Players:
Summary: Jill turns informant and Emma has to explain the moral quandries of inaction in the face of a serious but delicate threat. Quenton may or may not be buying it.
Date: December 10, 2011
Log Title: Snitches and Bitches
Rating: PG-13
Xavier Mansion - Emma Frost's Office
Miss Frost's office is not as white as one would expect, however it does present an overall theme in the room. Using a classic den/office style structure from the building, the hardwood floor has been mostly covered from entry to desk with a white carpet that has been decorative bordered in an ivy-pattern, with the center having a delicately done floral arrangement. Two plush white leather chairs sit slightly staggered and angled facing a white marble topped desk of dark-stained oak, the Xavier Academy logo in front emblazoned in a polished steel. Atop the desk is materials for physical writing as well as a dual-monitor computer system that seems keyboardless, instead having a single mouse-like interface device. To the right are a pair of striated white marble book-cases filled from top to bottom, in the center of the pair a marble fireplace that burns sedately despite the time or season.
The left wall has a series of file cabinets sitting next to another computer desk, this one with a standard keyboard and mouse with the academy logo floating sedately on the screen. Next to those is a table where mail seems to be laid out next to a carafe of what is either coffee or tea, and a small pile of cookies, which seems to vary day by day. Behind the carafe is a small containers for sugar, fresh cream, and honey.
Behind the desk is a bank of windows facing northwards, running practically from wall to wall, bordered on both sides by silver-embroidered sheer silk cloth, so even when drawn you can make out details outside, and so long as day is present, line pours in to give the room a sense of warmth. For the times when more light is required, it comes from the vaulted office ceiling from a tasteful-looking light and fan combination. Just behind the desk and on the right side is a second door with a hand-print scanner.
Saturday night. All is quiet in the school, relatively speaking, and even the footsteps that approach the office of the illustrious Emma Frost are quiet. Socked feet making soft noises, a glassy blue figure hesitantly tip-toes to the big door. It takes almost a full minute of silent self-motivational reassurances before Jill can finally raise a hand to knock tentatively, halfway wishing there won't be anyone there so she'll be forced to find an alternative solution to her current 'problem'.
Just before the girl can touch the door, it cracks as if someone was on the other side waiting for her. From the other side of the door, Emma Frost says in a rather subdued voice, "Yes, Miss Pervinca?" It swings open the rest of the way to show that the room has been redecorated to fit the holiday… to the point that one would wonder if they stepped into Narnia. Removing a pair of glasses from her prim nose, she puts them away in her suit jacket pocket, and uncrosses her legs to stand, putting a newspaper to one side, "That was a pretty speech you gave yourself in the hallway, but unnecessary, I assure you. I do bite, but only the deserving, and I am quite the… what did he say? Yes… I am quite a rampant bitch. But only to those, once more, who are deserving. Which in both cases… to date… you are not."
A strangled sort of noise issues from the teenager, somewhere between surprise, alarm, and embarrassment. "I didn't… umm… I didn't think that," Jill weasels, fidgeting. She didn't, did she? "It's just that, umm…" The threshold into Emma's office might well be the entrance to another, scarier world for all the girl wants to cross it. But cross it she does, hesitantly, wringing her hands. "Just that we, students that is, are supposed to come to one of the teachers if we have any problems and I, kinda, umm…" It does not require psychic gifts to see that Jill is both plainly troubled and intimidated.
There is a long and exasperated sigh that comes from the woman, one that seems to be all too familiar on those all too perfect features. Motioning to one of the two chairs facing her desk, Emma moves over to sit in the other one, picking up a mug of something that you could have sworn was not there before. Sipping from it, she adds, "… you wanted to tell me about it. Well… I am here, and I am not prying. Since you're so concerned about that as well. But when a student is shouting their thoughts at themselves in the hallway, I cannot help but listen."
A flush of navy blue colors Jill's cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Oh, umm, yes. Of course." With delicacy, she sits in the fine white leather chair opposite Miss Frost, hands gripping her knees which can't seem to stop bouncing with a nervous energy. "It's about one of the other students. Quenton. He, umm… and Nicholas. He sort of said, Quenton that is, he said…" The story is there but it's taking some time to put the pieces together in an appropriate order. "I don't know exactly if he meant it but he said he was… going to go, umm… try to hunt down the people who killed Nick's parents and do stuff to them." The last words tumble out all in a rush.
"Given Mister Michaels' background and personal issues… this is not surprising." Emma replies with a slight and soft chuckle that seems none too pleasant in the slightest. But with that, she stands up, and smoothes out the front of her coat, and looks down at the young blue girl, "Well then… shall we? I believe since you are the one who brought this to my attention, you at least owe it to Mister Michaels to allow him to face his accuser. He might not respect the choice, but he must acknowledge it." The room seems to take a bit more of a chill as she begins walking slowly towards the door.
"Umm, uhh," Jill sputters, rising halfway from her seat, eyes flicking this way and that as if in search of a convenient escape hatch. She swallows hard, doing little to ease the lump in her throat. Oh, this is exactly what she didn't want. "Yes, ma'am," she concedes weakly, head down and trailing behind like a puppy that knows it's done wrong.
When they find Quenton, he's near his room in the dorms, leaning against a wall, eyes closed while he tries to idly release his anger on himself, mostly, smashing his knuckles occasionally against his temple, the air around his head rippling with the force. Each sound is loud, not gunshot loud, but still loud, like distant thunder, before his red eyes flick open when he hears footsteps. A glance over, hoping it's Shane and seeing something else entirely: Jill and Emma. "Well, well." He doesn't make any effort to push off the wall and greet them.
"Well indeed, Mister Michaels… I don't suppose I could have a moment of your time?", Miss Emma Frost says with what could be charitably be called a neutral tone. Motioning for Jill to come forwards, the white-clad woman's form remains as still as a statue, her own lips barely moving as she continues on, "I understand you're considering leaving school grounds and going to deal with a problem in one of your fellow students' home town?"
With her shoulders hunched, head down, and arms clasped tightly across her stomach, Jill is apparently attempting to spontaneously implode with only limited success. For someone who is only the whistleblower and not the guilty party, she looks guilty as all hell. Dutifully she steps forward, just a little, on command and completely refuses to look Quenton in the eye.
"Yeah. You know. On the weekends. He has a little issue I'm gonna help handle," Quenton replies, though his red eyes remain on Jill now, wetting his lips needlessly. "I'll be back before curfew," he promises. "I have a date with my girlfriend and all that." Finally he peels his gaze from Jill to look at Emma's face. "Why?"
"Simple, ", Emma replies without hardly stopping, "I'm here to stop you, if needs be, by force… because you see… you have no real idea what you're going up against with the Purifiers, and you really don't wish to know." Looking back to Jill a moment, her locks sweep over her face a moment, and then back again, as she keeps one eye sideways on the boy, "This is the part where you get angry, and tell me why I cannot do what I claim to do… feel free to rip up something, and throw it. I pay well for the best in insurance and landscaping."
"I had to tell her," Jill defends herself in a still, small voice, like she had no choice in the matter. Furtively, she looks up to gauge Quenton's reaction then quickly back down to the hall floor. "I had to," she repeats more to herself than anyone else. "You can't… I didn't want you to…" Feeble, fumbling words.
"I might be strong, and probably dumber than most. But I'm not stupid," Quenton murmurs, while he watches Emma. "I know who you are and what you can do better than most students in this school. Used to be the X-Men's biggest fans before I met the real them. A bunch of fucking assholes who don't really help us, really. Letting a supervillain run the school and all that, someone who's probably killed people." His lip twitches a moment. "I know you could stop me easier than just about anyone here." Jill's words earn her a look from him, and despite his attempt to be calm, steam can be seen rising from his skin.
The smile on Emma Frost's face is as predatory as it is amused, "Ah yes.. this old song and dance." But then she stops and turns her head to look at Jill, "Before you ask, it's all true. Before I became the Headmistress of Xavier's… I was in fact a villain. Of the original staff here, I have hurt, tortured, manipulated, and even possessed at least one, if not all of them. I tried to train a class of students to kill the second generation, which included Mister Guthrie." Finally, she turns and looks back at Quenton, leveling her gaze on him, "You really have no idea what we DO here, Mister Michaels. For you, for her… for mutants as a whole. And of course, if I cared to explain, you would explain how little you care. You're not ready to face the Purifiers. They are trained, they are committed, but most of all… They have faith. A weapon that has begun wars the likes of which history does no justice."
The blue girl looks as if she's been struck, first from the look from Quenton and then the enlightening confession from Emma. Her disbelieving glance roves from Miss Frost and back to Quenton. "But…" she starts to object, though it's unclear who or what she's objecting to. Out of her depth, she falls back to teacher's pet and adds to Emma's argument, perhaps unhelpfully, "Y-… you could get hurt. Or killed, if you tried."
"The White Queen here just admitted she used to torture students here and yet you're still on her side?" wonders Quenton, while he shakes his head. He scoffs. "What does it matter? I said I was going to, but it's not like I did. I haven't done anything wrong. You gonna punish me for something I haven't done yet?" he wonders. "Hell, with this in mind, I might not even go." Probing his mind says differently.
There is another moment where Emma pauses, arching one brow… not a lick of power comes off her, nor a touch to Quenton's mind that he would know of. Nor does she seem to need to. Instead, she says in a deceptively soft tone, "Doing this will not bring back the people who you've hurt, Mister Michaels. They will not bring your friend back, and they will not make you feel any better. If you attack the Purifiers NOW, all you will do is add more fuel to the fire. They WANT us to take revenge. They have placed us in a no-win situation. If you go, and you live, you will be on television held up as a mutant monster attacking a sleepy little town who's only crime was defending itself from a dangerous mutant attacking them. If you die… you give them your body to show the world they have the power to stop us."
Adding on top if that, she gives a very faint smile to Jill, looking to her as Emma then says, "We do not go, they are allowed to spread their lies as they see fit, and gain more ground in the places where more of your brothers and sisters would come to light. And if you think I enjoy sitting on my hands like this? You are wrong. The very first thing I wished to do was go there and… fix things… but if I did that… I'd be no better than they are."
Stuck between a raging bull and a dangerous ice queen, Jill has nowhere to run even if she could make herself move. "It's…" Something resolves inside the translucent girl, a bit of spine if she could be said to have one. "It's not right. What they did. But what you said you'd do, it'd just… make things worse." Here, the brief burst of conviction falters a little. "I don't really understand everything, and I don't know what to do. But there's got to be something. Some other way." Damned if she knows what it is, though. Sapphire eyes flick to Emma, searching for an answer.
Quenton's a sucker. Whether Emma's softness is feigned or not, the steam eventually dissipates as he stares at her, lip twitching faintly before he jerks his gaze abruptly away, jaw trembling before it clenches itself. "Bad things happen to good people, and you're telling me to let it." He shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists. "How many more people are going to get fucking killed by them? And nothing happens?" He shoots a look towards Jill. "If they die, they won't be able to hurt anyone anymore. I don't need to be better than them. I can be that guy that everyone hates. I prefer it that way."
"That is because hate is easy. Love is harder, because love takes trust. And trust is a commodity that is both precious and often times rare." And with that Emma walks over to where the young man is, and reaches up in a rare gesture to touch his shoulder should he allow it, "There's no easy answer to this problem. If you hurt them, then they can show others how we've harmed them… using their words to create more hate. And if we answer with the same, it all escalates. Until it stops being a war of shadows and all the ugliness is dragged into the light." Motioning around, "If you want to think of this as a gilded cage, it can be viewed as such. But a cage protects what is inside as well as keeps it within. Let us protect you until you're ready, train you until you're ready, and help you trust us… so that when you're ready, you CAN make that choice, knowing the consequences and being truly responsible for them."
Jill looks like she's truly sorry all of this had to come up, but such is the way with messy affairs. Shuffling her feet and pulling her arms tighter against her stomach, she also decides she's better off not saying anything at this point and possibly screwing up Emma's much more eloquent argument. However, in doing so, she appears more and more conflicted, the real price of understanding.
"So you literally just… won't do nothing. It's going to be this way for a long time, until people like me get out of this 'gilded cage' and take the fight to them. That's how I understand what you're saying," grunts Quenton miserably, while he drops against the wall limply. "I wonder how Nick feels about his entire family getting brutally murdered and the killers getting away with it. My guess, since you know they're Purifiers, is you already know. I didn't feel protected when I was kidnapped here and woke up in the Danger Room, with no record of how me and the others got there. Has that been looked into? I don't feel well trained. And while you're making it hard to hate you, it's much much harder to trust you."
The demure smile returns, "It is easier to count on the fingers of one hand the people who trust me than those who do not. Your lack of trust is justified…" With that pause however, she sweeps, and turns to begin walking away from the pair, "We have a choice here… protect you all as best we can and teach you the lessons we had to learn the hard way so that hopefully you do not have to repeat them… that the burden of the bodies buried before you are ours to bear, and not your own." Stopping after a half-dozen steps she then adds, "We do not know how any of you got into the Danger Room that night. There is no sign of any teleportation, nor any magic that our friendly assistance of the Avengers was able to garner. For all the power we possess… there is still too much that is mystery."
As she continues to stride away, both of you hear in your minds, -Do not be angry at the young lady… she was doing what she felt was right, just as you wished to. I do not fault either of you children for your reasonings. You are both correct… and that… damnably… is the hardest part of this. Because it is put on us to make the best choice of all the worst choices present. One day… I hope you both understand and appreciate. Or at least… remember to hate me more than each other.-
Her world of nice black and white, good and evil, four-color clarity is becoming increasingly murky. Jill starts to totter obediently after Emma, but stops herself. Turmoil writ large on her shiny blue features, her glance follows the headmistress then back to Quenton, caught between them in more ways than one. Her mouth opens to speak but there is only silence, then a grimace.
The last thing heard from Quenton is an angry growl before he turns and throws his door open. Specially designed so he doesn't destroy it, it still whines underneath the pressure he puts on it before he moves into his room and the door slams shut, gunshot loud.
