Frosty Etiquette
Roleplaying Log: Frosty Etiquette
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Months later, Adrienne Frost pays a visit to her little sister… and it's not out of the kindness of her heart.

Other Characters Referenced: Lex Luthor, Tony Stark
IC Date: April 15, 2020
IC Location: Frost International, NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 17 Apr 2020 04:46
Rating & Warnings: G
Scene Soundtrack: The Bitch is Back by Miley Cyrus
NPC & GM Credits: Tasha Beaumont by Emma Frost
Associated Plots

In the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, Emma Frost is actually in the office. The gleaming modern skyscraper that is headquarters to her empire - that bears her name on its side - is a buzzing hive of activity, and she sits at the very pinnacle of it in the cavernous glass-walled room with its vaulted ceilings that serves as her office.

She's taking her afternoon tea, safely tucked away behind a door guarded by her notoriously fierce executive assistant, Tasha Beaumont.

Of course, afternoon tea isn't a particularly relaxing affair. It sees the blonde tucked away behind her desk, devouring a new set of P&L reports freshly up from finance for the close of the first quarter. The numbers scroll across the lenses of her gold-rimmed glasses, reflecting sickly green as she distractedly sips from her china tea cup with its perfectly brewed Lady Grey tea.

The wise know to not interrupt her. Miss Beaumont is there to run interception for the fools.


Adrienne has lain low for awhile but she grows restless. The sting of Winston Frost's will still eats at her, and she is not one to suffer in silence. What misery loves most is company, and the only thing that will lift her spirits is by crushing Emma's. At least that's the plan.

A Thursday afternoon seems an innocuous time to roll up to the gleaming skyscraper, all the better to try to catch Emma with her guard down. After instructing her driver to keep the car running, she's inside and straight up to the floor of the head offices.

Being neither wise nor a fool, exactly, Adrienne has no time nor patience for Tasha's nonsense. Ignoring any words of protest and quite willing to shove the girl aside if need be, she marches purposefully straight for the office door, making to throw it open as she announces, "I don't have an appointment, but I'm sure she can squeeze me in, can't you, sister?"


Of course, it was Tasha that had security let Adrienne up this far, but the dark-eyed woman with her black asymmetrical bob isn't quite sure that the other woman is really the best person to let slip through her guard once she lays eyes on her.

She's used to the interruptions of Tony Stark. They come on rare occasion, but are always to be indulged with the show of protest. Adrienne is a different beast, and Tasha's protests are certainly not just for show. "You can't just go in there! Stop! STOP!"

And, as she's pushed aside, Miss Beaumont gets downright angry.

Now, of course, Adrienne may get to move with impunity with regards to Emma's abilities in a way that Winston's middle daughter has yet to figure out how to explain. But Tasha is an open book. She alerts the telepath as to the problem before Adrienne can set her hand down upon the brass knob of the frosted glass door. It allows the blonde in her white wool Dior skirt suit with its asymmetrical collar of silver blue fox fur to turn her chair towards the door from around the corner, where her desk hides some fifty feet from the door.

"Adrienne," she says, the word more identification than greeting.


Tasha, on the eldest Frost's heels, snorts indignantly. Well, at least the other woman wasn't lying about that. "Should I call security, Miss Frost?"

Emma doesn't look anywhere but Adrienne's eyes, perfectly ready to lock herself in a battle of dominance. "No need. My sister won't be staying that long."

Tasha, looks between both women, although her eyes linger suspiciously on Adrienne. "Yes, Miss Frost." She's not certain that she agrees with the decision, but she understands the dismissal. The door quietly clicks closed.


"Is that how you greet a visitor to your office?" Adrienne asks, indignant as she straightens her suit jacket and looks around Emma's office with the slightest hint of a sneer. "Really, Emma. You truly learned nothing at all those fancy schools, did you." She sighs, disappointed again in the failings of her younger sister.

Tasha, at this point, is just completely ignored. Pointedly so. Adrienne is not about to talk to Emma's _people_. But she does wait until the door is shut before she meanders further into the room.

"I'm not quite clear what you were going for with the decor, Emma. It's… Well, it's something, isn't it," she says dryly, as she makes the long trip to Emma's desk. "Why, pray-tell, are you hiding way over here?"


"It's how I greet intruders," Emma replies flatly. "And I wasn't decorating for you, so it's not really all that surprising that it's a bit beyond you."

Of course, it's not that the room is exactly lacking. It sprawls in the way of a contemporary ice palace, walls and ceiling made of nothing but treated glass. Closer to the door, but not by much, is a couple of steps down that lead to a more comfortable sitting area where an antique Afghan rug lies across the dark slate floor and creates an elegant tableau when matched with the creamy white leather couch and arm chairs, and the contemporary glass coffee table where her tea service presently sits. Exquisitely maintained plants occupy the corners of the room in urns on white pedestals. Contemporary sculpture, all very sharp and shiny, finds its way into numerous niches and upon the few book shelves near her desk, too.

"What do you want?"


Adrienne gives a dismissive little snort. "You're clearly trying to impress someone," she points out sagely, as she finally reaches the desk. "But I suppose it is hard to decorate when you never did develop much of a personality." She shrugs, as though she's being gracious to let her sister off the hook.

Using her critique of the decor, she moves towards the shelves. "Far too busy, if you ask me, and yet, nothing of any real meaning," she tuts, as she runs her hand over a sculpture and the spines of a few books. "But that's our Emma, isn't it."

Her gaze slowly returns to her sister, eyebrows raised as if surprised by the question. "I'm checking in on my sister, of course. We've all been so… adrift since daddy died." Like any single one of them shed any tears over that old man.


What escapes Emma's lips first is a simple, distrusting, and altogether wordless hum. Whatever brings Adrienne here to peddle, the blonde of the duo wants none of it. Her pale eyes narrow behind her reading glasses, and still she does not rise. Instead, she continues to just watch her sister with very little in the way of movement, save the way her head with its austere French twist - so like the school marm their father swore she'd never be - twists to follow Adrienne's course.

And beneath Adrienne's slender fingertips, stories unravel. She's read all of the books, naturally. She had one - a book of poetry nestled in among more serious business reading - in her hands the day that one of the members of the board came up to discuss the way she shook confidence by disappearing for months not long ago.

She put him in his place, but he did not leave content.

"I have a shipyard with excellent engineers. I'm never really adrift, dear."


Truthfully, Adrienne is paying more attention to what her hands are doing than what Emma is saying, but thankfully, insulting Emma just comes so very naturally to the eldest Frost daughter. "A shipyard. How mundane," she says dryly as she moves over to the desk now, leaning a hip against it.

"Although I suppose traveling by freighter would suit you, my little teen runaway," she adds with a light laugh, now giving the desk a quick scan for anything she might rest those grubbing little fingers upon.


Emma tries her very best to not be ruffled as Adrienne dredges up the past, but sisters always have a way of knowing when they hit a sore spot. "Skimming the homework assignment again, Adrienne? Failing mark for comprehension. We won an award this summer for yacht design, so quite a bit more than just freighters."

The desk is kept incredibly tidy, but that's not to say there isn't anything there upon the surface. A lamp. Papers marked to sign. A cup for pens. The leather-bound blot pad for her surprisingly old-fashioned paper desk calendar. A crystal paperweight. Her tea cup.

"I'd offer you a cup of tea, perhaps, but you seem very intent on leaving very soon."


"Ooh, a yacht," Adrienne replies deadpan. "How far you've come." She couldn't sound less impressed if she tried — and she is trying. She goes for the crystal paperweight, the easier to look as though she's simply fidgeting for now, shifting it from hand to hand as she tries to see what it's seen.

"Am I?" she replies, squinting a bit at Emma. "I don't know. You seem so tense. I worry for your mental health. Are you quite… stable?" She grimaces a bit, and speaks gently, as though Emma were some volatile mental patient. "Perhaps you need a break."


Adrienne strikes a tender nerve, and she strikes it hard.

Slowly, and with great determination, Emma rises from her chair to the full six feet of height that her heels afford her. Then, with equal determination, she sets her manicured hands upon the desk pad so as to lean forward across the L of her desk.

Of course, the little faceted crystal sphere in Adrienne's hands is far more compliant. It's an occasional item of consideration when Emma takes calls at her desk, as she enjoys the way the evening sun sets it to fire in her hands when the light comes through the overhead windows just right. She placed it atop a hand-delivered invitation from the Lex Luthor campaign, and she toyed with it during an argument with her COO, hinting at even more trouble brewing beneath the carefully cultivated headlines and awards at Frost International. She's been embattled on multiple fronts, and perhaps Adrienne might already know a pair of names on Emma's board. …Because they used to sit on Winston Frost's. She'll see them, clear as day, as they sit and talk with Emma at her desk more cordially.

Emma stares at her sister - feels the unsettling empty psychic space where her sister's thoughts should be - and her voice drops low, full of barely restrained fury. "Get. Out." It does not intend to tolerate an argument.


Adrienne can't help but smile, more at the answers she's getting than at Emma's little show of anger — but for one who didn't know what she's seeing, it might look like she's just laughing at her puffed up little sister. "Oh, Emma," she sighs imperiously. "We really must work on your manners."

But she's really not looking to have security called on her, and she can tell she's pushing Emma to the breaking point. As fun as that might be… She just gives a little laugh and tosses the paper weight towards Emma — in a surprisingly graceful lob that makes it possible to catch, even, if Emma is quick enough.

"Not to worry, dear. I'll see myself out. But… you really should consider my advice. About that break. Put that yacht to good use," she adds, in the sort of tone one might use to encourage a child. "Ta."


Emma does catch it, with one lifted hand and a glare that doesn't leave her sister. The paperweight is then set down quietly to rest beneath her palm, giving her right hand the appearance of an antique ball and claw. "Good/bye/, Adrienne."

And she continues to stare at Adrienne's back as she turns to go. To stare until she's gone… Then it's to the tea, to try to return herself to a condition fit for financials.

It takes a long while and a second cup, for the record.

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