6331/White Queen, Black Coffee

White Queen, Black Coffee
Date of Scene:	25 May 2021
Location:	The Centinel Hotel - Mutant Town
Synopsis:	A date with... disaster?
Cast of Characters:	Emma Frost, Hank Pym

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Emma Frost has posed:
Some days are just not worth getting up for.

Well, most days aren't.

But this day was worse than most. Not only did she have meetings to attend at Frost Industries--ones she couldn't blow off without consequences--Emma got a report that her Outreach Foundation needed dealing with.

All this before breakfast, no less.

Damned time zones.

Reaching the hotel in a less than an ideal mood, her mood was further worsened upon finding out that the kitchen was closed because of some construction damage to the gas lines.

Hank Pym has posed:
Damn these new meds were working great! Okay... there was that waking dream about the giant caterpillar smoking a hookah telling him to cheer the fuck up... but things were falling into place nicely. Hank felt both magnanimous and ready to stir something up, just to experience it with the new attitude. There fore be magnanimous to someone it would surely piss off. Well the ex was first on his list but he wasn't feeling /that/ magnanimous. Emma Frost, however, stuck in his mind. Therefore this mornin g found him astride Baudelaire and riding the ant almost literally under the hotel receptionist's nose and under the door to Emma's office. Once inside the lair of the beast so to speak he immediately grew to normal size, slipping off Bo and proclaiming, "Knock knock! It's me!"

It has been said by some unkind folk the only thing worse than Hank Pym bitching is Hank Pym in a good mood. To which Hank usually responds no one has any way of knowing this. Hank notes in passing Emma has some drop dead sexy footwear.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma doesn't look up from her work as Hank grows into his own. "Hank, how nice to see you. How can I help?"

She scribbles a few things onto her tablet and then finally looks up. "Tell me you brought breakfast--I'd settle for grocery store bagels and cheap, slightly off lox at this point--and all is forgiven. I'm famished!"

She recrosses her legs while leaning back to look up at Hank. "You seem happy." She appears to disapprove. "This is unnatural. Are you alright?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym smirks and says, "Better living through chemistry. 'All is forgiven.'.. I guess I'll have to start over." He reaches into his pockets and holds out two clenched fists. "Pick one... no cheating now!"

The ant for his part moves towards Emma as if to make contact then gives a shrug very much like he is thinking 'Nope!' Bo goes to an empty corner and sits. He regards the mammal antics with a tired expression.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma stares at the ant as it approaches, tilting her head as she regards it up close. "They're intriguing creatures," she admits. "Oddly attractive in their alien way. I also quite like their social structure. All in service to all."

She turns her head to Hank then. "What nonsense have you got in store now, Hank?" she asks with a polite chuckle. "Give me ... the left."

She returns her attention to the computer screen before her, frowning briefly before clicking on something, then turning the screen off to avoid further distraction.

"What shock have you in store for me now?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym holds his hand open and palm up. In a moment a foil wrapped goodie of some kind grows to normal size there. "The shock is a good deed. So far you're the only one of the married era friends who was anywhere near civil to me. I'm including my erstwhile team in that. He sets the object down on a tray on the desk holding water. Then he opens his other hand and a similar object grows. "Paninis, chicken egg, and avocado. I made them in my lab. Don't worry... the lab is cleaner than a hospital OR and I assure you... they were untouched by human hands." He gives the ant a wink. Bo twitches one antenna. "Can we get some coffee? That's a little hard to carry around shrunk."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Hank, I'm civil to people who tried to kill me for my DNA," Emma says with a chiding tone and a twinkle in her eye. "Civility is bred into me. Nurtured. I am to civility what a fine wine is to flavour and sensation." She purses her lips tightly to suppress a chuckle. "I would not bank so much on mere civility were I in your shoes."

Beat.

"And thank you, incidentally. I quite enjoy the boots myself. They cling like a second skin aside from looking ... 'drop dead sexy' was it?"

Now she grins. Half-amused. Half-predatory.

To be fair the predatory part of it seems to be mostly attached to her gaze at the food as her belly growls with embarrassing loudness.

"I'll have coffee fetched."

At which point the door to her office opens, one of the staff wheeling in a coffee service trolley, leaving it by the door before retreating.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym ohs. "Mind scan already? Tt. I'll save you the trouble... If I said you had a great body, would you hold it against me? I give you a 9.5." He unwraps the panini and begins to work on it pausing to pull a bottle of hot sauce out of another pocket. "Anyway, hang around n there if you want. You might get a contact high and have a smile that reaches your eyes."

He looks over at Bo and says, "Yes. You are absolutely right. That was a drone and she is a queen. I will not make personal inquiries for you. Learn to think human."

Emma Frost has posed:
"That was you on the way in. I'm always watching for arrivals, Hank. I thought you'd be aware of this by now."

This smile doesn't reach her eyes either.

"But certainly. I quite enjoy holding my body against people who appreciate it. But 9.5? Really? What do I need to get that final half point so that I know you truly appreciate me."

Then she chuckles and the smile actually briefly reaches her eyes. "You're interesting, Hank. You somehow manage to be obnoxious and charming at the same time."

She tackles her panini like a starving panther attacks a stray ungulate. It's not a pretty sight, but she has the deceny not to talk while murdering her food. When she finishes half of it, she slows down. "You talk to them. How?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym hehs. "I'm a scientist and engineer. No situation ever reaches your hypothetical ideal. That'd. be a ten. Similarly no awful situation ever reaches ten, because things can always get worse. There's a little bit of both where women and men are concerned. A 9.5 is really upper 1. If you want to do better... hahahaha." All manner of suggestive and ribald thoughts go flying at that point. A tribute to Hank's civility is they're R-rated at worst. (If you want to read those have fun. I mostly got the images from those bodice rippers at the supermarket check out.)

Then he gets serious and a wall does go up. Mostly a reflex. "I have a device that scans insect brainwaves and boosts it to human levels of volume. It's not exactly telepathy. It's a mechanical process using EM waves bonded to psions are near as I can tell. As a metaphor it'd let you hear subsonics, while human thoughts register to you as normal sound."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma tilts her head and regards Hank. "Really, Hank? I never had you pegged for the pegging type. But if that's what gets you revved up, who am I to judge? Bare finger or gloved?" She grins with a degree of amused malice. "That's a rather pedestrian set of joys, but I'm not one to judge. Pleasures of the flesh are often at their best when simple."

She listens to the description of the communications medium, nodding thoughtfully. "I see. That sounds practical. They are quite interesting, however. I need to learn more about ants."

She closes her eyes then, concentrates momentarily. Her eyes open, again with the malicious humour in them. "Thank you. That was informative."

Beat.

She holds up both her hands. "It was a joke, Hank. I did not reach into your mind. I respect you too much. And you're mildly insane which always causes headaches."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym goes over to sit on Emma's desk. "I did say I used bodice rippers for my little pop up. And I got the joke. And insane is a legal definition that means nothing in psychology. I'd think you could be more specific: bipolar disorder-managed, OCD-why would I want to manage it? hyper-distractibility disorder on occasion. Like now... in all seriousness... you are very distracting Ms. Frost. Especially when you actually smile. I always liked you at the Hellfire Club. You didn't demand I socialize. I mean... what if I didn't want monkeys to lick peanut butter off my chest? And it's refreshing that my mental disorders are right out in the open with you. People tiptoe around it. But never relax around me. You do. As much as you can relax with that surgically implanted pole." There is a small trickle of awkward moments that slip out there, conversations started that soon began to flow around Hank, being the only one in his group, a museum exhibit labeled Yellowjacket- Villain or Hero, Captain America, friendly enough without a clue to what Hank really was like. They whirl around a psyche broken and reassembled and still pained.

Emma Frost has posed:
"I could fix that for you, you know," Emma says patiently. "But I fear your fear is correct: it would likely lose you your genius." Emma purses her lips and furrows her brow. "It's hard to explain," she says. "But if you knew how humans think you'd understand what I just said and why."

Another moment of silence, covered by taking a languid bite of her panini, bringing it to a near end.

"When you think, understand, ... OK, here."

Emma reaches into her purse and pulls out a cigarette.

"To you it seemed instantaneous. You saw the cigarette and you recognized it. In reality, hwoever, your brain did very many things. One section saw 'white' and started spinning off images of white things you know about. Another saw 'thin' and did the same on that theme. Another saw cylindrical. Thoughts launched about its size. The way it was packaged. The way I held it. All these images crashed around inside your head. There were even outliers that thought 'penis' because of course there were. Freud was a fraud but was sometimes accidentally right. But as they crashed in your head, the ones that better-matched the image your eyes kept sending you started to win out."

Emma lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag, expelling the smoke in a crown around her head.

"Until eventually, in this cage match of dead and dying thoughts, the one thought that matched the image perfectly remained. And you recognized a cigarette. You do this constantly. Everybody does. A brain is a horrific, bloody battlefield of dead and dying images with the victorious reaching conscious thought."

Another bite of her panini--the last--and she washes it down with claret.

"But you? There's fractures in that ring of thoughts that fly around a human brain. Images get sent off into random directions and miss the clashes. And sometimes they merge in ... intriguing (oft disturbing) ways. And every so often those collisions wind up being a better idea than things you know."

Her eyes bore into Hank's. "In short you're a genius, Hank, because you're broken. Not in spite of it. I've seen this in countless others."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym sees the cigarette and pulls a pipe out and lights it. It was evidently prepped beforehand. The stem seems heavily modified as well. The smoke smells of maple because of course it does, he has a sweet tooth. "I was told by a friend (inset image of warm eyes here, and... tails? A lot of tails) I was not broken. I just had more pieces to my psyches, whatever, than most people. As with any system the more complex the more chances to malfunction. So not all broken. I have a Rube Goldberg mind. My daughter's mind is very similar to mine except she seems phenomenally happy and friendly (this image but sort of warm and fuzzy, like there's vaseline on the lens or mind's eye https://imgur.com/a/KeRLDoG). She has BPD as well. We caught in her early though. I am hopeful. It seems like every bastard around wants to kidnap her -the Pym intellect but young and easy to control. Hahahahahaha. I will let you in on secret... because I doubt I could hide this. In fact it's sort of an open secret... "

Hank stops talking because you never know who's listening. But this... he has to tell someone. There were long months where he was absent dealing with medical issues. Those are past. The whirling thought fragments are gone and his mind focuses like a laser. "I will inflict SCENCE on those who would harm her. Swearing vengeance doesn't work, Kang, Doom, all the rest are still there. Justice? Luthor does what he wants. Death? Too good for them and it does not deter but... I will strip them of their capacity to do harm. I will leave them twisting in the breeze and cursing their fate every day of their lives as a memorial to let my daughter alone."

"So Emma, tell me, do I speak the truth or am I just talk?"

Emma Frost has posed:
"Have you ever seen a Rube Goldberg machine, Hank?" Emma asks patiently. "It's not a compliment to call your brain one of those. You have more pieces to your psyche because you are fractured. That fracturing is the source of your genius, painful as it may sometimes be. It's why you suffer, but it's also why you can make such credible threats."

She's answered the question.

"Now let's finish breakfast and talk about whatever it is you came to talk about. Or did you really just come to eat breakfast?" Emma tilts her head and regards Hank. "You keep tempting me to reach in there, but I shan't do it. The surface is wild enough. I have no wish to be dragged into the undertow."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym says, "Fair enough. Always thought telepaths had it way tougher than people thought. Throwing an energy blast or punch is one thing. Stepping into someone's mind, wearing it like someone else's suit while you go through the pockets. Ehhh." He leans forward a little. "I'm talked out. I'm thought out. What else you got? I mean I could try to make plans wit you for dinner or a show or club. Is there any point to that? If not fine. I've crashed and burned enough to evolve asbestos skin. We'd probably cause quite a stir."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Are you asking me out on a date, Hank?" Emma asks, feining surprise, fanning herself like an overwrought Southern Belle in the blazing mid-day sun. "If you are, there's always a point to that. It shows self-confidence." She chuckles, one that seems like it's actually genuine. "And yes, we would create quite the stir. Janet would be in my mentions on every channel within seconds of word spreading."

She pauses to sip her claret, savouring its tang and mild bite.

"Certainly. We can go out to dinner, or a show, or a club. Or perhaps all three. Make a night of it." Her eyes sparkle with amusement again, this time with slightly less malice. "We could even add a breakfast date to it if you think you could survive my appetites."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym chuckles. "Oh... I think I can handle myself. Bo gave me pointers. Male ants typically mate until they die. I corrected that problem in him. Males make excellent flying steeds and are quite intelligent. Janet having a snit... well that is not my purpose in asking you out. But it'd be funny. I do have to warn you... my daughter... gets a little possessive. Be patient with her. She is really a dear, with assassin training. But I mean she does call herself Waspette, not Ant-Girl, and she did add van Dyne to her name (Janet, Janet, Janet get out of my face!). But I'm getting ahead of myself. It's just a date... I don't make breakfast on the first date."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Oh, no worries on that front, Hank. I have a personal chef. I'd just tell him it's for two."

Emma grins, now, openly laughing as Hank evades her predation.

"But if you don't want to stay for breakfast, there's a good bagel shop down the road." The digging is merciless, but seemingly done in good spirits. Laughing with, so to speak, not at. "What did you have in mind for the evening?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym bends in close. he has dealt with predators before and female, though they had more legs and eyes than Emma. "Well I like to start my dates out /with/ a kiss because if it sucks, we both know it won't work and thus the pressure is off. Considering we are both busy people, I propose an initial test now." He sets the pipe in an ash tray and leans further in, wondering can he catch her by surprise. In a good way of course. Starting with a kiss does sound expedient to him. His smile does reach his eyes, an unthreatening and appreciative male. Surely that's a rarity?

Emma Frost has posed:
Never, ever try to out-shame Emma Grace Frost. It doesn't work. When Hank moves forward to kiss, she leans in as well and delivers it, cupping his cheeks with her hands. It starts gentle. Sweet. Like old friends.

And then the heat turns up, Emma crawling up on the desk to get closer, press against him, letting him feel her body heat.

She pauses, pulling back far enough to ask, "Further?" She punctuates this with an inviting pull on Hank, back, as if to take him down on top of her at the desk.

"Are we compatible enough for a date?" she murmurs playfully, awaiting Hank's response.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym lets himself be pulled.

He was never like this. Truth be told, his wives had to pretty much beat him over the head to make him aware of their intentions. he always prided himself on control, on civility, and being a gentleman, almost as if carnal pursuits were a mere side quest to one of his intellect.

Well fuck that.

His arms come up under Emma's holding her tight and he takes a second sample as it were before coming up for air.

"... we're compatible enough for us to hold all calls and clear our mornings." He makes a twirling gesture and Bo dutifully faces a corner and goes to sleep.

Emma Frost has posed:
Laughing, but unusually not with cruelty, Emma lay back with Hank on the table, triumphant, but also curiously desirous. Like someone who's been alone for too long, perhaps. The deed that transpires with the sleeping ant turned away is neither subtle nor prolonged, but it is creative. For all her flaws, Emma knows how to entertain gentleman callers.

"Pick me up at eight, Hank," she says matter-of-factly as she starts to dress, after wiping down the more messy side of their briefly energetic congress. "Surprise me. Dinner, a show, and a club. But you pick the dinner, the show, and the club."

Expert hands reassemble her hair and arrange her clothing properly, covering up a stain on the blouse by careful buttoning until she can get to some club soda.

"And thanks for dropping by."

For a moment there's a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

"I needed that, Hank. Thank you."

Then it's gone and Emma Frost, cool as her family namesake, returns to her seat. "See you at eight."