14537/So you're wearing a leash, huh

So you're wearing a leash, huh
Date of Scene:	28 March 2023
Location:	Lily Anne's Lounge - Hellfire Club
Synopsis:	Susan begins the initiation process for Alison into the inner workings of the Hellfire Club.
Cast of Characters:	Susan Richards, Alison Blaire

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Susan Richards has posed:
It's not every day that Susan winds up giving a prospective initiate into the inner workings of the Hellfire Club a tour of the amenities and style of the club itself. But when the prospect is a famous, influential and stunning fellow blonde, she can make time during her Fantasti-Business day to slip out and let her Virtual Assistant handle emails and phone calls. With the possibility of giving a full tour of the club, she couldn't pick a particular theme for the outfit... short of revealing.

Susan's lovely figure is highlighted by a sleek, gleaming white corset, clearly ribbed and cinched tight, laced up her back, it's unclear if she had an assistant, or if she merely used those invisible powers of hers. Some might consider her outfit a pastiche of the former White Queen, with the slim waisted floss thong, barely wide enough to cover something that could perhaps, in some circles, be considered a taunting mockery of modesty. She's gone for shoulder length gloves in equally shining white, indeed her only personal choice of style is that she's wearing stiletto heeled shoes, instead of thigh high vinyl or latex boots, though the white garter and lace stockings do add a certain /old world/ charm that Emma usually left in favour of more modern fetish stylings.

Susan's lips are a glistening, gleaming crimson, looking almost wet, her eyes shadowed to make those blue eyes impossibly deep and intent. Her mannerisms are just a touch edgy, twitchy even when she's not actively doing something. Fortunately the Club has much to show, and she's managed to avoid most downtime as she leads her guest along, leash a fine silver chain that susan idly plays around her knuckles as she murmurs out, "This is Lily Anne's Lounge, it's nice when you want a quiet drink. It's less... energetic than the modern club portions, but more thrilling than the restaurants." Her lips quirk slightly and she murmurs softly, "But that's not your style, I imagine, is it Ms. Blaire? No, you strike me as the finest sort of rockstar or actress. An eagerness to push your limits and thrill at the forbidden. Something that our little establishment excels in providing for a discerning and exclusive clientele." Her lips quirk in a slightly more sly smirk as she murmurs out softly, "But that, I imagine you are already aware of. The galas make the society pages, who showed up with whom, who left when. There are levels beyond such pedestrian distractions. And I must admit, while traditionalists might not see a musician as suitable for this particular level of membership... I have been considering certain aspects of tradition that may need updating. Social media is a reality that the men and women before us did not consider when they laid the foundations of our organization."

Alison Blaire has posed:
To say that Alison Blaire had grown bored with the day to day mechanisms of her life would be an understatement. Gym at seven in the morning, two hours, then a meeting with her record label and managers (handlers she calls them). Lunch with any potential business partners for her plethora of sponsers, clothing lines, action figures, and one very interesting producer who feels her story lends itself well to film. Another two hours in the gym.

Everything is so organized. Planned out. Follow the schedule.

By seven she's at a club opening. After-parties. When does that leave any time for Alison? How can someone opporate on a grueling schedule that has every single second dictated for her without some kind of stimulant?

Sometimes getting your dreams becomes shackles that hold you down from doing what you love.

Then you become bitter with your dreams and they become nightmares.

Alison Blaire needs a change.

The conversation with Susan a few weeks hence had been the catalyst. Another visit to her later had been the hammer on anvil. Now Alison is walking with her tour-guide, smiling as majestically as ever as she's shown through the Club proper. Dressed in something vaguely normal for her, since she hadn't been given much of a dress-code, except 'be comfortable'. A black laced corset with exposed mesh flanks. Her hair is teased and braided, her makeup is all dark colors to bring out the intensity of her blue eyes and sharpen her features.

A long black skirt with twin slips up to her hips dangles over tanned thighs, giving little glimpse of the thong underneath whenever she turns too quickly. And finally a pair of braided sandles that come to just above her knees in twisting cordage like something out of a Greek fetish shop. Does she belong here?

Probably not... but she is a media influencer. Whose star shines bright. Whose platform is the sung word.

That's useful.

"I'm just grateful to be considered... I really expected to be laughed out of the building when I sent you that message. I'm glad you're humoring it."

Susan Richards has posed:
Susan's keeping things low key, calm, no ice cold dominant energy, no matter how swiftly the various Hellfire functionaries seem to melt away at the slightest glance of 'No, we don't require your services right now' intent as she gives Alison her tour. It's just a dip of her toe into the realities of the club. Enough for the shadowy outlines of the real nature of the club's workings.

But Alison has certainly shown promise in turning no solid dress code into such a wonderfully fitting attire. A natural, really.

Susan murmurs out a soft purr that might almost be a laugh, "Oh, I expected much the same when Mr. Shaw first began introducing me to the realities of the club. But I realized that's... us viewing ourselves through the lens of society."

She arches an eyebrow primly and murmurs out, "We see /ourselves/ as nothing but a pop starlet, nothing but a mother, a wife, as 'nothing but' because for so long society has enforced those views." There's a slow, deep breath as Susan gestures to the bartender, leading Alison to a corner table and settling herself down, both eyebrows perking now, almost a taunting little expression, as though testing what Alison will do as Susan sits sidelong to the table to look out at the room. "Really, for as much as the Club talks about how it's about being above society and controlling the future... the 'future' has been the one that reinforced those views. Perpetuated them for a century. You, Ms. Blaire, are charming and beautiful, smart and focused. And have unique natural talents. I don't intend for you to be overlooked for all your many facets of... interest /just/ for your music career." She smirks and murmurs, "Perhaps I see something of myself in you. Being known for one famous thing... and feel /invisible/ for all your other charms."

Alison Blaire has posed:
There's that undercutting reality that everything people think about Susan Storm is absolutely just the tip of a very deep iceberg. She's seen glimpses, has Alison. Little slips in that calm, motherly, facade. At first it was startling. This woman who has been an inspiration to her. Who, through just being herself in a world that would, otherwise, have looked down upon her when surrounded by men of lesser quality, has carved out an empire. Become a symbol. Alison may have fallen in love with the idea of who Sue was to the public eye, but she's magnetically drawn to the woman she actually is.

Seeing through what is shown to the actress playing the part.

It's intoxicating.

Like the HellFire Club. A mirage of things just barely out of view. Promises that, if you look hard enough, or want bad enough, everything is yours for the taking. It appeal to the starlet who could have anything money could possibly buy and would still feel empty.

She smiles, a wanning expression, a flicker. "The world told us we weren't as important as the sum of our parts and we believed it." There's a whole argument to be made about the Patriarchy here, but neither of them needs to say it to know precisely why they felt the way they do.

She follows, letting Susan guide them through this little club with a glance at the way people respond to the White Queen. A part of her wants that.. wants to see that... fear... in peoples eyes even when she's done nothing overtly to warrent it. And wanting that fear is exciting. Exciting in a way Alison hasn't felt for a decade.

So when Susan takes her seat, there's not even a pause to consider what she should do. The Popstar slides down on her knees between the White Queens, wrapping one arm around the back of a her left stelleto boot covered calf and rests her cheek upon one stocking covered knee. There's a twisted pride in hearing Sue say she sees something of herself in Ali.. "I want to be /seen/."

Susan Richards has posed:
Susan's eyes brighten, and for a moment, they're practically as inspiring and warm and downright approving as her public persona. Because she knows Alison knows what she's talking about. That the younger woman can see exactly what Susan does. And it's always inspiring to not be alone. Especially in a shadowy maze of temptation and danger. And the Club is nothing if not that.

Susan barely seems to notice the fear. Maybe because as she's become more active in the quiet, shadowed parts of the Club, since she's stopped simply showing up for one gala or another, the looks of fear have merged with those of deference. And it's all simply what Susan has come to expect in her new role. Susan laughs softly and murmurs out, "Oh, I see you, Alison dear. And when we finish, everyone will see you. And you will be in a position and a place to see yourself. Be yourself."

Her fingers drop, oh so naturally teasing through Alison's hair until she's cradling the back of her head, sighing out. "And when you see yourself, you'll be ready. Prepared. To help guide things the way they need to be. We'll guide the world to the future it deserves. And we'll ensure it does not leave behind those we know it would without us."

Alison Blaire has posed:
Alison has spent her whole life looking beyond the veil. Just a simple girl who grew up with no mother, a mutant in a world that hated mutants. In a school where everyone was powerful so nobody stood out... she did. She rose above all the shit cards she was dealt and forced the world into her palm, but there's a glass ceiling. Crashing against it was painful, but it let her see other things that hadn't been so visible from the bottom. This world is full of sharks.

Either you learn to be vicious or get eaten.

And Alison Blaire is nobodies victim.

Her black lips curl into a smile at the heap of praise laid upon her. Soaking it up from someone who knows precisely what Alison is going through. Both in her life and in this moment.. They're not the same, Susan and Alison, but they share similarities that make it easy to completely understand the other.

It is incredibly refreshing.

Now rubbing her cheek against the White Queen's knee, her arms tighten. It's both affection born and accepting. Her blue eyes, ever so much so for the intentionally dark shadows. She breaths it in, a deep sigh, and then looks up at Susan. "I want that so bad. I've wanted it... for as long as I can remember. To be the change this world deserves, instead of just another cog in a broken machine."

Susan Richards has posed:
Finally, the drinks arrive, and Susan lets her fingers trail from Ali's hair to that leash once more, winding it up bit by bit, until fine silver links are around her wrist like a snug, many-layered bracelet, and her other hand can reach out for what is clearly meant to be Alison's drink. It's lowered down for the pop star to drink without having to lift herself up. Or worry about holding the glass itself. That duty is, it seems, for Susan. That control.

She smiles lopsidedly and murmurs out dryly, voice low and soft. "Well, I'm sure you'll find the club quite refreshing, we're building to the full experience. So... today will not be our only meeting, my dear. And when it ends, you must remember there are secrets yet unhinted." Her lips quirk, her voice drops to the barest whisper, "I recall my own explorations and introductions. They seemed to take forever and yet... now, at the end of the path, they seem to have been a single instant."

As Susan lets Alison sip at her drink, she settles back in her seat, gaze locked on the younger blonde, steady, warm but appraising as she murmurs out. "When we finish, you will not have to hide a part of yourself from the world. The world will accept all people."

Her head rolls back slowly, working at tension in her neck as she murmurs almost as an afterthought. "Society will see the truths that those before have ignored and denied. By choice, or by our direction. For the greater good."

Alison Blaire has posed:
Alison opens her mouth in a surprisingly excited way seeing that silver chain coiling around Susan's wrist. Every little twist that draws it taut, she breaths another gasp. Having control taken from her, seeing it clearly by the physical representation of the leash and collar she'd been fixed with. It's freeing in way that probably doesn't make any sense to anyone but her. Like giving up a small part of her processing power to let someone else guide the ship.

She flutters long black lashes up at Susan and leans forward to close equally black lips around the straw when the drink is lowered down to her. She doesn't question it. Maybe she doesn't really know how deep the rabbits hole goes, but the look in her eyes screams that she's eager to go digging in holes finding o ut.

"Yes Mistress. My White Queen." All of the promises are delicious on hungry ears. Starved, famished, and ready for a future full of the world in her palms. She wants to see this future, but she's no stranger to hard work. If anything at all...

She looks excited for it.