2012-01-12: Under Pressure

Players: Emma & Quenton

Emma_icon.jpg Quenton_icon.jpg

Summary: Late at night, Emma Frost brings Quenton to her office to introduce him to a brand new day.

Date: January 12, 2012

Log Title: Under Pressure

Rating: PG

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.

Night time is a hardly the best time for someone to have their mind invaded with a telepathic message to come to the Headmistress' office, but Emma Frost is hardly someone who has a 'best time'. So it's late in the evening when most of the student body is in bed when Quenton is kindly asked to come to her office to speak with her. Despite the fact of the time, she is still dressed for her work in her X-style business suit, sipping on a glass of wine and with a copy of a very old looking book in her lap.

Quenton is in a synthetic hooded sweatshirt that hugs his form tightly, blue, breaking his color scheme, tonguing his cheekk. It appears, like always, it seems, he is still awake, bags under his crimson eyes as he stalks inside the office, leaning his shoulder on the door to close it. Once he succeeds, he drops on the chair i front of the woman's desk, glancing at the wine a moment, lip twitching. "What?" he greets.

Emma finishes off her wine and settles the empty glass next to the chair that's positioned before the fireplace. Then she gets up and walks towards the desk, "I see the art of conversation is not lost on you. But I did bring you here at what most people consider a godawful hour of night. But… there is good reason for this." On the desk are two boxes, the smaller of which she picks up and brings over to the young man, opening it to reveal… a pen. a metal twist-action pen, "Now that the new year has begun, it is time to get you better trained in the use of your strength. This pen is designed with people like the Hulk in mind, and has a pressure sensor built in. So long as you can maintain a specific pressure or lower, it will write. Higher, and it will not. Naturally, over time, we can adjust this to help you." That is left right there, in Quenton's lap.

"Joy. Now I can do homework," Quenton murmurs, glancing down at the box, staring at it before he picks it up. He could write music and recipes with this. He doesn't say that allowed, though, tucking the pen into his hoodie pocket, watching Emma listlessly a moment. "Thanks," he mutters, not sounding as grateful as he really is. "Is this all? I was sleeping." An obvious lie, but he doesn't seem to care.

Emma arches a brow, and the rather trademarked long-suffering sigh comes from her lips as she presses the heel of her hand to her forehead for a moment, letting her hair cascade along her wrist, "No… I simply adore waking recalcitrant ruffians from their roosts at the eve of the witching hour, Mister Michaels. It's a hobby I wish to indulge more often." Not letting the rich smirk show before the longer box is picked up, and walked over to the young man, and set down in front of him. Unlike the Panasonic Tuffbooks the school is using for most of the students, this one is slim and almost unearthly looking, and as laptops go it feels really high tech, "This device is adapted from technologies that do not belong on planet Earth. It has been formatted to function as a standard computer for school use, and has a touch-pressure plate in the touch interface system. Again, so long as you can push with under a certain pressure, it will make words."

"I don't know what the hell recalcitrant means, but I'm going to assume it's an insult, since you're the Ice Queen. White Queen. Whatever the hell they're calling you nowdays," grunts Quenton, before glancing at the box as it is set down. He stares at the computer for a long time, blinking a moment, before glancing up over to Emma, furrowing his brow. His lip twitches upward, but he hides it, jerking his gaze away, clearing the lump in his throat. "Thanks," he murmurs, and it sounds more genuine this time.

This time the young man can see the smile, as Emma replies, "Oh… don't thank me yet. Here is where you can channel all of that anger at me once more. The reason I called you at this time of night was so that no one would notice that Forge is replacing your doorknob with one based on the same technology. So… you will have to be careful, otherwise your door will not unlock for you." It's almost impish how that look plays over her lips as she walks over to her book, and picks it up, checking her place as it was set aside, "Do you know the first thing we did for Miss Morgenstern… I mean… Shane was, Mister Michael? Underwear. Because her power would destroy her's. Imagine how that must feel… every time your power goes off, you're left with nothing. And then suddenly comes along an insignificant thing. Something others take for granted all the time. Suddenly… those little things become so much more precious. Wouldn't you agree?"

"That's fine. I'll fucking sleep outside if I have to," mutters Quenton, but as Emma's words continue, he furrows his brow when Shane comes up. His upper lip curls slightly, the brief warmth leaving his as quickly as it came as his red eyes track the woman back while she walks off, aforementioned lip twitching slightly. He releases a soft exhale, before jerking his gaze away. "Why are you telling me this?" he wonders, voice all kinds of cold.

The book is put up on the wall, and then her wineglass returns to her desk where it's settled on a spot on the marble before Emma turns to face the young man in full, "Because you need to understand that we might not do it right the first time, and we might have to take time to get it right, but we WILL get things right. You came here, and we left things be because you were hurting, and you were angry. Now we know that a part of that is your ability itself." She pauses, and looks over at the fire for a moment, and it seems to dim a little bit, "I will never be the nicest person you know, I will never be anything less than brutally honest, and I will not back down from my position unless I am thoroughly proven wrong, Quenton Michaels. I was born with a silver spoon, and I eat gold plated ice cream. But…" Again there's a pause, "I will never, ever, not help a student who comes here willingly to learn… help to the best of my considerable ability and wealth."

"Yeah. Well. By what you're saying, Your Majesty, is that I'll never be the nicest person ever anyway, so give me the best you fucking got," Quenton mutters. "You're one of the many teachers here who can stop me anyway if I fly off the deep end, so it's not like it matters." He stares at the laptop now, before wetting his lips. "Thanks for the computer. It's one of the nicest things anyone ever done for me, if you aren't ever gonna be the nicest person ever." He stares at the laptop for a while, before grunting. "And I didn't go to hick country, like you said, despite wanting to. So joy for that."

Emma is suddenly right there, one of her golden locks almost touching the laptop's surface as she replies softly, "It matters. For all that ability, it comes at a cost of all of us, Mister Michaels. I did not simply wake up overnight with the ability to manipulate minds I have. There was the power, but it took time, training, effort, and more than my share of pain to truly understand my gift. The same is easily said of you." Then she leans back, and moves to sit down on the chair next to the young man, "You can fly. I will never be able to fly except for first class, and the times I can see into a flying person's mind… so it will never be the visceral experience. In many ways, all being a telepath is, is being the ultimate voyeur. Always watching, but doing?" The arm of the chair is rubbed by one white-gloved hand as she gives a rueful chuckle, "That can be much more intimidating."

The young mutant shifts slightly, glancing aside at Emma, then averts his eyes while trying to keep his emotions in check. "I can't fly as fast or as high as flying," he protests. "But at least I can control my flying. It is probably my favorite power," he mutters, shrugging his shoulders, slickening his lips again with a tongue anxiously. "You probably know more about my powers then I do. I read up on some of yours. Though there's not that much information."

Once more she looks to the fire, and the flames seem to rise up once more to their original merry cheer, as Emma says with the back of her head to you, "That is a conversation for another night, Mister Michaels. Let's strike a deal, shall we? For every thing that I have you do, I will allow you in private to ask one question that will garner you the honest truth… or as honest a truth I am allowed to give depending on it's nature." Her hands run on the arm of the chair again, "I am the fifth most powerful telepath on the planet… because while I do not have the range and raw power others do, I make up for it with a painstaking versatility. I can tell your mind how to heal you, make you see things not there. I have also, thanks to spending time with two other X-men, mastered the ability to agitate molecules with the same." The fire flares and then dims to almost nothing, "Like so."

"Depends on what you have me do. I suppose I have a choice, though, so…" Quenton presses his lips tightly together, watching the back of Emma's head, then glances down to the laptop in his hands drumming his fingers on the sleek material. "Fifth most powerful. Who are the other four? Or do I have to do something to get that information out of you?" His eyes jerk to the fire, and he furrows his brow now, staring at it with his red eyes.

Holding up two fingers, Emma then curls down down the middle, leaving a single in the air as she replies, "The most powerful is Professor Charles Xavier, the founder of this school. Followed after him are the Shadow King, and the now-deceased Jean Grey. We count her because she has this damnable habit of coming back. After her is her daughter from another dimension Rachel Summers, and her son as the same. Then there is me." She then twirls her lone finger once in the air, "I know I mentioned five there… but to be fair… the Summers family is so convoluted that daytime Spanish soap opera writers could take lessons. It's hard to recall who's dead, who's alive, who is a clone, and who is from what corner of what universe."

"Must be awesome to know that the people more powerful than you are the most badass in the world," Quenton murmurs, runninng his hands through his hair briefly, then glancing over towards Emma now. "I thought you were, like, screwing one of the Summers. That's what the word around the school was anyway."

Turning fully to face the young man, her looks is flat and flinty, "One does not screw Scott Summers, Quenton Michaels… that would be like walking naked into the rain calling it a shower. I did not screw Scott Summers. I love him. However… love is not enough when one has to contend with a man who is in love with a dream." Motioning around, she adds, "All this exists partly due to him… his drive, his goals. Tempered by the training of one of the wisest and most powerful men this world has ever known."Finally, she adds softly, "You still have one."

"You're weird," decides Quenton, perhaps one of the only times someone has ever described the woman as that, while his arms cross over his chest, glancing about now. "And this is his dream? A school that draws more problems than a normal one? Part of the reason my father sent me here is to try and give me a normal life. But that isn't -" He's cut off by Emma's final words, furrowing his brow. "Still have one what?"

Emma wriggles her finger, "You still have one more question. Pen, Laptop, Doorknob. And so far you've asked me about powers and relationships." There's another of those curvy sighs of hers, meant to draw men's eyes right there, but it passe, and she adds, "Professor Charles Xavier took his family home and turned it into a training ground for children with special abilities. He wanted to show them how not to be afraid of their gifts, and in turn to show the world that they were responsible, mature, and capable. A force for change. That idea expanded into this school. Which yes… is a target. We admit to this, and if you would care to believe it… what actually gets through only scratches the surface of what we truly deal with." The last finger doesn't drop however, as she then adds, "You get that one for free. Because… as usual… since I made the rules, I can break them as I see fit."

"Am I the only student who gets this question answer thing? Or have you extended this offer to someone else? And if it's just me, why?" Quenton tries, while he presses his lips tightly together. He listens to Frost's explanation regarding the school, lifting a hand to scratch at his cheek, hard enough that little bloody lines can be seen.

Emma allows the last finger to fall and gives the boy a sidelong smirk, "You're the first. You value honesty more than anything else, because that was how you were raised. Each student I try, when possible, to approach differently. Some I am an ungodly terror to, some I seem infinitely nice. It's grossly unfair… but in the end… I prefer what works over what's fair."

"And how do you know I value honesty more than anyone else? Did you rip that from my mind or is it just a guess?" wonders the tall mutant, while his fingers now go back to the computer in his lap, lip twitching slightly while he watches the woman. "Some kind of psych profile I don't know about?"

Pushing to a standing position, Emma starts walking towards her desk, saying over her shoulder, "Ah ah… you don't get to hear that until I come up with another task, Mister Michaels… Now… I believe bed is calling you, and before you ask… I do believe that computer in your lap could run any and every program you would ever dream of, and you'll never have to plug it in. Features I am sure you will discover over time, if you're curious… and patient enough."

"Bed is calling me," echoes Quenton. He has no intention of sleeping there, though. No. He'll be exploring this fancy new peice of alien technology. He rises, grunting, before shifting slightly, glancing towards the hall. The doorknob. That will soon become his nemesis. "I'll be patient," he agrees, lifting himself to his feet, briefly tapping into his flight power to make himself rise more smoothly. "Thanks again," he mutters.

Emma replies with a rather prim grin on her face, "I will remember those words when you are cursing my name, Mister Michaels. But be that as it may… sleep well, when it comes."

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