with a yacht.” Her cup tilts to indicate the room at large as she shifts her weight from one stiletto boot to the other. “There are certainly no shortage of men here who would trip over themselves for the opportunity to show you the ropes, as it were.”

She shrugs beneath her mantle of fur. “It’s a very expensive hobby to get into, and I’d hate to be the one who talked you into a bad investment. That sort of feedback tends to wax poorly.”


Emma chuckles softly, and her eyes shrewdly inspect the radio personality. "Don't let me chase you off the idea, but… Perhaps the better place to start, Miss Walker, is by finding something of a playmate with a yacht." Her cup tilts to indicate the room at large as she shifts her weight from one stiletto boot to the other. "There are certainly no shortage of men here who would trip over themselves for the opportunity to show you the ropes, as it were."

She shrugs beneath her mantle of fur. "It's a very expensive hobby to get into, and I'd hate to be the one who talked you into a bad investment. That sort of feedback tends to wax poorly."


Furrowing her brow as she listens, Trish seems to give what Emma says some serious thought. Nodding along as she takes a sip of her drink, she considers the other woman's words. "Somebody to show me the ropes, hmm?" Her eyes casually flit from one person to the next in their current room. Perhaps someone from the Hellfire Club could teach her. She'd probably want to be strategic in her choosing, however. If she's serious about this plan of hers, she has to carefully consider all options.

"You make a good point. I should know what I'm getting myself into, really, before making such an investment. I wouldn't want to purchase something so wonderful only to mess things up." Swirling her drink about in its glass, she asks, "Would you know if Mr. Shaw owns a yacht? He seems like the kind of man who'd have one."


One of Emma's meticulously sculpted eyebrows arches at the question, and then one corner of her mouth ticks upwards. "He does." She lifts her cup to her lips, but muses a beat before she sets it to them. "I should know. He commissioned it from my shipyards."

She sips from the cup, and the smile evaporates with a small bounce of her eyebrows. "It's my understanding he's made some additions since then, however."

She takes a step towards Trish, and it's there that her gaze gains an intensity as she peruses the other woman's face. Peruses her thoughts at leisure, finding no defense among the thoughts that travel among the surface. "You'll find he always prefers to put his particular touch on things."


He has one, too. Purchased from her company. Trish is coming to realize just how tight knit some circles of the Hellfire Club are. Something, perhaps, she wouldn't have realized had she not been set on this path. She'd been just as happy to attend events and have her whims catered to, until now. Now she has to amp up her ambition.

"Additions?" She's certainly curious. "If he'd wanted additions, why wouldn't he have just asked for them to be made before the yacht was delivered to him?" Though that may be more a question for the man himself.

Her thoughts, especially those on the surface, are certainly easy to read. She's never been in need of a defence. At least not that she's been aware of. And at the moment, her thoughts are a slight mix of 'Am I doing the right thing?' and 'Should I be worried that she just went from being happy and pleasant to intense and serious? Should I stop asking questions?'

She clears her throat, takes one more sip of her drink, and places a smile on her face. "That may be true…although, couldn't that be said of most any of us? Haven't you ever put your own particular, personal touch on anything? I'd like to think I have."


The truth of the matter is that Trish should be very concerned.

Particularly when Emma smiles. It is a vixen's smile, made lovely by every natural curve and artist stroke of the lip brush… But entirely devoid of kindness. Surely, Trish will have seen enough of her ilk in her time to know the difference.

"Hmm," says she, standing her ground and slowly tilting her head a degree to the side. "I suppose I have." The smile changes with a nearly imperceptible subtlety.

"Well, then I guess you'll have to ask him yourself to show you. When you see him next."


If it weren't for the fact that she's acted for a good portion of her life, having learned to both hide and mimic emotions, Trish might, at least outwardly, betray her feelings of the moment. However, two can play this game.

"Of course, I suppose I shall have to ask him. Hopefully he doesn't make a stranger of himself." She giggles softly, as she softly brushes back a lock of hair.

"And what of yourself? I'd imagine a business woman of your stature, especially owing shipyards, certainly you must have a yacht? Maybe two?" She quirks an eyebrow up questioningly.


"I don't, actually," Emma replies, darkly amused as she straightens and reclaims a step of distance between them. A last sip drains her wine glass, and then the woman in white laughs softly. "For some reason when your company dabbles in yachts, you know a great many people who own them when you get the itch. I prefer to invest in the real estate on terra firma."

There's a pause, and then her eyes lift upwards theatrically. "I do own the jet, though." Her eyes come back down to rest on Trish. "Well, the company technically owns the jet, I suppose. But when I get the prioritized scheduling, isn't it really all the same?"


"Honestly, I'm a little surprised. Then again, you make a good point, I suppose. If you know enough people who own, and who are willing to invite you onto theirs, why would you ever need a yacht of your own?" Trish looks a little impressed, raising her glass as if to say, 'Here's to you and your know-how'.

"Real estate on terra firma? That sounds absolutely fascinating. You must tell me more." Her tone certainly makes her sound interested, whether or not that's really the case.

"A company jet? Oh, how fabulous." She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "That must come in rather handy, I'd think. I mean, having priority, being able to use it to fly where you need to must make travel so much easier. Here and I'm stuck to business and first, like a commoner." She giggles again, continuing to smile a little.


"Well, dear, do give yourself a little credit. You're hardly a commoner, hm?" Emma swirls her empty wine glass contemplatively as she tilts her head in the opposite direction as before. "But," she says after a long beat of silence and staring the radio personality down, she shrugs softly. "My wine glass is empty, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of the wait staff. I really should go find someone so I can call for a head or two on pikes."

Her head drops conspiratorially between her shoulders. "So that we can properly instill fear into whoever would think to let such a terrible calamity befall me again. It is a public service that I provide, after all."

Resuming her full height and regal posture, Emma chuckles at her own joke. "Anyway, it truly was lovely to see you again."


"I suppose that's true. I am certainly no plebeian." Trish concedes, though these are words she'd never expect to hear herself say on a normal day. Then again, this is no ordinary company. Looking around, she shakes her head in disappointment. "You would think they would ensure a member of the staff to be ever present, ensuring our needs do not go unmet."

She chuckles softly, as if enjoying Emma's joke. "You'll find me forever grateful for said public service. Perhaps I shall have the chance to repay this service someday soon." She bows her head ever so slightly.

"Oh yes, it was lovely to see you as well." She offers softly. "I do hope to see you again soon."


"Oh, I’m sure you will," Emma purrs, in a way that sounds distinctly more like threat than cozy promise. “Do have a good evening?” And that is said in the way more of an edict than suggestion.

Letting her hand with the empty glass fall alongside her hip as she turns, the woman makes her way out of the room with a wide sway to her step that sets her cape to fluttering around her legs with cinemagraphic perfection. It’s time to be off to other business.

Like getting her wine glass refilled. Naturally.

What else would she be up to?

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