6313/Saturday in the Park

Saturday in the Park
Date of Scene:	23 May 2021
Location:	Washington Square Park
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Blackagar Boltagon, Emma Frost

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Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<OOC NOTE - Logger not started so may look weird in log>


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The afternoon has grown into a very pleasant night, temperatures that are reasonable and no humidity. What stars can be seen against the light polution are pushing through above and the moon itself has grown to an early apex looking larger than usual.

This is the evening where Blackagar Boltagon finds himself sitting in Washington Park not terribly far from a gazebo where there is a group playing cover band music from the 90s, not that he would have any context for such. But it is what has drawn him to the park bench he sits on where the lighting from the band and their crowd fades away and let's him observe without being in the midst or noticable.

Sitting next to him on the park bench is a paper sack from a grocery store, his second stop at one of those locations after the first had gone surprisingly well. If shopping in this world was that adventerous he must do it more often. Aside from that he looks rather content with his blue gaze soaking in the sights and listening to the sounds of this world.
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There are those who think Emma's business atire is as low as you can go in pandering to her sexuality. These people are wrong. Emma's business atire is Emma expressing herself modestly. Today is not a business day for her. (Not officially. Things do crop up. Hence the platinum FrostPhone<tm> casually held in her left hand.)

Speaking of left hands, aside from the phone it carries, the left arm, clad in a white leather glove that goes up to her biceps, also carries an artisanal basket made of woven bamboo interlaced with rattan. The basket seems, from stance, to be somewhat weighty and is certainly too large to be a practical purse.

Parading past Blackagar, Emma heads to a nearby picnic table which seems to have fortunately had everybody at it decide they had to be anywhere else right now. Their dinner hour had probably ended and they were out and off doing their random mysterious business ... at another, farther picnic table.

What?

Emma starts to unpack the basket, beginning with a ludicrously luxurious tablecloth followed by all forms of succulent foods imaginable. Whoever packed the basket made very creative and efficient use of available space, and Emma's unpacking of it shows no small amount of expertise as well.

A (now familiar) 'voice' rings in Blackagar's head: ~Won't you please join me? I have enough food for eight.~

Emma is not, however, looking his way. Just a faint impression of amusement plays in his head.
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Blackagar's mind had been elsewhere, in fact it had been on the Moon and home with his head tilted back and eyes focused in its direction. The pondering of his mind working through all the problems that he must navigate. The challenges of this world and that world colliding.

The voice in his mind echoes, like a gong being struck by a hammer and brings his head snapping back down immediately to where Emma is at. He had not noticed her arrive, so distracted by his mind on other things. For a few moments he considers her then allows himself to think loudly, ~I fear I may not be the best company.~

However, he does slowly start to rise, grabbing the grocery sack next to him as he makes his way over towards the picnic table where Emma is setting things up. He considers her, considers the table, and a wry smile touches his lips. ~You do not strike me as someone who sets up their own dinner table.~
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"I didn't prepare this, if that's what you mean!" Emm

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
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"I didn't prepare this, if that's what you mean!" Emma exclaims in mock horror. "This has been prepared for me. And since I wanted some time without sycophants about me, I've deigned to unpack it myself."

The face breaks into a lazy smile, if enigmatic. It's hard to tell how much self-deprecation is involved and how much is serious.

She gestures at the bench beside her. "Please, do come join me. You are interesting company. That is always the best company."
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Blackagar grins, the sensation of humor washes over him at the sentiments from Emma, the expression of mock horror at doing her own work but he does end up sitting down at the bench alongside her. ~I find that I often prepare food myself, it is a method for me to relax. Plus it allows me to understand a culture. Since I have come here, I have certainly been sampling the food.~

He looks then at Emma, studying her more than just glancing. His expression is strong and weighing, like a peer examining another peer. ~I am interesting?~ he considers to her. ~Am I interesting because I am an enigma? Or am I interesting because I am not like the rest of them?~
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"Oh, one from column A, one from column B," Emma says with a full-throated laugh. "Enigmas always intrigue me. I'm cursed with curiosity that leads me to no end of misadventure."

Recrossing her legs to turn a little bit toward Blackagar, her eyes rake over him with predatory precision. "And you are intriguingly different too, yes. The fact we can talk the way we do is part of it, of course, but so is your demeanour. A little world-weary. A little distant."

A coy smile crosses her face. "I'm not sure how much you know about people on this planet, but your behaviour is romantic catnip. You'll get a lot of interest as the outsider looking in, especially with that physique."
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There is a physical indication of laughter, but no sound. The normal look of a head rolling back some, a wide smile on the face but he remains utterly silent through the gesture. A slow shake of his head and then he looks at Emma with an eyebrow lifted.

~You would assume I do not have the same effect where I am from? And could you even imagnie if the people of this world knew I was a King?~

He let's that part of his thought ring out before he shifts his posture and makes eye contact with the woman, deliberately doing so. ~I have suspected that this planet has an over empahsis on the, how do you describe it? Strong silent type?~
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"A king, you say?" Emma's voice drips with warm teasing. "Now you're more like ... romantic ..." She feigns being lost for words. "Let's not go down that rabbit hole," she decides. "Suffice it to say I'm rewriting all my social climbing goals and adding you to the top of my list of targets."

Her wink is languid and her face contains more than a hint of open invitation as she leans a bit Blackagar's way...

...to point out some dishes on his left. "That's paté de fois gras," she says. "It's very upsetting to some people but I quite adore it. One spreads it on these thin crackers thus." She reaches across Blackagar to scoop up some of the paté, smearing it on a hexagonal cracker before holding it in front of his mouth. "Here, try it?" she offers. "It really is quite delicious and there's little else in the world that matches its smooth texture which clashes so wo

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
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There is only the slightest hesitation before Blackagar accepts the offered cracker from Emma. The ability to speak and eat at the same time showing itself; considering it isn't really speaking of course. 'You know, Ms. Frost, I actually spent a bit of time looking into you after our last meeting.'

He watches her then, very carefully, to see if she reacts to that fact before he continues to think outloud. Her expression of invitation is met with a calm one back, the Inhuman King actually leaning back towards her with his own sly tilt of lips. 'You are right, it is a very unique combination of textures, although there is a richness of flavor. I have to wonder though, is this a normal thing to have in a park?'
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"Most of the food I have here is not commonly found in parks, no," Emma confesses as she eyes her spread. "It's more a return to older times when picnics were grand events, however. It was once traditional and we lost it in our modern culture of instant gratification and simple lifestyle."

She turns to look into Blackagar's eyes. "Not that I'm opposed to instant gratification, you understand," she adds with a little sultry growl. "There is a time and a place for everything. I just happen to think that sometimes it is nice to ... indulge in the finer things."

Her arm waves over the table. "So I come here. I bring far more food than I can possibly eat. I share it with interesting people if I find any. And then I give the rest to those who could not ever hope to reasonably afford it in their day to day life so they might at least once taste the finest cuisines." This she punctuates with a slight wince. "Only to hear their thoughts as they wish it were free Big Macs instead."

She shakes her head in entirely unfeigned disgust at that thought.

"So what did you find out about me? And who did you talk to? Keeping in mind that all powerful people--I trust I need not tell you this, given your royalty--have enemies and friends both."
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Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
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'All people have enemies, even those without power or without status' Blackagar considers back to Emma. His posture shifts as he turns to continue to look in her eyes. There is a natural temptation to look elsewhere, to gaze at her face, over her form, but a mind disciplined enough to never speak can handle not ogling a woman for a conversation.

'That was genuine. Wasn't it?' he thinks to her, a furrowed brow appearing. 'The fact that you wish to share with people some glimpse of something more and the frustration at their contentment of less than.' In that moment, there is a growth of interest in her, a delving gaze.

'I found that as you said, you have friends and you have enemies. For myself though, what I truly wonder, is of all those friends and all those enemies how many do you reveal yourself to? I would suspect you are like me in that regard. Unable and unwilling to ever truly be open, although I suspect it may be for different reasons.'
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"There is one," Emma says, "who knows me. Truly knows me. That is the only one I will allow. One of my earliest and hardest lessons in life was to never show the world your true face. When you do, there is always someone there with a razor waiting to slash it."

Emma's sultry mannerisms fall discarded to the floor as she realizes they're not having the impact she was aiming for. "Make no mistake, I try hard not to lie. I instead feed people the truths they wish to be true and mute the truths they don't like to hear. So yes, that ... disappointment ... you spotted is very real. Complacency kills and has always done so because it leaves the field to the motivated. Motivated who don't share the same largesse as one might assume from their rhetoric." Bitterness drips into her voice here. "Which might be for the best."

She turns away to look at the crowd. "Look at these respectable..." She utters the word like it's a filthy obscenity. "...people out and about. I'm cursed with being able to see past their projections and into their reality."
A quick flick of her head and her jaw points vaguely to a man in black with an odd white collar and no lapels. "Father Giovelli there, for example, is a well-respected man of the cloth. He saw me on entering and has been sitting there, strategically placed to view all of me, and is entertaining quite un-priest-like fantasies about me. It's good he is one of the timid ones who does not act on what he wants. Doesn't reach out for the better things in life, because the things he considers better would degrade those around him."

Her gaze turns back to Blackagar. "If he were more competent he would be a demagogue firing other people up to gather what he desires."
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Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
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'But that is our punishment', Blackagar thinks back towards Emma, having followed her line of sight to the priest she mentions. He seems at least familiar enough with the terminology to follow along. There is not a complete absence of understanding of things of Earth, just not the specifics of being among them.

'The strong are, unfortunately at times, expected to lead the less strong. And the price of doing that is loneliness.' He looks from the priest back to Emma and then he smiles ever so slowly to her. 'If I may be so bold? Every person I have sat with, communicated with, has come with a surface but after a time they begin to show their true self. Do you fear that? You said only one person has ever seen your true self, I know that pain.' He motions to himself to emphasize that.
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Emma Frost has posed:
"I don't consider it pain." Emma's voice is flat. Blunt. Vociferous. As if she's trying to convince herself. "I agree with you whole-heartedly that it is the duty of the strong to lead the weak, steering them clear of danger and destruction. If loneliness is the prices of this, so be it. A minor sacrifice for the joy of being of service to the masses."

Staring at Blackagar's eyes... ~Interesting shade of blue, those.~ ...she continues, facial expression just shy of full-on challenging. "There is an expression we've borrowed from the French: noblesse oblige. The truly noble serve, they do not merely rule. To claim the privileges of nobility without the service they imply is not nobility, it is tyranny." Emma smiles tightly. "I aspire to nobility, not tyrannical overlady."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
'A clever turn of phrase.' Blackagar thinks back towards Emma, his own eyes not budging from hers even in the hint of near challenge. 'One that I can subscribe to. I could have sent any other here to do this work. But I need to come, I need to see this world. Because in the end it is my decision. Leadership and nobility is, indeed, a service.'

He looks then after breaking eye contact at the table, 'You have a great many other foods. Were you going to introduce them all to me?' The question lingers in his mind for a moment before the barest hint of a smile touches the corners of the man's lips. 'Or were you instead hoping I would lead you to where the masses are located, to mingle among them and forget obligation for an evening?'

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma's demeanour changes again. Softens. A little hint of the earlier sultry side returns. Still regarding the blue eyes thoughtfully, she asks, "Is there anything you see that intrigues you and tempts you into nibbling?"

A pause calculated to be just long enough to make it the loudest silence possible.

"There's plenty of food, after all. Just reach out and take whatever interests you."

Her own eyes dance, her lips pressed together to (badly) conceal a mischievous expression.

"Everything here is meant to be taken."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar watches Emma, soaks in her demeanor, her suggestive nature and the less than coy references and expressions before he leans forward towards her. Obviously he doesn't speak but he does think in a quieter tone, perhaps to inflict a whisper. 'Do you know what I think Ms. Frost? I think you are an Apex Creature. Top of the food chain. And you have come across another Apex and it intrigues you.'

He lifts an eyebrow towards her as if emphasizing his speculation before going on, 'I see plenty of things that look absolutely delicious. But I'm also wise enough to know that indulging my appetites can sometimes be a disasterous thing. It is while you eat, that a true predator will strike.' Now it is his turn to challenge with his eyes, although it is playfully done. 'If I eat, is that when you will go for my neck?'

Emma Frost has posed:
"I only go for the neck when that's what people want," Emma says archly, feigning offence. "Though it's a surprising number of people who want it." Now she just releases the mischief, not even trying to suppress it. "In general, however, I'm very good at discerning what it is people want--sometimes better than they know themselves--and I'm usually up to providing it."

Another pregnant pause.

"So, would you like to try the pressed chicken? It's the genuine Tuscanny recipe." Her shoulders shift to press her forearms closer together at her sides, subtly. "Or would you care to skip to the desserts? I have melons on offer." Her right arm lifts to flick a hand in the direction of a fruit platter. "Hot, sweet buns?" The hand points to a bamboo container that's steaming slightly. "There's a lot to experiment with and to experience."

Loud silence again.

"Or if you'd prefer just leaving this behind, we can go into the crowds to be alone together. It's your choice."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Humor floods him as she talks about going for the neck in the way she does, eyes alighting through everything. Blackagar considers the food and actually reaches for the melons, taking some of them and sampling with a thought, 'I find I do prefer the fruit of your world. It has become one of my favorites. I cannot tell which of these on the table are the hot, sweet buns.' When he thinks that, he shoots a look towards Emma before he slowly slides off the park bench after wiping his hand on a napkin and offers it to her, looking down into her eyes.

'Come, walk with me.' It is thought in a tone of request but he has the posture now as he stands different than when he walks around or observes. There is that straight positioning of authority, of something more than just an odd man watching others.

The pace is slow, very methodical and it is silent for awhile before Blackagar finally thinks towards Emma. 'A single sound from me would destroy this city.' It carries with it weight of seriousness and confession. 'A sigh alone would kill everyone for miles. Because of this I must discpline myself every moment of every day to not even exhale heavily. You make me smile, Ms. Frost. You have a humor to you I do not know if you intend or not. But I think it is fair you know this about me.'

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma is not used to taking orders, even when issued politely. She's not used to regarding authority. But she stands. She walks. And it takes her several paces to realize she's been taken. The realization seems to stagger her.

"That is an intriguing sensation," she murmurs as they walk in Blackagar's silence. Intriguing. And she's not sure if she likes it. Which is itself intriguing because in the past she's hated having to obey. Her thoughts turn into a whirlwind interrupted only by Blackagar's thoughts manifesting.

And somewhere deep down the schoolgirl she once was stirs, rising to the surface.

"That must be the most impressive way I've ever been turned down," she says. "I won't sleep with you because I don't want to blow up the city."

Blinking in a little bit of surprise at her own bizarre outburst, she almost ... ALMOST ... covers her mouth with her hand exactly like a drunken schoolgirl might.

"Oh, I'm sorry, that was dreadfully inappropriate." And Emma blushes, her face flushing in no time flat. "I don't know where that came from."

~From between your legs, girl.~ ~Shut up.~

"Please forgive me and let's move on to matters of actual substance. My humour is mostly very dry, you'll find. I do enjoy innuendo, however, because I enjoy reading the discomfort people feel between the desire to express 'dirty' thoughts and the inability to do so."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar glances at Emma, pausing his walk as he does so to look at her, tilting his head. 'Did I turn you down?' he thinks at her with a considering expression. There's a twinkle in his eyes before he shrugs, 'I only wanted to share with you that I am extremely flattered by your attention. But did not want you to think I was under any allusion it was more than, how did you say it? Innuendo?' That is when he glances around them and gestures a bit.

'Tell me what they are thinking when they look at us?' he asks her in thought, turning to face Emma a bit more fully and look down at her, that same smirk on his lips that was there before. Amused, playful and trying very much to not be humored at her outbursts, failing at hiding those emotions. Oh yes, he finds her extremely entertaining.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma winces as she lets her guard down in a crowd, the screaming thoughts of everybody around the pair hitting her head from all directions at once. She relaxes, then, as her training kicks in, separating the voices like people separate voices in busy rooms to draw out individual voices from the babble. She begins to repeat thoughts, altering her voice to signal changes in person, deepening or raising tone according to gender as appropriate.

"Bills bills bills bills holy shit look at the ass on that one, that's indecent, boy I'd love to come up and just grab those ..."

"Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. They're letting whores parade around in parks now, in front of children! I tell you that's the downfall of ..."

"Oh, look at that one! So tall, muscular, handsome. And look who he's got. She's gotta be the happiest woman in the world, having a man like that take her. I bet those two get it on all the time ..."

"That fucking slut. She knows I want her, but she'll never give. No, she only goes for the chads like that dude. She gets things way over her looksmatch while I can only ever get the uggos. Someday we'll rise up and MAKE the stacies serve us ..."

"I wish someone would look at me like she's looking at h ..." This one she cuts off rapidly for some reaon.

"I'd explore every square inch of that body. She's beautiful! Just begging for a tongue. ..." This one in a feminine voice.

"... just want to run my hands up and down that chest. I wonder if he's got hair or is he swimmer-bare? Pull him down on top of me and lips against mine I want him to ..." Masculine voice.

"Huh. Cute couple. Interesting fashion choices. I wonder where they're from?"

Emma cuts off the recitation, snapping her shields back in place to silence the howling of the mob. Momentarily she leans against Blackagar until she regains her sense of the here and now and straightens up, standing on her own. "I don't normally just open wide like that," she says. Then, with a weak chuckle, "I save opening wide for later in the date."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
He listens to the reciting of the thoughts of everyone around them that look at them, and through it all he keeps his eyes on Emma and a rather passive expression. Although some phrases do make his brow furrow, a few his eyes narrow slightly. It is the ones that call her in to question that do such but then when she finishes he smiles, that humor in his mind bubbling at her joke about opening wide.

'Do you see why I hesitate to make my world and my people known to them?' he asks in thought towards her. 'To expose that which I swear to protect to... well to what amounts to savages?' Slowly Blackagar shakes his head, 'That is the counter balance. For everyone person I meet that I find enthralling' -- yes he is thinking of Emma when he says that -- 'I come across a dozen that make me cringe.'

Then, it is his turn to think of a joke which twinkles his eyes, 'What do you think? Do we make a cute couple?'

Emma Frost has posed:
"I don't know, do we?" Emma asks. "We haven't coupled yet, so I have no idea."

Something he's said seems to have resonated with her. She's relaxed her guard by quite a bit, starting at the point, it seems, when he uses the word 'savages'.

"You have to understand," she says, "that they can't control that." Wait... Defending humans? Who are you and what have you done with the real Emma Frost. "Thoughts are a fascinating thing. When you learn to teas them apart the process is ... intriguing. There's a reason why the thoughts and the words and deeds are so different. The thoughts, in a normal person, that are wrong. Indecent. Violent. Any of those. They die off in the end as several simultaneous thoughts compete until one wins. So while all those thoughts are real, none of them likely ever went beyond idle speculation."

She takes a deep breath and expels it noisily, like she's trying to clean herself from the inside.

"They have worth ... and if you EVER tell anybody I said that, I will deny it and come after you!"

She's only partially joking, it seems.

"This is why I can't agree with those of my kind who want to eradicate them. They don't deserve eradication. They need guidance. They need rule of their superiors to give them the opportunity to grow up and learn. To improve."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar regards her in silence, oh his mind is working, turning thoughts over but he hasn't settled on them himself. Much like she discussed before he replies, 'I forget that the discpline I force on myself gives a different perspective. When you cannot speak you learn to listen. To absorb. You are right and please know I do not speak of elimination.'

Once more he finds himself smiling and in that moment his guard let's down a bit further as well, a brief flood of emotion, of other thoughts drift closer to the surface than before. 'Your secret is safe with me, I will not let any know you think of them as more than savages. But I must wonder Ms. Frost, two things. The first, why do you not want others to know this and the second, why did you share with me that you do?'

Emma Frost has posed:
The question seems to take Emma by surprise. She hides it well. The eye-widening is fractional, and quickly suppressed. The sudden intake of breath is concealed by a subsequent throat-clearing as if that were something she'd been just about to do. But the brief stiffening is harder to disguise as anything but surprise, however fleeting it may be.

"People's thoughts match their words more when they dislike you," she says, answering the first question. I find I get much more honesty from people when they think I'm judging them as inferior and worthless. And, perversely, since most people coming to me want something from me, they go out of their way to try to prove to me that they're not. Worthless, I mean. Which I tend to spin into deals more favourable to me." Her smile is cold with more than a hint of the predatory to it. "It's similar to why I dress as I do. People underestimate me as some kind of hypersexualized bimbo. Someone easily manipulated. The result is traps are easier to lay and spring upon them."

Silence follows then, until it seems that she's not going to answer the second part of the question.

"I honestly don't know," she finally confesses. "The fact that you are protecting your kind, perhaps, from the 'savages' -- your word -- intrigues me. I have similar thoughts of my kind, with the unfortunate addition of my kind being know to them."

Her voice then grows cold enough to cause ice to form from the air, or so it seems.

"They've recently murdered millions of us, these savages, because some of us were foolish enough to believe we'd be left alone if we lived in our own homeland. Instead it just made those who lived there an easy target: a known place to unleash Hell. I have a duty to my kind that ... I haven't yet found how to exercise correctly."

Her gaze falls on Blackagar's face, expression softening. "Somewhere in you I sense a kindred spirit, I think. Which is making me unwise."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's own gaze falls on Emma's eyes and face as he listens to her speak before he breaks eye contact abruptly, something striking a nerve within him and he nods. ~I sense the same, Ms. Frost. A Kindred Spirit that is. I do not wish to cause harm to these people, but to only be left alone. However, I simply do not know how if that can be.~

Gently, hesitantly he reaches out and brushes his fingers against her hand for a moment in a reassuring gesture, at least intending to be one. ~Your people are known to the humans, but they are new. My people are unknown but we are ancient. We predate your people by tens of thousands of years. So the conflict that I see is not between different and human. I see it as between human, mutant and Inhuman. Our presence will thrust your world further into chaos and potentially pit our two people on opposite sides of one another.~

That is when he shows sympathy in his eyes, ~Your loss of millions is unacceptable. My own people have suffered loss at their hands of late, not to those numbers but there are far, far fewer of us. There must be.~

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma permits the hand contact, relying on the leather to shield her from the skin contact, nonetheless boosting her personal shielding to avoid unwanted mental intimacy. Something undefinable shows her steeling herself, but not withdrawing, though it's hard to point to precisely what.

"You're fortunate to be unknown."

That's all she dares speak for a moment as she looks around at the people surrounding them. "About one on ten here would try to kill us if they knew. One on four think there's reason to fear us and would not lift a finger to prevent murder if it came down to that." A short pause. "Half don't care one way or the other. They're the ones that will be swayed by whichever voice is loudest and screams most effectively to their fears. The rest, the remaining 15% would likely think murdering our kind is bad."

A lopsided grin follows pursed lips. "At least those who'd try to stop a murder outnumber those who'd try to start it?" The humour disappears. "That's why these people need guidance. They need their superiors to point them in the right direction to live out their potential instead of wasting it on hatred and bloodshed. That 50% is the key. Currently the people who hate are winning, swaying that 50% to at least stand aside while murder and torture is committed in their name. If their leadership can't or won't change this, it needs to be replaced."

It's pretty clear who Emma has in mind as a replacement given the regal bearing she's taking on as she speaks.

"Properly led, humanity could be a powerful force."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar steps away from Emma, managing to do so gracefully as he looks at the crowd and slowly shaking his head, ~A people such as humanity will always rebuke leadership. Because they are too diverse in opinion. The only way to unite them is to control them and that is in itself a horrific ideal.~

A mental sigh leaves Blackagar, certainly not an audible one, but he smiles once more at Emma and nods his head. ~I hope that perhaps we can speak again with one another. I do find your company most interesting Ms. Frost and your perspective on this world a needed one.~

His hands slide into the pockets of his pants, causing his shoulders to lift a bit in a shrug. ~Those who have the ability to do something, but do not, are as guilty as those taking the action? Is that not the phrase of this world?~

Emma Frost has posed:
"Yes."

Emma's face falls flat at that.

"That is an approximation. And I bear more than a little guilt at this."

She looks aside, closing her eyes. "I've allowed myself to be fooled by the unworthy, and distracted by the ideals of fools. Now ... I have my own plans."

Eyes opening, she looks at Blackagar. "Conversing with you puts things into focus that have hitherto been fuzzy. Thank you for that." She takes a half-step toward him, reaching out almost to touch. "You're a welcome guest to me at anytime, for picnic lunches, long conversations, or ..." There's a small delay there. "... any other activities you might have in mind in your learning experiences. Thank you."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~My own brother has tried repeatedly to kill me. To seize control of my mind and use my strength against my people. While I should not judge any based on his actions, I am always wary to trust any person. So while the idea of spending time with you, intimiately, is beyond a temptation I must rely on my wisdom.~ Blackagar things to Emma, but he does have a sly smile on his lips.

~Besides. If I so readily did such why would you ever have desire to speak with me again?~ An eyebrow lifts, a playful tinge of emotion through the man but he does step slightly closer towards Emma. ~Are we heroes? Are we villains? Or are we merely two people who will do whatever they must for their causes? And when those causes do not align?~

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma hides disappointment well. Like a professional. Or like someone who has faced it so many times it's the norm. A stinging norm, but the sting just reminds her she's alive.

"I understand." Truth. "I doubt I'd stop talking, but it's a grounded fear." Half-truth. "But heroes? There are no heroes, no matter how much fucking spandex they put on. Everybody is the hero of their own narrative. The ones who butchered millions of my mind sleep well at night because they're the heroes of their story. The ones of my kind who've committed horrible deeds, did or do so because they're the heroes of their own narratives."

She closes her eyes. "I assume the same with you." Eyes open. "But sometimes narratives align, and when they do ... teamwork happens. I look forward to speaking with you again."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar keeps his own features schooled, but the internal turmoils are far less such. There is a fear, a hesitancy and uncertainty that is feeding it. The blue eyes drink over Emma and finally, he fights off the imagery that wants to creep into his mind. There is no denying even on the surface that he is attracted to her, but that discplined mind keeps action at bay.

~I am going to be visiting remnants of my people soon, but when I return to this city. Perhaps you will show me around again?~ Hope exists in that sentiment as he adds, ~Thee are things I wish to explain to you but I need to tend to non personal matters first.~

Emma Frost has posed:
"I look forward to it. I'll try to introduce more durable cultural matters. Opera or symphony. Timeless classics of the visual arts. Perhaps classic cinema like 'Lawrence of Arabia', 'The Seven Seals', or 'Behind the Green Door'. Give you a taste of what these people are capable of when not driven by hatred and fear."

She steps up dangerously close, almost touching beyond the perfunctory, resting a hand on Blackagar's shoulder. "And I look forward to explanations ... both ways."

The hand trails down his chest as she backs away, then turns to leave, walking off with that seductive sway held barely captive by her clothing choice. Once she looks over her shoulder back at Blackagar, pausing long enough to coyly fingerwave before disappearing into the crowd that closed suspiciously quickly behind her.