ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-14 19:55:00 |
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Family was such a fickle thing, that much Emma knew very well. In neither her dreams or her life did she have a warm or even friendly connection with the majority of her family. It wasn’t something she ached over, she didn’t really care for her family in most regards, only Christian actually mattered in the long run. And while her dear brother was indeed part of the problem in this singular case, it was difficult to be cross with the man who just wanted to live his life by his own choices. Naturally, Emma worried for Lydia and the children, but it was a somewhat less pressing matter than the potential actions Winston would take when pushed. Which led her to now, walking down the docking towards Killian’s houseboat, contemplating the options and leaning exceptionally heavily towards having her father murdered to protect her brother from potential blow back. Because Emma was just as devious as Winston, in some ways she was sure she was worse than her father, especially when it came to threatening those she cared for. If anything, the dreams only enhanced that aspect of her. No doubt she’d have consequences to consider, but in the long run, she felt they were reasonable enough. Afterall, when you knew someone willing you kill for a price, why on earth should someone turn that down? You’d have to be a bit mad to turn this down, but then again, it could also be argued that you’d have to be mad to even offer to murder some pesky person for money anyway. But it was a line of work that Killian readily embraced - he didn’t do it very often and in fact only offered for clients he knew he could trust, and whom he had a good camaraderie with. Emma Frost was that type of person - having a fling with her in the past only solidified that they were had the type of camaraderie required for him to be hired as a hitman, and he’d gladly do this type of job for her. Patricide was, admittedly, a touchy subject with him. Killing his own father had been something he regretted, in his dreams. It wasn’t something he could take back, it was permanent, and he’d inadvertently left his younger brother Liam an orphan because of it. However, things had worked out eventually - and the gods forbid he try to talk Emma out of something similar. He’d offer other possible options, but ultimately, she knew what would be best. It was his job to help her, something he also wanted to do, and so he would. Killian never claimed to be much of a hero, in this life or the last (despite what idiots around him wanted to think). One thing about being a pirate? You could run, you could hide, you could swear you’ve changed - but you always were one to some degree, it always remained. It never really left you. He knew he would also forever operate in shades of grey. Besides, offing a homophobic old man who treated his children like shit wasn’t going to cause Killian to lose any sleep. He saw her arrival from the small kitchen window and went to open the door, showing Emma inside. “Hello, love, got the rum ready as promised,” he said, extending a hand to assist. Sometimes it was rocky, stepping from the dock to the boat deck. And indeed he did, rum and glasses - the rum was an exclusive blend, so exclusive that the few bottles made their way to the vaults of collectors only. And Killian, of course. He had his ways. The dock to the boat was bad enough, throw in Emma’s ridiculous heels and she probably should’ve rethought her footwear, but then vanity and all that, she’d never deny it was a factor. But Killian, ever the gentleman, assured she wouldn’t go ass over elbow, “Too kind, darling.” But then, when discussing the impending death, who knew what kindness could be. Emma was under no illusion about her nature, she was darker than any X-Man really had a right to be, in a far more selfish way than Logan had ever been. She and Logan may have understood one another with their darker pasts, but the Wolverine had never been in pursuit of other people’s pain. Emma couldn’t claim the same. No, Emma did what suited her, what served her purpose, and the time had come that now, her father’s death suited her purpose. It might be for Christian’s own good, but the fact of the matter stood, it was a selfish ploy to solve a future problem. “I should’ve known your expensive tastes would’ve been drink related.” Everyone had their one thing, one thing that needed to be particular. Killian and exquisite rum seemed like a good match. “Are we toasting to impending death? Or just dulling the sting of it?” “Death is a part of life - why not toast to it,” Killian quipped with dark humour, showing Emma further inside. Nautical interior, nautical furniture - the couch was comfortable, and before he settled he went to the bar and poured glasses of the good stuff. Robust and quite complex; smell it and you’d pick up on raisins, fruits, even a bit of molasses and oak. The only way he could think of to describe the taste was ‘velvety.’ Also vicious, because if you weren’t carefully it could knock you on your arse without you even realising. There, now he settled on the sofa, his notepad and pen ready. Always hand-written at first, in his own shorthand - especially for a case as sensitive as this. Doubtful he’d transfer much to the laptop. “Alright, my dear, tell me what you’re thinking. I know you said accident but there was the girlfriend as part of this picture too? Or the aftermath, rather.” She dared say that the drink was probably necessary, plotting her own father’s demise needed something to smooth it away, and a good rum was probably what the doctor ordered either way. Might as well fit the role she so effortlessly filled. “I’m thinking freak accident of nature or fate, nothing health related, the man smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish, but he’s like a damn ox, and has the best in medical professionals.” No, something like that, even a brain aneurysm, which Emma could’ve provided given her developing powers, there would be far too much scrutiny. “Just Winston though, darling. His harlots have nothing on this, hell I doubt he’s even included them in any will.” Winston was a hypocritical and barbarous man, he manipulated to get what he wanted and blackmailed anything he couldn’t, made his name stomping down on others and destroying livelihoods, to the point where he twisted most of his children to be just like him. Taking care of anyone was not Winston’s thing. “Christian intends on unleashing the dam during our Easter gathering, a family mandated gathering where father waxes poetic about how we’re all thieving little witches and he’ll show us the errors we’ve made, before choking on whatever cigar he’s chewing drowning himself in a bottle of brandy.” Easter made them all roll their eyes, the one time she and Adrienne could actually agree, when their father started his usual nonsense. “It would be best this was handled before then.” Emma, naturally, had no problem putting a price tag on this. Her brother’s safety surpassed the value of her father’s life, and while Christian may not understand it, as the eldest Frost, he would receive the financial security he would need for divorcing his wife and supporting the children in the end. Emma already had the man’s businesses, Christian might as well get the bulk of inheritance. “Leave the harlots be, before Easter,” Killian nodded, making note of both points. That was all doable, since killing vapid airheads attracted to money and power (it certainly wasn’t Winston’s charm that led extramarital affairs to his bed) seemed a bit unnecessary. Likely they’d just find some other crotchety fellow with Benjamin’s to throw around and move on. “And this does sound like I get to be creative. Really brings out the artist in me.” Normally he’d have used Dreamshade poison and called it a day - he still had a few small vials, extracted from the plant courtesy of Morrigan - and it was perfect if one needed to induce a heart attack or asphyxiation. More meant for a slow death, since it would land the person in the hospital with doctors unable to figure out what was wrong. But Emma clearly wanted something quick - also nothing related to medicine and health, which he made note of. “Does he have his will all situated?” Killian asked then. “Do his children get equal shares, as it stands?” He could certainly see taking care of this problem before anything was changed regarding inheritance. Didn’t want the fucker to have the last laugh, after all. If there was something Emma could appreciate, it was art. And if that art just happened to be in creatively manufacturing a death trap, well, it was still art. She wasn’t about to ask Killian just how he intended to do it, purely because you should never see the cake before the big reveal, and should it come down to it, a surprise was easier to sell for an innocent party. “As it stands, Christian inherits a bulk, as the heir apparent and the sole male, it was always expected that he would carry on our father’s legacy. Each of his children already have their trusts set aside. Adrienne, Cordelia and myself have an even share of our father’s wealth and my mother has her allowance in place.” Considering Hazel came from money, she didn’t exactly need an allowance of sorts, but it was there for her, like a retirement scheme, or simply her earned wealth from putting up with Winston. “I’m fairly certain my father always hoped that Christian would come to his senses, that he would start vying for more control of the business, give my father back some power. But that’s just not his nature.” Christian could’ve been Emma’s partner at any time, instead he opted to run their textiles business in San Diego rather than any of the corporations. “If that changes, there’s the chance that my father will name Adrienne as his successor and she’ll claw for anything she can get.” Emma had assets to protect from Adrienne, more so than even Cordy. Hmmm. “Then we best ensure the old man doesn’t have a chance to change anything, to keep Christian as the heir apparent and keep the rest away from your harpy sister,” Killian said, pen scritching on the paper. Oh yes, this was going to be fun indeed. But first he needed a wee bit of background information - for most jobs, he’d do a little skulking around, see what was what, what the schedule was like, the day to day events. However, in the interest of cooking up something before Easter, he’d just cut to the chase. “Tell me where he spends his time, mainly. His extracurriculars and things of that nature - this is in Boston, isn’t it?” Traveling for a job was delightful too, and he’d been to Boston a couple of times. It held significance in his dreams as well. “Boston, yes. Father rarely strays from what he knows. He still holds a little bit of sway with some local companies, he has a business address where he tends to spend his time, I can get that for you. Then there’s his penthouse in the city, which is probably where the hussy he’s entertaining stays.” It wasn’t exactly difficult to piece together her father’s schedule. He was a creature of habit, and one that tried to be sneaky and failed. “There is the gym, which is a glorified sweat house really. He’s a member of a very exclusive gym, local celebrities, social elite, that kind of thing. Father pretends he’s keeping a healthy and active lifestyle, really he spends about an hour in the sauna bitching with his fellow old farts, or privately entertaining some up and coming model.” It wasn’t like he didn’t live up to the cliche wherever he could after all. “Is driven literally everywhere, but the turn over for his drives is fairly high. He complains a lot and likes to fire people.” Oooh, sauna. That was the magic world for Killian. Roasting to death in one of those probably wouldn’t be too pleasant, would it? It would also be easy to arrange for a ‘malfunction’ in the equipment - Mr. Winston Frost would be left (ironically, with a last name like Frost) with charred, blackened skin that resembled beef jerky. What a shame it would be, what a terrible accident. His mind was whirling with possibilities, as he put the pen down and reached over to grasp his glass and take a quick drink. “That’s perfect, love, I can work with that,” he decided. “I’ll get in touch with some associates over in that area, get a general feel for say - the gym he goes to.” Coils in the machine itself, the timer - anything could go wrong there. Anything would be messed with. “And what of the girlfriend?” Killian wanted to know. “You’re still planning to tell her?” Whatever came of her father would not be something Emma wept over. He could face the most excruciating death and Emma would still firmly believe he deserved it. The man may not have been a violent, drunk SOB like some had to deal with, but the marks he left were far too deep to heal regardless. If Killian found a way for it to be decidedly unpleasant, well, that was just the icing on the cake. “The pitfalls of being with a telepath, darling,” Emma just had to smirk around her glass. She could easily remove the memory from Jean, but Jean would know that she’d done it, and there would be doubt, there would be questions and Emma couldn’t possibly explain without revealing what she would have removed, and thus the point would be missed. “Lying to her would be worse than just telling her anyway, at least this way I’m being honest and she can make the decision herself. If I hide it… Well, I’m putting the nails in a coffin on my own, aren’t I?” “Aye, something like that.” Killian had to concur - honesty was always the best policy in a relationship, a serious one. Otherwise those old, haunting lies would just come back to bite you in the arse and cause problems down the road. “I imagine being with a mindreader also means you don’t get to hide much - at least she can’t accuse you of secrecy in the relationship,” he chuckled. He paused, pouring himself a bit more rum. Cutting back on the drinking had happened, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been fall over drunk, which was probably a good thing, But he did enjoy a strong dose of something every now and again. “I do hope this won’t put a snag in your relationship or anything,” he said honestly. “I’d hate for you to lose her, since it’s obvious you care quite a bit for each other.” It didn’t have to be an insurmountable obstacle though. Emma was a victim of abuse, her brother and sisters also. This was her handling the situation, getting closure - her partner may not agree with the method, but hopefully she could at least understand the motive. From one thing to the next, keeping things from Jean wasn’t just hard, it felt off. They’d opened their minds, and through that all their secrets to each other, and Emma knew it strengthened them. Dealing with the dreams, with Emma’s lies and deceit, with her manipulation, her relationship with Scott, it was something they’ve overcome because of their shared bond. “It was complicated enough explaining my disconnected arm, and why I hid it.” But at least that time she was protecting Jean in a fashion. There was a heavy sigh, and Emma didn’t really bother minding just how much she drank, she could call someone to collect her and her car after all, alternatively, driving diamond would negate all alcoholic effects. But there was a little question on it, if Jean would be able to cope, knowing. Or if Emma was saving her brother as the expense of her relationship. “I’ve redeemed myself once, with less incentive.” Because she hadn’t exactly been in love with Jean when she’d rebranded herself a hero, had she, “I dare say I can manage again.” And if she couldn’t, well, it was better Jean know this now. Just what Emma was capable of, just what she’d do to protect her loved ones. Even if it wasn’t the right thing to do per say. “Jean and I were school girl friends, however. She knew my father’s tactics even then.” So maybe… Maybe Emma could daydream a little about Jean accepting that Emma just made the hard decisions that few people had the stomach for. “And some people just are not good parents - they were never meant to be parents, were never even interested. For some people, this is perhaps...what they deserve,” Killian mused and, certainly, you’d have the do-gooders bleating about who are you to judge what others and do not deserve, but it was still a cold, hard fact. Sometimes murder really was the answer - that was just the way things went. Not every cookie crumbled the same way. The cap of the rum bottle was unscrewed again, and he topped off Emma’s glass. Nowhere else to be, really, so he didn’t mind staying and potentially sleeping it off. He had a few other cases going now, though this was obviously the biggest and would lend way to the biggest payoff - he wouldn’t have to take on new ones for a bit afterward. He’d be able to spend more time with Meara, which was the beauty of his job - it went in waves. “Well, I can promise that I’ll do my best for you, love. Once it’s done I’ll be in touch. Though you can also expect to read about it in the papers, I’m sure.” A man that powerful and important, dying so suddenly? It’d make good gossip fodder. Neither of her parents struck her as particularly loving. Maybe Hazel could’ve been different, in another life, maybe with a different husband she could’ve amounted to something else, but Winston wasn’t built for it, he wanted power, he wanted control, not children. Just pawns, just a legacy. He wasn’t getting what he wanted from them though. That much was for sure. Maybe that was why Emma was trying to not be so cold hearted and manipulative? Break the cycle. “I have the utmost confidence in you, dear.” She wouldn’t have entertained the notion otherwise. But no, Killian was good at what he did, and Emma wasn’t worried about failure or exposure. “If my sister doesn’t call me wailing first.” It did allow Emma to simply go about her life, continue as normal. Nothing to see there, she wasn’t in the slightest involved. Killian was pleased to have that confidence in him - he’d been at this awhile, after all, and it was just who he was to some degree. Even felt like he’d been at this for centuries sometimes, no thanks to his very vivid dreams. He’d killed men for doing loads less than what Winston Frost had done - so with the upcoming assignment in front of him, he wasn’t particularly perturbed. They’d just have to see what happened next, how the aftermath was handled. “After all this is said and done, you can relax a little,” he noted. “Get rid of the stress, the old pain and start anew with everything. He won’t be able to hurt his own bloody kids anymore.” It might look a little odd if she took a holiday or something, right around the time her old man croaked. But mentally, having his toxic influence out of her life would certainly make things better in many ways. Winston’s hold on Emma was purely psychological by this point. She’d already taken his company, his power, his control over his business. She’d excelled in ways he’d never believed she could, begged, borrowed and stolen what she wanted and rose to the place atop his empire, kicking him from his pedestal as she did. But it didn’t give her full control, and Winston could still twist up those portions of Emma that she loathed and was sure made her weak. The places that scar tissue would never heal, not least of all because of the damage that man could still do to his children. “And your assistance in the matter will be greatly rewarded.” Stress was not something Emma was looking to add in her life -she lived in Orange County, she got enough stress without family matters adding to it. After all, she had the money to make problems go away, and she learned very early that money was exactly how you made problems disappear. |