Who: Garrett Hawke & Emma Frost What: Discussing Emma's recent arm situation and cosmic deities When: Tonight, probs Where: Victrola Rating/Warning: Nothing terrible Status: Complete!
Changes to Victrola had been minimal, Emma had changed the office, largely because her taste was far more refined than Chuck’s, the general layout out was the same while Emma had altered just a few things around the place, costume design for one thing. If she had to see one more girl with tape on their boobs she’d scream. A small expense account for investment in ridiculously sparkly nipple tassles was worth it in Emma’s opinion.
Running the bar was at least a small distraction from matters at the moment, between Christian, her dreams and her father, Emma needed to keep herself busy. To the point of doing her own inventory rather than asking Tyler or Kate to do it.
She didn’t need to be entirely involved in the day to day runnings, but she was paying for this stuff, so best to work out what they needed. Especially a restock after St Patrick’s Day. It was quiet for the moment, just one of the workers on the bar, Giselle on the stage and Mona as backup for later.
If there was one thing that Emma would change, it would be the music, the same old tired soundtrack appeared to play every single time. She’d need to mention to the girls about changing their damn music.
A burlesque club, how lovely - probably ten times more respectable than The Rear End (he had an attachment to that stripclub as it was, and that little bit of sleaze made it so charming but not on STD levels), and considering the owner Hawke was assured it exuded class.
In his flannel shirt and stylishly disheveled hair, his first approach was to the bar to scope out their drinks and oh, look, a blonde meticulously thumbing through the goods. He had recognized her instantly with her habit of sucking up the attention in the room, and it’d been such a long while that he had seen her in person that he’d made sure to remedy that, soon.
Considering all the nonsense she’d been going through, bloody hell.
“Hard at work, I see,” he voiced, sliding into a stool. “Take a break from all that ritzy CEO work or are you avoiding all your problems by being busy?”
For the most part, Emma would laugh at the differences between a proper stripclub and the burlesque club. For all that people thought a strip bar sleazy, the clients were usually just people that wanted to blow off some steam with a little light entertainment. This was a rich person’s stripclub, where certain married rich men pawed at girls like they were entitled to it.
Putting a stop to that came very easily for a telepath with rather surgical mental precision.
“I didn’t realise you were moonlighting as a therapist.” Emma just raised a meticulously groomed eyebrow at Hawke, smirking just ever so slightly, because obviously, it was clear she was avoiding having free time -at least until Jean was available to distract her. “Shall I get you a drink, or would you like to offer some insight for my avoidance therapy?” Sometimes she just needed a break from the constant drege of paperwork and contacts.
“Hmmmmmm,” came the sound of thought, rumbling from the depths of his throat as his beard was stroked so thoughtfully. “Both, perhaps? Surprise me with your absolute best cocktail.” Hawke hadn’t been around too much before and he regretted it, but he was determined to be there if she needed a shoulder or some outside perspective. Sometimes he could see things with a little more clarity after discussions with someone not native to his dreamscape.
He took swivel in his stool, taking in the rest of club, before turning back. “Lovely investment. I’ve heard of this place before but never had the chance of stopping by.”
Normally, Emma would get one of the staff to pour something, but it wasn’t like she was utterly high class and unwilling to do anything. Pouring him a Singapore Sling for the cheek just seemed like the way to go, she was a little sorry she’d thrown out those terrible little cocktail umbrellas now. “I can’t say just how introspective we’ll be getting today, I’m all in one piece again so we’ve been keeping that to the minimal.” At least the dream bleed over there had managed to limit itself a little to let her adjust from that fun.
“Thank you, by the way, for the offer of helping.” She couldn’t imagine that blood magic was typically comfortable, let alone the idea of her having to be flesh and blood for the duration of it. Thank God for Hank McCoy.
“There’s been a few minor alterations, I did buy it from a business friend who opted to take a break from Orange County. His tastes weren’t utterly tacky.” Just a little on the opulent side for even Emma to put up with constantly. And she was a woman who turned into diamond.
Ah, gin. It’s cologne scent paired well with the fruity juices, and yes, an umbrella would have really been fitting for it. “I’m happy to see someone was able to lend assistance,” Hawke told her, testing the flavor of the drink. “And that you’re whole once again, but my talents are available to you should you ever need them.” There was magic in his blood, and why he thought the school of actual blood magic was dangerously fascinating and powerful - it was life itself, the rawest form. Equal parts fatal and healing.
“It’s a good investment, this place - anywhere with alcohol is, considering all that we experience does drive us to copious amounts of drinking,” the mage tacked on. “Do you plan to be a presence around here or will you give the management reigns to someone else?”
“Yes, a rather brilliant scientific friend.” She supposed, given that Hank was dreaming, eventually they’d be considered friends, for now she considering him at least that, “Science, machines, the brilliance that it is.” There was a tiny, microscopic line where her arm had been rejoined, a small, thin barely visible scar around her upper arm that really blended in just fine with her skin tone. In her diamond form it was almost impossible to see unless you knew what to look for. Frankly, she was thankful that it had been relatively painless and she could comfort Jean with that fact.
As interested as Emma might be in Hawke’s magic, the notion of the pain that might be involved in returning flesh while being in two parts would likely be enough for her to call Jean and the Phoenix first.
“Well, I can’t say I didn’t have a little inspiration in the purchase, alcohol and attractive women, what else could a person want in distraction?” Because yes, people around here did tend to need it, and alcohol might not be the best coping method, but it worked. “I suppose I might stick around,” largely, her companies needed a little oversight, her boards were terrified of her since she’d exploited some of her telepathic abilities and Emma needed a new challenge. “It’s fun having something my own, and not just ruining my father’s life by being extraordinarily successful at his game.” Frost International was her father’s baby, and Emma had nurtured it in ways he could not, largely dismantling and rebuilding the brand. But Victrola was just… well, hers.
Yes, yes, she had mentioned the concept of science as her saving grace - it was fascinating, really, considering how saturated their home was with all kinds of magic already. To see solutions brought by something else was rarity, but Hawke welcomed it. There were many things the arcane powers could not fix.
“I’d imagine this wouldn’t involve workplace betrayals, and very little office politics,” Garrett said. Most of it in his experience was typically the catty interactions between workers, someone slept with this person and oh no, there’s a scandalous pregnancy - and other times the amount of blow that was sometimes spilled in the bathroom like it was fucking snowing, but in the scheme of things it was all so much more preferable than massive corporation. “Arguably less stress as well. Making time for the more personal aspects of life, love? How’re you and your beloved doing?”
Workplace politics for Emma largely were betrayals of some kind, either she was stabbing some board member in the back or they were trying to screw her out of her own company. She had a feeling that it would be wrapping up, obtaining controlling power of the entire business wouldn’t be hard when it passed to Christian, but for now she had to play like she didn’t know she was going to win.
But for the most part, Victrola didn’t have that. Kate and Tyler seemed to get along well, the girls on the stage were occasionally catty but rarely to the point of fights over anything and her clientele were a little less secretive about what they were shoving up their noses. The number of times she’d watched a businessman not so covertly get himself high in the month and a half she’d own the club was near laughable. “I think the only changes seem to be the amount of clothes the girls wear when they bitch at each other.” The number of ‘dramas’ in the club were fewer at least.
The mention of Jean naturally had Emma giving a small, conspiratorial smile, “Yes, well, when wooing a competitive redhead, one has to make extra time.” Her relationship with Jean was surprisingly strong, and it was surprising because Emma would’ve expected she’d have messed something up by now, just because of their conflicting personalities. But it did seem that she and Jean were able to overcome some rather difficult hurdles through sheer stubbornness. “We’re good, yes, we’re great.” At least currently, they’d see how well that went following the tragic accident of Winston’s demise. “Apparently there’s something to that whole don’t keep secrets and share everything spiel you hear.”
Ah, yes, there truly was something to that saying, wasn’t there? Hawke had never considered himself a particularly difficult person - that mantle went to his wife, you see, and her penchant of being an utter and complete commitment phobe. Things changed. Clearly. A lot of it was honesty, sharing burdens, all that nonsense.
“Happy to hear,” he laughed, mouth widened into a grin - there went the dimples, denting his scruffy cheeks. “What a concept though, isn’t it? How did she take your little dismemberment issue, by the way? I’m sure by now she knows you opted for the scientific option and not the cosmic fire one.”
“Graciously,” Emma was sure that Jean would understand not asking for yet more cosmic interference, with the number of times they’d lost her to that fire bird, Jean no doubt knew Emma’s concerns with relying on the fuckery here. And Henry was Henry, smart, steadfast Dr McCoy, she’d later dreamed that he was indeed the one to reattach her arm in the dreams, giving her the full range of her body back again, with his own little creation specifically for the purpose. “She was, of course upset to start, but… She’s died enough for a million lifetimes.”
Probably Jean’s curse, being so powerful, so kind, she was the ideal host for a cosmic rebirth entity that occasionally went mad and attempted to kill the world. Nothing Jean couldn’t handle, but so much that Emma couldn’t. “My beloved appears to have a constant stream of dying laid out before her, and much of it is Phoenix and her claim on Jean. I think I shall continue to avoid that here, even if it means a little diamond discomfort from time to time.”
Then the whole ‘died enough for a million lifetimes’ was no exaggeration. “With something called Phoenix in the picture, there wouldn’t be a chance of some kind of rebirth?” he asked, a manscaped brow raised. Not that it would justify any death, but his inquiry was more out of plain curiosity. “Sounds bloody dangerous, love. There’s no way to free her from that hold?”
Granted, he didn’t really know much of what Phoenix was. His deduction skills lead to the assumption that it was, indeed, that aforementioned cosmic fire - it sounded otherworldly, mind-boggling, and a bit terrifying.
The Phoenix Force was such a double edged blade that sometimes it was hard to hate the cosmic entity, and then other times it was so easy. Considering what they’d been put through with Jean, the number of times they’d dealt with forces wanting to kill her, or the Force getting too much of a taste for life and wanting to rule it all.
“To an extent. She’s a cosmic entity of balance, death and rebirth, light and dark. But she’s eternal, and she requires food. She feeds on suns. And once she’s obliterated that, she goes somewhere to gift life. But in the meantime millions die when a sun is consumed.” And the way the Phoenix ate up things, there were plenty of beings in the Galaxy who didn’t approve of the cosmic force being free. “She changes Jean, it’s… Complex, but ultimately, the power corrupts, and slowly Jean fades away, until the Phoenix is all that’s left, and she needs to be stopped.”
And then Logan or the Shi’ar or someone need to kill her and Jean goes with it. Emma gave a small, sad smile, “And that seems to be the destiny of Jean Grey.”
Andraste’s tits.
“That’s -” Now both brows flared up, unsure what to really say. Apologies were redundant. Hawke knew of the mutant life and struggle from Wisdom, but this entire concept seemed beyond that. “I take it strides have been taken to try and prevent such a thing from happening? In what you dream, I meant - perhaps there’s some kind of key in how those events fold that could help it not happen here. I for one like our sun the way it is, and I damn well know you like your love the way she is.”
Uncorrupted by some godly force with an appetite for a celestial ball of fire, preferably, yes?
“So far, so good.” She wasn’t sure if it was just because the Phoenix hadn’t fully reached them, or just because Emma was adamant in limiting Jean’s use of the firebird. But so far, Jean only exhibited a few outward signs of Phoenix’s power, like when she pieced Emma back together after she’d shattered in the dreams. Handy, sure. But yes, Emma liked her love not psychotically power hungry and celestial.
“A… co-dreamer is helping keep an eye on things. We’ll have a heads up should it start and, well, there are devices that we’ve had before, we can contain, not stop, but contain.” Or perhaps split, like her darling little Cuckoo girls did.
“Then I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you,” Hawke insisted with a less jovial tone - there were times he could be serious. Rare, really, because he was the epitome of awful jokes during awful times and opted for sarcasm during times of stress, but if anything went awry it’d take a toll on Frost too. “That’s a lot of potential shit that could come your way. And knowing that there’s a pattern of shit things that tend to happen to someone you love - it’ll take a hit at you without mercy too.”
See, Emma might have wanted to avoid any sort of therapeutic discussions but he was dragging it out of her a little. If she ever needed a beard or shoulder to cry those diamond tears into he’d oblige - he doubted she’d take up the offer in that sort of drastic sense, but. It was there.
Getting dangerously close to emotional baggage was something Emma tended to avoid. And while being with Jean was a lot of emotional baggage -which she’d already seen in Scott through their dreams- Emma chose to carry on because of her love for Jean, astounding as it was. And these things in the dreams did hit her hard; especially when Jean was dying for the entire world.
“You’re a darling,” and she said that sincerely, because if she had to face the truth, she didn’t really have a lot of friends she could turn to for support of that kind. Logan, maybe. But that just about summed it up. “And thank you, at least I know who will help me hide bodies.” Which was a joke, but actually kind of true in a sense too. But mostly a joke.
Garrett combed his fingers through his hair, undoing those natural short curls at the end of it. “You jest, but…” There was a chuckle and a motion was made with his hand to signify anything but, of course. He had spilled blood. Maybe not as much as he had in Thedas (considering he was Kirkwall’s errand boy), but he was capable of it and much more.
Anyway, he winked, and polished off the rest of the Singapore sling. “Can I steal you away for a more thorough tour? I promise to not steal any of your girls for the Rear End. I’m sure their clientele here is much more preferred as it is.”
“Well the grand tour is the best part.” Okay, so that mental note was officially made, and Emma didn’t find it surprising in the least that she made those kind of friends, the ones that, ultimately, knew that a little mess wasn’t a bad thing. “Wait until you see the costumes.” Because obviously there were costumes.
“But I warn you,” even as she slid out from the bar, leading towards the back of the club, “there is glitter, and you might leave with some.”