6415/An Unexpected Reunion

An Unexpected Reunion
Date of Scene:	02 June 2021
Location:	The Centinel Hotel - Mutant Town
Synopsis:	Emma gets a pair of surprise visitors in her office. Clarice does not get her brain turned into pudding and instead she earns a place in the White Queen's good graces - for now. After attempting to exorcise her family demons, Emma offers a deal to Clarice.
Cast of Characters:	Clarice Ferguson, Christian Frost, Emma Frost

---

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    A tear in reality opens itself up in Emma's office - the roughly-circular opening is tinged with faintly glowing purple. Emma would recognize the very distinct disturbance - and she would remember who stepped through just such a portal not that long ago.
    So it's no surprise as Clarice steps through - but this time she doesn't herald the arrival of Magneto, as the portal blinks closed behind her. Of course, all of this would be surprising enough - but when you add the battered and broken form in her arms, the sight takes on a different sort of impact. Is he even breathing? What happened?
    Clarice's features offer no immediate response to such questions, as her face is a stoic, solemn mask. At least - it doesn't offer any reassuring answers.

Christian Frost has posed:
    Emma has seen her big brother in bad, bad shape so many times in the past, but never has she seen him as broken on the outside as she knows he is on the inside, until now. Christian is unconscious, his right eye is already swelling shut, his blond hair is matted with wet blood, his nose is bleeding, his lip's busted, there's an angry bruise rising on his left cheek, there are marks on his throat that look like he might have been choked, or at the very least there were hands around it. ...and that's just what his little sister can see. Plus side? He IS breathing. Downside, that breathing is ragged and wheezy, like he's really struggling to make it happen.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma *does* have combat reflexes. She just doesn't use them around Magneto and Mystique unless she absolutely must, and then knowing she can only delay, not prevent, the inevitable.

There's no sign of Erik or Raven. There is, however, Blink. And her brother. And the absolutely enormous, red, button that lights up in eye-damaging red with the words "DO NOT EVER PRESS IF YOU VALUE YOUR SANITY" inscribed across it that is Emma's protectiveness of her brother.

Caught mid-change from porn set 'businesswoman' chic to Vegas streetwalker chic, she's wearing less than even she usually does ... and this doesn't impede her action in the slightest. Even the fact that she's only got one spike-heeled boot on isn't preventing action.

Because her action is all upstairs.

No, farther upstairs. Stop thinking with reproductive organs.

Step 1: Immobilize. Blink finds herself in a weird position of not being able to formulate the desire for any kind of action. She's not paralyzed. She just can't work up the will to actually do anything that changes her state. Except...

Step 2: Question. She can talk. Indeed she's getting the urge to.

"Blink." Not a question. Not a statement of surprise. A statement of registered fact.

Emma walks into Blink's field of vision. Very few people can pull off looking badass when topless, and wearing only one of a pair of spike-heeled boots. Emma does. Either that or her little demonstration has shown she doesn't need to look badass. She just has to be.

"There had better be a good explanation."

Again, not a question. Not a threat. (This is probably unnecessary.) Just a plain statement. Coming from a face that few people have seen on Emma and survived with their sanity intact.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    It's an uncomfortable feeling - because part of her mind is perfectly aware of what is happening, and who is doing it. And yet - in a way - there just isn't the impetus to do anything about it. "I was patroling Bushwick. I heard someone getting beat up in an abandoned house. There was this monster- tall. Slender. Claws. That jaw..." It had been pretty horrible. "I don't know if it was really there?" She hasn't worked that part out yet.
    "He asked for you, I brought him. He asked for //you//," Clarice repeats.

Christian Frost has posed:
    Her voice, Emma's voice, she's his *person*. Everything hurts, Christian doesn't wanna wake up because *everything* hurts. But it's *her* voice. With everything else that's going on in the room, his own small, weak, barely a croak of a voice might just go unnoticed when he, once again, says the most important word in the world to him - his sister's name. "Emma." It was only a few moments ago that he said the same to Clarice, before she brought him here.

Emma Frost has posed:
The un-compulsion is lifted with one exception. The un-compulsion to use her gift is still in place.

"Get him over on the couch," Emma decides, tone less dangerous, more controlled, face still stressed, but not verging on homicidal. Baby steps. "I'll get a bit more on and we'll look him over."

She sighs, deeply aware of the likely source of the monster. Damn this familial imperviousness! She could fix that if she could get inside his skull! Hastening to the clothes she was putting on, she quickly wraps a top of some kind around her and slips in the other boot, only doing it up enough that she can (sort of) walk.

"I'm going to guess that the monster was attacking him. Felt real. Had real impact. And then just vanished like it was a bad dream?" she asks, crouching next to her brother to look him over. "Christian, what have you done this time?"

There's a deep sadness in that voice that had only moments before contained barely-held venom.

"I'm sorry, Blink," she adds.

For what, precisely, she doesn't say. But mark this day. She's apologized, and it's not even a 'sorry not sorry' event!

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "And it wouldn't //blink// properly!" Clarice remarks - as if very personally afronted by this fact. There's also anger simmering in her expression now - and coloring her tone. What had Emma just done to her //head//? When she was hear to //help//? And yet - she moves towards the couch of her own volition, setting the man down as gently and carefully as she can. "It didn't make sense. Called him his... 'faggot son?' And it was frightened of me when I said //you// sent me. I finally managed to blink away part of its chest - and it disappeared." Just like Emma suggested.
    She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she tries to push away the simmering anger, with limited success - but she seems to at least keep it under control. "You'd better be," she mutters under her breath. "Because by my reckoning, you //owe// me right now, Ms. Frost, and I'm not appreciating the payment so far." None of this helps the injured man, though.
    "He needs medical care. I can take us all anywhere you like. I can bring someone back to help. He's obviously not capable of making his own medical decisions, though." So it's Emma's call.

Christian Frost has posed:
    It's bad. Christian really does need medical care. There's at least a broken rib or four, one might have punctured a lung. The bruising that's already popping out bright against his pale skin might indicate internal injuries. This is BAD. There's a knot on the back of his head beneath a deep gash. He might have a broken jaw. This is soooo bad. He would certainly, beyond a shadow of a doubt, be *dead* if Clarice hadn't stumbled on him. ...death by his own mind and the nightmare of an abused child come to life.
    ... and maybe, just maybe, by whatever it is that's in that inhaler that tumbles from his jacket pocket while his sister is moving him around to look him over?

Emma Frost has posed:
"You're right, Clarice," Emma says. "I've treated you unconscionably when you were here to help. You are correct. I owe you. We will settle that account one way or another after the crisis has passed."

Emma's calm voice is directed at Christian's body as she checks him over. Maddeningly calm given she's reacting to Clarice's (deserved!) outrage with the same equanimity as she would react to choosing azelias over carnations in a floral display.

"Wait, *I* sent you?" Emma looks up confused, then. "I ... when ... ?" It's rare to see Emma at a loss for words out of raw confusion. But the rare circumstance is lost to an all-to-common occurrence: Emma angry.

Emma very angry as the inhaler clatters to the marble flooring.

She picks it up and looks it over, taking in the unmarked exterior. The fact it's empty except for a residual puff that spits a few drops onto her finger. The finger she puts to her mouth and ...

For the briefest of moments it seems that the skin of her lips turns transparent, glistening, with blood vessels and flesh visible beneath. But that has to be a trick, right? Emma's fucking with Clarice again. Still, in fact. Because that's what Emma does.

Yet...

"Kick."

Emma's fist clenches around the inhaler hard, but she only manages to crack the outer hull of the holder. This is clearly insufficient for her needs as she throws it against a wall with a cry of fury.

"While I still owe you an unpaid debt, may I add to the tab, Clarice?" she asks with exaggerated politesse moments after having thrown a shit fit at a piece of metal and plastic. "He needs treatment not available here. Even bringing a professional here won't help without the equipment. We need him in a hospital ward. Could you please transport all of us?"

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "We had better," Clarice agrees. It probably wouldn't go over well for either of them if she breathed a word of her own ill-advised unannounced arrival here, and Emma's reaction to it, to certain powerful individuals of their mutual acquiantance. It's probably best if they sort out the affront amongst themselves.
    "Look - when I told the... //thing// that you sent me - it became frightened. It was a bluff, obviously - but it seemed effective." She watches the woman sample the inhaler, and then throw it against the wall. The anger seems largely to have faded from her features - but that impassive expression she wore earlier has slid back into face. She looks stoic - and perhaps even grim. "I can," she confirms. "It might be best if I bring the couch along with us - that way the doctors can stabalize his injuries before the move him again." Rather than how she had been forced to lift him before - from where he had crumpled against the house. She waits for a sign of affirmation from Emma - and rather than her usual trick of stepping through a portal, she places her hand one the couch, and uses the other to take Emma's arm. It's harder - teleporting this way. It takes more concentration - but they reappear moments later, on the street outside a local Emergency department - the couch barely jostled by the arrival.
    "I'll bring some of the staff," she offers - stepping inside to do just that.

Christian Frost has posed:
    In his unconscious state, Christian dreams.
    ...it appears in the middle of the sidewalk nearby just as Clarice described it. Tall, nearly eight feet at least, slender, three fingers on each hand, each finger ending in a wicked claw. It's jaw is misshapen to make room for the mouth filled with sharp teeth, drool running from the corners thick and glistening. Its eyes are black pits of swirling shadows but beneath it all, the facial features are familiar - Winston Frost.
    It's the Kick allowing it to happen, amplifying Christian's powers to the point that he need not even be conscious to manifest his nightmares and bring them to life.
    "Emmmmma," the DaddyMonster hisses.
    Christian stirs slightly... the sounds he makes are nothing but low moans and whimpers, but it's almost certain that he's screaming inside his head.

Emma Frost has posed:
"Christian. Please, darling brother, wake up and get this thing out of my sight?"

If Emma's even slightly fazed by the appearance of her father as a monstrous entity she'll be DAMNED TO HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY before she shows that for an instant.

"No? That's alright. I'll deal with it."

With a half-unzipped boot and a top not quite done up and supporting. Yes. You'll look magnificent as you battle your brother's demon (and your own if you want to be brutally honest with yourself, which you don't), Emma.

"Because, 'Father'," she says with a bravado she's emphatically NOT feeling, that crawling sensation going up and down her spine making her want to flee, screaming, instead. "You're not real. And if you're not real, you're not ... you."

Here it comes.

Without trying to hold back at all Emma unleashes every ounce of her astral/psychic powers in a synapse-frying mental blast aimed straight at the thing her brother summoned up. Face twisted in rage, hate (and fear, let's not forget that) she gives the beast everything she has, trying to sever it from Christian's mind and from the astral realm.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Inside, Clarice is unaware of the goings on out on the street. "Look. I'm telling you - there's a guy outside. He's badly hurt. Possible drug overdose, internal bleeding, possible spinal cord injuries," she hopes not, given the way she lifted him, "so get out your back boards, and neck braces. He needs help. It's //bad//," she insists in a firm voice. "I can show-" she starts, as the door open - and woman comes running in, panicking and babbling incoherently.
    "It's horrible! With claws, and long arms, and it-"
    Oh shit. "We need those doctors, //now//!" she shouts again as she starts back the way she came at a run.

Christian Frost has posed:
    "Emmmmmmma." MonsterDaddy takes a step forward and then another and another... "You've been bad." Now the voice sounds *exactly* like Winston Frost. It's actually more terrifying that way than the hissing monster voice.
    ...the blast.
    Christian's back arches off the couch ... that's a bit out of place here ...and he SCREAMS. His left eye is open wide, his right swollen shut. When the scream fades and dies, he's left twitching and jerking violently for a moment or two. Some sort of seizure? That's not good.
    ...and neither is the way MonsterDaddy cackles with apparent glee. "Oh my sweet girl, it seems you've set me free." That ugly ass thing is FAST. But even free of Christian's control, it's still something that came from Christian's mind. That's the likely reason why, instead of going immediately for Emma, DaddyMonster tries to go *around* her to the stain on the family name, to the embarrassment, the failure, the disappointment. "You protected him behind my back, now you'll watch him DIE!"
    Can Emma stop it? More importantly does she have the courage to stand between it and her ... possibly dying ... brother?

Emma Frost has posed:
Indecision is not something that comes naturally to Emma. Indeed it's usually the trigger for a breakdown of mental faculties. But this is different.

On the one hand is her father, the one thing in the world she secretly fears more than anything else. The man she obeys without question the rare times he bothers to communicate with her at all. That half of her being wants nothing more than to stand by and let Daddy, even when it's clearly not real, pass.

On the other hand, however, is Christian, arguably the only thing in the world she loves more than anything else. (It sure as Hell isn't *HER* she loves!) The man she's gone to bat for a thousand times. The man she's nursed through crisis after self-induced crisis. The only person in the world she'd defied her father for.

And that's the decider.

That aforementioned DO NOT PRESS UNDER PAIN OF NUCLEAR DOOM button. The button that is Christian.

"FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!" she shouts as it tries to get past. Half-dressed, *not* kitted for (nor trained in combat) she makes up for all that with raw, surprising ferocity, heedless of her own well-being to get at the hateful thing her brother summoned and she freed that has the sensation of her father but the horrific body of a poorly-adjusted nightmare.

Hurling herself at 'Daddy', she screams incoherently, viciously raking with fingernails shaped to perfection, trying to find any weakness: eyes, throat, anything that can injure or at least distract this thing and keep it away from Christian.

Berserk button pressed. Sadly not paired with berserk skills...

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Whatever Clarice expected as she stepped out onto the street - Emma Frost screaming incoherently and clawing at the eyes of her monster-daddy was really nowhere near the top of the list. It's the sort of thing you might want to stop and just consider for a moment. To really take in - possibly even enjoy.
    Then again - there's a monster trying to kill an unconscious man, and she probably shouldn't just stand around with a bucket of proverbial popcorn while that happens.
    "Where's Mister Creed when you need him?" she mutters to herself - pulling one of her javelins from her shoulder and flinging it - without hesitation - at the pair. She could try to separate the pair - but what if she hits the wrong one? No. She charges the javelin with enough energy to send //both// Emma and the monster about a block down the street. Far enough away that if they can keep it busy - the medical professionals can get Christian inside. Close enough that if the monster refuses to blink away again - Emma can still get back to her to help.
    That's the plan, anyways.

Christian Frost has posed:
    People are now running and screaming and calling 911. It's all getting a little chaotic! MonsterDaddy isn't going down without a fight. When Emma attacks, it defends with the same level of ferocity with ... those claws. She has it busy enough that it doesn't have the presence of mind to stab anything vital with them, it's just lashing out. Not the face! But yes, Emma might end up with a claw mark or two on that pretty face of hers.
    ...then Blink hits and she SCORES. She scores better than she might have thought she would even. This thing, no matter how real it seems, no matter how solid it seems... it isn't real. That javelin hitting home is enough to cause it to dissipate into nothing.
    Stunned by it all, the hospital staff take a moment or five to get their wits and rush toward Christan.
    "He's not breathing! No pulse..." CPR is started once they get him on a gurney. Inside paddles happen, jerking his limp body up with every jolt. There... there's a rhythm!
    It all happens SO fast and Christian is just gone from Emma's sight, whisked upstairs. It'll be hours before anyone returns to tell her what's going on. If she asks anyone, all she gets is the canned 'we're doing all we can, he's in good hands' answer. The words might just all bleed into one another when they finally do come to talk to her... ruptured spleen, bruised kidneys, collapsed lung, broken ribs, subdural hematoma... fractured eye orbit... the list goes on and on and on and ends in 'critical but stable in the ICU.'

Emma Frost has posed:
"Deal with him, not me." Emma turns down the medical attention until she's sure that Christian is secured, then deigns to have the tears in her belly, on her shoulder and the two claw marks across her cheek checked. The wounds are superficial, though there's a slight chance of scarring in the triplet across her belly.

That's why Emma has plastic surgeons. The best money can buy.

Sitting in the waiting room, waiting for Clarice to return (if she does) after removing the couch, Emma grimly goes over every mind present to erase memories of the monster. And redirects every attempt to involve authorities. As far as anybody is concerned, Emma's wounds and Christian's are Somebody Else's Problem. A problem that has Been Handled By The Appropriate Authority.

<ZeFrank>And that is how the Emma do.</ZeFrank>

"I'll give you a case of the brandy," she finally says to Clarice. "Not as a reckoning nor as a balancing of the books but because you saved my brother's life."

She pauses and looks at Clarice, her bandaged face and grossly inappropriately-attired body still somehow managing to accomplish that ephemeral 'gravitas' thing.

"To settle the account I'm giving you a coin."

She waits a moment, just enough for Clarice to start getting offended before cutting off that thought.

"One that doesn't physically exist. But if you return it to me, you get me. It's a marker, Clarice. I will not turn it down if you cash it in. I will hold nothing against you no matter how damaging if you cash it in. That should settle the score. You have me, no questions asked, for one deed."

Before the question forms.

"Oh fuck no, I'm not drunk!" she says, laughing. "I wish I fucking was!"

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    It only takes Clarice a moment to return the couch - mere touch has it blinking out of existance, to reappear //practically// in the same place from which it came. It's close enough, really. She sits down beside Emma without a word - waiting as the doctors fuss over the woman. Waiting as they get little snippets of Christian's condition. Just //waiting//, and allowing Emma to speak first.
    "I'll have an interesting time explaining that to Mystique," she remarks - in response to the bit about the brandy. It's either that or simply hide the brandy from the woman, entirely. What - and drink it all alone?
    As the 'coin' is offered - no offense is seen on Clarice's features. She is fairly certain that this coin is not a mere //coin//. No, there's more to it- a fact that it is immediately proven to be true. She nods an acceptance of the offer. "A handy thing to have - and it seems a fair exchange. And honestly - I'm glad I was there. What a mess." She doesn't ask. Whatever just happened - if Emma wants to explain, she will. This is a //family// matter.

Emma Frost has posed:
"That was a shit show," Emma finally says after a long silence, itself after finally being given word that Christian's status was 'guardedly optimistic'. If ever there was an anti-Emma look, this was it. Clothing bedraggled. Bloodied. Bandaged. And slumped.

That last one in particular doesn't fit. Emma never slumps. Even when she does she doesn't LOOK it.

But this is what Emma looks like when she feels defeated, apparently. Like a normal person.

"He doesn't get along with our father," she then tries to explain. "Haunts him." Haunts me, she is about to say before her self-preservation clicks in and she just shuts up. "So he took Kick. The idiot!" Last two words seethe with suppressed emotion, only half of which is anger. "Brought his nightmare to life."

Her exhausted ice blue eyes look across at Clarice. "I wouldn't have a brother today if it weren't for you. Thank you. And I'm sorry for the injury you took in the line of fire."

Emma closes her eyes then, hunched forward, curled up in her seat like she was trying to turn hedgehog. "I know we're not friends, Clarice. Largely because I have none. Thank you for your help, but please don't feel obligated to stay." The smile she wears is bitter. "I'll just stay here until I get the energy to move."

A passing woman makes sympathetic noises and then, barely within hearing, says to her male companion, "Her pimp must have got her good."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    There are multiple reasons Clarice doesn't leave - not yet. Emma seems like she needs the company - and Clarice, despite her past, has somehow turned out to be a sympathetic human being. But there's another factor. ...there could be strategic advantage in forging such a bond. For the cause. A cause they even share - the betterment of their people's place in the world. "Family woes are not something I really have much experience with," she responds. "But... I'm glad I was there. I wish I'd been sooner, but I'm glad I wasn't any later." He hadn't had much time left when she arrived.
    She's silent for a moment before remarking, "Scott Summers was hoping to get his hands on some samples - of the Kick from the contact you 'interviewed' - and the supressant drug they were making instead. For Hank McCoy to study. Maybe McCoy can learn something that helps us get this stuff off the street," she suggests. "I would think the more eyes we have on this mess, the better."
    As she talks, she reaches out to touch a magazine sitting on the table beside her. It reappears - right in the woman's path where she can step on it, hopefully without noticing it. It has the desired effect - the slick pages rubbing against each other causes her footing to slip, and she has to catch herself against her companion to keep from falling completely to the floor. "What- Who leaves things like this one the floor?!" she asks in frustration, picking it up and tossing it onto one of the chairs.
    Clarice just smiles for a moment.

Emma Frost has posed:
Against her will, Emma giggles. It doesn't last long, but apparently a judgemental woman getting comeuppance amuses her enough to penetrate her shroud of fatigued depression. "That was childish, Clarice!" she says, trying to sound stern. But failing completely.

She then focuses on not laughing. It doesn't seem right with her brother in the condition he's in, after all.

"I hate hospitals," she says, attempting conversation. "They won't let me smoke and they lecture me when I drink. So I'm left to do nothing but wait, whether patient or visitor."

The subsequent silence is awkward. Again, this is not the effusive, droll, always-got-a-word-in Emma. This is someone who's at a loss for words.

"They're terrible places."

Yep. Good coda, Emma. Keep it up and you'll be doing stand-up in no time!

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I was merely practicing my precision," Clarice counters - giving Emma a brief smile. "It's a constant work in progress, after all." She doesn't seem at all chagrinned by her actions. "And I don't think anyone likes hospitals."
    She lapses into silence - perhaps hoping that after a few moments, Emma will offer her thoughts on the drug samples. As it doesn't seem to be bearing any fruit, though, a frown grows over her features instead. Well then. Was Emma just as 'fond' of the idea of giving samples to Xavier's folks as Mystique? //Why//? "I think we all want to get this stuff off the streets as quickly as we can. Before it can hurt more of our kind. Though I suppose you have more motivation than most." Now.

Emma Frost has posed:
"This is why I don't go into debt," Emma mutters under her breath. She hugs herself with one arm so she can support the other in pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't have much of the suppressant; we had priorities in rescuing our kind, but I have some. I have a lot of the Kick in precursor form. Powder, before it's aerosolized."

She releases her nose and looks across at Clarice. "Your leader has his share, of course, of both. More of the suppressant than I do, in fact. His team did the heavy lifting." She struggles a moment to word this in a way that doesn't sound like largesse. "Alex helped at the raid; I guess he earned a share of the suppressant. I'll have his share forwarded to the mansion care of Hank."

She ponders a bit, trying to tie this to the other samples secured in her wall safe.

"Remy. He helped me get the precursor samples."

That was the avenue.

"I didn't need the help, but he amused me. I'll send his share care of Hank too."

There. No largesse. Just rational transactions because of debts acrued. Perfect.

"Under one condition." Of course. And the steel in Emma's voice brooks no negotiation nor tolerance for deceit. "I want a promise, verbal is fine, before the goods are delivered. If the source is found, it is shared with me without delay." She smiles tightly. "I'm on the telephone," she adds sarcastically. "I can be reached easily."

And then it would be best to stand back and be far away from that source because Emma has plans to unleash true Hell on it.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice listens attentively as Emma thinks her way through her little justifications - a small smile slowly broadening on her features. Good. There's no way to know McCoy will learn anything that Emma's people or Magneto's people won't discover on their own - but the more people working on the problem, the better their odds. Her expression sobers, however, and goes more contemplative at the condition. "A promise... from who? From //me//?" she asks. "I've got no guarantees that any discoveries that're made will even be shared with me. It's a little outside my usual purview." Especially if it //is// McCoy that makes the breakthrough.

Emma Frost has posed:
"Oh, no. This is a request you transmit to people like Scott and Jean and Hank and Charles," Emma says. "They respond. They'll know why I want that and they'll know what giving it to me entails. They'll have to decide between doing what's best for our people or salving their conscience because they gave identity away to a..." She spits out the next word. "...monster."

Then, she snorts with gallows humour.

"I mean you saw my father twice today. I come by it deservedly."

Silence.

"That's the deal. Pass it on. If they agree to that one term, I'll give them what they need."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Emma's reponse earns a strange mix of relief - //and// frustration from Clarice. That she wasn't expected to divulge such potentially mission-sensitive intel herself, and in so doing possibly betray her loyalty to the Brotherhood? Big relief. It wasn't a promise she'd been comfortable giving. But the likelyhood of securing such a promise from anyone at the mansion? Well, that's frustrating.
    "...I'll see what I can do," Clarice agrees, letting out a sigh. There seems to be no winning this fight. Who did she approach at the school? Who was her best bet? ...should she try McCoy?
    She remains silent for a while, then glances back at Emma again, studying the woman with a faint frown on her features. She felt fairly certain that view people had seen Emma in such a vulnerable position as she has. And she's a little surprised the woman hasn't just scrubbed the whole thing from her memory. "I should probably get back to my patrol. If you're sure you don't want the company."

Emma Frost has posed:
"I didn't scrub it, Clarice," Emma says quietly, "because I'm in a foolishly fragile place and feel indebted to you. Scrubbing memories involves brain damage. As you'd put it earlier, pretty strange repayment for favour owed."

She *WAS* listening.

"I would recommend, however," she added, her eyes now turning to Clarice, ice hard, frozen like antarctic glaciers, "that you not try spreading it around. I won't do anything to you. But you'll have blood on your hands as I redouble my cruelty to get back to my old reputation. I'm sure that's not what anybody wants."

She turns in again, huddled up in a way that DOES make her look uncannily like a beaten prostitute.

"Not even me," she adds sadly.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Yeah, well, you could have saved yourself the case of brandy - and the favor," Clarice counters - a shadow briefly showing over her features as Emma responds to her thoughts. Great. The woman no doubt, then, had already gleaned from her thoughts how opposed Mystique had been to sharing samples with Xavier's - and what a dangerous line she'd been treading by going around the woman and approaching a foe and sometimes ally instead.
    ...well. If she hadn't before, she had now.
    Emma's probably seen this happen a thousand times - when someone near her realizes they can't control their thoughts. That anything they //don't// want Emma to know is exactly what they're about to think about. That they really, really //have// to go. Clarice tries to focus her thoughts, though, solely on the events of the evening.
    "Yeah, well - I wasn't planning on divulging anything about tonight, anyways. Like I said before - it's family business. Everyone oughtta have a right to that. Just - tell your brother I hope he's better soon." She offers Emma a hand, for a handshake, as she adds, "And I really appreciate the largesse - of not turning my brains inside out just for your own sake. But I should go." Before she thinks the wrong thing.

Emma Frost has posed:
"That's the difference between me," Emma says with dark humour as she looks over Clarice's discomfiture, "and the crowd at the Mansion. They think it's 'ethical' to plug their metaphorical ears with foam. I don't. But don't worry, Clarice. There are humans who can read body language almost as effectively as I read what you're thinking. They don't disturb you, do they?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand now she had to plant that seed. Because she's a bitch.

"Thank you, however, for your aid. I'll have the crate of brandy set up in the storeroom on 7th. Pop by there ... probably in about two days. If it's there, just take it." A bit of the old Emma malice is back. She'll recover. The glint in her eye says so. "But I wouldn't recommend hiding it from Mystique. She takes that kind of shit rather personally."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Reading body language is hardly the same thing," Clarice says dryly, determined to see if anyone in the Brotherhood can help her learn how to better shield her thoughts.
    And immediately frustrated by the fact that Emma doubtlessly just heard that thought.
    "She'll ask how I came by it," Clarice continues. "But... well. I'll figure something out. Probably just tell her I happened to be in the right place at the right time to lend a hand while patroling, and you were feeling generous." She could tell her the details were fuzzy? No. Mystique would retaliate if she thought Emma toyed with her mind. She'll just have to deal with whatever fallout comes from refusing to divulge more.

Emma Frost has posed:
"You might want to leave, Blink," Emma says, chuckling and shaking her head, extending a hand for the final goodbye, "before you dig yourself in deeper. But if you want training in how to resist telepathy, I can run a combatting the dark arts class for deserving students."

She tilts her head, regarding Clarice with an expression calculated to make her seem even more spooky. Like a mix of overly attached girlfriend and Satan.

"But there is no full defence. The best you can hope for against a skilled telepath is misdirection. Looking boring. But I'll teach deserving students."

Emma, putting on a brave face that is as false as it is ineffective, waves with exaggerated imperiousness. "Go do your patrol. And do share the brandy. It's very nice and I'd rather people enjoyed it than feared its existence."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    The dramatics just has Clarice rolling her eyes - though amusement does flicker across her features. "I do want to leave," she agrees. "And I guarantee - we're going to enjoy it," she promises - a broad smile breaking across her features just as a portal opens beside her, and she steps through. "Let me know how he's doing - or I'll worry," she adds. She means it, too. It'll bug her - a little, at least. And then the portal blinks out.