WHO:Emma Frost & Garrett Hawke WHEN: (backdated) early July WHERE: The Hanged Man WHAT: Wings, booze and some requests of friends WARNINGS: mentions of potential future murder STATUS: Complete
Emma’s temper was starting to fray around the edges, she knew it, and she knew the cause. It meant a lot less of her time was spent at work, because she was ready to burst at the smallest of things. She wasn’t quite ready to go to Hank and check on a power repressing fix, and she certainly wasn’t visiting Logan so that he could do his ‘I told you so’ face, because she’d want to melt that off and he didn’t really need more melting.
Eventually, it meant she ran out of things to do; shopping only worked for a small amount of time, the staff stopped being helpful and started irritating her with their little thoughts, work was obviously out of the window, she wasn’t in the least bothered with meeting with family of any kind, she was even putting off Christian. Which left her with very little if she were truly honest.
“I need wings, plenty of them, and a stiff drink.” Visiting Hawke’s lovely little establishment just seemed like a suitable way to burn through a few hours without actual burning, because it was getting to the point she needed to remind herself that incinerating every idiot on the planet would eradicate the population. “Lots and lots of drink, please and thank you.” Politeness at least hadn’t burned out of her yet.
His hot wings were a beloved choice over at The Rear End, and it was no doubt it’d be a hit here at The Hanged Man as well - battered and fried in the spiciest of sauces, the kind that’d singe the nose hairs from your bloody nostrils. The basket would be accompanied by a cool ranch and bleu cheese dressing for dipping purposes, and he’d actually made some for himself for a sort of lunch break. Hawke was used to the heat and it wouldn’t make his beard strands fall off.
Then, of course, entered the presence of the Ice Queen, though underneath the frost she was full of warm fuzzies, the mage was sure of it - and she’d entered knowing exactly what she wanted. Very much to be expected, but he was quick to detect the desperate need for distraction as well. Comfort food, perhaps?
“Good to see you too, love,” he said so charmingly, pushing the basket to her - he’d put in more orders, don’t worry. Really, Emma seemed like she needed it more than he did. “What’s the occasion?”
As for the stiff drink, he was preparing that as well. Broody Elf’s Brew. Dry gin and pernod, and the description was writ as best for brooding, or you'll get so drunk you just start throwing bottles of wine at the wall. It seemed to fit her mood.
Emma wouldn’t deny that she actually started to look forward to the wings when she’d twigged on a potential place to just go and exist for a while. It was a little less refined than she was used to, yes, but she didn’t care that much right then anyway. It was entirely possible that she’d chip a nail tomorrow and her anger would ignite the entire world, why worry about some calories and grease?
“Yes, yes, I have missed you and your majestic facial hair, such a pleasure, just to gaze upon your face.” She was already picking apart some wings, not even minding to be overly delicate with her ridiculously expensive manicure either. Fuck it, she was made of money. Quite literally sometimes. “However, like many, I’m here for the wings, not your charming personality.”
Although, it was an upside. Perhaps not the charm, but the lack of judgement at least. Logan would just be all grumpy face and judgey eyebrows at her. Hawke at least would provide wings and booze without telling her she’d been an over-confident fool.
“Occasion? I may or may not be destroying the world soon. Or dying. One of the potential outcomes is most certainly death.” For someone, that was true.
Uh. What the. Balls, Frost. Just. Balls.
No buttery fingers here that dropped the glass, not at all - the ingredients were poured in a stainless steel shaker with a scoop of ice, shaken until it felt like he could get frostbite and then strained it into a tumblr for her pleasure. No skinny black straw necessary, either. Emma didn’t seem to be in the mood to sip on a drink tonight.
He passed some napkins to her too. Hawke was always all about that sterling customer service, you see.
“Do you, ah…” There was a rather awkward rub to the back of his hand, an eye wincing shut as he mulled her words over but Andraste’s tits and arse, he couldn’t make a damn sense out of them. “Would you care to talk about it? Anything I can do to help you not send us all on a handbasket straight to hell?”
There was just something about the whole thing that almost made her laugh, “Do you know, it’s near comical. The start of it all, there’s just pure confidence, nothing but the abject belief of your own capabilities.” Like how Emma was sure she could handle this, that she and Jean were more than enough to share this power, keep their heads, support and survive. But that wasn’t how cosmic power worked, it didn’t just settle and exist, oh no.
It burned, and it grew, and it corrupted.
“Honestly, I think I lost my mind before this even started.” But the wings were a welcome minor distraction, even with the noise that she’d just gotten used to in her head. The constant low droning of other people’s thoughts bouncing around in her skull. Jean a low presence at the back, occasionally a ball of rage and anger that warned Emma of a flare up, just as she was sure Jean got at times. “Happen to know how to contain a cosmic world eater?” She was hoping to avoid death, after all. Most death. She’ll killed a few times already with the noise in her skull, but mass death, she’d like to avoid.
A cosmic world eater. Hawke couldn’t say that was an issue he’d come across in Thedas, not really - there were the foes that challenged the balance of things, had their own vision of what existence should really be like and there was, of course, the lingering issue of Solas that no doubt would be a thing in the future. But as for a way to stop someone from literally devouring a world?
“Advertise the the pains and dangers of heartburn should they get the appetite to eat the planet?” was his suggestion, albeit absolutely not serious and weak. It worried him, however. Emma had discussed her lover’s peculiar predicament but it seems as if things had changed.
A lot.
So he leaned against on the bartop against his forearms, jokes all aside. “What’s going on, love? Something happen with Jean?”
“Phoenix came, as she always does,” Emma pulled apart some of the wings, nibbling on the deliciously marinated meat without concern for her usual haughty demeanour. It didn’t matter right now after all, indulging in some wings and alcohol was the best use of her time right now. “And since Jean and I share a mental connection, well, we share everything.”
Including cosmic entities of death and rebirth.
“It’s gotten a little trying.” That was the simple way to put it, wasn’t it? Trying. That she wanted to incinerate the beings around her, their horrible little secrets, their vile thoughts, making her want to wipe them off the planet, like she could abolish those who deserved to be snuffed out.
Hank had some hope that it would be in some form containable, but it was difficult to maintain sanity until that point, she and Jean were just a constant circle of feeding one another stability and chaos, ever constantly shifting the balance.
“Luckily I have the best wings in Orange County to take some of my attention, hmm?”
We share everything. Somehow that really did explain it all. They’d spoken about this world devourer before, the harsh reality of its existence here and if Hawke understood correctly, well.
Shite.
“Trying’s the word, I’m sure,” commented the mage with light sarcasm. Worry was clear as day in his eyes, and he figured it best to keep the wings and booze coming before he ticked off the tempestuous being latched onto her. “And here we are, in my tavern, discussing this like the weather - the day and age we live in, don’t you agree? Is there any way to shut off that mental connection? For your own well-being?”
It was almost comical, how lightly these things were taken around here. She figured it was showing enough of the carnage that always happened around here, people just accepting things like the change of the weather.
“Shutting it out means only one of us will have the full power of the Phoenix, which … Jean can handle it for a short while,” Jean and Rachel seemed to have the best handle on things, but Rachel wasn’t here, and Jean was already tipping towards Dark Phoenix standards. And Emma wasn’t doing too much better herself.
At least there was no force ripping here so far. She doubted Jean would go through things the way Scott had either. “If I leave it all with Jean… We’ll need to kill her to stop her, if I take it all, I’ll need to live as a diamond to contain it.” And even then it wasn’t guaranteed that Phoenix wouldn’t crack her to pieces to escape.
“The conundrums of the world, dear. So, I plan to eat much and get drunk and worry about it tomorrow. Unless you require some unbridled justice, I can satisfy this cloying need to burn something and do it for a good cause.” Somewhat.
Dark humor was a way to cope. Alcohol too, with the way Frost was currently saying ‘fuck it all.’ Hawke handled things similarly, especially when he had no fuckin’ clue how to help her. Neither of her options were ideal and to perhaps gain creativity, he poured himself whiskey in a tumblr and swiftly downed it.
“Generous offer, love, but no need,” he assured. “I tend to handle unbridled justice by my own hands. As it stands, both options for your situation are rubbish - there’s absolutely no way we could let either of you die. What draws it here, the Phoenix?”
It was a shame, she tended to feel better after she’d burnt away a little of the anger, some rage just let out. There was usually someone she could pick on, some thoughts that were diabolical or just utterly distasteful, little secrets hidden away that she could find and final dispense the true justice deserved. It might not bring anyone happiness, but it dealt a little with her own tenuous control.
“Fine, fine. Have your own fun.” Who was she to grudge someone their own little bit of amusement and justice after all. “Phoenix comes for life, and then she gets power, and then she craves death. She’s a little unhinged. But there are only a few beings who can hold her, she’s that powerful.” And it had been a bone of contention with Emma, for a very long time, the wonderful Jean fucking Grey. “Jean is one of them, her daughter, from another time stream was a little more successful. And … Hope, our little Messiah is destined to take her. But she was unwilling at the time, and that’s why it split into five and we became Avatars.”
God, her dreams were convoluted as fuck. “It’s a headache trying to follow. But piece by piece, we’re all going a little bit insane from the power.” To the point where Scott would go against all his ethics and morals, “I’m hoping to stop it here before I … well, get to that stage there.”
“So let me make sure I’m understanding all the options,” Garrett began as he poured himself another drink from the whiskey spout. Liquid courage was necessary when he was faced with someone taking on half the power of some ravenous cosmic entity. “Option one is to let Jean take it all in and kill her, which is bloody depressing and we can agree that killing your girlfriend isn’t the solution. Option two is that you take her in your diamond form. That’ll hinder your life, and is it even guaranteed that’ll contain her?”
Emma hadn’t confirmed or denied when she mentioned it before, so it begged the question.
He picked up his glass tumbler for the next point. “Third, share the burden with multiples to spread the power. Assuming you can find qualified people to hold it and not go mad themselves.” That’d be an uncomfortable gamble. “You did say Jean can get to a point in handling her, so how will she get there?”
It wasn’t a shit situation. Every option seemed bleak. There’d be consequences regardless, but what would be the one to bring the less damage? Which one was the lesser of evils?
Emma simply picked at her chicken, nodding with Hawke’s assessment of things while she did, he was fairly on the nose with them after all. “Well, it’s uncertain if I’d manage to contain her or if she’d shatter me on the way out. My children, in the dreams, turned their hearts diamond to hold a shard of the Phoenix, but not the whole thing.” Oh, her brilliant little clones. She’d been decidedly proud of their thinking there, hive mind or not, the lose of their sisters right afterwards left bitterness at the memory though.
“Jean can harness her, literally, it’s just getting Jean to the point of reigning her in usually means Jean goes off for years at a time, through the galaxy.” Emma was moping. She was full of rage and disappointment and a twinge of insanity, and she was moping. There was potential they would both die, and yet, she found it hard to push down the anger.
“I know it’s quite the ask, dear. But I was hoping you’d do me a grand favour.” Logan did it for Jean, but Logan would quite naturally do anything for Jean. “Since it’s quite possible that at some point it may need doing, if you would kindly agree to killing me, should it be required.” Totally the sort of thing to ask a friend over some hot wings and drinks.
Oh, bloody hell.
Hawke wasn’t in the business of killing friends, he really wasn’t - but he had done it, in Kirkwall. Anders. A mage full of righteous anger merged with a spirit of Justice. Justice then became Vengeance, and the two combined did terrible things that caused a necessary uproar among mages. But the methods used were extreme. He had no choice but to face him and kill him.
He hadn’t wanted to, but it was necessary.
And now here was another friend, one with a literal and metaphorical hide of diamond. He admired women like Frost. Intelligent, cunning, beautiful, taking life by the balls. He enjoyed her friendship and biting wit every time they paid each other a visit. Now, with hands covered in wing sauce and drinks to wash it all down, she was asking him to kill her.
“That’s the most polite request for murder I’ve ever received,” he countered dryly, but he was clearly not amused. The glass was still in his hands, unsure if it was safe to drink it when she was on this road - another bomb like that and he might spit out the goods. “I don’t know if I should say that I’m honored, but I will do my best to not let it get to that point. In any capacity that I’m able to. I think we can both agree that’s the last thing we would resort to.”
It wasn’t a ‘no.’ Maker, he wished he could deny her. He wished she hadn’t asked him that, but Hawke knew she wouldn’t be unless she necessarily had to.
“I do like to keep things classy.” She understood that it was rather personal a task, it wasn’t something she would or could just ask anyone. She knew Logan would, or Laura. But they both had so much trauma in their lives, she was loath to be another one of those traumatic moments. She’d much rather they remembered who she’d tried to to be, not the end, not her dying on their claws. Logan might already be broken from seeing Jean like that so many times.
“A last resort would be preferable, yes. But sadly I know too many people who want to save everyone, even when it’s not the best option.” Because Phoenix could kill most of them with a wave of Emma’s hand, and she’d already hurt Kitty in unspeakable ways, she wouldn’t be able to live knowing she’d hurt the others too. “Understanding the need for a resolute end is important.”
She knew that should it come down to it, Hawke would follow through. It was more important to save the rest of them than to preserve Emma and her fabulous self. She was still holding out hope that Jean could get a grip and they could get their shit together and stop it from reaching that stage.
“We’re hoping that it won’t reach there, get ourselves back on track but… If all else fails.”
It wasn’t a request either of them were taking likely. Hawke understood, more than he cared to admit - and knew that things weren’t always black and white, good intentions didn’t always pave the way to a good end, everything was so bloody complicated.
And he knew he couldn’t deny her wish, either.
If in her shoes, he’d ask a dear friend the same to keep the burden off, say, Isabela.
“To getting yourselves back on track, then,” was Garrett’s somber toast, raising his glass.