Owner	Pose
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix is currently sitting in the Steakhouse of the Hellfire Club. The area was quieter than usual. A downturn in business likely related to the chaos still going on in other parts of the city. Monet has at least the area she was sitting at all to her own and did not seem to mind. Normally she would have to telepathically press others away to get this. So she was quite content, working over her food while sipping a goblet of wine.
Satana	The name of this place suits her. She does find it a little funny, really. But after a snack outside, she's worked up another appetite. Not that her meal struggled (they never do, unless they realize what she is and have the means to do something about it), but sometimes the thrill of the chase can work up a desire for fancy food. It's a pairing! A little nibble of scumbag, and then something to eat that's preferably more filling to the body. Or a drink. The wine list here is impressive, and she intends to make an evening of it, a late night that's a little calmer than what's happening elsewhere. She draws attention in that red coat of hers, running fingers through her hair as she enters, feeling like the most ferocious beast there is. At least for the moment. Sometimes this city has a way of letting her know that she's not the biggest and baddest of beings in the room.
Betsy Braddock	They say there are angels in the streets of Manhattan. Depending upon their point of view, there may be one here in the Hellfire Club. As the elevator doors open, out strides Betsy Braddock. A supermodel and superhero seems like a bit too much of a combination for one person, but such is what it is. Tonight she is dressed to kill (hopefully not literally) in a long shimmering silk gown of lustrous purple. It is cut with a plunging neckline, and as she walks the long slit up the side allows a healthy view of her toned legs. Why she would choose to wear such a thing out to the Hellfire Club is anyone's guess - although certainly there are plenty who try to use their entrance in to draw in interest from other members. With untold fortunes sitting in every room of the club, one can walk their way into retirement here.      A quick glance is cast around the room, her long flowing purple locks trailing along, and then she continues inward. Perhaps in search of a table.
Monet St. Croix	And within here Monet St. Croix would be no longer isolated as others would enter in, at least of some passing familiarity. She would glance in the direction of Satana, the light smell of brimstone being simple to pick up and then to confirm the woman's identity. Then the approach of Betsy, that she knew at least was a member of the Institute. "Ms. Braddock." She would offer in greeting as well in accented French. "A pleasure to see you here." Offered politely to both women.
Satana	"Fancy seeing you here," Satana says. "Just dropped in for a drink. It's crazy out there," she says. She does't understand the French, but she gets the idea. She slides right into the table, not really caring if it's invasive, or not thinking beyond her own needs at the moment. "Is what you're drinking any good? Not that I won't work my way through to find something delicious," says the redhead. "You guys meeting up for dinner? I'd hate to crash it," she says in a way that definitely means that she is not at all concerned about that.
Betsy Braddock	Crossing the room exhuding every last bit of her training, Betsy offers a warm smile towards Monet. "Thank you," she replies, as she grows near enough for conversation to be polite. A glance towards Satana, and she favors that woman with a warm smile as well. A practiced warm smile, but warm nonetheless. "It was not anything planned, so hardly a crash." Her accent is crisp, clipped British. She moves around the table and slides into a seat opposite Satana. "But it does sound like a brilliant idea."
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would keep her mind turned inwards, mostly defensive. The Club was still the club, and always dangerous. And probably having more things on-hand that could trap in the case of sweeps than almost anywhere else. "We are associates. I would welcome both of your joining myself."
Satana	Already seated, Satana smiles. "Fantastic. This place is interesting, lots of Very Important People here." She emphasizes each word, laughing at the end of her words, "But I did hear that the wings and fries are something special. Just one of those snacking sort of days!" she says cheerfully. "Thankfully I won't be the only one drinking," she says to the other women, snapping her fingers in a way that would normally be very rude, but gets service to scamper on over to take an order.
Betsy Braddock	"I have not sampled that fare, in particular, but the wine selection is quite lovely." As Betsy leans back in her chair, she casts her gaze about the room. Not as if bored with her new tablemates, more of an assessment of the room. Something she does periodically. Training, perhaps, in not being surprised.     "Certainly I shall join you in some wine." Betsy turns her gaze over towards Monet. "I am afraid that you have me at a disadvantage - as you clearly know who I am, but I know you not."
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would nod "Yes, it has a semblance of those important and those whom deem themselves important present." She says the words rather cautiously. The Club did have a reputation and M was definitely not sure how far it went in any direction. Only that thsoe whom were of such power and importance all under one roof were always dangerous in concentration.     She would go to skim the menu, "A full bottle then for us? I'll let you settle upon the particulars." M would dip her head at Betsy, "Forgive me. I'm a student at the.. Institute. I've seen you in passing in it though I don't believe we've interacted."
Satana	"At least two, the night is still young!" the redhead declares. She picks two bottles and relays the names to the service, two reds, dry and promising spicy, peppery notes, the other a more rounded, slightly sweeter variety. "Oh, a student and a teacher?" she asks, looking over Betsy with appreciation. That outfit draws attention, and there's certainly no objection to it from the demonic woman. She's boasting her own cleavage, as she settles back in her chair. "Love the dress, by the way."
Betsy Braddock	"A good start," agrees Betsy, flashing something of a grin at Satana. Turning to regard Monet, she nods slowly. "Ah, that would explain it. Yes, I am afraid that I have not really come to know a number of the current students, unfortunately. Life has been a bit...distracting."     Betsy turns a bit on the seat, stretching herself slightly as she reclines in the chair, her gaze shifting to rest upon Satana. "Thank you. Same to you." She shifts slightly to recross her legs, as she seems almost to mirror Satana as she leans back on her seat.
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would shrug at Betsy, "Life is always a distraction. There is always some sort of chaos or calamity afoot. One can simply move past them or be caught up in them or overrun. One must simply deal with them efficiently and take indulgence where they can." She would nod at Betsy.     "And I do not presume to know too much of your circumstance, please do forgive me for anything inaccurate."
Satana	"True, including something outside. I was on a ... date..." Satana says with a smile, "And then things seemed to go nuts. I ducked in here to get away from it all," she says. "But is it a college you two attend? I was homeschooled, so it always seemed fascinating to me to actually go to a place that's not your home. I made up for it by traveling, but... oh, wine!" she says as glasses and bottles arrive. The young man delivering them seems very happy to do so. And the table certainly has a variety of reasons for him to be so thrilled to deliver.
Betsy Braddock	"I am not quite sure what is going on outside, but something is amiss." Betsy sighs, and seemingly that is all the concern she has for that. "I graduated some time ago," she offers to Satana, in answer to her question. "But I linger around for a while. Cute professors." She winks, before looking to Monet. "And no need to apologize. We are three strangers, sharing some wine, while the world outside goes crazy."     Betsy leans forward as the wine arrives, moving to retrieve her glass after some of it is poured for her, and she raises the wine in salute to her two tablemates.
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would sigh, "There is something always amiss and catastrophic. One world ending event to another. The latest merely finds even odder ways to manifest itself. It has however resulted in easier seating being available." M is figuring the bright side of things. SHe hasn't even /needed/ to upstage her social inferiors to get somewhere to sit down and appreciate things.     Then at Satana, "Don't play with your food."
Satana	"Oh, I'm sure it's being handled," Satana says. "The city seems absolutely swollen with do-gooders and whatnot. Besides, whatever could we three ladies do to help?" she asks, batting those long lashes of hers. Impossibly dark lashes, and so long. Extensions? Possibly. One can almost feel a breeze from them across the table.      She raises her glass, "I haven't even ordered anything yet, silly!" she says to Monet. "But I promise to be very gentle with it when it arrives. I shan't descend upon it like a wild animal one bit, unless the wings are particularly good. Then I retract that statement." And with that, she tips the glass towards her fiery red lips and downs more wine than one should in a gulp. A lady of excess, for certain.
Betsy Braddock	"I used to be one of those do-gooders," replies Betsy as she contemplates the wine in her glass, swirling it a bit. If she intended to complete that thought, that flits away now as she takes a long sip from the wine, before placing the glass back down on the table.     "I think it would be rather entertaining, to be honest, to see you descend upon something like a wild animal." Betsy has a grin on her face. "Such a contrast of refinement and passion."
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would give a passive glance over at Satana with a 'we both know exatly what I mean' stare if one were to translate M-Glare to words. "Let us enjoy our drinks first before we order more or we risk -rushing- through them. A nd the wine is palapatable so there is no reason to hurry through it." She would muse over at Betsy's commentary.     "I see. Perhpas you could point out one you felt would maximize the amusement factor? Or delegate yourself for it?"
Satana	"You know, I do it more often than one might think. Not everyone can handle the experience. Well. Most men can't," she says with a smirk. "What was I saying?" she asks, wine glass set down on the table as she runs a finger along the rim. "Oh, fine. I can wait on the ordering, but I do love to see the boys scamper over to bring me things." She smiles back at Monet, "But you've asked me to not rush, and I'll behave." She wiggles in her seat, maybe the wine, maybe the company, but she is in such a good mood. "Besides, the benefit of not being out with the do-gooders is not getting shot at or otherwise inconvenienced."
Betsy Braddock	"Among other things, certainly." Betsy drains the last of her glass of wine, and then places it back down on the table. Her gaze turns towards Monet. "You seem to be driving our friend here in a particular direction." She fhuckles softly, and shakes out her hair for a moment, before turning her gaze back to Satanna. "So the plan is to slowly linger here until we have a line of paramours at the waiting?"
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would just look at Satana in light amusement. "Of course. Order what you want from the menu. Or we can wait. We are enjoying one another's company. And the food and drink are acceptable, but not spectactular. We can appreciate one another's presence more than anything else." Talk about honesty when it came to the service.     Her looking at Betsy with very, very un-M like expression ofa musement. "I am allowed to wish for entertainment as well."
Satana	"I always have a line of paramours at the waiting, it's more about picking and rejecting," Satana says with a shrug. "And putting some of them in their place. It's the most fun with the pushy, nasty ones, they never see it coming. They've always gotten their way because people are afraid to tell them 'no.' Because people are afraid of them. But I'm not. I WELCOME it." She looks a touch manic, eyes glinting in the light of the room as her own memories get her a little worked up. But then there's the promise of food, and she calms back down. "So am I getting the fries for the table, or just me?" she asks, picking up the menu again. "Because there's a full order and a half order... I just don't know how big each will be," she says, tapping it with a glossy red nail.
Betsy Braddock	Her eyes twinkling with amusement, Betsy looks about the room, and then back to her two companions. "Perhaps abit of diversion is in order. A contest." She leans over to pour herself a new glass of wine. "Each of us sees who we can entrance - we can certainly still leave them waiting, but see who we can get to join us in the effort." She rights the bottle of wine and then brings her glass to her lips. "I have no idea who would win. But all of us would do well."
Monet St. Croix	Monet St. Croix would shrug, "I do not believe that I am up to the.. Capbilities of either of you." A rare enough admission of not being as /good/ at something as someone else. "HOwever, I am more than willing to act as a judge in return for interactivity within the festivities." She would flick her hands over and inspect the menu. "So order a first course for us?" Of the food.
Satana	"Do we make them fight to the death at that point?" Satana asks, giggling. "Whatever do we do with the poor souls once we've enraptured them and... you, here. Now," she says of the server, who, Satan willing, will at least get a good tip out of all of this. He seems pretty content to rush to her side, still holding drinks for another table. "The big basket of the duck fries, thaaaank-you." She turns back to the table, shooing him away, the enormous demon-skulled ring on her finger helping to emphasize her gesture. They say you talk more with your hands after a manicure. With that beastly object, she's communicating very fluidly. "And where do we all end up with our prizes at the end of this?" she asks.