Mark & Emma, backdated to Thursday

[x-pressive.livejournal.com]

Emma begins her conquest overhaul stewardship of Snow Valley much to Mark's surprise, and unsurprisingly trips him up.


Mark's magnetopathy trick was slowly getting easier to handle, at least as far as the music necessary to fuel it wasn't quite so grating anymore. Ironic that the most obnoxious pop music could power one of his most useful manifestations. It was still mostly a matter of levitating small metallic objects, but at least Mark had enough control to not destroy every electronic device in his immediate area. A handful of nails floated by his head as he typed, and his monitor barely flickered.

He stopped typing as half a dozen men carrying big boxes entered the front lobby and headed straight down the hall without even sparing him a glance, and he was about to protest when a familiar face appeared behind them. The nails fell on his desk with a clatter. "Emma! This is a surprise . . ."

Emma smiled, then frowned just as quickly, a flicker of expressions. "Have you been working on your shielding, Mark?" she asked, arching one perfect eyebrow at him. "Is that actually what that song sounds like?" The eyebrow raised just a little higher as another quicksilver thought flickered past her. "With a student of Charles? Unexpected. Though I can understand the aesthetic appeal." Her warm smile reappeared. "I was going to ask how your life was but it appears the answer would be 'athletic'."

There were few things that made Mark modest enough to blush. Emma Frost was one of them. "Well, you know how important it is that we keep in shape," he replied. "And if I'm really lucky, he's not some old Arab's trigger-happy whore. So, uh, what's all this?" He gestured at the retreating movers.

"Speaking from experience, you generally only get one old Arab's trigger-happy whore in a lifetime but I haven't let it stop me living in hope," replied Emma. "As for the boxes - have your lords and mistress failed to keep their minions informed? I shall have to remember to chastise them firmly. Let's just say that I've decided to take more of an interest in where my money is being spent. A hands-on interest. Which happens to require that I move into the corner office - for at least a few hours a week."

He'd heard the rumors that Emma was a bit miffed about the operations of the Center, of course, but not that she'd been planning on bringing her imperial highness to the Center itself. "So this means we have to start behaving now? You take the fun out of everything," he teased.

"Behaving, Mark?" Emma smiled. "Would I ever ask that of you? After all, it's just so much fun being bad."

Whether it was Emma's telepathy or just her sheer presence, those words sent a tingle down Mark's spine. Undoubtedly the reaction she was looking for, he figured, but her ability to give him of all people such a reaction was just uncanny. "POSH" echoed in his mind.

"Oh, my dear boy," purred Emma and reached forward to touch his cheek ever so lightly. "I wouldn't do it if you didn't enjoy it so much. Now," she said, straightening up, "I have a number of burly men with rippling muscles to supervise - would you care to assist?"

"Hmm. Yes. I'm very good at . . . assisting." Mark couldn't foresee any way for this to end well, but far be it from him to not enjoy the ride. At least the scenery was very nice. "We need to add your preferences to the coffee run list, come to think of it. Lemme see, you're a mocha latte with soy milk served at precisely ninety-eight degrees?"

"On a good day," said Emma. "But considering the fact that I'm here to look at accounts, I'm not sure that they'll all be good days. Put me down for lemon-scented tea, black, strong, to start with. But yes for the ninety-eight degrees." There was a noise, possibly not a good noise, from the corner office and Emma winced slightly. "I believe my supervisory services are required."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Let me go get you that tea."