15763/Invisible Arrows

Invisible Arrows
Date of Scene:	31 August 2023
Location:	The Strait Lace Steakhouse - Hellfire Club
Synopsis:	Susan and Connor meet in the Hellfire Club. A plan for a tour is formed.
Cast of Characters:	Susan Richards, Connor Hawke

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Susan Richards has posed:
It's just another day for the Invisible Woman, Susan Richards... which is not to say she's actually invisible. No, not in any literal sense. But she /is/ in one of the rare places around the city where she seems to fade into the background without the use of her powers.

Perhaps it's the fact that the serving staff the Hellfire Club hires are all absolutely stunning. Something which Susan has found herself partially responsible for since ascending the shadowy ranks of the Club's inner workings.

But mostly, she's also simply been a rather steady presence at the Club's various functions for years. It's something of an oasis for a woman who so often finds herself the center of attention if she's /not/ actively hiding.

Seated at the bar of the Strait Lace in one of her little black dresses is hardly hiding of course, but the daytime lunch crowd consists of the various movers and shakers of finance and power that she so often winds up having meetings with as part of running the family's business, and so while she might offer a smile and nod to one or two patrons, there's no attempt to meet and greet, as they can catch up during some formal meeting or other.

And today must be something of a day off for Susan, as her everpresent holographic tablet is laid on the bar next to her arm, not actively being worked on as her right hand holds a martini, idly swirling it as her eyes roam about the restaurant.

She might not be in full White Queen regalia, but she has every bit of presence of a queen overseeing her kingdom. And given how rarely the White King gets involved in things, she may as well be the sole ruler.

Connor Hawke has posed:
The Hellfire Club is home to the rich and the powerful, the strange and the unique, the persuasive and the manipulators. Yet today, it's called home for a very different kind of person. Among the movers and shakers happily enjoying some fine dining today, a new face walks into perhaps one of the least outwardly provocative institutions within the Club: Connor Hawke. The son of Oliver Queen, the Zen Archer - or Red Arrow to those who are able to differentiate the everyday from the mask.

He wears a black three-piece suit, the material of the finest model and make. The grain is spectacular to the touch and comes together in classical fashion, looking as if he was straight out of Victorian England. He lacks a top-hat, but his golden hair is well-styled and his green tie is straightened against the white background of his dress shirt and black vest.

Finding no reason to mingle with the powerful in their chairs, he walks past them without greeting, earning him a few dirty looks here and there. Though as he approaches the bar, and much like the staff here, Connor is absolutely striking to look at, a gift of his father's genetics. No doubt, he meets and even locks eyes with Susan Richards, he pays her no particular reverence. Beautiful as she may be, Connor acts as though he has no idea who she is.

"Is this spot available?" He asks Susan, his voice calm and kind. His green eyes seem to regard her with a certain authority: he's confident, yet humble. Yet in his gaze it's as if he's piercing through her to her very soul to uncover the deepest part of her in his observations.

And yet, his face doesn't give anything away.

Susan Richards has posed:
Slim blonde eyebrows perk as Connor approaches, her head tilting ever so slightly, those bright blue eyes sparkle playfully even before the younger man has approached, drink lifted for a small sip. She hums softly as she considers that question.

"Oh, it appears it /might/ be free. It's mostly unoccupied due to fear. Apparently I can be a little intimidating." Her lips curve in a thoughtful frown and she murmurs dryly, "Or people are afraid an alien armada will smash through the ceiling to kidnap me and they'd rather not have their drinks spilled."

Her drink is finished, slid onto the bar, shortly to be replaced as she grins impishly.

"So, please, do join me. What brings you about today? I imagine it's not some corporate merger over a lunch. Those always have a /feel/ to them... and you'd be far too pressed for time to drop by and greet a /dinosaur/ then, hm?"

She's soft spoken and self-deprecating but there's something in those eyes that belies how much this is a practiced dance, how she knows she's no dinosaur at all.

Connor Hawke has posed:
A practiced dance indeed.

Though Connor is by no means socially inept in the field of companies and corporations, he seems to be a bit, well....blunt. He sees no reason why they should dance around each other with prose. He turns to look Susan in her bright blue eyes, taking careful note of the playful mischief that rest in those ocean waters, inviting him into her space for good or for ill. Is this a trap? In the way that Connor carries himself, he might not care.

Even though she claims that aliens might invade the earth to kindap her away for some ne'er-do-well intentions, Connor simply slides gracefully into the spot next to her, never once breaking eye contact with the woman. Only when he sits and adjusts his suit coat does he speak again. "Dinosaur? You don't look a day over 21." Seems Connor inherited his father's charm, though one might say she was fishing for a compliment and caught a good-sized catfish.

"I haven't a care in the world for mergers and finer business. I was hoping for a drink and a test of the steaks here, but I found socializing instead. Despite her age, she seemed to be in the height of her youth, which tricks one into denying the wisdom she's attained over her years.

"My name is Connor Hawke. I try to remember manners. This scene is...new to me." He extends a hand to her. "And you are? You who dances with fear and aliens in the minds of others?"

Susan Richards has posed:
It's really a shame that Susan's not entirely sure if it's a trap or not herself. Her ascendancy in the Club has had her considering moral relativism and human nature in new ways that balancing the budgets for scientific experiments that she only vaguely comprehends never has. But then, that was really the trouble that brought her into this world. Not knowing if it was a trap or not, and slipping deeper and deeper.

But so far things have worked out... and as her refilled drink arrives, she's reminded of that. Her lips quirk and she rolls her eyes, murmuring softly, "Flatterer. Please. My daughter was at last year's Mardi Gras gala, and while I'll admit 'dinosaur' is a bit of an exaggeration, I do /not/ look as though I'm her twin sister."

She laughs softly and places her hand into that offered one, "Oh my! Maybe I /have/ been working too hard if you don't recognize me. Susan Richards. Invisible Woman, sometimes superheroine, rumored to never sleep... but it's /only/ a rumor. I actually nap when the elevators are moving between floors."

She laughs softly and murmurs out, "Ah, it's a bit of a trick of scheduling. Lunchtimes here are all financiers and sharks. It's the evening hours where things become more adventurous." One eyebrow arches and she sighs out, "Of course, this is probably the better way to find yourself here. The steaks /are/ fantastic, the drinks are stellar, and you can chew without worrying about the fact that your jaw keeps wanting to hit the floor from the antics you see going on."

Her eyes stay locked on his, intent... but not quite so intent she doesn't blink of course. That intensity is only a /little/ unsettling as she lifts her drink for another sip, eyes closing for a longer moment as she sighs in the wake of that swallow, "Hm. Bachelor auction. Now /there's/ an idea for a gala..."

Connor Hawke has posed:
Social navigating, conniving Club politics, information brokering, that all happens here is what Connor can tell. And yet, strangely enough, this woman appears to be a breath of fresh air. She has a daughter? Interesting. Though Connor doesn't immediately ask about her, Susan's claim that she's no twin youth does cause the smallest tick of a smirk to appear on his face as he lifts a hand. "Old Fashioned." Without even looking at the bartender, well aware that one is coming despite never visually seeing an acknowledgement from the fellow that his order was received.

His eyes are fixed on Susan's own as they discuss their dealings, yeta hand offered is a hand accepted. An avid reader of books, he has a fair idea of how these are to go. He gently takes her fingers into his own, cupping her hand in such a way that he holds more of her fingers than he does her hand, and if she allows such a contact to occur, he'll press his lips to her knuckles in greeting. A chaste contact? Gentlemanly demeanor? Swoonworthy flirtations? If only Connor was so legible by his own body language to give a clear picture. "If I'd have known I was speaking to the benefactor of this establishment...I can't say I would've acted much differently. But it's a pleasure to meet you, Susan. Charmed." First name basis? Lots of the ladder being climbed at the moment! "Sometimes superheroine? Taking a break?" He asks, humor lacing his tone. Though he seems greatly amused at her tale of falling asleep in elevators.

"At least the wall can hold you upright."

The drink arrives and he seems to accept it without looking, as if he knew it was there. His eyes looking at Susan as he brings his drink to his lips. Experience, perhaps, that he doesn't wince at the firewater going down his throat. "Are any of those antics yours?" A question that hangs in the air. Yet, her intensity would be unsettling to a great many if it weren't being mirrored by Connor Hawke down to it's nth degree.

"And who would be purchasing a bachelor?"

Susan Richards has posed:
There's a soft laugh from Susan as she curls her fingers slightly in that cupping touch, eyebrows perking at that kiss to her knuckles as she murmurs dryly, "My my, such classical charm! And now now, I'm merely a... custodian for the Club. it's hardly a sole proprietorship. And really, this place is... self-sufficient, I imagine it will run itself until the sun burns out."

She laughs softly and shakes her head, "Oh! No no, not taking a break so much as... well, invisibility and forcefields are versatile, but really, between the Avengers and the Justice League, there are more than enough stunningly capable heroic sorts around nowadays." She heaves out an exaggerated little sigh, "Besides, heroic endeavors are a young woman's game.... well, very well, I'll immediately admit Wonder Woman /cheats/ that particular rule, but she's really the exception that proves it, no?" She grins lopsidedly, "But I suppose retiring from heroics does give me some small amount of time to enjoy myself that I'd otherwise lose out on.

She hums out, "Oh, my antics have been whispered about quite a bit. If you ever meet Janet van Dyne I'm sure she'll tell you all about them. She does enjoy tormenting me."

Eyebrows perk and she hums softly, "Speaking of who might purchase a bachelor... not that I'm saying she /has/ to purchase them of course. But I imagine we could have quite the bidding war between her, perhaps Felicia Hardy, Emma Frost... the club's clientele are almost exclusively wealthy. Having an event to flaunt it flagrantly rather than us all pretending it doesn't matter could be a twist. My my, I do believe you might be /inspiring/, Connor."

Connor Hawke has posed:
Kiss delivered with the class of an experienced diplomat, Connor looks upon Susan with a look of deep thought in his eyes. Interesting. So she's not the sole leader of the Club, even though the White King is nowhere to be found? Well, one supposes it belies her that the leadership would fall to her naturally. Well, if the place is self-sufficient, then perhaps it would be so anyways. There are many movers and shakers here, as she has so claimed. "Do none of the others then vie for power? It seems without a singular figure to address, there would be power plays all the time."

There it is. She sees herself as a perhaps unnecessary part of the game. Retired, as may be the more reasonable statement. "Nothing wrong with leaving heroics to others. Though, I'm certain you would still be effective, if even one of the stories about you are true." Though something strange indeed is that...has he ever actually let go of her hand? Or do they rest on hte bar still interlocked? Perhaps Connor forgot. He often finds his focus drifting and forgets proper manners at times.

He only knows what Oliver Queen dared to teach him.

"Wonder Woman is immortal, if I know anything. She cheats /handily/." Connor grins ever so softly. He hears about one Janet van Dyne, his head tilting. "Isn't she a fashion designer?" He questions Susan softly. "...and apparently a gossip." He smirks, though he seems to think for a moment. "I try my best." Does he though? Not really.

Sometimes good things happen.

Susan Richards has posed:
Susan's smile is genuine, body language at least relaxed enough to allow that insight as her fingers flex lightly in the wake of the kiss as she murmurs out, "Oh, it's much like all interactions between ambitious and powerful people, everyone's always looking for the next chance to show off just how clever they are, but really, we're just a club for people of wealth and distinction to... have a chance to relax as much as they ever can. If anything I think the various games people play around here are because they can't /actually/ ever relax. They always need to have /something/ to occupy their minds."

She grins crookedly and bobs her head, almost reluctantly as she sighs out, "Oh yes, I'm still capable of being effective, but at times the idea of being /active/ in trying to find costumed trouble is... it feels like wanting to be a hat on a hat. There are enough young, ambitious heroic sorts out there to handle the troubles, and I can simply offer advice to the up and comers. I actually considered starting some sort of organized foundation for it but I never really found the time. Besides, no one wants the Mom of the World peeking over their shoulder at their heroics, right?"

Susan laughs out delightedly, "Oh! She's a fashion designer /and/ a superheroine. How do you think the Avengers stay so stylish? She's the Wasp, and she won't let you forget it... usually just by reminding you, not by /shocking/ you with those stings of hers."

She finds herself grinning again, "But enough about me and my tribulations... have you seen much of the Club? I could arrange a tour, it really is quite extensive. This isn't even the real VIP area."

Connor Hawke has posed:
Oh, he's still holding onto her hand.

The flex of her fingers causes some kind of realization in Connor as he returns a flex with a flex of his own, his hand opening to allow Susan to reclaim her hand should she wish it, his drink in his other hand lifted to his lips for an oh-so-delicate sip of the amber fluid. "Seems relatively simple when you put it that way. It often feels as though there's shady dealings in every part of the background there is. But...when you put it in a way for the rich and wealthy to relax, it feels like an extravagent country club."

He knows what country clubs are? Ah, it seems Mr. Hawke hasn't always been so far and away that he didn't understand commonplace establishments. Even still, her crooked grins and sparkling eyes always has a retort ready, willing, and able. "I would've thought we had already discussed your youth today, Susan." Connor smiles perhaps, genuinely, for the first time in hte entire day. All the same, he shakes his head. "Mother of the World? Rather grand, wouldn't you say?" He questions of her, but he shrugs. 'I guess not. If my father was looking over my shoulder all the time, I wouldn't be having a good time at all."

Hearing that this Janet is also an Avenger gets an 'ah' from Connor. "Why does that make too much sense? Though I never thought the Avengers were lacking for style - most likely due to her influence. I'd prefer not to be shocked by her at all." Connor admits softly, lifting his shoulders. "I've been meaning to make use of her services though."

"I haven't, not much, anyway. I always figured I'd open a door and see a great many dirty deeds. Besides, I was quite hungry. I wouldn't mind a tour though."

Susan Richards has posed:
There's a momentary pause before Sue's hand is pulled back with another flex of her fingers and a crooked little smile as she lifts her drink as she laughs out softly, "It's... a bit of both, really. Well, not a country club. Golf may in fact be one of the few passtimes we don't offer. But dalliances and flights of fancy abound in our environs, releases and excesses and relaxation without the worry of press or snooping 'independent journalists' getting wind. Discretion and secrecy are what we offer... and it's why our membership prices are so very extravagant."

She laughs softly and rolls her eyes good naturedly, "Oh, we're all shocked by Janet sooner or later... one way or another. But yes, avoiding those Wasp stings? Always a good plan." She hums out and perks her eyebrows, "Well! Why don't I let you enjoy some lunch, and I'll take care of a few things. I'm sure the staff can inform me when you're done your meal and I can give you a tour, hm? Show you all the sights to see around here."

Connor Hawke has posed:
That momentary hesitance was noted, though was it a moment that she didn't want to release his hand or merely that she had not noticed it was released? Connor doesn't know. But that momentary flex of her fingers and a crooked little smile on her face tells Connor that whatever it was, whatever it /meant/, no harm was done.

"Dalliances and flights of fancy, you say?" Connor asks Susan softly. "And are you known to partake in the pleasures of the environs?" He aks of her. Is he trying to learn more about her? Or is that an offer in the wind of his words? Though knowing he can make a mistake here helps him feel a bit better, considering that the Club has a pretty substantial anti-press standpoint.

Unless one snuck in.

But if there's people with superhuman abilities? It might not even matter if they did. "So what I'm hearing is, I should indulge in this 'membership price'?" He questions her, though hearing that Janet is truly a fun soul who is good at shocking individuals with her actions. "Fair enough, fair enough." He smirks a little bit.

"Sounds like a deal to me. I look forward to it greatly." Yet never once in this whole conversation did his eyes leave hers.

Susan Richards has posed:
Susan finishes her drink, fingers finally leaving Connor's grasp as she slips from her seat to rise up, and eye contact is finally broken, if only because she's offering a little grin and turning about, breaking that connection momentarily. She glances over her shoulder with a soft laugh, "If I wasn't known to enjoy the Club, I imagine Janet's stories about me would be /far/ less entertaining, no? But we can discuss the specifics of the club's adventures beyond the finest steak in the city once you've had a meal, hm? Best to be fortified for the walking tour."

Her hips sway as she slinks off, like she's positive eyes are upon her not so much in general as very specifically. Of course, confident or not, there's another glance over her shoulder and a wry little grin and finger-wiggling wave to Connor before Susan disappears into the employee area... presumably to terrify some low level Club employees with performance reviews or the like!

Because, really, her work is never over.

Connor Hawke has posed:
Fingers, alas, finally leave the warmth of Connor's hand as Susan begins to slip from her feat to rise up. Though eye contact is broken, Connor doesn't seem bothered by the brilliant sight it's been replaced with. Her attire was fascinating to say the least, a tribute to the eyes. Even still, she offers him that little grin and he takes a moment - a moment of weakness perhaps - to admire what he sees before his very eyes.

"True."

Connor says once eye contact is restablished. "I like that plan." He tells her as she starts to slink away. As she does so, Connor's eyes lower past eye level to admire her walking away as hebrings his drink to his lips for a sip. As he does so, she turns and gives him a little finger-wiggle to Connor, as if she knew she was going to be watched, and he returns the wave with one of his own.

"Mr. Hawke, your premium ribeye, sir. Wagyu beef, as instructed."

He turns to the man then finally. "Thank you." and he indulges in his meal, wondering how that tour is going to be.