WHO:Emma Frost & Killian Jones WHEN: Early this week WHERE: Victrola (Emma's office there) WHAT: The final details of Killian's job for Emma. WARNINGS: Discussions of pre-planned murder STATUS: Complete
Keeping up appearances over the course of the last few weeks had been complex. As much as Emma had every confidence in Killian’s talents it didn’t really stop semi-anxious thoughts on occasions when she had time to herself, like sitting in her office at Victrola, drumming her fingers on the table while contemplating how events could possibly play out.
She was already anticipating anything Adrienne could possibly try, making sure Christian was completely out of the loop, still attempting to convince him to not tell their father rather than pretend it wouldn’t make a difference. Emma was nothing if not thorough.
Having received the call from her mother’s lawyers -not her mother, because that would involve some emotion, and Hazel was probably far too medicated to even attempt such things- Emma was aware that Winston had been declared deceased. How was still a blank for the moment, as the lawyers weren’t discussing such matters until things had been cleared with the medical examiner and the police.
Drumming her perfectly manicured nails on her desk, getting absolutely no work done at all, but it wasn’t really a big deal.
Killian couldn’t recall ever having been to Victrola, but now was a good a time as any. Come to think of it, he believed he’d enjoy it more anyway - strip clubs were all well and good, but burlesque dancers were artists. They always kept things fresh and interesting, they wanted to be there, and one of the best parts was that their tits were always real - fake breasts didn’t spin tassels the same way real ones did, and thank the gods for those authentic chest pillows.
Seeing the ‘kittens,’ who swept up glitter and pasties and set the stage in between numbers, didn’t hurt either.
But business first, pleasure later. Heading into the club, he informed the bouncer he was here for a dinner date with Emma while she was working - he’d brought food, of course, takeout from the nearby Lebanese place that made a solid shawarma - then just went straight into her office. After knocking first, since it was polite. Despite all the stress, he could at least make sure she ate something.
“Just me,” he announced - the spicy scent of sumac and roasted meat a tempting mix. “I’m going to guess you don’t have dinner plans?”
Most of the time, no one really bothered her when she was in the office, the occasional issue was brought to her attention but that was it. Killian wasn’t a massive surprise visit, but a welcome one nonetheless. “You would guess correctly.” She didn’t actually realise it was around that time either.
“C’mon in, make yourself comfortable.” She’d changed Chuck’s office into something more her style; glass desk with the white leather chair, the love seat in a soft winter white with some silver cushions and a throw, the coffee table to match her desk, crystal lamps and some tasteful art. She still had the panel of two-way mirror to let her see downstairs but kept matters upstairs private. Emma didn’t really do understated.
“I assume this is business as much as pleasure?”
“Aye, that it would be,” Killian said as he set the bag of delicious takeaway on the coffee table - it was all so fancy in here, and very white, but fitting for someone who had once called herself the White Queen. Plastic silverware was all included, and he also brought bottles of Lebanese beer - modeled after an Irish-style red, he really couldn’t resist. Those went onto coasters on the glass (he would use a coaster, yes, he wasn’t that much of a heathen with bad manners).
He slipped out of his leather jacket, hanging that up on a hook so he didn’t just fling his clothes everywhere in Emma’s pristine office. “I’ll get right down to business while we dig in, then. You’ve obviously heard that your father’s dead - and it was nothing that required the attention of medical professionals, nothing suspicious. Merely an accident - just as you wanted.”
An arranged accident, but written off as some sort of fluke all the same - not the first time this had happened either; apparently there were certain dangers that came along with saunas. He’d give Emma the details (some, not all - they ought to keep their dinner down) if she wished.
“Unsurprisingly, everything was being kept very hush hush,” and she knew that it would be like that until the lawyers could get her mother to show a little bit of emotion, off her medication long enough that the woman could emote anything really, likely the others would be informed soon after. “But that’s standard for us Frost’s, nothing really out of the ordinary.”
Taking a seat, tucking in to the provided food and oh, beer, it would make a nice change from the wine she always ordered herself out of habit. There was something to be said for other people making the choices sometimes. But only sometimes. “I expect my sister will be wailing down the phone at me tomorrow when she catches up with things, Christian will likely be the only one with many questions.”
Because he was just so damn ethical, the sweet boy that he still was.
“Thank you,” the efficiency, the delicate nature, all of it was very risky, Emma knew that much when she’d openly considered Killian’s offer. But even people capable of murder for money had a set of morals, and Emma was very thankful that Killian’s ran in the same vein her own did. “You are truly a knight in tarnished leather.”
Well, that was one description he hadn’t heard before. Killian laughed a little, a grin flickering across his features, a flash of pearly teeth. “Of course, love. I wouldn’t offer for just anyone,” he said, around bites of shawarma. So bloody tasty - he could eat this all day, every day. Along with plantains and typical Spanish food, which he and Regina enjoyed on occasion. They must like it, if they planned to have it for their wedding reception on the Roger.
“It was - “ Killian paused. “A sauna accident, shall we say. And likely not a pleasant nor peaceful end for him. But I got the job done. No one else was in there with him.” He may have an interesting moral code, but he wasn’t about to murder innocents caught up with a twat such as the formerly breathing Winston Frost.
The speciality of her relationships with people wasn’t lost on Emma at all. But she figured that she would benefit better with the kinds she was creating anyway. “You know what’s weird?” And it wasn’t the shawarma, even the beer was a surprisingly good even if she wouldn’t have paired them herself. “I actually felt a little bad, when the call came, my stomach actually dropped.”
She knew, fundamentally, that she would get a call of that nature, that someone would be calling to inform her, she’d need to see her mother, call her siblings, the whole thing. She knew it was coming, and still it hit her a little oddly.
“Still, he deserved it, and I glad he finally got to feel that finally.” She didn’t really want quick and painless, not for him. “I knew you’d do it seamlessly, thank you. I’ll have your consulting fee tied up shortly.”
“It’s not weird,” Killian assured. “When I dreamed, my father was a completely worthless drunk who sold me and my brother into slavery so he could go off and have the life he wanted for himself.” Obviously not shackled down by the burdens of raising children - it made the Captain sick just to think of. “I killed him years later, and yet...I remember feeling a sadness too.” So it would make sense that Emma would feel something churning in her gut upon hearing that her own father was dead - those parental ties didn’t just disappear.
Perhaps because...humans were creatures who wanted their parents to be the heroes they envisioned. It was always disappointing, as a child, when they got dealt a shitty hand in that regard.
Taking a swig of his beer, he asked, “And what of the girlfriend? Does she now know about everything?”
Winston wasn’t an ideal father in either world, she hadn’t needed to murder her father in that place, just her elder sister, but that would turn out however it happened to turn out. Either way, she would’ve thought herself prepared to deal with the weird sense of sadness.
“Too late to go back, not that I would, I don’t think.” She knew she couldn’t undo what she’d asked for, she didn’t think she’d have changed her mind either way though. Dealing with Winston Frost had to be a firm and irreversible matter. Giving him any wiggle room would later be her undoing. And she could take the guilt if it meant Christian was okay. “I suppose at least I feel something.” She’d gone far too many periods of diamond lately that meant she felt nothing.
But Jean… Jean would be the real test, to see just what kind of person Emma could actually be. “She’ll find out later, when I’ve processed how to tell her I just facilitated the murder of my father.” Secrets were not going to work between the pair of them, Emma had held back more than usual from their bond lately. “I’m a little worried, I’ll admit.” Because Jean was the basis of X-Men’s ethics, the goodness that carried through them. Patricide was probably frowned on.
“Aye, and your brother is going to be alright - maybe now he can live his life in peace, and it won’t matter that he happens to like men. You all can live your lives in peace,” Killian added - well, as peaceful as it ever got around here.
The girlfriend was a different matter entirely - he had sort of picked up on the fact that Emma would be worried, else she likely wouldn’t even have mentioned what Jean would think at all. Or she wouldn’t bother to tell the other woman. But telepathy, as Emma mentioned, and the fact that if it was a serious relationship that meant the truth ought to come out. You couldn’t keep something like this from your partner.
“It might cause some problems,” he agreed - they both knew it, no sense in sugarcoating. Especially if Jean was more on the black and white, good and evil, things can be divided up as such way of thinking. “But in a way, it just goes to show that you’ll move mountains to protect the people you love. That can be thought of as something of an admirable trait.” Emma hadn’t hired someone to kill her father just because. She’d done it mostly to keep her brother safe. And who knows, maybe Jean would surprise her. Everyone had a bit of darkness to them, even if it was hidden.
If Christian could have a semblance of a life, whatever life he wanted, without worrying about their father, then Emma knew that she would happily live with the slight stain. Winston was not the first death at her behest, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t be the last. But Emma wasn’t about to see her brother end up like he had in her dream world.
“Move mountains, destroy memories, snuggle puppies, kill people.” If she really thought about it, was there anything Emma wouldn’t do for those she cared for? Since there were not many of them. She cherished her friends more than some family members, and even being younger, she had a very strong protective urge towards Christian.”She’ll accept it or she won’t, I suppose is the best way to look at things.” They’d gotten through some tense things before though.
And Emma knew that Jean loved her, she could feel it in their bond, in the mental link they shared. Just the same as Jean undoubtedly knew that Emma loved her the same. They were just from vastly different childhoods with different views on just how to handle things. “I may be needing more alcohol for this.”
Killian understood - there was no doubt that he’d kill, if he had to, in order to protect his sister. They shared a father and the fucker was already dead, but if he tried any similar manipulative bullshit like Winston Frost? Well, let’s just say reality would be mirroring his crapshow dreams. He also couldn’t guarantee anything if her mother showed up here - it was possible he’d restrain himself, since Galina was simply a money-grubbing hag who had essentially driven her daughter away and not particularly dangerous, but he’d see. He didn’t take kindly to people hurting his family.
“Alcohol is a requirement, love,” he chuckled with dark humour, getting the last drop of beer in the bottle after tipping his head back to catch everything. A shame he didn’t bring more with him, but he had to drive home, after all. “I’ve a feeling you and your ladyfriend will weather the storm though. And I’m here if you need anything else - even if it’s just a listening ear this time.”
No jobs or favours required - he’d be an agony aunt for free, even.
Hopefully all would work out, and if she needed to rebuild trust with Jean then so be it, but she wasn’t prepared to leave some things to chance, and this was one of them. “You are quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” What more could you want in a business associate? Discrete, goes the extra mile, provides food and a shoulder to whine on?
At least family Easter would be much more sedate this year, although Emma was already dreading the black clothes and how they would drain her. “I don’t suppose you fancy making the funeral arrangements too?” Those would just be a joke, really. Everyone sobbing over someone they didn’t even like.
Oh, bloody hell. Killian could just imagine. “I’m not particularly good at funeral arrangements, especially for shitstains on humanity,” he laughed dryly. His own father didn’t even really have a funeral - who would have come? The man wasn’t particularly well-liked. It wasn’t as if his own sons mourned him very much either. Liam had mostly handled the affairs though, like the dutiful person he was.
For Killian planning his brother’s funeral though, a different matter entirely. Being grief-stricken made the whole process unbearable. It wasn’t like that now, at least.
“However, I’d be glad to provide the alcohol for after - you know, throughout the planning as well, and dealing with both family and the funeral parlour alike.” It might have to be a closed casket event too - Winston wouldn’t have looked so great after his demise. What a shame.
“I think leaving you on the alcohol provisions is a good idea.” Because yes, she was going to need some to get her through all this. Between her mother and her wailing and Adrienne’s prodding, the constant barrage of fake mourners, people attempting to muscle in on the gap in the company Winston’s death would leave, no. It would be far too complex to get through entirely sober.
“Thankfully it’ll be a short trip to Boston and that might be the end of it.” Maybe then she could put her family aside, choose who she dealt with and move on with life. The way she wanted.
“For your sake, I rather hope so,” Killian toasted Emma with his empty beer bottle, a gesture of camaraderie. He knew what it was like to have to deal with a shitty father - but he also knew what it was like to have that weight off your shoulders too. With Winston not getting a chance to change his will like he would have if he’d heard his only son’s revelation, Christian would still be the heir - and so he’d likely get a company and a chunk of money from the ordeal. Money didn’t solve every problem. But you’d be a fool to say that it certainly didn’t hurt either.
And Emma would get peace of mind. Once they crossed this funeral hurdle, but it was no big deal. The worst was already over.