Fifty Shades of Yacht
Roleplaying Log: Fifty Shades of Yacht
IC Details

Trish is informed, yet again, that she might not want to go on to Sebastian Shaw's yacht.

Other Characters Referenced: Sebastian Shaw
IC Date: November 09, 2019
IC Location: New York City
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 10 Nov 2019 02:56
Rating & Warnings: PG
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* * *

Tessa is waiting at the Water Club.

That's the kind of thing you might hear in a spy novel, isn't it? Ah, but this is a thing with many moving parts.

The Water Club is a place in Manhattan where yachts dock. Simple enough, in concept, but the place itself reeks of elegance, with a white swan logo and a healthy side business in providing a venue for weddings. The view from the waterside is gorgeous from all directions, and the 59th Street Bridge provides a place for individuals to gawk in envy — and what good is a yacht if it is not envied?

Shaw's yacht itself sits there, a full ship's length away from something owned by some gaudy Russian or Symkarian oligarch. Never mind them.

Tessa herself is pristine as she waits in a cloth coat that is so precise that it almost seems like a fashion portrait, a somewhat retrograde one. She has her hair up in a thick chignon, and is wearing a pair of glasses, potentially entirely for the sake of appearances. She has positioned herself out in the cold because she was able to perceive when the woman would come to the place, having calculated the times involved in transit of various features, and seeking, in Tessa's case, to minimize her exposure to November wind and cold.

Because it is chilly out here. And windy. A single glossy strand of black hair has been blown free from that uptight bun of hers.

The question is why is Tessa WAITING, and as she watches in this interval of time painstakingly carved out for a potentially life-saving intervention, Tessa reflects on why that is.

Prying into things.
Take care of it.
An accident at sea.
No investigation.

Tessa's lips purse as the results are reviewed.

Six minutes, she calculates, a thin psychic 'peek' reminding her of where the security squad that might otherwise witness her is pointed — below decks, mostly, with one trooper kitted up in the frogman gear to place a tap on the hull of the neighboring oligarch.

I have six minutes to save her life, Tessa thinks, if it can be saved. It is a risk, but have I not taken others—?

* * *

Wealth and celebrity oft causes a person to move at their own pace and arrive at events at their own self decided optimal time. It's something that, in her younger, more reckless days, Trish had gotten in quite the habit of doing. She'd arrive places when she wanted, as long as she didn't have someone, such as her mother, pushing her.

Of course, when she became a journalist and got her own radio show, she had to start pushing against the very nature of her being that she'd nurtured for a good few years. Even so, there's still a conflict in here: To arrive prompt or be fashionably late. Such difficult decisions! However, on a day like this? It's better to err on the side of caution and be prompt rather than fashionably late.

Dressed to the nines, she made sure to look nice for her appearance. She has a purse, slightly larger than normal, perhaps for a change or two of clothing, slung over her shoulder. Otherwise, she has very few amenities. The car service dropped her off and promptly left as soon as she started walking down the plank onto the dock, her heels making a clickity clack sound.

She reads the numbers associated with the docks, ensuring she's headed in the correct direction. She brushes a golden blonde strand of hair behind her ear as it blows out of place momentarily.

* * *

clack CLICK clack CLICK clack CLICK clack CLICK

A stray whale on the outside of the harbor pauses, hearing a peculiar contratempo of heels in the great distance.

Here and now, Tessa says, raising her voice slightly, "Miss Walker, welcome. I'd like to speak to you for a moment - here, let us move out of the wind." She gestures towards a shack that probably holds guards at some points, or perhaps surplus ropes, and has a strategically placed smoker's post, probably in order to acknowledge the inevitable.

"I hope that your journey was comfortable," Tessa continues, crisply. "Have you brought all necessary things?" Her eyes aren't quite on Trish. They're at that neighboring boat! (There is a guy in a track suit on the stern deck, looking out towards the bridge. He is getting out his phone to take a picture.)

* * *

"Thank you…" Trish responds to Tessa, if a bit hesitantly. "Is everything okay?" She asks, glancing about as she follows Tessa. "I believe Mr. Shaw's expecting me, I'd hate to keep him waiting." It's only partly true. What she really wants is the chance to snoop around, ask more questions, and things like that. The more time she's on the dock, the less time spent poking around the boat.

"Getting here was fine." Again, hesitancy can be sensed in her voice. "I have what I need." She glances at her back. She glances toward the other boat, following Tessa's gaze. "Is there something I can help you with? Is something wrong with the boat? I'd really like to get inside, if possible."

She places her hand on the side of her purse, inconspicuously opening a small side pocket.

* * *

Inside of Tessa's head, a complex series of thoughts happens within the space of about a second. Seen from outside, they could be summarized as:

BLAST AND CURSE YOUR PREPARATION, Walker!! You miserable woman!! If you had forgotten your medication or your nylons I could have arranged for you to be held up in this stinking maze of a city indefinitely!! Your life would be safe at the loss of nothing but another interval of meaningless pleasure immediately preceding your painful demise!!

… but these thoughts do not leave Tessa's head. She blinks once, and she says, "I see. No; the boat is in order."

(And I cannot lie to her either! What an infuriating profession. And if I compel her, then I have ruined everything.)

"… I have worked for Shaw for quite some time," Tessa then says, clasping her hands together. (Her eyes do not flick towards the hand on the purse.) "You will be alone with him, and the crew, on a journey which is not commonly undertaken. I…"

Tessa takes a deep breath.

"Had wanted," she breathes out, "to ensure that you were aware of what this entails. It would be better for you to have doubts now than in twelve hours."

Tessa is not obstructing the walk up the little pathway that would firmly put Trish on the ship itself. "You have time," Tessa continues. "Departure will take place in approximately fifteen minutes; you were invited with the expectation that traffic might interfere. If you have… questions; I will endeavor to answer them."

* * *

The pocket open, the card inside only ever so slightly inched out. An 'In Case Of' for Trish, though she doubts it's needed now. She doesn't expect anything unusual to happen this early on, before even stepping on the yacht. The talk show host glances toward the boat once more. She definitely has her doubts. She's even been told not to take the yacht ride. She promised she wouldn't take the yacht ride. And yet here she is, because there's an itch that she just can't scratch that compels her to try to finish the investigation, to figure out the secrets of the Hellfire Club that she has never been made privy to.

She looks back at Tessa and tilts her head, one eyebrow slightly raised inquisitively. "I understand that Mr. Shaw is a man who enjoys his privacy. That much was to be expected, I believe." She takes a deep breath in.

"Let me pose this question to you, is there a reason I would have doubts twelve hours from now? If so, I believe I should be made aware of the reasons behind said doubts now instead of a half a day from now." If Tessa is trying to tell her something, she hopes this will permit her to do so, even if she can only do so cryptically.

* * *

Tessa's interior frustration boils in its sealed vault. In this shining moment she understands AM, from Harlan Ellison's famous story. She has a mouth, of course, but she too cannot scream.

She briefly contemplates mental domination again. But no. Selene would check, or Frost. Then the best outcome is to be Frost's slave. Tessa's jaw tenses for a moment and she clasps her hands before her. "Shaw is…" Tessa begins, before trailing off.

This is my last hope, Tessa thinks to herself. She is all but thrusting her blood onto my hands. Why is it so hard to save people!! I should find Superman, some time, and ask him.

"A gentleman… but he is also passionate. Intense. And he will be in a position of complete control. I do not mean in the sense that I expect untoward behavior. But it is possible that you will feel trapped, in ways that will not make sense in this moment," Tessa says, not quite looking at Trish as she does it.

Hesitate, she thinks. Curse me for a novice, Tessa thinks further, I may have redoubled her resolve.

On the deck of the ship behind her, the man in the tracksuit abruptly climbs up to the railing and seems about to jump in. Then he seems, equally visibly, to think better of it, moving swiftly inside. Hard to blame him in this weather.

Tessa's hands spread, several inches apart. "I have had this conversation before," she lies, with glass smoothness. "If this does not daunt you, then I will wish you safe voyage."

* * *

Staring at the woman next to her for a good moment, Trish isn't sure what to think. It seems apparent that she doesn't want her to go on the boat. But why? Obviously going on it, there's a certainly level of danger. But sometimes putting one's self in danger is the only way to find out any inkling of truth behind conspiracies and secret organizations. There's always going to be some level of danger.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Trish is conflicted. On the one hand, she's here. She could just walk onto the yacht and that would be that. On the other hand, well, she doesn't quite know what's going on, but it might be worth waiting and doing some digging outside of the yacht. She sighs.

It's a tough call, and she's not usually one to back down once she's put her mind to something, but sometimes you just have to trust your gut, and the various people trying to dissuade you from doing something. Part of her hates that she's not following through, but she knows she'll get over it.

Digging through her purse, she pulls out her phone. "Oh look." She says in an insincere voice. "I just got a text." She pouts and puts on a sad face. "Family emergency, would you believe it? Just when I was about to get on the boat. It's a good thing they caught me." She slips her phone back in her purse and tilts her head. "Please convey my apologies to Mr. Shaw and inform him I shall be in touch. Perhaps I can make up for the disappointment with dinner or some such."

* * *

Tessa exhales.

The deception goes unremarked-upon as she says, "How terribly unfortunate. I would be pleased to arrange ground transport if you must attend to such matters."

Inwardly, she thinks: Humiliating. To have to resort to this gambit. I feel unclean. She had best get the message. I can only risk so much - after all, she is only…

Externally, Tessa continues, "If there is nothing that I can do for you, I shall inform Shaw immediately. Please accept our well wishes."

The wind stirs her hair. She might almost seem like she was about to smile! Perhaps she is.

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