WHO:Emma Frost & Kate Bishop WHEN: (backdated) late June WHERE: Victrola WHAT: Phoenix gets the best of Emma, Kate witnesses WARNINGS: implications of skeevy man, murder of said skeevy man STATUS: Complete
Victrola was usually a fairly steady place, there was a constant stream of entertainment from the girls on stage, Emma was even looking into a few nights to have as ladies nights with some stunning male entertainment, the bar turned a comfortable profit and the staff all seemed content. It suited Emma immensely.
The problem right now was the clientele. Or, one in particular. She’d been hearing his thoughts the whole time he was there, the degrading notions he had towards the women, and she wondered just why he was in her establishment and not on a street corner picking up someone, considering his tastes. She let it go for a little while, drowning him out with the girls, then other people, a little work.
But when his attention turned to the bar staff, Emma snapped a pen in her hand and her waste paper basket started to smolder. Well then, that ruled out ignoring him. Her mind was hyperfocused on him, where he was, at the bar, calling the staff baby and leering. She knew she’d explode into flame if she went downstairs from her office just yet, so she waited. Confident that one of her girls would call her if needed.
Kate was behind the bar. It wasn’t packed, but it definitely wasn’t dead in here. It’d been a pretty good night. And on these nights, the tips were usually best--Kate had a chance to flirt and chat up with the current customers, and they liked that. Tips were better when she could give her customers one on one attention.
But then she had the guy with the hungry eyes. She tried not to pay too much attention to him at first, but he was hard to ignore. Kate gave him his whiskey, his beer chaser, and then went to try and help another customer when his hand wrapped around her wrist to pull her back to him. Kate tugged her hand gently away.
Tapping her nails on her desk, Emma sat staring blankly at the wall, focusing almost entirely on the scumbag that had wandered into her bar. His mind was an easy read, a disgusting and easy read. The commentary when he grabbed Kate’s wrist, the images that plodded their way through his perverted little mind had Emma scoring marks into her desk with her nails. And she wasn’t even diamond.
She made the decision then and there that fire or not, she was going downstairs, grabbing the blazer to match her white pant suit, her silk ice blue shirt didn’t need to be stained with whatever fluid might bleed from ears when she got near this filth.
“Mrs Barton, a martini please.” She didn’t need to muscle her way into the bar, since people literally stepped away for her, either because she subconsciously made them or because they knew better. And not surprisingly, the space beside the skeezebag was empty.
Kate’s heart was pumping a little harder than normal. Situations like this were both her worst nightmare, and something she’d been training and preparing for her entire adult life. She’d done her best to turn herself into a walking weapon so that if another scumball tried to put a hand on her, she could break it off at the wrist. It was a little difficult when she was at work, and was supposed to be professional. She was supposed to keep her mind on work, but then she had this ass hole for a distraction. Her boss arriving on the scene made her even more nervous and distracted.
Martini. She could focus on that. “Absolutely, Ms. Frost.” She said, and tore herself away from the drunk for a moment so she could focus on the drink. Shaker, ice, vodka, olives. She could do this.
Emma didn’t turn her attention to the arsehole beside her, she didn’t need to look at him to know that he was watching every single move that Kate made, or to see just what he was imagining with that perverted mind. Emma detested heavy handed men, drunk or not, it was a poor excuse for males believing they were entitled to be serviced just because they wanted to be.
It was clear that Emma emphasising Kate’s married state didn’t even break through the drunken, entitled haze either. Even implanting some subliminal messages on just how disgusting he was didn’t seem to do the trick to get him to wander off. Instead he leaned further forward to leer at Kate more.
Unfortunately, after Kate finished mixing the martini, she dropped a spare toothpick (y’know, useful for spearing olives and the like) onto the floor. After passing over the drink and tidying up the bottles, she bent down to pick up the toothpick and toss it into the trash can.
This movement prompted the drunk man to whistle a low, appreciative whistle. “Oh baby, you can bend over for me, anyday.”
Kate stood up straight again, and stared, bewildered, at the drunken letch.
It was just a shame that Emma’s immediate response to the comment made was an exceptionally strong and instant psionic blast to the back of the man’s brain, her telepathic precision rendering him basically brain dead on the spot. Sipping her martini casually, with the slow dullness spreading over the man’s eyes as he started to slump forward, Emma was certain her eyes flashed with the low heat and fire of the phoenix force before she just sighed, settling her glass down.
“Oh goodness, it does look like someone has had a little too much to drink.” She probably wasn’t overly convincing, likely through a severe lack of care, but Emma was careful in her poking at the slumped, disgusting rat’s side with her perfectly crafted French manicured nail.
“I guess he should be taken to the back, see if we can’t get his wife or a friend to collect him, tsk tsk, some people just cannot hold their liquor.” At least anyone in the close vicinity seemed to just brush it off, Emma would hate to have to wipe everyone’s minds. “Kate, would you be a dove and help me get him away from the front?” And out of public viewing so she could call someone to clear it up.
It wasn’t like touching the drunk was something that Kate would want to do… but Ms. Frost had a point. He would attract unwanted attention. They couldn’t simply leave him laying around at the bar. “Yes, Ma’am.” Kate said. She dusted her hands on a rag, then dropped it into a bowl of bleach water behind the counter before heading around the edge of the bar. The man was slumped forward in such a way that they could easily wrl his arms around their shoulders and carry him out--Weekend at Bernie’s style.
Getting him into the back wasn’t really a trouble. There was a small alcove that was set aside for stock, changes in furniture, the hideous couch she’d removed from the office after she’d bought the place off Charles. It was fine to just drop him there.
Probably a little more obviously he was dead when he didn’t groan, moan or even move from where he was dropped save for gravity working it’s ever present magic.
“Well, that’s a problem.” She really needed to not let her anger get the best of her.
Kate could tell there was something seriously wrong with this guy. He was drunk. Dead drunk. And he didn’t move or groan or anything when they flopped him down on the sofa in the alley behind the club. She watched the man (corpse?) for a moment then turned to Ms. Frost.
“Uh… should we call someone to come pick him up?”
“Like?” The coroner would be best, likely. Since he was legitimately dead, “Oh, you mean medical assistance. I thought you expected me to find his mistress, or wife, or several mistresses.” Emma pondered it, she could just make Kate think she’d called them, wait with him and…
Could she incinerate a body entirely? Clean up the ash and then move on with her life? But Kate might ask… Oh, damn her moderate ethics on mind tampering in the long term. “Fine.” Her tone definitely showed that she wasn’t keen on this. “Media frenzy about to happen, but fine.” Maybe they’d just assume a blood clot burst in his brain. It was possible after all.
Cell phone out, Emma dialled for a very unneeded ambulance to make it’s way loudly to her establishment. Like she needed that press.
It wasn’t like Kate knew any of the guy’s friends or family, or expected Emma to. She just didn’t want this sleazebag to be her problem anymore. Spoon him off onto someone else. But now that he was quite obviously dead (since, he hadn’t moved a muscle--not even to breathe--since they’d flopped him down on the sofa, it was obvious) and someone should really do something about it. “Maybe we can avoid the media frenzy. If you tell them it’s not an emergency, maybe they won’t put the lights and siren on and all that.”
Oh, optimistic Kate. Nice of her to come out and play.
Emma gave a small side-eye to Kate, because yes, that would work. She was already intending to alter the minds of anyone who came in to collect the man, no one would be noting where he’d been collected. “Yes, Kate, I believe we’ll emphasis a curious death on the premises. That won’t get any attention at all.” Her tone was nothing but droll, but that was largely due to her short temper with Phoenix’s input.
“I dare say we’ll just have to turn it into a PR stunt. After all, here we are, attempting to save his sorry ass.” And if she just happened to dig up something disgusting about him, then fine. With the emergency services on their way, Emma gave a sigh.
“Feel free to head back to the bar, dear. I can handle the EMT’s. Unless they need to see you.”
“If you’re sure.” Kate didn’t really want to leave Ms. Frost outside by herself, but in the end she figured it was probably best. She had to get back to work, and it would arouse less suspicion if they came back in separately. She dusted her hands on her apron and nodded, then turned to head inside.
Mind alteration was always easier when no one else was around to witness and question, for the most part it ruined it when attention was split, and Emma wasn’t really wanting to mess around with Kate’s perception of things. The girl would accept things or wouldn’t, Emma couldn’t be proven to have a hand, or mind, in things, so she didn’t worry at all.