Scotch and Kidnappings
Roleplaying Log: Scotch and Kidnappings
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Betsy comes to visit a distracted Stark

Other Characters Referenced: Emma Frost, Warren Featherbrain
IC Date: June 10, 2019
IC Location: Metropolis
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 11 Jun 2019 23:27
Rating & Warnings:
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

t's the evening, and Metropolis is not a city well known to the model. Still, she's bypassed any sort of alarms or security on her way to find her particular prey. Purple hair is braided back from her face, leaving the famous (in some circles) face. She's in a slick, snug purple top that's a halter close around her neck, and close fitting black pants and her favorite black boots.

She will find her way to his office, hidden from any minds, before she will show up in the doorwat to his offce, leaning against the jamb to wait for him to notice.

* * *

It doesn't take long.

Mostly because there is a little drone staring at her most of the way up. One that zips in around her and pokes Stark's shoulder before burbling at him urgently. The man himself? Well he's engrossed in studing one of the holoscreens there, one where a smudgy pictured of a black panel van is frozen in time as it speeds under a bridge.

"What, Dunce? What? What do you mean I have company? I'm not expect—" And he turns, he pauses, he stares. Then he smirks slowly.

One eyebrow quirks up in her direction.

"Well. Fancy that. I was about to head down in your direction…"

* * *

"Fancy that. One might almost think that I'm psychic." Comes the British accented reply as she straightens up from her lean. She will saunter into his office, coming around behind it to lean on the edge with one well manicured hand.

"What is it you're working on now, Tony? I mean, you haven't even offered me a drink yet. I know you have better manners." There's a sly, teasing smile.

* * *

"Yeah well…" There is a gesture towards the holoscreen. "Kidnappings of psychic people have me distracted. So yeah, maybe I do think you're psychic." A smirk again at that as Stark watches her stroll round the desk, distracted somewhat from what he was working on before he sighs and scratches for just a moment at his beard.

"You're right. I've been a bad boy. Course I've had a migrane for the past twenty four hours and that'll make anyone angry. Right? Right."

A pause again.

Then he sits, the chair squeaking just slightly under the motion. A hand decends into a drawer before he pulls out a bottle of scotch and a pair of glasses.

Because he is /always/ prepared with booze.

"So, let me guess. You're here to tell me there have been kidnappings?"

* * *

Betsy will shift, moving to lean against the desk, sitting on the edge. "Do you want some help with the migraine? It's been going around a lot. Plenty of stress."

Violet eyes watch him, sympathy residing there. "I figured you knew about them. I've been busy trying to do the psychic tracking, so I couldn't come see you before now. Sorry about that."

She rolls her shoulders, her hand rubbing along the inside of her left arm. "I got lucky the other night…lucky being a metaphor, I guess. I found a weak psychic signal, followed it.. got jumped. They were trying to take me in, too."

* * *

"Oh its not stress, its the aftereffects of one of the most powerful psychics in the world downloading everything she knew into my brain in a split second before someone turned her goddamn collar back on."

Stark's voice is light, the smirk is still there, the hand pouring them both drinks is more than steady enough. However for a moment the man's eyes seem to flash with an angry golden light before they return to normal as he sits back. Sliding the now full glass across the table in Betsy's direction.

"So, please tell me you messed them up for that." Though his eyes do flicker across her form, looking for injuries or bandages. "Because since you're here and not in a recovery room somewhere that they were on the loosing end of that."

* * *

"Warren dropped a few in the Hudson, I believe." Betsy says, reaching for one of the glasses. "I messed.. a lot of them up, as you say. They were most displeased at the fact I'm telekinetic as well as telepathic. They were not expecting that, I do not think."

She will sip at scotch, eyes closing before she exhales heavily. She will let her shoulders relax, and there's a faint wince at that. "I was trying to stop them from running with the bait. I focused too hard on the van and one of them got lucky with a shot that grazed along my side before I got my shields back up. Got some information out of one of them, but I couldn't.. give chase through the tunnel."

* * *

There is a slight frown. "Black van? And a run down area near the Hudson?" He flicks a few fingers, bringing up a map of New York. One of the places near the Hudson marked in bright red. "Same MO for what Emma got snatched. And I'm guessing multiple other ones. They used someone as bait and had a sniper? Professional tactical team?"

…he's been working on this it seems. Well. Of course he has.

"I'm glad you gave em what for. Isn't that what you brits say?" He adds with a smirk before it slowly falls. "Well. I'm glad your alright." A pause again. "I'm going to guess they won't try that method again around here though."

* * *

"So you've heard about this. Emma got through to you and told you?" There's a faint burst of hope over the model's face, thinking perhaps Emma had managed to escape. "Is that what you mean by downloading into your brain?"

She will lean forward to look at his map. "Yeah, that's about where. I flew in, so I don't know street names. Black tac gear. I disguised myself at first, but they knew a telepath was coming. They were looking for me."

Another sip of scotch, another moment to savor. "Someone that was psychic, but they were drugged, or weakened. Of course, I went. I knew Emma was missing, or at least suspected she was, after a Hellfire Club event where she was notably absent." Her hand lifts to rub the back of her neck, as if to relax tension. "Well, they didn't strike me as bright. Grunts following someone else's orders, but they've got some funding, from what I hear they are being paid." She looks at Tony's face. "The only good thing is, if they try it again with the same bait, and they let her broadcast loud enough, I'll know, and be able to track it. Say the word, and I'll even let you in on the charge."

* * *

"She got though." Stark confirms with a nod. "She got me what information she could, gave me a name she recognized that was also stuck in experimental hell with her." Tony isn't one to keep his emotions in check very well, so the bubbling anger at that is close to the surface.

"Oh I intend to be there. Else Emma won't ever let me hear the end of it." A smirk at that but it vanishes quickly enough. "Well paid and well trained, so that means some kind of trail. I'll follow that as far as I can. I've already retasked a half dozen survaliance systems with tracking this crew down. The plates from the van are forgeries, but I'm looking at where they could get some of those…"

A sigh.

"Better I guess than me just sitting and waiting. Because I hate waiting."

* * *

Psylocke will reach out, a hand lightly resting on his shoulder. "Most of our type are not big on the sitting and waiting, it's true. But you're not diong nothing. I should have come to you earlier, but there's been.. a lot to mentally sift through. I've not been getting much sleep, trying to be awake enough that if someone reaches out that is trapped with them.. I can hear it."

Betsy may be blushing, just a touch. "Truth be told, since Warren was working on it, he knew about the psychic issue and Emma, and you guys being bros, so to speak. But maybe we need to circle the wagons a little tighter."

* * *

Stark reaches up to put his hand over Betsy's for a moment before he awkwardly pats it. "Yeah well, I'm /really/ bad at it." There is a smirk. "I nearly built two suits in the past day. Its what I do to keep busy. I've been told its a bad habit." A pause. "Turned out to be true when the computer virus took over all my spare and tried to kill me with them, but I got better."

A shake of his head though before he flicks a smile in Betsy's direction. Bringing the glass to his lips he drinks deep of that burn as his eyes half-lid as he feels it. "Oh I'll go visit Warren too, don't worry about that. I mean he's kinda running things for the moment isn't him. Which is something I mock him endlessly for."

When they were younger, Stark never ever thought either of them would even come close to 'respectable'.

A quirk of an eyebrow though is angled up towards the woman for a moment. "But, you should get rest too. I mean come on. Psychics get /strange/ when they get sleep deprived." A beatpause. "Well more strange."

* * *

"More strange? Me? I am always a delight, Stark." She will sip at her Scotch, shoving that morning meeting with Warren before she'd left the mansion from her mind forcefully. "It just leaves me very tired. The other psychics I know have either been booted out of the country because of registration, or are elsewhere. I don't know many telepaths that are on the level of Emma and I, so the other two are not… in touch."

She shrugs, rising from her leaning perch on his desk, to pace. "I just don't dare not to miss anything. So that means I can't let myself do more than doze. I'll take a long vacation, once we get Emma and anyone else back." She will drain that liquor, to set the glass on his desk. "Can I bother you for another?"

She will pace some more, before he can even reply or refill. "Please don't mention this to Warren. He's such a mother hen, feathers and all." There's the warmth of friendly affection at the mention of Warren.

* * *

"You're always /something/ alright, Violet." Stark drawls back in her direction as he watches the woman kill the drink. Without a word he refills, watching her pace again even as he lounges in his own comfortable chair. Even sitting though he doesn't keep still, one foot spins him back and forth as fingers drum on the side of his own glass. The man is very much like how most psychics see his mind. An unceasing flood of movement and innovation.

"If you get too tired, you're going to miss something." A smirk at that. "And there. I'm done. No more responsible advice from me at all. Wouldn't want to sound too much like the Featherbrain. Who no, I won't tell you're pushing yourself to near exhaustion."

A smirk as he adds.

"But if you keep drinking my scotch, which is very good scotch, you might not actually /mean/ to take a nap. But you might."

* * *

She will cast him a violet glance over her shoulder, one perfect brow arching. "If by /something/ you mean lovely and charming, you are absolutely correct, Stark. You're such a charmer." Her humor is there, if slightly dry. She will pace back towards his desk, if just to pick up her refilled drink. "Thank you."

"There is dozing, Stark. Don't tell me there aren't times you've gone weeks short on sleep. And don't forget, I can tell when you lie." She grins at him, before mock blowing him a kiss. "Pfft. It's lovely Scotch, but I'm well born British. I can drink quite a bit."

* * *

"I am, its true. It is a gift really. Takes natural talent to be /this/ charming." The man replies with a smirk as he watches her retrieve her drink and retreat with it. He tilts his head back for a moment to watch her.

"Ya can't put it all on yourself to find these guys you know. Or you won't be any good when we actually do find them." A pause. "Urgh! Look at me, too much playing dad with Bart lately. I'm sounding like Steve again and I hate it." He does catch the kiss though.

I mean he can't help it. Reactions and all.

* * *

"It's such a heavy burden sometimes, isn't it? Being this charming and good looking?" Betsy teases, before sipping at Scotch. "If I was putting it all on me, Tony, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have asked Warren to help me with backup when I went in." She points out, moving to lean on his desk again.

"No darling, if you were sounding like him, you'd be telling me how I should register and all that jazz. Which is why I fell short the other night, I'm sorry to say. Warren being my voice of reason of not wanting to be caught."

* * *

"Extremely. I mean sometimes I can't take it. I just pass out under the weight of my own amazingness." Stark drawls as he watches her lean like that. "I mean you're pretty distracting there yourself. Just for the record. But then again you knew that already."

A chuckle. "Technicly, I should totally be telling you to register. Consider yourself told. There done my civic duty for that." The man replies with a lazy wave of a hand. "Besides, this /is/ Metropolis. They don't care if you get caught here. I mean you know its one of the reasons I moved here."

* * *

Violet eyes will flick his way, a hint of widening, before she smiles. There's a quick moment of roses blooming in her cheeks. "There's that charm again. It never hurts to be reminded, you know. Consider me duly flattered." There's a quick, model perfect smile. "The modelling business is brutal on the self-esteem, you know."

She sips at her glass, a flat look crossing her face. "Give me a good reason why it's not a fascist idea to force people to register like this, and maybe I'd consider it." She shrugs. "I need to be in New York, or I'd be here pestering you every day. Coming to drag you to lunch to flirt at you."

* * *

"Yeah flirting with me is a dangerous passtime, mostly because I have about a dozen ex-es that love killing people I flirt with." Stark replies with a smirk. "I guess with this much charm it is a curse. It is one that I'll live with. Kind of like all my money or my amazing inventiveness."

And humbleness. Total humbleness.

There is a shrug though. "But hey, don't get mad at me over it. I'm not the idiot that thought it was a good idea. I'm just the idiot that gave other idiots the excuse to run with it." You know. Invasions. Demons. Horrible things.

* * *

"Clearly, Stark, I can take care of myself. I'd risk it." She winks, the joking light and playful. "I could care less about your money, which would be a relief, I'm sure." She sips at Scotch, relaxing her shoulders. "Alas, your flirting and flattery does not appear to be in earnest. My heart breaks. I haven't dated in.. a while." She smirks.

"No, they used you as an excuse, Tony. There's never an excuse for treating people with fascist ideals. This is how Hitler started, after all. They still beat that into us, in England."

* * *

"Flirting and flattery is /always/ serious, because what use is it otherwise. I just don't really do the dating thing." A smirk at that. "Mostly because of the whole explosions that are caused. And because well…" He gestures to the holoscreens around him. "Because something else gets in the way."

A helpless shrug. "One day I'll launch myself into I don't know. Deep space somewhere and then maybe I'll have the time for an actual date."

A smirk once more.

"But hey like I said, don't lay into me about it. I'm already protesting it. Remember? We are in agreement on this?" He points towards himself. "Friend. Right?"

* * *

There's a long moment, as she looks at him, clearly not buying his 'don't do the dating thing'. "Uh huh." She's not even renting it, Stark. She glances at the holoscreens. "If we have to use me as bait…" She leaves that open there.

"I'm not laying into you, Tony. I'm defending you. They're using you as a scapegoat to promote a fascist agenda. I can't tolerate that bullshit. Which is why I do not register, and act out in rebellion."

* * *

It is true. Stark doesn't date.

Sleeping with someone though is totally not dating.

Very important distinction for him.

"They already went for you once. They might not take it again, and I'm not even going to suggest they try to use someone else. Maybe we can fig up some fake psychic trigger that might fool them. Give us a drop on them. That might be the best option." The man turns back to the holoscreen in thought.

For all his flirting and his seeming calm, he is worried. He doesn't like being worried. He would much rather be out doing something instead of sitting here trying to figure out just what kind of experiments are going on wherever they are hidden.

He suddenly shakes his head viciously.

"Anyway, I understand. But I also know Warren is just trying to do what he thinks is right on the subject. So try not to be to hard on him. Alright? For me." A smirk. "I should go interrupt his sleeping with some information. Because I'm a jackass like that."

* * *

She drains her glass, setting it on his desk. She will move to slip behind him… and on the other side, is a different woman. Blonde, with big blue eyes, shorter than the model is known to be. "Tony, so long as they're not a super powerful psychic… I can be anyone I need to be. Telepathic illusion, love. It's a wonderful trick to have up one's sleeve. How do you think I'm never spotted by the press?"

Dating, sleeping with, hooking up… Psylocke considers them all under the heading of 'dating'. Not that she's doing any of those things, currently. Such a sad state of affairs.

"Warren thought he would help change minds, I think. That people would accept it. He never expected Sentinels and people with next to no powers at all being arrested, or fired.. " She shrugs. "A bit of sunny side of the street, our Warren."

Then she will beam, that illusion vanishing before the purple haired ninja leans in to kiss his cheek in a proper fashion. "Rattle his cage a bit for me, won't you?" And then she'll head for the door. "I'll come torment you later, handsome."

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