6403/Betsy brings ideas to Emma

Betsy brings ideas to Emma
Date of Scene:	01 June 2021
Location:	Magic Box
Synopsis:	Betsy and Emma agree to spread the job love!
Cast of Characters:	Emma Frost, Betsy Braddock

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Emma Frost has posed:
It's a fine late morning. Brunch time has come and gone. Birds are in the trees singing their little hearts out. But all that is down below at street level. Up in Emma's executive suite the sun streams through the windows, framing the wall where workmen are struggling to remove deeply-embedded sharp steel javelin-like objects while other workmen start setting up the panels that will be replacing those scarred by said javelins.

The noise annoys Emma, but if you want an office that doesn't look like you've been assaulted by ancient Picts, you put up with such things.

And there is a whole lot of work to be done. There is no rest for the weary. Especially the weary who've been wicked until the late-early hours of the morning.

But he'd earned his pay.

"Gentlemen, please, if you could keep the conversations just a little quieter," Emma says in that voice of hers that communicates 'this is not a request for a favour'. "You're up at around... call it seven. I need you closer to three."

This day is shaping up well.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Alas, Betsy has no idea what she's walking into, this fine sunny morning that is edging close to afternoon. She looks as if she's just come from a shoot for a spread on 'Designer businesswoman chic', in a fitted gray blazer over a blouse that is a pop of bright magenta, paired with a matching gray skirt that some offices may deem too short. It does, however, put those long legs on display in their custom heels of gray and silver. Purple hair has been left loose into perfected waves, and her makeup is flawless in that 'natural' vein.

There's a soft gray suede portfolio carried in her left hand, tapping against her hip as she heads on into the office. "Good morning, Ms. Frost." The voice is cultured with that distinct accent of England clinging to it. "I do appreciate the meeting, I know starting these ventures can be schedule cluttering."

Emma Frost has posed:
The workmen, naturally, look with interest at the newcomer ... and then mysteriously turn away and concentrate on their jobs without a further glance behind them at the main part of the office.

Well it would be mysterious but for the fact Betsy can feel Emma's little tweaking of their attentions.

"Please, call me Emma," the blonde says, herself in her personal take on business suit chic: a take that makes the blazer act more like a duster and involves thigh-high boots. "Don't worry about the workmen. I can guarantee their discretion."

She sighs as she looks at the computer screens on her desk, displaying charts, graphs, spreadsheets, project schedules, and other matters related to her outreach program. "And yes, indeed, between running Frost Industries and my Outreach it's becoming one of those "20 hour days are healthy, right?" periods of my life.

She gestures to one of the guest chairs next to her own chair, both of them richly padded, tall-backed chairs, but hers with her initials emblazoned on the headrest. "Have a seat, please," she says as she herself moves to a cabinet that opens to reveal a full bar. "What's your poison?" she asks, pouring herself a glass of claret as she asks.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy Braddock will give the faintest lift of an eyebrow as Emma tweaks, but it's none of hers. "Betsy, then, in kind." Violet eyes glance towards the workmen. "I wasn't worried, what I'm here to discuss isn't exactly privileged information. And I know what you mean, between handling my estate in England where I'm shaking things up, Sion, and a couple of other ventures I'm trying to get off the ground, it's a wonder I don't look more heroin than chic."
     She will tuck into the seat, legs very properly crossed at the ankle as she'd been raised. "I'll have claret and join you, if that's all right." A hand lifts to push her hair behind her shoulder, as there's the zipper of her portfolio. "It's your outreach that brings me here. I've renovated Sion, and I'm wanting as many positions as possible staffed with mutants, whether or not it is obvious they are. Your outreach would make for an excellent way to find people willing to trek to Manhattan for a decent wage and security in a job with a boss who doesn't give a fig about their mutant status."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Sion... the nightclub, right?" Emma muses, after pouring the second glass and delivering both to her desk, sitting down and turning the chair to face Betsy beside her. "It's a bit of a commute, but ... pride of work. Pride of self. And money flowing into the economy more equally spread around the neighbourhoods. It's a very nice offer."

She takes a sip of the claret, then, in a nervous habit of sorts, taps her upper teeth against the rim of the glass while twirling it. "This is a slum," she then says bluntly. Forthrightly. "The people here are for the most part not ... socially gifted. They've never had the opportunity to be, nor have they had reason to try. I would love to hook citizens of Bushwick up into this sort of job, but to ensure that it's a positive experience ... I think we need to establish some kind of training program if they're for anything other than bouncing."

She sets down her glass before opening a cigarette box on her desk, pulling out a cancer tube. "Do you smoke?" she offers, tapping the cigarette and then lighting it, letting the smoke wreathe her head as she thinks. "It might be a good first project for the training centre as well: teaching bartending, waiting, and such, using Sion as proving grounds if that's fine by you?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"I'll be frank, I don't know many of the jobs other than bartending and serving need any sort of social skill. There's plenty of training to be done, I've already hired a crew for that - for bartending, serving, and work in the kitchen. Then there's the grunt labor, bringing in the goods from shipment, bar back work with getting more ice and booze for the bars. There's cleaning crew.. There's an array of possibilities, so I can employ those who have no reason to be comfortable being social, if they prefer to keep a step back." There's a folder produced from the portfolio, and set within reach of Emma. "Flyers explaining the possible jobs available, along with loaded MTA cards so they can get to and from at least coming to see me or my bar manager for an interview."

Emma Frost has posed:
"True. There are plenty of non-public facing positions I hadn't considered," Emma agrees. "I was only involved at the executive level with Hellfire. I didn't pay attention to operations much beyond where they impacted strategy."

Emma reaches for the pamphlets and starts sifting through them, putting key details to memory as she does so. "This sounds too like a project for my new neighbourhood council: getting these out and about in the community so that those interested and suited can make use of the opportunity. It's best if the council is known for spreading good news, not bad, as their first action and news like 'jobs' is about as good as it gets for some of these people."

Emma looks up. "It's dire out in Bushwick, Betsy. Multiple generations of despair. Rampant crime: mutant on mutant because they literally can't see beyond the boundaries they've been pushed behind. And slumlords raking in the profits, siphoning money out of the neighbourhood, causing it to fall into further decay." A wry, self-deprecating expression crosses her face. "My first attempt to alleviate this was a mixed success. I fell into the trap of gentrification which has caused the very people I meant to help to feel that they're being pushed out; the absolute last thing I want for them. The Outreach is a broader, more systematic and grass-roots approach. I want the dwellers of so-called 'Mutant Town' to feel pride in themselves and their place in life. To think of themselves as a community, not as a dumping ground for New York City's rejects."

She taps the file of prospects, then rests her splayed hand over it. "These will be an important step toward that. To that end, Betsy, thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Cocking her head to one side Emma glances over Betsy appraisingly. "Now, of course, my cynical side shows through. What can I do for you, Betsy?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"I figured you had a council or team set up to handle these sorts of things. Have to be the delegating CEO, and all." Betsy will zip up her portfolio, before violet eyes will look up again to Emma's face. "I've had to learn quite a great deal about the operations, and day to day management. You know what they say, if you want it done right..."
     The model nods,sitting back to let her back actually touch the chair back now that business seems to be handled. "I'm aware. The head of my security team lives out here, with his girlfriend who is going to be one of my bartenders. Mutants both. It was talking with him, that really had me turn my eye to meeting up with you. I figure you already have the contacts building in the area, among the people we both want to help. No need to thank me, if we both get what we want."
     There's a low laugh from Betsy's throat. "And here it is, that I need disappoint you...or at least your cynical side. I'm not wanting anything else. I'm asking you to use the structure you already have in place, in a manner that will benefit both the mutants around here, and me with staffing as I wish to. There's really nothing more to it."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma takes the gentle rebuke in good spirits. With a smile that's almost genuine. She sighs theatrically. "Indeed, if you want things done right ... don't necessarily do them yourself, but make it clear that you're there and checking."

Her face darkens as she thinks of something. "We had a supplier arranging a kickback deal with the former foreman of the reconstruction project you had to walk around to come up here. Delivering lower grade of components--nothing load bearing or dangerous, just decorative--but signing off for and charging for the higher grade. The fools thought I wouldn't notice."

The smile turns dangerous. Predatory. "Note I said former foreman. And the supplier is the same, but I had Frost Industries buy it out and fire all the executives involved in the fraud. So now it's a Frost subsidiary that supplies construction materials." She heaves a heartfelt sigh. "People think I enjoy being cruel. And to a degree it's true. But I enjoy being cruel ... to those who deserve cruelty."

She presses her lips together, then loosens them with another sip of claret. "And I don't even have to deal with the lowest level workmen very often." Her ice blue eyes stray to the wall now being replaced. "I think it would drive me mad to deal with the low-level graft that people accept as normal."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"Emma, that's not cruelty. That's showing the world you don't accept second rate, especially when you pay for first rate. Sort of not too far away from how I recently fired an accounting firm and ran a senior partner out of business. He thought skimming from the model would never be noticed. I realize he was from the old boys' club, but I hardly presented to him as a bubbly air head who wouldn't notice." There's that same glimmer to Betsy's smile. "His wife and his mistress have both left him, and cleaned him out financially after I made sure my forensic accounting team discovered every one of his supposedly hidden accounts. He thought he was about to head off into a cushy retirement, aided by me. I did send him flowers, after I found out about the shitty flat he rented while he job hunts. He's allergic to roses, wouldn't you know."
     There's a low chuckle. "Well, working in my field, I've had to deal with all levels of people, so I supposed I am inured to it all. Though once I get a couple of managers trained up and in place, I doubt I'll be doing more than delegating, so I can focus on other ventures I've got on the back burners." She moves to rise. "I do appreciate you being so willing and open to the opportunities we're trying to spread around here for mutants. I know it's a small step, but it's a visible brick in the path to bringing mutants firmly to having equal rights among the less...talented."

Emma Frost has posed:
"I've found," Emma says with a laugh, getting up from her chair to walk over to a window, looking out over the desolate neighbourhood, "that there is a tremendous difference in running this Outreach and running Frost Industries. The people in Frost Industries need to please me or they're out a job. And if they please me I can show it by granting them rewards: promotions, cash, titles, ... other benefits."

She turns her head Betsy's way. "Bushwick's residents aren't my employees and they don't always do what I want as a result. Frustratingly they don't always do what's smart either. So I have to develop new ways of persuasion that are less coersive or transactional. It's ... uphill work for me." She licks her lips, clearly not really comfortable yet admitting weakness. "It's why I build things like the youth council or the community council. I people them with trusted faces."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"It's the truth. There is a difference between being the boss, and just being benevolent. Some people are just to stubborn to take the carrot, until they've experienced the stick. Let's just hope enough of them are smart enough to see Sion is a possiblity for them to earn a decent living, exactly as they are. I'm willing to find ways to work around potentially problematic powers, I've plenty of experience with it, after all." There's a quick, model perfect smile.
     "Trusting people to handle the more delicate ...negotiations, shall we say, is probably wise. Frustration when you're used to a certain way of doing things can certainly gum up the works. I've had to work on that a great deal, lately. I do hope we can do business again, Emma. Perhaps you'll stop by for a drink, for the grand opening?"

Emma Frost has posed:
"I couldn't be kept away from the club's opening by shotgun, Betsy," Emma says with an amused grin. This one makes it to her eyes for a change. Too, Betsy's awareness of Emma's typically cold, hard, steel-plate-armour shield spots a slight softening as Emma relaxes in her presence. "Any place that openly welcomes our kind is guaranteed my custom." A teasing smile flirts over her lips. "I'll try not to seduce your entire staff on the first night there. I'll keep that for the third night at least."

Her eyes stray to the window again, looking troubled. "It will be nice to relax, truth be told. Running projects like this can lead to ... well, deals with the devil." Or the Brotherhood as the rumour mill has likely ground out by now. "Between the desperate who victimize their fellows, the outside predators who feed on the flesh and blood of our kind, the slumlords who drain us of all pride and hope, and the speculators I now have to fend off with ... excessive ... means, I don't find much time for that these days. I'll make a special point of Sion's opening being such a time."

Her eyes stray to Betsy, then back to the neighbourhood.

"Not exactly the kind of place people pictured me taking a stake in, is it?" she asks quietly.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"I appreciate that, opening night is bound to be chaotic enough as it is." There's a return smile with a healthy dose of humor to it. "But I'll be glad to see you there. I very much want this club to help a lot of others, who may well be rich and influential, that mutants of all stripes deserve a chance in society."
     "It can be hard, walking a line. Deciding just how far into debt with the devil you want to get, or how far you'll go for something." Violet eye slide to the windows, looking out at the neighborhood. " Well, I hardly know you well enough to say what I expected. I do my best to not have expectations, it keeps things interesting. But people would likely not have picked me for becoming a businesswoman and becoming so obviously mutant forward, so.. well, if they can't handle it, fuck them." There's a shrug of her shoulders. "Be well, Emma. Remember to work fun into that 20 hour day you're planning." The look on Betsy's face leaves no doubt she is sure Emma will.

Emma Frost has posed:
"Fun is what the final four hours are for," Emma says, the gallows humour throwing into sharp relief the fatigue shining from behind her masking makeup. "Though with only four hours, my morning cup of tears just isn't as artisanal as it has typically been."

Emma walks across to Betsy now, hand extended. "Be well, Betsy, and if there's any other areas of cooperation you can see between the Bushwick Outreach and your own projects, don't hesitate to ask." She shrugs ironically. "I'm an open book." She pauses. "And if you happen to see my brother, Christian, sniffing around your club, please smack him for me and tell him to drop by. I miss his sunny presence."