11799/Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves

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Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves
Date of Scene: 28 June 2022
Location: The Inner Sanctum - Hellfire Club
Synopsis: Tessa and Talia get to know one another over champagne and charceuterie.
Cast of Characters: Tessa, Talia al Ghul




Tessa has posed:
The Inner Sanctum of the Hellfire Club is a place for the true power players of the Club to attend to their business. Whether this business is manipulating markets, brokering power, or simply unwinding in a space separate from the rabble (if the wealthy elites who populate the Club's VIP membership can be called 'rabble'), this is the most exclusive area of the Club -- both its brain and its heart.

The woman called Tessa Fox is wearing the 'uniform' of the Hellfire Club's upper levels. Even though she belongs to the black side of the chessboard, she's dressed in royal purple. Corset, thong, boots, gloves, choker, hair done up in a pristine Victorian bun... the only piece missing is her cloak, which has been hung up on a rack nearby.

Tessa stands at a holographic display. A staggering amount of data flows across it. Financial markets around the world, business news, crypto trends, geopolitical forecasts... it starts to resemble how Neo sees the Matrix, really, in terms of how dense the information on the display is, and the sheer volume of it that flickers past Tessa's face while she stares into it, unblinking.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia al Ghul is, of course, acutely aware of Tessa Fox. The other woman is difficult to miss, owing in equal part to her location within the room and her rather... scant attire. Talia al Ghul seldom makes her arrival announced. Even in high heels, her feet glide silently across solid surfaces with nary a click nor a tap to herald her presence. This is an important detail, you see, because Tessa Fox will, in fact, hear the clickity-clack of black high heels on the floor behind her. It is an approach vector, though not one with a particularly heightened pace. A glance over a shoulder will reveal Ms. al Ghul in plain sight. Her body is veiled in black silk. A dress that hangs with thin strands over her athletic shoulders and dippppps low to expose the full valley of her spine.

The walk is elegant. Refined. Feminine. Lethal. Each motion of thigh and calf and hip and core is carefully controlled, as if her muscles themselves were tightly-wound springs that could pop and leap at a moment's notice. Absent on Talia's person is her saber, but present is (almost assuredly) a thin little dagger belted to the outside of her right thigh.

"Miss Fox," Talia says, voice a dusky little contralto that's equal parts syrup and smoke. It's purred from behind lush, darkly-painted lips and long lashes. Those dark eyes turn now towards the readout that streams before Tessa's face. Those lips quirk up into a faintly-feline sort of smile.

"Hard at work as always, I see."

Tessa has posed:
The fact that Tessa's attire is indeed rather scant doesn't seem to bother the raven-haired woman at all. Tessa has the sort of skin tone that tans bronze easily in the sun... but instead of being out in the sun, she's in the Hellfire Club all day. Like Talia, Tessa is a model of physical fitness, bordering on perfection. One can only imagine the precision of her gym routine, let alone her diet.

"Miss al Ghul," Tessa replies, without looking up from the display. Her hands are folded in front of her lap, standing as though in deference to the data washing over her eyes. "One moment, please." Her speaking voice is friendly and personable, but with the kind of politeness that one would expect from a customer service representative. She betrays no accent, no hint of what culture or region might have birthed her.

After exactly three Mississippis, Tessa turns the display off. She then turns her entire body to face Talia. She wears a friendly smile, though like with her tone of voice, it's a bit inscrutable, hard to judge whether it's genuine or not. "Only my daily financial briefing. The hard work comes later, when I put the information into action." In other words, making sure the rich get richer. "How may I be of assistance today?"

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia al Ghul makes no comment when she's placed, as it were, on hold. She simply stands a few feet away with her arms folded over her midsection and head canted curiously to the side. Dark brown hair lightly licks at that slender collarbone held up by musculature visible just beneath soft skin. When Tessa turns to greet her, Talia's posture remains the same. It's fairly neutral, but engaged with the woman. Dark brown eyes lift to meet Tessa's and she gives an amused little laugh at her response. "Oh, is that all?" she wonders.

And then, there's a question. How can Tessa be of assistance. Talia's neck straightens, gravity pulling that hair away from her shoulders and allowing it to frame her face. Like Tessa, Talia's accent is... odd. Middle eastern, asian, with some others thrown into the mix. An impossible blend, geographically. Let's give credit to globalism or good tutoring.

Talia gives the question a bit of a dismissing wave.

"I don't require any assistance, though I certainly appreciate the offer. I simply saw you and thought to myself, 'Talia al Ghul... doesn't that look like a woman who could use some champagne and pleasant conversation?'."

Tessa has posed:
Talia giving voice to her thoughts prompts Tessa to spread her smile a bit wider. If the 'personable' act is in fact a put-on, then Tessa might be considered a master of human trompe l'oeil. Even if it's fake, it still looks so completely real!

"You flatter me, Miss al Ghul," Tessa says with humility that, like her smile, straddles the uncanny valley. Anyone who knows much at all about Tessa -- and the facts that there are to know are as skimpy as the woman's attire -- knows enough to pick up on the vibe that Tessa seems to wear faces and behaviors as easily as she changes clothes. She blends in seamlessly with the Club's various locales, always in the background, never obtrusive. If she had devoted her life to spycraft or, say, being an assassin, there's no doubt that she'd take to it like a fish to water.

"It would be my honor to join you in a drink and a chat." Tessa walks over to the liquor cabinet, opening it and surveying the contents. "Would you prefer the Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill 1988, or the Champagne Krug Clos d'Ambonnay 1995?" She looks back over her shoulder at Talia. "The 1988 has a sweet and fruity aroma with a robust taste palate of honey elements and spice. The 1995 is a more complex flavor of caramel, brioche, spices, sweet pastry cream, and so on, with a more delicate aroma. I can personally highly recommend both."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia's expression remains fairly neutral, though there's the slightest hint of an upward tick of her lips. Cat-like and ephemeral as always. "Flattery only works on the simple-minded, I'm afraid. You're much too sharp for that, Ms. Fox," Talia offers. A glance is given about the place and a shadowy nook identified that looks about as cozy as it does nefarious. Equally well suited for crafting poisonous tinctures as it is for whispering sweet nothings into a lover's ear. She beckons the woman to follow as the two discuss what vintage to sample, and Talia's response is simple:

"If you recommend both, then let's have both. I'm sure the little..." Talia makes a flippant gesture with her left hand, her right still folded over her midsection, "Servant girls will enjoy whatever we don't drink. And if we drink all of both, well. I suppose we'll each be having a rather pleasant afternoon. Perhaps we can call up Mr. Shaw and have him toss us in the pool."

Talia settles back in her seat and folds her right leg over her left, hand resting just atop the thigh that her dagger, in plain view, has been belted to. "Sit, sit," Talia insists and, when one of the aforementioned 'servant girls' arrives, she does so in less clothing than Tessa. Talia's eyes linger on the woman's chest for a moment before finally lifting up to meet her gaze. Utterly shameless.

"Four flutes and a bottle each of the Krug Clos d'Ambonnay '95 and the, oh..." Talia turns her gaze back towards Tessa, head cocked, "Was it the Churchill '89?"

Tessa has posed:
The servant collects both bottles, and four flutes. The champagne bottles are in the four figures each; each individual crystal glass is probably just as expensive. Tessa approaches the nook, and gently adds to Talia's command, "1988." Tessa and the servant girl are dressed quite similarly. The only differences are in color and luxury; Tessa's attire is purple rather than black, and it's plain to even the most uneducated in couture that her garments are of a much, much higher quality than the server's. This isn't damning with faint praise, but rather a testament to just how expensive Tessa's garb is.

"If we're to be thrown in a pool, I hope that we'll retain enough of our faculties to allow for changing into proper attire first," Tessa says with a wry, tiny smile of her own. "Leather and chlorinated water rarely mix well."

Seated, Tessa folds her hands, one over the other, on the tabletop. "I have a question that I've been asking people of late. It's not quite a game, though I suppose the more I ask, the more it begins to feel like one." She quirks an eyebrow, as if judging whether or not Talia would be up for it. "Based on your experiences thus far, Miss al Ghul, if you were to encapsulate the Hellfire Club into one word or one phrase, what would that word or phrase be...?"

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"Ah yes, the '88," Talia half purrs, settling her chin down onto her laced fingertips and peering across the table towards Tessa. Her quip about changing garb has Talia giving another soft little laugh and tipping her head thoughtfully to the side. Talia's eyes stray away, wandering towards one of those hanging chandeliers up above. The crystalline decor warps and scatters light in all direction, casting a few thin blades of it over Talia's face.

"There is something very cathartic about ruining things that are both expensive and beautiful, I think," Talia offers up. And then she re-orients her head and turns her face towards Tessa again. "But yes. We must always consider what makes a proper pairing."

And as if on queue, those flutes arrive and are poured, one of each. Though it wasn't ordered, a small plate has been set between the pair of glasses. Bespoke charceuterie partitioned by which elements play nice with each respective champagne. Talia clasps her hands together and gives a satisfied little sigh towards the plate.

"Ahhh bon! Merci beaucoup, ma peche," she says to the servant.

Talia al Ghul is sipping the left flute of champagne when Tessa asks her question, but seems to be watching attentively enough as it's asked. After a moment, she sets it down and considers her answer.

"Power."

Tessa has posed:
Tessa's display of gratitude toward the servant is a single nod. The servants are used to this sort of quiet, economical treatment from Tessa. She never treats them unfairly or without some degree of basic human dignity, but at the same time, she doesn't offer them any more than she feels necessary.

Tessa has a sip of her own glass after a moment to enjoy the aroma. She acts like a dedicated wine lover, going through the motions of delicate drinking rituals meant to savor the stuff -- and to separate those who are 'serious' about champagne from the sort of crass, lower-class riff-raff who would just /drink/ the stuff sans ceremony.

"Perhaps there would be some catharsis in ruining things that are expensive and beautiful," Tessa allows. "Though I would prefer those things not be mine." Her smile spreads a bit.

"Power. An interesting answer, and not far from my own. I've heard a variety of responses to the question, but none have quite matched the answer that I would give to it." Tessa has another delicate sip, and then slides her leather gloves off. Eating while wearing them would be gauche. "To me, what the Hellfire Club represents is opportunity."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"A personal choice, but an experience I truly recommend. At least once," Talia says. Her champagne is tipped back, the muscles of her throat working in a surprisingly-coordinated dance to pull some of that bubbly liquid down. It's cold. Refreshing. Effervescent. Balanced between sweet and dry. But there's little ceremony here. It stands in the way of consumption, after all. She dips the tip of her finger into a small pot of jam that was meant to pair with that sip and slides it between her lips, flavors blending together in a rather pleasant tasting bouquet.

"A delightful bottle. You certainly do have exquisite taste," she remarks, off handed, just after pulling that finger from her lips. The fingers of her other hand piano across the surface of the table. Clickity clackity clickity clackity.

The hand that had collected that smudge of jam reaches for the second glass of champagne now and, similar to before, Talia raises it to her lips and takes a thoughtful sip.

"Opportunity for what, darling?"

Tessa has posed:
"Anything," Tessa says. She's folding her gloves neatly so that they can be set aside. Everything about Tessa seems to come down to precision. She's probably the type who chews things exactly twenty-four times with every bite. She's probably the type who doesn't even need to count. It's just instinctive.

"That's the beauty of the Club. It represents limitless opportunity. There are those who see it as a place to enjoy their wealth and privilege, an opportunity to privately mingle and conduct business among their own caste." Tessa uses a toothpick to spear a cube of cheese and then a folded piece of soppressata. She gestures with the toothpick while she speaks, in a vague way. "There are those who see the exclusivity and discretion of the Club as an opportunity to indulge hedonism and debauchery." Tessa wags her brows, showing no judgment of such pursuits.

"And so on, and so on. Then there are those whose ambitions are to claim more than what they have, even when what they have would stagger the layperson to even comprehend, let alone experience." Tessa maintains eye contact with Talia, her demeanor calculated to put the other woman at ease, in the same way a hypnotist lulls their mark through speaking in a regulated cadence. "Those of us who see the opportunity to control the path of the world -- and who seize it." She bites the cheese and meat off of her toothpick.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"And that's the opportunity that you pursue? An opportunity to influence the trajectory our world is on?" Talia muses to herself. She gives a thoughtful 'hmmmh' as she considers it. Or maybe she's considering the way the champagne has developed atop her tongue. In any case, that little sound is paired with another flick of her eyes upwards. This time, to the right of her face. The part of the brain that deals with abstractions over logic.

Whatever conclusion she reaches in the abstract corners of her mind, Talia gives it no words. She turns her eyes back and re-orients her body to face slightly away from the woman. Her shoulders remain square, however, and Talia delicately smooths her fingertips across the dress, allowing it to open a touch more to lay flatter against her bottom-most thigh. "Far be it from me to offer up any words of advice or wisdom for you in your endeavor. You are obviously an entirely capable young woman," Talia begins. She pulls in a breath, nose tickled by champagne bubbles popping at the surface.

"But if you'll indulge me. The difference between wanting power and having power does not come down to ambition. It's vision. Not only having vision, but articulating that vision. Getting others to -believe- in your vision. To throw themselves upon the spear of your vision, and die for it."

Talia takes a thoughtful sip of that champagne now and lets out a heavy sigh just after she swallows.

A moment of recollection dawns on Talia's face, and she can't quite contain her own little smile at whatever memory prompted it.

"Oh, and have a plan to kill every single person that you meet."

Tessa has posed:
Tessa has another sip of her own champagne as she listens. She takes up another toothpick, and uses it to spear a cube of fruit. "Miss al Ghul, I quite agree. Vision is why we are sitting here. Why I am the Black Herald, and you the Black Rook."

The purple-clad woman grins. "Vision is what separates us from the pack... ambition can be held by anyone, but only those with true vision can turn that ambition into praxis." Tessa reaches out with the toothpick, offering the fruit for Talia to bite off of it if she so chooses. It's a well-chosen accompaniment to the taste and dryness of the champagne.

"May I inquire as to how you would kill me, Miss al Ghul?"

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia leans forward to obligingly take that offered bit of fruit. She does so with teeth -- clasping them down and around the wood and dragging them delicately back. She enjoys the feeling of it against the bits of exposed bone. A very tactile sort of sensation that's rewarded with a splash of fruity sweetness. She giggles a little while she chews on the fruit, thoughtfully considering Tessa's line of inquiry while reaching for her glass of champagne to splash across her tongue. The flavors meld exquisitely, of course. And Talia swallows them both down soon after.

"The pragmatic part of me says poison, but the romantic in me says a dagger between the ribs. Something nice and close and intimate. Shared between us, and only us," Talia muses. And then winks.

"But I hadn't actually thought about it too much. 'Do as I say, not as I do', and all that."

Tessa has posed:
"It would be efficient," Tessa says. "A bit romantic, inasmuch as the idea of considering my own death could be considered romantic." Tessa has another sip of champagne. She sounds wry and amused, but always analytical.

"My first instinct would lack that sort of personal touch. I would most likely recommend vintages of champagne that I had already arranged to be laced with poison." Tessa has another sip, as if to demonstrate that the champagne isn't poisoned. Or that if it is, Tessa is somehow immune.

"I admit that I don't spend much time considering how best to eliminate members of the Club, but one must always be conscious of... containment protocols, in the event of a member going against the greater Club's interests." She bounces her eyebrows, then dips her finger into the jam, and offers it to Talia. No toothpick this time, just jam on an immaculately manicured, smooth-skinned fingertip.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"There's something to be said about a personal touch. Pragmatism has its purposes, but for someone like you, mmmmh... again. An elegant touch," Talia explains. Perhaps her last statement was a bit of a fabrication after all. Death, it seems, is at the forefront of her mind. Particularly Tessa's. "Poison is too messy. Inelegant. You are beautiful, and you deserve something far more fitting and less... traumatic. Subtle and painless and close, that leaves you beautiful," Talia murmurs. She leans in close and takes far more of that finger into her mouth than is necessary. Her mouth is warm, though has been a touch cooled by the champagne. She slides it back, pillowy lips yielding to the more firm digit until she applies a bit of teeth. Bone presses to skin, dragging oh-so-slightly back until teeth and lips slip away entirely.

Finally, Talia turns her eyes up to look at Tessa again. There's a shift in her demeanor and her body language now. It's more... open, perhaps. Certainly not more engaged -- she's always been engaged -- but the velocity of that engagement seems to be shifting up. Predatory, in her own way. Talia al Ghul is a dangerous woman, after all.

"I've died before, you know. Just once before. Destroying something beautiful, even if it belongs to you, is an arresting experience. I would go so far as to say that it is transformative." Talia pauses, the taste of jam still on her fingertips. Instead of drinking the champagne it was meant to be paired with, she takes the opposite in some sort of moment of defiance. It's her own pairing. Not one laid out before her. Her expression shifts as she further considers what, exactly, she might -do- with this woman across from her.

"I would keep you beautiful, yes. But I think I would also bring you back," Talia says. And then she smiles, eyes lighting up as she laughs.

"Though you, of course, have absolutely no reason to believe a word I say."

Tessa has posed:
Predators come in all styles. Some hunters are more active, stalking through the brush as they trail the scent of their prey. Others are more reserved. They hold back, appearing to be placid and at rest until the prey walks within reach of their jaws, lulled into a false sense of security. Game has every reason to recognize game here, even if Tessa is much more veiled than Talia. As things seem to ramp up, Tessa herself remains calm, inscrutably level-headed.

After her finger is returned to her, Tessa brings it to her own lips, kissing the finger as though removing a stray bit of jam that Talia missed -- whether or not any such stray bit exists is a question best left unanswered.

Tessa then has a drink of her own champagne, regarding Talia with eyes that seem to be trying to read things written on the inside of the assassin's bones. "Miss al Ghul, I tend to be discreet about what it is that I bring to the Club, beyond the obvious."

"The brain processes input from the sensory organs through algorithmic means, bottom-up and top-down processing. Attention filters process the importance of the various signals received and route them to different cognitive processes. These experiences are then stored in our memory, and by accessing the information stored there we can recall things that provide context. This is true of everyone with a properly functioning brain, such as yourself and the other members of the Club."

Tessa has another drink of champagne. "I am a mutant, Miss al Ghul. My gift is my brain. In its processing power and speed, it is comparable to the world's most powerful supercomputers. Next to mine, the average human brain is..." Tessa ponders for a moment, wondering how best to describe the gap between her mutant brain and a flatscan's. "...a flip-phone."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia's own mixture of champagne and jam is not as well-paired as the one curated for her, but then... it is her own. The way it sits on her tongue and buzzes across those sensory organs in the manner in which Tessa so eloquently lays out. The woman gives a little tuck of chocolate brown hair behind a pierced ear and peers across the table. A cock of that head to the side, and those fingers that once-tucked softly slip fingernails against the back of her own neck in quiet, contemplative consideration for the mutant at her table.

Whatever train of thought that Talia had been chasing seems to have ended. That notion of preserving beauty, intimacy, and reanimation stamped out in favor of something else. What that something is remains as ineffable as anything upon her face. What had been a touch more exuberant engagement is replaced with what it was before.

"Hmmm. A flip-phone," Talia says, and then offers a simple shrug of slender shoulders. "Well, I suppose there's no use arguing, in that case."

Tessa has posed:
Tessa's smile remains in place. She still has the uncanny valley customer support vibe, but there's no doubt that she's engaged by the conversation. If she wasn't, she likely wouldn't have shared anything about herself at all.

"I'm not attempting to throw shade upon you, Miss al Ghul. You are far more beautiful and elegant than any mere tool, and you possess a force of will that supercedes the abilities of many -- perhaps even myself. I make the comparison only to elaborate on my thought process." Tessa sets down the champagne, and spears another thing of cheese and meat. This is for herself, not to feed to the dangerous woman across from her.

"I analyze everything to a detail that most would find completely overwhelming. This entire conversation, I have committed to memory every microtonal inflection in your voice or subtle shift in your posture or expression. I even know what brand of lipstick you favor, based on what was left on my finger." She eats the meat and cheese.

"It's through this processing that, despite your words, I have every reason to believe you. I believe you when you say that you've died. And that you would kill me, and that you would bring me back." Tessa stands up, and finishes her flute of champagne. "For now, there are matters I must attend to in the Club proper. I must change into more... casual attire. But we must discuss more soon. This conversation has been extremely illuminating, Miss al Ghul. Thank you for it." And then Tessa is on her way, collecting her cloak and donning it on her way out.