12/4 - Jen
Email to Percy
To: 'Rook'
From: 'EF'
Re: New personnel
Have stumbled across a pyro. Ambitious, attitudes worth encouraging. Name of Jen Izard. We can put her in holiday parties in a few of those homes we'd like something out of. Seems smart, try her out.
~EF
Christmas has come to New York. At least in decorations if not holiday spirit. The Frost Enterprise building is being decked out from head to toe, inside and out, and the hustle and bustle of decorators is a little annoying, so everyone's tending toward the irritable. But Jen is ushered along, the appointment with Ms. Frost like a magic carpet ride straight to the top. She's dumped off in the waiting area outside the Executive office on the top floor until the Emma's executive assistant opens the door to allow her in. "She can see you now."
Inside, the decorator has come and gone, most likely while Emma was out. The cool colors are enhanced by the silver, whites, and blues of a modern Christmas. Emma is seated in a chair arranged around a short table and fireplace. A silver coffee set, a proper one, is set out on the table. "Ms. Izard," she greets, rising from the chair and waiting for Jen to walk to /her/ before holding a hand out.
The circumstances of this meeting are a little odd, to say the least. Jen has been losing sleep over it for the past week. The chef has very little idea of what Emma Frost wants with her after seeing her mutation on display in her kitchen and that unknown has been leaving her with a knot of fear and uncertainty in her chest. However, in spite of unpleasant build-up toward it, Jen has shown up dressed rather well. Black slacks, a white shirt, and a black tie. The 'butch' aspect of the masculine cuts to her clothing is fairly unmistakeable.
As she is ushered along and then left to fidget and wait, she is nothing but polite and professional. Once she is finally allowed into Emma's office, she makes her way over toward the other woman. "Ms. Frost," she answers, wearing quite the impressive facade of being at ease. She is very much not. She does, however, spare the time for a cursory glance at her host's body. Some things cannot be helped.
Emma shakes Jen' hand, her own slender and smooth and surprisingly strong given the emphasis on her feminine attributes in the cut of her business clothing. Wide, pointed collar with a neckline dipping low beneath the edges of her jacket neckline. The pale blue under soft white is vaguely reminiscent of the office holiday decor. "I'm pleased you made the appointment. You seemed to have a number of questions when we parted." Emma waves a hand at the empty seat opposite hers, then sits herself, knees turned sideway, ankles crossed and tucked under the chair. She reaches for the coffee pot. "Coffee?"
The shake in return is firm and confident, the kind of thing that is normal out of aggressive young businesswomen. Jen takes her seat, her posture not nearly as gentle or feminine as Emma's. Her hands rest on her knees, her legs parted and feet firmly planted. "I think having a number of questions is a bit of an understatement. That was an interesting little conversation we had in the kitchen," Jen points out. As an afterthought, she nods at the offer of coffee, "Please."
"They were interesting circumstances," Emma agrees, and pours a cup into a silver-rimmed china cup. Cream and sugar are in containers on the tray, along with a small plate of bite-sized cookies--thumbprints with raspberry filling. She pours herself another cup and sits back with the saucer settled on her knee. "So."
Taking the cup poured for her, Jen is at least subtle about sniffing the coffee before taking her first sip. It is a food-person thing. She looks at Emma for a long moment after that prompting. "Obviously, you saw what I was doing. It didn't seem to upset you half as much as I would have expected it to. I'm curious, especially after your comment about my control being higher than others you've seen. I'd like to know what you were talking about."
"I am talking about mutation, Ms. Izard," Emma replies, leaning forward to spoon sugar and pour cream into her cup. "I have known more than a few mutants, and your control was impressive. I do not /advertise/ the fact of my acquaintanceship, for obvious reasons, of course."
A slow nod follows to the obvious reasoning behind Ms. Frost's silence on the subject. "Of course," she agrees. "Control is important for me, in the kitchen and with what you saw." She sips her coffee, unsure of how to proceed. Her mind is going a mile a minute as she tries to figure out what is behind Emma's mutant interest. << If this turns out like that bastard at Halloween, I am going to lose my mind, >> she is telling herself. Poor Jen.
Emma lifts a brow at this mental tidbit slipping, and she presses after it a little, drawing her suspicions out like an intangible thread pooling into the palm of her hand. "I can see that it would be. Power like that can be dangerous left uncontrolled. I admire your mastery of it." Emma pushes a small empathic dose of trust toward that handful of suspicion. "I assume you do not advertise your status either."
The suspicion is there, forged by the fresh memory of Ryan Hewitt tormenting her with threats of outing her in public. However, the sneaky push of unearned trust takes a few of the edges off. "No. That's the thing about having a mutation that can be dangerous. I've mastered it for years now, I've been working with it since I was a teenager. I don't /slip/ like people on the news. I don't trust people not to react like I would, though." She shakes her head slowly, a soft frown playing at her lips in dislike at having to hide who and what she is. "Especially with things like this strike going on. I need my secrets."
"Don't we all?" Emma returns with a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. She lifts the cup for a sip and regards the young woman sitting across from her for a silent moment. When she lowers her cup, it settles against the saucer with a delicate 'clink'. "You are probably wondering why I'm interested in your story."
"You are probably right," Jen replies with a small smile. She is watching Emma closely now, her attention all focused on the other woman as the reasoning behind their appointment is coming closer to being explained.
"I... cultivate certain useful individuals such as yourself. I am not afraid of you, or your powers, and I firmly believe that it is inevitable that the gifted will eventually dominate the world." Emma holds up her hand, and a slim bracelet falls up her arm. "I don't mean dominate in a negative or overbearing way. Merely that those who can, will, and those who can't... well. /Can't/. And so, I help you, and you in turn help us. To that end. It is a slow process, but so is evolution."
Jen's eyes slowly narrow as she listens to this. There is a lot to hear in Emma's statemnet. However, there are some aspects of it that resonate especially well inside of her head. "What kind of help are you talking?" she asks, cautiously.
Emma waves a hand airily. "Depends on the situation. We are positioning ourselves in places of power and influence. We have connections in all major industries. It is more than a a case of merely scratching each other's backs. The goal, ultimately, is advancement of the Gifted."
If Emma is still listening, Jen's lines of thinking are interesting. There are doubts, of course, that this is anything but some kind of elaborate joke. However, beneath them, there is the glitter of little veins buried like gold. Little threads of mutant supremecist thinking that she keeps especially quiet, sparkling beneath the surface. "If you've got so much power and influence," she asks, remaining cautious, "What do you want with a cook who plays with fire?"
"Why /wouldn't/ I want a cook who plays with fire?" Emma retorts, something calculated and cunning creeping into her expression and running like fired threads through her powers to plunge into those veins of buried gold, turning them into molten streams with visions of riverhood. She smiles. "You have, or can have, access to the homes and meals of anyone who comes through your door or invites you through theirs. You control the most destructive natural element. Tell me, Jen," Emma breathes and leans forward, her body suddenly tight and eager and pressing, "Why /wouldn't/ I want /you/?"
Jen is a sucker. Emma's body language draws her in, the urgency and forward motion captivating her. Even without the help of telepathy heating the usually buried veins of her feelings of natural supremecy over mundane humanity, she would have been listening much closer. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth for just a moment. "So tell me more," she says, with a little flash of a smile.
Emma's smile is edged and full, something dangerously inviting. She starts to speak, picking her words with care like a chef picking the freshest, ripest ingredients. And when they are done, the dish is a masterpiece.
To: 'Rook'
From: 'EF'
Re: New personnel
Have stumbled across a pyro. Ambitious, attitudes worth encouraging. Name of Jen Izard. We can put her in holiday parties in a few of those homes we'd like something out of. Seems smart, try her out.
~EF
Christmas has come to New York. At least in decorations if not holiday spirit. The Frost Enterprise building is being decked out from head to toe, inside and out, and the hustle and bustle of decorators is a little annoying, so everyone's tending toward the irritable. But Jen is ushered along, the appointment with Ms. Frost like a magic carpet ride straight to the top. She's dumped off in the waiting area outside the Executive office on the top floor until the Emma's executive assistant opens the door to allow her in. "She can see you now."
Inside, the decorator has come and gone, most likely while Emma was out. The cool colors are enhanced by the silver, whites, and blues of a modern Christmas. Emma is seated in a chair arranged around a short table and fireplace. A silver coffee set, a proper one, is set out on the table. "Ms. Izard," she greets, rising from the chair and waiting for Jen to walk to /her/ before holding a hand out.
The circumstances of this meeting are a little odd, to say the least. Jen has been losing sleep over it for the past week. The chef has very little idea of what Emma Frost wants with her after seeing her mutation on display in her kitchen and that unknown has been leaving her with a knot of fear and uncertainty in her chest. However, in spite of unpleasant build-up toward it, Jen has shown up dressed rather well. Black slacks, a white shirt, and a black tie. The 'butch' aspect of the masculine cuts to her clothing is fairly unmistakeable.
As she is ushered along and then left to fidget and wait, she is nothing but polite and professional. Once she is finally allowed into Emma's office, she makes her way over toward the other woman. "Ms. Frost," she answers, wearing quite the impressive facade of being at ease. She is very much not. She does, however, spare the time for a cursory glance at her host's body. Some things cannot be helped.
Emma shakes Jen' hand, her own slender and smooth and surprisingly strong given the emphasis on her feminine attributes in the cut of her business clothing. Wide, pointed collar with a neckline dipping low beneath the edges of her jacket neckline. The pale blue under soft white is vaguely reminiscent of the office holiday decor. "I'm pleased you made the appointment. You seemed to have a number of questions when we parted." Emma waves a hand at the empty seat opposite hers, then sits herself, knees turned sideway, ankles crossed and tucked under the chair. She reaches for the coffee pot. "Coffee?"
The shake in return is firm and confident, the kind of thing that is normal out of aggressive young businesswomen. Jen takes her seat, her posture not nearly as gentle or feminine as Emma's. Her hands rest on her knees, her legs parted and feet firmly planted. "I think having a number of questions is a bit of an understatement. That was an interesting little conversation we had in the kitchen," Jen points out. As an afterthought, she nods at the offer of coffee, "Please."
"They were interesting circumstances," Emma agrees, and pours a cup into a silver-rimmed china cup. Cream and sugar are in containers on the tray, along with a small plate of bite-sized cookies--thumbprints with raspberry filling. She pours herself another cup and sits back with the saucer settled on her knee. "So."
Taking the cup poured for her, Jen is at least subtle about sniffing the coffee before taking her first sip. It is a food-person thing. She looks at Emma for a long moment after that prompting. "Obviously, you saw what I was doing. It didn't seem to upset you half as much as I would have expected it to. I'm curious, especially after your comment about my control being higher than others you've seen. I'd like to know what you were talking about."
"I am talking about mutation, Ms. Izard," Emma replies, leaning forward to spoon sugar and pour cream into her cup. "I have known more than a few mutants, and your control was impressive. I do not /advertise/ the fact of my acquaintanceship, for obvious reasons, of course."
A slow nod follows to the obvious reasoning behind Ms. Frost's silence on the subject. "Of course," she agrees. "Control is important for me, in the kitchen and with what you saw." She sips her coffee, unsure of how to proceed. Her mind is going a mile a minute as she tries to figure out what is behind Emma's mutant interest. << If this turns out like that bastard at Halloween, I am going to lose my mind, >> she is telling herself. Poor Jen.
Emma lifts a brow at this mental tidbit slipping, and she presses after it a little, drawing her suspicions out like an intangible thread pooling into the palm of her hand. "I can see that it would be. Power like that can be dangerous left uncontrolled. I admire your mastery of it." Emma pushes a small empathic dose of trust toward that handful of suspicion. "I assume you do not advertise your status either."
The suspicion is there, forged by the fresh memory of Ryan Hewitt tormenting her with threats of outing her in public. However, the sneaky push of unearned trust takes a few of the edges off. "No. That's the thing about having a mutation that can be dangerous. I've mastered it for years now, I've been working with it since I was a teenager. I don't /slip/ like people on the news. I don't trust people not to react like I would, though." She shakes her head slowly, a soft frown playing at her lips in dislike at having to hide who and what she is. "Especially with things like this strike going on. I need my secrets."
"Don't we all?" Emma returns with a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. She lifts the cup for a sip and regards the young woman sitting across from her for a silent moment. When she lowers her cup, it settles against the saucer with a delicate 'clink'. "You are probably wondering why I'm interested in your story."
"You are probably right," Jen replies with a small smile. She is watching Emma closely now, her attention all focused on the other woman as the reasoning behind their appointment is coming closer to being explained.
"I... cultivate certain useful individuals such as yourself. I am not afraid of you, or your powers, and I firmly believe that it is inevitable that the gifted will eventually dominate the world." Emma holds up her hand, and a slim bracelet falls up her arm. "I don't mean dominate in a negative or overbearing way. Merely that those who can, will, and those who can't... well. /Can't/. And so, I help you, and you in turn help us. To that end. It is a slow process, but so is evolution."
Jen's eyes slowly narrow as she listens to this. There is a lot to hear in Emma's statemnet. However, there are some aspects of it that resonate especially well inside of her head. "What kind of help are you talking?" she asks, cautiously.
Emma waves a hand airily. "Depends on the situation. We are positioning ourselves in places of power and influence. We have connections in all major industries. It is more than a a case of merely scratching each other's backs. The goal, ultimately, is advancement of the Gifted."
If Emma is still listening, Jen's lines of thinking are interesting. There are doubts, of course, that this is anything but some kind of elaborate joke. However, beneath them, there is the glitter of little veins buried like gold. Little threads of mutant supremecist thinking that she keeps especially quiet, sparkling beneath the surface. "If you've got so much power and influence," she asks, remaining cautious, "What do you want with a cook who plays with fire?"
"Why /wouldn't/ I want a cook who plays with fire?" Emma retorts, something calculated and cunning creeping into her expression and running like fired threads through her powers to plunge into those veins of buried gold, turning them into molten streams with visions of riverhood. She smiles. "You have, or can have, access to the homes and meals of anyone who comes through your door or invites you through theirs. You control the most destructive natural element. Tell me, Jen," Emma breathes and leans forward, her body suddenly tight and eager and pressing, "Why /wouldn't/ I want /you/?"
Jen is a sucker. Emma's body language draws her in, the urgency and forward motion captivating her. Even without the help of telepathy heating the usually buried veins of her feelings of natural supremecy over mundane humanity, she would have been listening much closer. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth for just a moment. "So tell me more," she says, with a little flash of a smile.
Emma's smile is edged and full, something dangerously inviting. She starts to speak, picking her words with care like a chef picking the freshest, ripest ingredients. And when they are done, the dish is a masterpiece.