6/1/2009
Logfile from Emma.
=CO= Yard - Lost Waters - Colorado
A long winding drive twists through trees and the rolling hills that precede mountains before finally reaching the arching sign that announces 'Lost Waters Ranch.' It opens immediately into a large grassy yard bordered on most sides by some building or another, all of them tall, with high ceilings and logged exteriors and roofs shingled in a warm shade of green.
The guest house is to the left, next door to the cookhouse which sits at an angle to the staff house. The Big House itself faces the drive head on, ready to welcome new guests. On the right, the stables open up into a large paddock, and the sound of horse hooves and quiet whickering is almost always audible. Horses will come out to greet curious visitors with a whuffle at their hand, especially if they've brought gifts of carrots or sugar.
The yard itself is an expanse of rustic comfort, with towering trees to provide shade and a huge open area with plenty of sun where children can play or guests can drag a lounge chair and a book. Every building has a vast porch, with swings and rocking chairs available in abundance. A handful of picnic tables snug up next to the cookhouse, while the guest house boasts a sauna set into a wooden gazebo just off to the side.
(Exits : [C]ookhouse, [S]tables, [M]ountain [T]rail, [S]taff [H]ouse, [G]uest [L]odge, and [F]BI [T]railer )
Reinforcements are arriving. Better late than never, right? Well, when you're not a regular agent of X-Factor, X-Factor sometimes has to wait on you. A few hours ago, a somewhat cryptic message was relayed to the leads on sight that one of the outside telepaths would be there within the hour. Two hours later, a sleek looking luxury car slides through the entrance gates and up the drive to the Lost Waters Ranch, followed by a very large, very shiny... well. Luxury RV has to be the first word that pops to mind rolls into the yard.
Will sits on a fence over by an old mare. He's wearing his "FBI" uniform, sunglasses included, and holds a bag. The old horse noses his shoulder and arm while he watches the portable-penthouse roll down the drive way.
The sound of crunching gravel flicks Kitty's gaze up from her laptop which has (finally) been retrieved from the staff house. The guest lodge swing stills briefly, even though she'd heard the message that was previously relayed. The laptop is closed quietly as she waits for whoever is in the vehicle to exit, and she readies herself to brief whoever is arriving in case they need to be.
Pete is wearing no sort of uniform whatsoever. Fresh jeans and a short-sleeved button down shirt are the order of the day, as has been the case for most of his stay on the ranch. Perhaps with no one left who /isn't/ in on the situation, he could have changed back to his usual attire - if he'd brought it with him. He pushes out through the guest house door just as the small convoy rolls up, and stands blinking on the porch, eyebrows rising in amused question. "Did someone glitz up a fucking /trailer/?" he mutters.
The dark suited man who exits from the driver's door and hops briskly around to the passenger door looks like he possibly could be FBI? But the legs that appear are better classified as secret weapons of mass destruction. They flow smoothly (disappointingly?) under the hem of a knee length skirt topped by a tailored jacket of the same just-white hue. Emma steps away from the door without a word to her driver and glances behind them where her mobile accommodation is settling beside the FBI trailer, and probably giving it a complex in the process. She pushes a pair of large-lensed designer sunglasses onto her face and frowns as she takes in the setting. Primitive.
Will pulls an apple from his bag and releases it. It floats for a moment, until the old mare opens her mouth and begins to chomp on it with loud crunching sounds. Will stares at the driver, and then at the legs, and then at the designer sunglasses. Maybe she needs directions to Chanel? "Ah," he says in hazy recognition. "Frost." The old mare snorts and begins to nudge the bag.
Kitty gets smoothly to her feet, laptop tucked onto her hip as she moves to Pete's side. "Apparently, yes. The same person who wears a skirt in the middle of the Colorado mountains." Her own sweater and worn jeans are totally feeling jealous, too. She brushes against Pete's side lightly and subtly, before turning her attention back to the woman. The name gets a headtilt and a frown. "Oh. Emma Frost."
Pete's hand brushes carefully against Kitty's, the movement casual and difficult to notice, and done without removing his attention from the scene in the yard. The presence of a pulse means he does, in fact, notice the unfamiliar woman's legs, and the ensemble. The presence of a survival instinct means he keeps his expression neutral, save for the faint, amused quirk to the corners of his mouth, engendered by the presence of so much /luxury/ in the middle of a rustic ranch yard. "Suppose we /should/ steer them away from the paddock, yeah?" he mutters, with just a hint of lower working class animosity towards his social betters peeking through.
Emma Frost inhales as shallowly as she can, despite the altitude difference, her nose wrinkling against the smell of livestock. She turns her face back toward the other buildings and waits a moment for someone to approach, then swings into careful, swinging amble that has as much to do with picking her way around dungpiles as it does with swaying her hips. "I wasn't anticipating a red carpet, but some sort greeting was expected. I'm looking for Bahir? Barring that, anyone in charge." she says generally as she comes within speaking range.
Will keeps himself from smirking while he watches Emma's entrance. He reaches into his bag and tosses a carrot into the air and, like the apple, it hovers for a moment until the horse trots over and begins to chew it. "He's probably in the FBI trailer," he reports. "But the agent-in-charge is," he gestures toward Kitty. This. Will. Be. Interesting.
"I believe that would be me, since the person in charge is on bed rest and Bahir is... somewhere," Kitty says hesitantly, especially in light of the fact that she'd been compromised in the showdown. Quietly and to Pete, she says, "Try to get in contact with one of them over the commlinks." She doesn't make a move towards Emma yet, but she does give a thankful look towards Will's affirmation.
Emma lowers her sunglasses to get a better look at Will, lips curving into a tiny smile of thanks before she moves past him toward the indicated Kitty. The smile disappears as she looks Kitty over, and finds her... young. "You should have been expecting me," she says, tone still cool and smooth. "This place feels like a spiderweb of telepathic influences." Her shoulder lift in a gesture of discomfort like cold water dribbling down a cat's back.
"Game face, Pryde," Pete says, sotto voce. He turns aside to mutter something into his comm unit. An answer crackles back after a moment, too low to be easily overheard. "LeBeau will be out as soon as he finds a cane." This, too, is low-voiced. He eyes Emma, a flicker of disconcertion darkening his eyes at the confirmation that this is yet /another/ telepath. After the past month, he really isn't a fan.
Will laughs briefly. "You've no idea. Or maybe you do. The world's usually a small place." He scoots off the fence and walks closer to the forming group. The old horse follows, bumming for food, and looks over Will's shoulder at the others.
Pete's words get a flash of a smile from Kitty before she turns back to Emma. "I know Bahir sent out for you and Jean, but I didn't know when or if you'd arrive. So, yes and no." Emma's look is returned with a slight narrowing of eyes that is almost unnoticable. "We're still working on breaking those telepathic influences. How much did Bahir tell you?" She keeps her voice steady and neutral this time.
Most of her questions answered for the moment, Amber steps from the FBI trailer and slowly closes the door behind. So that Natalie can NAP. Hands tucked into her pockets, the brunette starts to make her way towards the guest lodge, pausing at the sound of a new voice. Eyes lift to scan the crowd, frown deepening at the sight of each face, until she lands on Emma. Amber's head tilts as she remains silent, listening. Another mutant. What a surprise.
Aw, he just doesn't know her yet. I'm /sure/ he could become her /biggest/ one. Emma folds her arms in front of her chest (aw, boo) and places a finger to her lips. "LeBeau can tell me where to start?" she purrs archly, glancing aside at Kitty's interruption. "He's told me nothing. I received the /request/ from Carpenter. But I do know you have had an old... acquaintance fondling you. Your minds, I mean." Her gaze shifts to include both Pete and Will with that statement.
Will pushes the horse's head away from his shoulder and says, "He's quite a nosey fucker," in response to Emma's comments on the 'acquaintance'. His attention drifts to the houses while he waits for the hobbling cajun to arrive.
If Pete wants to remain undamaged, he totally won't become her fan. Kitty doesn't worry about this right now, though, as she talks to the older woman. "Right. A little over our heads once we found out what it was we were dealing with, but we have neutralized it and the other mutant involved. The compulsions are still there, though," she explains slightly, not going into much detail yet. "I'm not sure what Bahir is planning on doing about that thing, or what he's tried to do yet."
Pete bristles a little, either at the reminder of the telepathic intrusions, or the imagery used. Apparently, he is not a necrophiliac telepath fetishist. "Currently, they're being kept under heavy sedation," he supplies, deceptively mild tone layered on to mask his discontent at the situation. 'Neutralized' can have so very many definitions, after all.
Remy may not have Emma's resources to spend on entrance-making, and thus he opts for the classic of quietly -there-. Where there was once an empty porch of a guest house, there is now one Remy Etienne LeBeau, dressed for the day in cowboy cut jeans worked to an easy cling, a shirt in the darkest possible plaid, and a pair of thoroughly non-cowboy boots. A walking stick is in his hand, and he moves like a man better suited to slinking. "Agent LeBeau," he introduces himself, after a scan of the yard and an eyebrow-raise at the Paris Hilton Goes Camping rig eventually settles into an appraising and approving glance at the Emma of the Hour. "My apologies f'not greetin' you in person, Miz Frost," he offers, before a grin blossoms, tired but roguish. "Now, what can y'do for me?"
Amber arches a brow at the current discussion and realizes she has nothing to add to this. She'll let the big dogs talk, moving past the group and around to the Guest Lodge door and slipping inside.
"I'm sure he has everything well in hand," Emma says, surprisingly, with complete sincerity. "I imagine I'm just here to give things a fresh set of eyes." She tips her hand out, palm up, fingers curling slightly. Her amusement ramps higher at Pete's bristling, rather like a zoo visitor enjoying the porcupines. Before she can indulge in porcupine baiting, however, Remy arrives, and she is forced to divert her attention to him. "You must be Agent LeBeau. Perhaps /you/ were aware I was arriving?"
Kitty notes Emma's amusement with a slight grinding of teeth. She raises her hand to rest against Pete's for a moment, a bit possessively. BACK OFF, WOMAN. "Well, if you have this, Remy, I think I'll just go back to packing," she suggests, wanting to get herself away from Emma. Yay, first impressions.
In Remy's wake, comes the other half of the board: Sal Harper, in button-down shirt and jeans that look like they have seen better days. "Oh, fucking hell," she snaps, in lieu of greeting. "/You/."
"I was given word t'expect you," Remy confirms. "Y'arrivin' a couple hours ahead of Grey... although," he admits, with a teasing blink of faux-brown eyes as he begins a strolling amble over to her that neatly disguises his need to cane-hobble. "I have to say that now that y'here, y'are completely not what I expected."
"Let's just get that burnt fuck to undo all these compulsions," Will suggests of Emma, to Remy and Emma. "I'm craving a burger."
Pete presses Kitty's hand briefly. Perhaps it is reassurance. Perhaps it is out of some vague hope that he'll be able to get hold of her if she decides to lunge at Emma. He glances sharply over his shoulder at Sal as she gives her not-greeting. "Well," he says after a moment. "This should be interesting."
Emma snorts softly at the mention of Grey, her disdain obvious though it morphs again into something condescending and amused again at Sal's arrival. "Harper, darling. You look... rustic." She transfers her attention smoothly to Remy and smiles, pulling her sunglasses down to expose gem-bright eyes. "If this is what you are used too, I am pleased to go against expectations." Will's urging is noted and rewarded with a laugh.
"It promises to be. Maybe I should hold off on packing," Kitty replies softly to Pete with a playful smile. She practically sits back to enjoy the show, waiting to see what happens. A questioning brow is quirked at Pete as she whispers to him while watching, "I have to say I wouldn't have been bothered never meeting Frost."
For all that Remy's attention appears to be riveted on Emma, he is perhaps not unaware of the background levels of grar. As such, his next move is to offer her an arm on his non-stick-bearing side, and give a sweeping nod towards the FBI trailer. "All our recordin' gear and electronics are in there f'the most part. We can get you up t'speed, and then get you to work... if y'don't want to take in some of our -dazzlin'- local scenery. We renovated the mine just t'other day."
"There a story there?" Pete wonders, giving Kitty a questioning look of his own. It is more idle interest than direct request for details, however, and the faint twist to his mouth suggests he doesn't really think there /needs/ to be. He moves back to lean against the wall, deliberately casual. His gaze sweeps away to scan over the yard, lingering with searching attention on both luxury car and Barbie's Dream RV, and any entourage members who might issue forth.
Sal snarls and bristles as Emma moves closer, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "I'll give you rustic," she snaps, but while it looks like she might make a lunge for the White Queen -- she instead simply stalks off the porch and AWAY. This also keeps her away from the medics for the time being.
Will lightly shakes his head at the gentleman-Remy and moves off toward a more open space. "Fucking waste of time," he grunts. "Fucking compulsion," he adds a moment later. The horse follows and nudges at his back for more treats.
Emma blinks in sham-innocence after Sal. "I don't doubt it," she offers after, then turns to glance down at Remy's offered arm. We hope its washed. She takes it, and indicates he should lead the way.
"Just stories I've heard about her," Kitty supplies, watching Sal storm off with a worried look for a moment. "Apparently Harper doesn't like her." You know, in case that needed to be said. She doesn't move to lean against the wall with Pete but she does give him an inviting look as she says, "If Remy's going to be taking care of that woman, do you want to help me pack?" She doesn't move to enter the guest lodge yet, waiting for Emma and her escort to leave.
"Old history?" Remy wonders politely, but doesn't move to interfere beyond giving Sal a LOOK that lets her know that there are still medics in her future. Other hand briefly brushing across Emma's fingers before he applies it to use in moving the walking stick, he launches into a prief precis of their situation as they walk that hints that, lower-class accent aside, there is a quick mind at work. (Assuming Emma hasn't already gone and peeked.)
"Can't say I blame her," Pete murmurs, low enough that it doesn't carry far from the back of the porch - at least, not without cheaty cheating. He gives Kitty a slight smile, and dips his head in a nod. "I believe I could take some time out of writing up one of those bloody reports to give you a hand."
Just what kind of girl do you think she is, Mr. LeBeau? ... Of course she has. Just a little surface skim. Emma doesn't answer, her demeanor changing subtly, becoming more focused and business-like as they converse, despite the courtliness of their position respective to each other.
"Good," Kitty teases before giving Remy and Emma one last look. "Hopefully, he's careful with her." She slips into the guest house without watching to see if Pete follows. After all, she really does need to pack, though she'd be happy for a distraction too.
Emma arrives in style.