Whatever the Woman Wants
Roleplaying Log: Whatever the Woman Wants
IC Details

Emma and Emery chat, and he delivers to her the most wonderful news: he's finally coming to work for her full time.

Other Characters Referenced: Tony Stark, Sebastian Shaw, Danny Rand
IC Date: December 30, 2019
IC Location: Emma Frost's Penthouse, New York City, NY
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 19 Mar 2020 01:55
Rating & Warnings: G
Scene Soundtrack: Whatever Lola Wants by Sarah Vaughn
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

The more time that seems to pass, the more Emma Frost's behavior seems to change when she is in the comfort of her own home. She's up at odd hours, sleeping poorly, traveling all over and often with little notice, smoking far more than her usual habit, and drinking like a fish.

Well, the drinking’s not exactly new.

She also has been, on occasion, managing to dodge Tasha Beaumont which leaves her seemingly disappearing into holes for hours—or days—at a time with no one really knowing where she's gone.

Not the worst thing in the world, for most of those who know her, but it's different.

And with the holidays, she’s certainly insisted that Emery take more days for himself. Leave her to her own devices more often.

But today, she's home in the middle of the afternoon, dressed in a bustier and form-fitting pants and growling into her cellphone as she… drinks and smokes. As one does.

"I don't care what your schedule is, you're going to get a technician over here and figure out what the hell he did to my system. And if you can't figure it out, you're going to get me a new one that can do the job." A pause, and then, "A new tech, a new system. I don’t care. Do I need to call Mister Shaw? Because I bloody well will. I have him on speed dial, you pathetic little louse, and don’t think for a moment that I will fail to suggest your tanned hide as the new rug for his basement floor."

Another pause. And then? Emma smiles with all of the charm of the wicked Grinch himself, although she continues to speak, now more sweetly, as she leans back against her kitchen’s counter and breathes in a large and toxic cloud from her cigarette.

“Where did you say your office is located?”

Ever the present (according to a strict schedule that adjusts on the daily based on mood, alcohol consumption, and the weather), everybody’s friendly neighborhood Battle Butler removes a pan of roasted root vegetables from the oven - after all, he gets a copy of dietary needs from the trainer. Appearances are important. The smell of warm food, and freshly cleaned sheets fills the home.

Dressed in a pair of pressed slacks, shined boots, button down shirt and black apron…Emery’s hair has been tied back in a secure little bun as he sets the pan down on the counter and closes the stove carefully to not disturb the rolls. Then he’s carefully setting a cup of coffee down on the counter near Emma with the coffee caddy. This is a routine, a few sips of coffee and a glass of water (which is also set down near the coffee) and he opens a new bottle of wine. As he listens though, an eyebrow quirks ever so slightly.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Emma purrs, although it’s a very dangerous sound. “I’ll find it myself. You have an hour to send someone before I come to you and make you thoroughly regret whatever decisions you’ve made in life which would lead you to such a disastrous point. Tick. Tock.”

She hangs up the phone and then turns to Emery as she picks up the coffee to sip, and then pull in another plume of smoke. She answers his lifted eyebrow with a lift of her own.

“What? The security system’s been tampered with. Can’t let that stand.”

There is a soft chuckle and a shrug of a shoulder. “Of course Milady.” The butler does not judge, no but he does suck his teeth and give a small shake of his head. “But before you go and burn down an office, do you think you have time to give me input on what baked goods you want for the weekend?”

Emery quirks an eyebrow and glances over towards the oven and then back to Emma. “Do we have any leads on who tampered with the system?”

Emma’s reply comes easily on a smoky exhale. “Oh, I know precisely who did it. Anthony Edward Stark, who decided he was tired of being targeted by my laser system.” Her eyes roll upwards a beat later. “I do rather wish that he’d figured out the hard way that I really did take him out of the exception protocols. I don’t have any footage of him getting shot, and I really wish I did. I’d play it on repeat when he inevitably infuriates me.”

Her eyes come back to Emery, and she shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like it would really hurt him in all that fancy armor.” A pause. “Much.” Another pause. “I mean, it’s really more like a tap, isn’t it?” She suddenly scoffs at herself, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Not that it matters. Because he’d deserve it.

And she’s swiftly moving on, drinking more of the coffee. “Anyway, I think I’m going on a low-carb weekend. I’m still trying to decide what to do for New Year’s Eve, so just make sure there’s plenty of vodka and vermouth, andno matter the circumstancesI’ll survive ‘til Monday.”

The name just makes Emery’s head tilt to the side as he processes the heavy load of all the drama that comes with that name and he lets out a low whistle and sympathetic shake of his head. He’s quiet though, looking down to where he’s picked up a pear. A knife seemingly appears out of nowhere as he starts peeling the fruit and laying it out carefully on a plate. Lovely flower like arrangement with little of no effort as he listens.

“You could spend the New Years with Kennis and I, and then there’s be a couple hours of just cake and then the rest of the evening with hard liquor.” He shrugs helplessly and then gives a small nod. “I’ll make sure there’s a couple of things in there for you that pair well with Vodka and Vermouth.”

The offer comes, and Emma’s head tilts sharply in Emery’s direction in surprise. For an altogether brief moment, the woman’s expression betrays a temptation. She checks it swiftly and mercilessly with a chuckle, dropping her eyes to the smouldering cigarette in her hand. “I couldn’t possibly intrude, Mister Papsworth,” she says, only to pull in the last deadly offering that the slim thing has to give her and start to wander towards a ceramic ashtray on the coffee table. “Although I confess that sounds downright delightful. You deserve your holidays far, far away from me, and cake is definitely high in carbs.”

And she may fall into another hole before the weekend’s done. She smashes her cigarette into the lid of the thing before pressing the button on the top of the canister that sends the spent thing spinning into the ash trap below.

“So,” she continues, settling onto the couch and pulling up her knees as she cradles the coffee cup. “Did Rand Enterprises ever get back to you on the matter of your contract? Because Miss Beaumont said she was going to handle things, and I would very much like to start the new year with you renegotiating your contract with me.” She looks over the couch’s back to where her super butler works, resting her cheek on its curved edge and smiling.

“It’s all I asked of Santa for Christmas, I’ll have you know.”


"I am pretty sure ye've been on the big man's naughty list ever since you were a wee one having just discovered the value of a well placed barb." Emery drawls softly in reply as he finishes the fruit plate. "Cheese or no cheese Milady?" As he gives himself time to mull over the request. There's a soft sigh and small shake of his head.

"Rand Enterprises has considered me contract fulfilled and any further relations I have with Master Rand and his associates is of me own free will, without compensation from the company." He waves a hand vaguely as he's pulled out a block of some white cheese. "Or so the email said. So mebbe ye have ended up on Father Christmas's list after all, Milady."

Emma's head lolls backwards at the lighthearted accusation, a groan escaping her lips as a hand lifts up to drape melodramatically over her clavicle. "You wound me, Mister Papsworth. Wound me to the core!" As her hand falls to her side, she shrugs as she twists and studies a lock of her blonde hair, unseen, frowning at a split end. "And I also feel it necessary to propose there are a select few who might consider themselves very fortunate for being the beneficiary of my naughtier repertoire."

Slumping down lower into her seat, she disappears behind its back, only for her crossed knees to appear as she props them up. "Always the cheese. Thank God for enhanced metabolisms."

But then? Then there's good news. Emery might not see the slow turn of Emma's gaze in his direction, but he will certainly see when those knees disappear and she quickly comes back up with eyes wide. For an exceedingly brief moment, she actually looks like a creature in her twenties, bright and pleased. "Really? I swear to heaven, Emery Papsworth, you're not the only one in this room who can tell a lie." And, true to her word, he might feel as her psychic awareness stretches out and wraps him. Normally he likely wouldn't, but he will today. She wants him to know she's there.

There is just a knowing smirk from the butler at the faux protest of something akin to innocence and he just mmhms with a soft chuckle. Emery gives the knife an idle swirl, as he slides the block of cheese into place.

"I would not lie to you about something like that." Emery takes a deep breath though at that awareness making itself present, that cloud of darkness that simmers over his inner being like a enigmatic trauma blanket stirs slightly and he gives a small nod, closing his eyes for a moment. "There's nothin' more for me to teach the lad."

Nothing more to teach, or he's done listening? Emma knows better than to ask about that part of their relationship, and she rapidly withdraws. But she can propose her own theory. "Mmm. I'm not certain I believe that, but as you will. I have what I want, and so I am willing to rest satisfied in that."

And she is. For now.

Still kneeling, she rests on the back of the couch and watches the older man. "He didn't appreciate you nearly as much as he should have. I promise you, I will."

Emery brings over the fruit and cheese plate, quirking an eyebrow. "Sometimes lessons have pauses, but they will no longer come with a paycheck." He clarifies before setting the plate near Emma.

There is a moment though as he hesitates and then continues carefully. "He has a different path to walk, Milady. He's not playing chess. His like is more like high stakes poker."

Plucking up one of the pieces of fruit from the plate, the mind witch settles back down into a sit, picks up her coffee cup anew, and then bites into the bit of apple delicately. She chews with equal delicacy as Emery offers up his defense of Danny Rand, her sculpted eyebrow quirking up in kind. Two can play that game.

"That's a dodge if ever I heard one," Emma judges, but she ends up just rolling her eyes and shaking her head to dismiss the line of thought. "But fine," she says, adding a dismissive wave of her slender hand to the pantomime. "You don't have to defend your student to me. No more will be said on the matter of Danny Rand."

She closes her eyes and luxuriates in the joy of being cared for. In the satisfaction of a long-awaited victory.

"Besides, we have the matter of a security system to deal with. Pleasant distractions and all."

Emery bows his head in quiet agreement about the discussion of Danny Rand being on hold for now, there's a wistful smile on his lips though. He makes his way back to the kitchen, pausing to lean against a wall and fold his arms over his chest with thoughtful expression. "Pleasant distractions indeed." He pushes off of the wall and gives a little sashay into the kitchen. "I trust you'll have the perfect solution for it."

He says it, and there's a dark, ominous feeling that slowly rolls over the room like a fog. "Oh," Emma says with a light and airy laugh as though she were entirely unaware of it. For the look of her, there is no sign that there is, either. Before Alaska, she never really let on what she was feeling. What she was thinking. Not really. There are so many slips now — gaps in the glassy mirror-like surface that she prefers to project — that tilt her hand… that she can't really be aware of them. Or maybe she's just comfortable.

"I always do, don't I?"

And Emery, as living lie detector, will know that there is no deception in the statement.

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