Why Emery Papsworth Doesn't Get Personal Leave
Roleplaying Log: Why Emery Papsworth Doesn't Get Personal Leave
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Emery gets a call from Emma Frost's assistant.

Other Characters Referenced: Emma Frost
IC Date: May 22, 2019
IC Location: NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 22 May 2019 21:16
Rating & Warnings: G
NPC & GM Credits: Tasha Beaumont by Emma Frost
Associated Plots

“No, I’m afraid Miss Frost is unavailable, but may I take a message?”

“No, Miss Frost is not due in the office today. Is there something that I may assist you with?”

“Good afternoon! I’m afraid that Miss Frost is going to need to reschedule her Monday morning meeting with Mister Sakwa… How does next month look for him?”

Tasha Beaumont’s life is an organized hurricane at any given moment, and she handles it with the same precision that her sharp and immaculate asymmetrical bob would suggest. Emma Frost’s assistant has long since gotten used to a boss who is prone to change plans at the last minute and be suddenly unavailable for the rest of the week. It’s part of the life when the CEO is a 27 year old who has her fingers in more pies than even Tasha knows.

But there is something else to which she has also grown accustomed: Emma Frost calls.

She always calls.

This is over two weeks, filled with nothing but silence. She tries Miss Frost’s cell phone, for what must be the thousandth time. It goes straight to voicemail.

So, finally, at five o’clock on the Wednesday before the holiday, Tasha picks up the phone again and dials a different number. Her red talons tap a staccato beat against the glass desktop between herself and the elevator she faces.

“Emery Papsworth, you’d better pick up.”


There is one ring…
Two rings…
Three rings…

And then the sound of papers rustling and something clattering to the floor as a sleek black cellphone is brought to the ear of one Emery Papsworth. It isn’t often that Emery takes vacation days, but he had taken some ‘personal’ time around the time the Triskelion blew up and some other things had gone down in the great NYC.

Through that all however, he’d been sending messages and updated schedules and managing cleaning services and what not discreetly in his distant attempt to help Tasha. Let’s face it, dealing with Emma requires moral support.

“Hello Miss Beaumont.” Comes the familiar Irish accent as Emery sits in a dark room with a desk covered with paperwork. There’s the soft snickt of a lighter and the soft exhale. “Is everyting okay, luv?”


“Well,” she replies in her crisp American accent, her voice tight in the way it is when she’s under pressure, clipped but not irritated. “I suppose that’s in your hands.” No hellos, straight to business.

There’s the tapping of papers on the desk as Tasha prepares the outgoing mail.

“Have you been in contact with Miss Frost?”


There is a long pause and another soft exhale as Emery tilts his head up to blow smoke up and away from the mouthpiece of the phone. “I’ve been on leave, Miss Beaumont.” He starts out carefully. “Miss Beaumont, have you been in contact with Milady?”


“Three weeks ago, yes,” Tasha replies with far less care. He’s been on leave. She’s been in corporate hell.

There is an audible hiss as she inhales, followed by a heavy sigh as she rests her forehead upon her thumb and index finger. Her eyes are momentarily lost behind the flat edge of her black bangs.

“I suppose I call the European branches next. Ugh. I hate the London office.” Except that it’s four in the morning there — no, only midnight— and no one will pick up the line, she realizes a moment later. This brings a new sigh.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your leave. I didn’t realize. Miss Frost failed to mention it.”


That gets his attention, 3 weeks with no contact? The Irishman quickly places the cigarette to smoulder in its ashtray as he starts to get to his feet, checking his pockets for keys and gathering papers from the desk with the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear.

“Shh, shh, luv. Dun worry. I’ll give the European branches a ring. I know a couple of people who owe me some favors. Don’t worry about me leave. Have you been by the apartment?”


“No,” Tasha cautiously admits, her thumb rubbing against her temple. “At first, I thought she’d just—“

There’s a quick change of tone as she lifts her head and buries the phone against her shoulder. “Oh, of course, sir. First thing in the morning. I’ll get legal and the notary up after the ten o’clock ops review…? Perfect. Goodnight, sir.”

A little rustling as Tasha puts the phone back against her ear. When she speaks, her voice is a little more hushed. “I thought she’d just slipped off for one of her off-the-books trips. Except that she didn’t come in at all.”


Rustle of a jacket being zipped up and the clunk of boot equipping or something, Emery is mobile as he speaks over the phone, pausing only when Tasha is handling her business. “As far as the company or anybody else asks, she is currently on sabbatical, preparing for some charity gala to be hosted in these trying times. Alright, luv? As far as anyone else knows, tings are BAU.”

He sucks his teeth in a soft tsk. “Get me security footage and have the driver let you know last time he picked up and dropped off Milady. I need to compare it to the last time the cameras picked up on ‘er leaving the apartment.” A deep breath. “It could be a new ting she’s tryin’ out. Disappear and make people fret and then return, but we’ll figure it out. Alright? Ye keep the company runnin’, luv, let me…deal with what I was hired to do. Take care of rich people.”


“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already called Alex,” the assistant reveals, “but Miss Frost never let me near the security system. I don’t even know where the access panels for it are. I can have our team pull the footage and card swipes here, but that’s about the best that I can do for you.”

Her voice then draws a little flat, a little bit of dry humour creeping in. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mister Papsworth, but our employer is a little protective of her personal life.” And poor Miss Beaumont, she doesn’t know the half of it.

“Alex,” she continues, “hasn’t seen her since the evening of the second.”


That’s good, as Emery’s mental list of people who might have more information than they should gets smaller. As he jogs down the stairs of what apartment complex or condo he was currently cooped up in, he shifts his phone to hands free as he tucks an earbud in and clears his throat as he hmmm softly. “I’ll get the footage, no worries, luv.” Then he chuckles softly. “Aye, she does value her privacy, doesn’t she?”

Then that revelation of the last time she was seen makes his jaw set and he rests a hand on the car door for a moment. “That’s too…long. Miss Beaumont. Do you have a list of what appointments she had on the 2nd?”


She does value her privacy, doesn’t she? The comment draws a half-hearted chortle from the assistant’s throat in reply. It’s a shared joke between them, that only someone working for Emma Frost could possibly hope to understand.

There’s the sound of Tasha’s chair rolling across the marble tiles of the C-Suite, and then a clacking of keyboard keys as Tasha works. “I doooo…” she says in regards to the schedule, clicking backwards.

“One moment.”

More clicking and clacking, and then she continues. “I’m sending a copy to your cell. She was in the office that day, and then there was an art show in Chelsea that evening, but Alex brought her home. He called me the next morning to let me know she wasn’t there to bring into the office for a meeting with a few members of the board who’d flown in.”

There’s a pause, and more clacking, followed by a few hard taps of the Enter key.

That was a terribly fun meeting.” Sarcasm. It runs thick. There’s the soft sound of her closing her laptop and sliding it into her bag.

“Anyway, I’ll run by the security desk on my way out and have them flag the footage. I can tell them Miss Frost thinks that someone touched something in her office and that she wants to eviscerate the right person tomorrow. It’ll be like she was never gone.”


Already in his current wheels for the month, a midnight blue Camaro, the engine revs as the Butler leans forward to open the glove compartment. There is a small smile. “I knew I could count on ye, luv. Stay safe and keep ye head down. Alright? I’ll see what I can do to find the missing Ice Queen, hm?”

There is a long pause before Emery checks the clip of the handgun he just removed and then replaces it, shutting the glove compartment as he gives a small nod to himself. “I also will schedule a couple of sessions at the spa to relax after havin’ to deal with all this stress. Thank ye for calling me.”


Tasha purrs, the sound nearly covering the crisp sound of her patent leather stilettos as they clip across the tile. “Of course, Mister Papsworth. Buuuut maybe you can work your magic and talk Miss Frost into giving me a bit of that ‘personal leave’ you managed to get for yourself instead. If you can’t, I’ll settle for you telling me what it’s like in your very best phone voice. Waking up at ten in the morning, going out at night…” Her teasing means that she likely feels a little better for the conversation. Two worried bodies are better than one body worrying alone.

There’s the chime of the elevator as it hits the top floor of the tower, and Miss Beaumont’s voice echoes a little more once she steps inside and turns to face the doors as they hiss closed.

“I’ll text you later tonight if I find anything on the records. And you’ll call if you find something?”


There’s a low laugh that fades into a soft chuckle as Emery makes it out of the drive way with the screech of tires and the rumble of that engine. “I’ll see what I can do, Miss Beaumont.” He lets more of his lilt into his voice, purring the words. “But if all else fails, I promise to give ye a narration you’d be pleased to wake up to.”

Then there’s another soft sigh, hint of fondness as he steels himself to the job at hand. “I’ll keep ye posted. Have a good evening, Miss Beaumont.”


“You do the same, Mister Papsworth,” comes the polished reply, tinted by the hint of a smile. It’s a short-lived curve, however, as it dissipates nearly as soon as she hangs up the phone. Her more steeled expression returns with a vengeance as she makes her way down and to the security desk so that she can work her brand of magic there.

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