11180/King and Rook Talk Queens

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King and Rook Talk Queens
Date of Scene: 16 May 2022
Location: The Inner Sanctum - Hellfire Club
Synopsis: Shaw reveals his plan for the White Throne. Talia agrees.
Cast of Characters: Talia al Ghul, Sebastian Shaw




Talia al Ghul has posed:
"And what's your name?"

"Grace."

"Grace. That's a lovely name. -My- name is Talia. Do you know who I am, Grace?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good."

Tallia al Ghul is seated on one of this room's many chairs, having pulled it out of its formation into a spot that directly faces the larger throne at the center. Her legs are crossed, body garbed in a silk black cocktail dress that looks as if it could have been poured onto her. A long slit up the right side of the skirt exposes enough of her right thigh that the faintest hint of lace and filigree from her black stockings can be seen. She swishes her right, high-heel covered foot back and forth in the air, giving slow and lazy rotations of her ankle so that the diamond anklet that adorns it can catch that low light and scatter it all about the room. Grace is young, lovely, and blonde. A smattering of freckles and dark red lipstick. Red is the choice for her, really. Throughout. Standard clothing fitting of her role within this particular establishment, though she does seem to have a fondness for bows. Little, tiny, delicate bows on all the parts that straps meet fabric.

"A boulvardier, please. With chocolate bitters," she says, white teeth catching her bottom lip for a half moment before she releases it and flicks her eyes away from Grace.

"Yes Miss," the girl responds, the sound of high heels on marble floor growing quieter as she moves to the bar. Talia lets out a long and lazy sigh through her lips and towards the ceiling and, when her hips shift, more of that right thigh is revealed. Just enough that the tip of a concealed dagger peeks out between soft skin, silk, and lace.

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
The door to the Inner Circle slides open, and in strides Sebastian Shaw - the Black King. He glances over towards Talia having appropriated her seat and adjusted it, and watches Grace scurry off, catching only the tail end of that interaction. "I see you are enjoying the help," he offers as his measured pace carries him over towards the out of formation seat.

He is dressed as he typically is - an elaborate purple coat that harkens back to the Victorian era when men were men and women were objects. Beneath the jacket is a white frilly shirt with an abundance of lace at the collar and some spilling out from the cuffs of the jacket. His black pants are tight to his form, and cinch just below his knees, showing white socks that go into his black boots.

He draws up behind Talia's seat and peers over for a moment, his hand coming to rest on the back of the chair. "I do so relish when you come to make an appearance. To what do we owe the honor today?"

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"She's very pretty," Talia says flatly. The warmth in her tone she reserved for Grace has evaporated -- used to stave off the chill of winter that licks the underbelly of every word she says. Her voice is accented, though it's difficult to pin down where from. Sometimes it sounds as if she could be from Spain. Other times, the Middle East. Some words even contain notes of an almost Asian lilt. It is as enigmatic as it is pleasant to listen to. Half purred, half sung, with smoke and velvet putting a bit of a rasp against the backside of each word. Her eyes turn up to the hand that clasps the back of her chair, following up the arm it's attached to, and finally to Sebastian Shaw's face.

She offers the man a warm enough smile, though her eyes flick down to watch Grace move towards the bar and, a moment or two later, check her phone for how, exactly, to put together a Boulvardier. Talia laughs and turns in her seat, pivoting her lower body so that her knees are more angled towards Sebastian now. No longer does she casually flick her toe through the air, either.

"Mmmmh?" she asks, canting her head and returning her gaze when Sebastian voices his query.

"I was thirsty, of course," she says, and reaches a hand down to delicately lift the diamond-studded pendant that hangs at the plunging v-cut of her cocktail dress.

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
"That is one of the most basic requirements for employment here, yes," replies Sebastian, as his gaze moves over towards Grace. He watches her hop to in order to attend to Talia, making note of the alacrity with which she moves. "She has potential," he remarks quietly, before turning his gaze back towards his Rook. His hand drifts from the back of the chair to rest on Talia's shoulder - a familiar touch, perhaps a bit bold for those not well acquainted.

"As good a reason as any, I would suppose," he responds with that casual bored tone that he tends to have when not discussing topics of true interest to him. He is not the best executor of small talk. The motion of the diamonds catches his eye, much like it would for any predator, and likely as an aspect of her intent, Sebastian enjoys the view from above. And such a view it is.

"We will be needing to convene court soon, and I was hoping to get your opinion on a few matters in anticipation of the meeting. We are desperately in need of new some leadership in some corners of the board, and I believe that I may have found a rather intriguing opportunity."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia does not shrink away from the touch to her shoulder, nor does she particularly react to it. There is no tension that can be felt with his thumb against that soft silk that lays upon softer skin. If that point of contact stirs anything within her, be it repulsion or attraction, she makes it difficult if not impossible to sense. Talia continues to delicately twist that pendant between her fingertips. It's suspended by a lustrous but thin chain -- delicate, like the small black straps that hold her dress to her torso from her shoulders. "Potential," she says in response, just as Grace appears at their side, boulvardier in hand.

"Thank you, dove," Talia says softly, reaching out to take the drink from the girl and raise the glass to her lips to sip. Through a straw, of course. Her lipstick is pristine, after all. Wouldn't want to leave lip prints on the glass. Grace begins to move away, but Talia, without looking, reaches up to catch her by the wrist and pull her back towards her. The metallic straw clanks against the glass as she releases it, and she lifts her chin up to look at the girl who is now staring down with wide eyes.

"Did I tell you to leave?" she asks.

"No, Miss."

"That's right. Here," she says, and gestures to the floor. Grace gives a nervous glance towards Shaw but, after a brief instant of hesitation, sinks prettily down onto her knees beside Talia. It is a gesture of obedience that is rewarded instantly with soft, doting fingernails combing through that blonde hair.

"You know I love to talk business. If you would like my consult, all you need do is ask," she half purrs, and peers back up towards Sebastian as she wraps her lips around that metal straw.

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
The beauty of Sebastian Shaw is he seems to truly not care whether there is a reaction or not to his hand upon her shoulder. He wishes it to be there, it is, she has no objection, so it remains. As does his gaze, either at the pendant or at the dress that it hangs in front of.

"It would seem that we need more of your time here in the Club, Talia. The attendants have grown soft in your absence, and it would do them well to remember their place. And their responsibilities." It is perhaps the very epitome of the Hellfire Club laid out in one tableau - The Black King's fingers resting upon the shoulder of the Black Rook, idling stroking just at the base of her neck and to the side, as the Black Rook runs her fingers through the hand of the obedient attendant on her knees before her. The only thing missing is the Pawn somewhere within the chain, but Grace seems to be enough for Talia and Talia seems to be enough for Shaw. For now.

"Of course," says Sebastian, twisting his gaze away from the view afforded by Talia's dress to take in her expression. "As you know, I have been hard at work attempting to identify a White Queen to sit at the side of our absent White King. One who could help sculpt the other side of the board, and make moves that are worthy of being our opposite." He pauses for a moment, considering his words carefully. "I believe I may have found one who has demonstrated a surprising amount of value to our Council, despite not yet being formally a member. I wonder, do you believe that the officers would be up in arms if we were to raise to White Queen one who has until recently been an outsider?"

There is a brief pause. "I know how hard many of you have worked to ascend," he murmurs, his fingers drifting over to the side, playing absently with the slim strap of her dress on her shoulder. "I would not wish to cast offense by having anyone seemingly bypass that. But this may be a unique opportunity to install significant power in our council, that we can twist to our own purposes."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Unlike Talia, Grace has a significant bit of tension in her neck as Talia's fingers stroke through her hair. The admonishment, perhaps, and the proximity to the Black King contributing to a bit of anxiety. Still, Talia's touches are gentle. Soothing. A moment or two longer sees Talia gently guide the woman's head to the outside of her right thigh, letting her feel the sheath of that dagger strapped to it but, more importantly, use it as a pillow for her cheeks. Talia can feel the warmth from the flush of embarrassment in the skin, but it just makes her smile.

To be young.

"I think women ought to be soft. One can only demand perfection if one is willing to teach it, hmmmh?" she muses, clearly fond of this particular young woman. She does seem to play favorites. "Though I appreciate the sentiment. Perhaps I should come around more often."

But it's onto business talk now. Talia's thigh flexes and her chin tips up, enjoying the warmth of that hand at the back of her neck and perhaps urging it to begin to squeeze and rub at it. Okay, maybe there is -some- tension in the muscle there. Just beneath that soft, caramel-colored skin.

She listens to him speak, letting that pendant fall from between her fingertips to rest between the curves of her chest while she absently inspects the back of her scarlet-painted nails.

"The beauty inherent within a chain of command is exactly that. Your officer's feelings are irrelevant if you make the decision," she says, and turns her chin now to look at the hand idly toying with the strap of her dress. Her lip curls up, amused, and she gently lets her fingers drift away from Grace's hair and towards her cheek, thumb drawing a lazy line against the girl's jaw that draws out a breath.

"Loyalty, Mister Shaw. Without loyalty, we are nothing but common criminals stabbing each other over breadcrumbs."

And that's Talia. Answering the question without answering the question.

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
Shaw's attention drifts between Talia and Talia's attendant. Not that Grace is provoking any thoughts within him - she is entirely at Talia's beck and call, and while all beneath the King may fall under his sway, he is a generous King. He does not take the toys of others. Especially when said toys are keeping those others entertaining, while he himself...

"We value any time that you spend with us, you know that." The fingers of the Black King are strong, as to be expected, and slowly work against the muscles of tension at Talia's neck. Whoever said that the King cannot also service his subjects? "Your guiding hand would be a considerable value to us."

"While it may be true that I can make decisions unilaterally, it does not mean that I cannot take counsel. Whether I choose to adhere to it or not is another story." A loop of his finger draws the strap up enough that the fingers can drift below it, continuing to firmly work at the muscle there.

"I know that you would accept any decision that I make, support it, and that you would strike down any who dare opposite it. That is why you are the highest ranking member of my court, other than the Queen." He leans forward a bit, shifting his angle to look down at Talia. "I would hear your opinion, nonetheless. How would you take such a decision?"

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Ahhh, there it is. As much as a feminine touch can be soft, it can't quite dig into the skin and muscle quite like a man's. She lets out a soft sigh through her nostrils and lets her eyes drift lazily shut. There is a slight ache in her neck, right around the vertebrae. But that warm palm and those strong fingers make the toes of her left foot half-curl and drag her high heel across the floor. Grace is similarly tended to, though it is with featherlight touches that leave goosebumps in their wake. Talia takes a slow and indulgent sip of that boulvardier and simply savors the moment for another precious minute or so. Finally, as the taste of her cocktail has turned from burnt sugar to dark chocolate, Talia opens her eyes to glance at the man behind her once again.

"In stride, as all things should be. I trust that any decision you make is one made entirely in good faith. Well," she pauses, and then laughs. Another sip of her cocktail, and this time she dips her straw into the glass and taps the top with her index finger. The vacuum it pulls is enough to seal some of that liquid in, making it possible to guide it towards Grace's lips in turn. The girl obliges, opening her mouth and letting Talia remove her finger from the straw. Cold, bitter cocktail splashes down into the girl's mouth and Talia can feel the muscles of her throat squeeze when she swallows.

"It's bitter," Grace remarks, innocently enough. Talia just laughs and nods. "It is."

"It would not upset me, and you know the new Queen would have my absolute loyalty and trust as well. Though now I suppose my curiosity has been adequately piqued. A rare thing," she says. And then, the next logical question.

"Who?"

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
As his fingers work diligently against the side of Talia's neck and the shoulder it adjoins, Sebastian moves his other hand to take up the same position on her other shoulder, a mirror image to that one. Although it is yet to employ a manuever to drift below the strap of the dress. Perhaps that is coming later, perhaps not. The fingers press in, eager to replicate the reaction that he evoked from the others.

His lips quirk as Talia explores the faith of it all, and a slow nod from Sebastian seems to echo her humor. He leans forward, ever so slightly, giving him an angle to push down a bit on Talia's shoulders, different leverage on the same massage. He also observes her feeding of Grace, and the attendant's reaction. A sliver of a smile appearing on his face. He truly does love watching Talia work.

"Indeed." His fingers continue their idle play at Talia's shoulder, as he lowers his voice. Unnecessary, since it is but the three of them there, but it aides in the sense that this is some great conspiracy he is drawing her into. "I have recently found myself with an opportunity to take one of the great paragons of this world and bring her over to our point of view. A woman who has been at the forefront of the world of heroes since they very began, whose motivations and inspirations have never as far as I know ever been questions." He leans over a bit more, his voice taking on a hushed tone.

"I have convinced the Invisible Woman of the rightness of our cause. Susan Richards stands ready to join us in our crusade."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia's chin tips down for a moment, her pretty, dark hair falling around her chin and neck as she finally lets out a soft 'mrrr' of approval at the hands. It's the combination of strength and warmth that proves to be her undoing. Both pressure and heat can thaw ice, after all, and so too does the pressure and heat being applied to her. She is not a frigid woman by any definition of the word, and yet, that unseen tension does seem to begin to bleed out of her with each press of thumb and finger into her deceptively delicate skin. She reaches to Grace now and hands her that empty drink. The young woman dutifully takes it, but makes no move to leave. She just holds it there against her bare thighs, watching the ice slowly begin to melt.

Talia's hands lift up to gently press to either side of the girl's head to cover her ears. This gets a little sound of surprise and protest, but not one that lingers. She likely knows that whatever is being spoken is for Talia's ears only.

"Susan Richards?" comes Talia's voice. There is genuine shock in her tone and on her expression, and it prompts a bit of extra tension to roll up those shoulders as she turns to look at the man taking a stance behind her. "You're serious," she realizes, seeing his face, and then lets out a single laugh of disbelief. She turns her head forward and takes her hands off of Grace's head now. They turn the young woman's head up to face her now, and Talia lowers her own. When she stops, her lips are mere inches from the other woman. Close enough to taste the boulvardier on her breath -- a familiar taste, owing to that bit she'd been made to sample. "Then I think a celebration is in order, Grace. Moet and Chandon. And bring a glass for yourself, hmmh? Your shift is over, and you'll be staying with me tonight," she says. Grace's cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink and she nods, rises to her feet, and gives a pretty curtsy before moving back towards the bar to fetch champagne and three coups.

"Susan Richards," she says again, before idly drawing her right hand to her right thigh to slide that thin dagger from the sheath belted to it. Its razor-sharp tip dents her index finger just enough to break the skin, a thin little bead of blood rolling down its surface. "Will wonders never cease."

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
Feeling that his work is making progress, Sebastian lets loose a soft sound of satisfaction. Perhaps just compliment to himself on a job well done. Or close to being done, at least. Those fingers continue to knead Talia's neck and shoulders, his weight pressing down as well as the strength inherent to his fingers. His lean down continues, until his head nearly draws level with Talia's own.

"Mmmhmmm." The noise is soft, the vibrations from the sound nearly felt against Talia's ear from the proximity of his mouth. His fingers work out that suddenly arising tension, the same as before, not about to let the surprise of his pronouncement undo his recent bit of work. "I am always serious, Talia," he intones, seriously. He watches the handling of Grace with amusement. He might even allow a touch of pride, although certainly he has no part in Talia's success, other than merely recognizing her talents and bringing her close to him within the Council. A decision that he has always thought was one of his wiser ones of recent memory. His eyes flicker to Grace as she slips away, and he chuckles again beside Talia's ear. "You always did have an eye for talent that could rival mine. And that is saying something."

His eyes turn down as Talia repeats the name, and he nods again in confirmation. "Susan Richards," he murmurs, his breath hot in Talia's ear.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"I did, didn't I?" Talia laughs, watching Grace's backside as she goes with a wistful suck of air through her teeth. It could be the sway of hips or, perhaps, a particularly sensitive knot that Sebastian has found and is working out. She does tip her head, as well. Just a little away from him as he breathes into her ear. Not an evasion so much as a yielding of ground. Just a little. Talia is not the type of woman to give much more than an inch or two. Here and there. As it pleases her. She uncrosses her legs just long enough to fold her left over her right. He repeats 'Susan Richards', and Talia tips her head back to let out another syrupy laugh. That blade in her finger is turned back towards her palm and wrist, and released with a single quick flick.

It slings through the air and bores itself into a chunk of wood that sits just above and to the left of the White Queen's empty throne.

"How delightful," she purrs.