London Calling: Emma

[x-celsis.livejournal.com]

The White Queen is late to the party.


Emma Frost was tetchy. In fact, she would go so far to describe herself as irritable.

It had taken a ridiculously long time to tear herself away from the obviously besotted minor (or was he major? she wasn't quite sure where the line was drawn these days) European royal, but she had to concede that it was difficult to rudely cut short a conversation with a man who had just offered to allow you the use of his dungeon and the services of a number of his more specialised staff. It was, after all, the point of these soirees.

It had taken even more time to change, but there was no way that she was going to allow Armani couture and Louboutin stilettos within several city blocks of Pete Wisdom. Her new outfit, despite being made primarily of white leather and strapping, was remarkably practical.

But what truly irritated her was that  whoever was supposed to meet her and fill her in had vanished and, according to their thoughts, was currently under attack from - something. It didn't matter which of the team it was; all of the Centre employees were being attacked by - something.

And the Astral Plane was whispering in her head.

Aside from her own sanctuary, which she had rebuilt at speed, the majority of the Astral Plane remained a smoking ruin since Farouk's incursion. Emma hadn't ventured into it much since its near-demise, but now it was whispering at her, drawing her onwards. It wasn't just a psychic draw; there was magic wrapped up in it as well. Somehow Emma knew that it was a spell, below hearing, below conscious thought, but pulling her onwards. Sometimes she almost thought she could hear words. "London Bridge is falling down," it whispered, in what sounded like Amanda's voice. The little witch was the centre of this problem and Emma chased the spell, following it in the Astral Plane where it overlaid London, the teasing whisper drawing her away from helping the others.

So she was beyond irritated when the whispering stopped at the edge of the water. As did Emma.

"Well that's annoying," she said, staring across at the Houses of Parliament. She must be at Westminster Pier, she realised. Even this late at night, there were still large numbers of tourists around and their thoughts battered against her as she reached out across the Astral Plane, seeking the spell that had gone missing so abruptly.

There was the sound of metal striking stone behind her, the terrible clattering of  mighty hooves and the screams of tourists.

"This is not going to be good," said Emma, turning diamond, turning around.

The statue of Boudica had leapt down from its plinth and the Iceni Queen's spear was aimed directly at Emma's breast. Emma reached out with her mind but there was no mind for her to grasp. This battle was going to be physical.

"A challenge," said Emma and grinned suddenly. "I do so love a challenge."

Then she was ducking sideways as the spear flashed at her, clattered against her shoulder and fell to the ground beside her. Emma kept rolling as Boudica's chariot drove forward, glinting blue gossamer-magic reins appearing at the mouths of the horses as the Iceni trotted forward, metal daughter leaning down to scoop the spear up and hand it back to her mother. The statue slewed around towards Emma and the terrified screams of the tourists turned to screams of pain as the wildly skittering wheels made a wide arc, the deadly scythes in their centres mowing people down.

"Tourists," said Emma mockingly and then danced forwards, her movements light as she stalked towards the statue, which turned towards her, its wheels grinding against the pavement. And nearer, Emma realised, to the unconscious body of the man who had been caught by the scythe. His girlfriend's terrified face turned to Emma as the girl threw herself over his body, trying hard to protect him from the tonnes of metal that ground ever nearer as the chariot turned.

"Fuck," spat Emma and darted forwards, between the horses' legs, arresting their movement, stopping the deadly turn of the wheel. She reached for a gossamer rein but her fingers slid right through them and then her vision was filled with flailing bronze hooves as both horses reared above her. Caught off balance, Emma's foot slipped and she fell beneath the horses' hooves. Even in her invulnerable state, she winced as bronze clanged from her diamond shoulders, ripping leather from her body until it hung in tatters, tonnes of horse smashing down on her, the chariot grinding as they leapt forward. The sheer size of the thing saved her, the chariot passing over her as it went.

As soon as the chariot had cleared her, Emma reverted to flesh.  #Get out,# she screamed, psychically, a lash of power at everyone on the Pier. It was a command, irresistible, and she saw the girl pick up her boyfriend, stagger away from the terrible battle. Then a metal hand closed on Emma's upper arm, so hard she thought it would break.

#The daughters,# she thought and turned back to diamond. Slick bronze flesh, slick diamond - they slid from each other as Emma twisted her arm, broke free as the chariot continued its inexorable path forward, the daughter leaning backwards with open hands grasping at her. Even as Emma watched, the chariot began its inevitable turn back towards her. Grasping the seconds she had, Emma turned back to flesh, ignoring the pain in her upper arm as she lashed outwards with her thoughts again. #Go,# she screamed, hammering her thought into pathways that flooded bodies with adrenalin, sudden strength, fear. The girl stopped staggering under her boyfriend's dead weight, picked him up as if he were light and ran. Emma's command roiled outwards, driving people away, trying hard to hear when the chariot had turned back to her again. She caught the whisper just in time, turned back to diamond as the spear impacted between her shoulder blades. The force of the blow launched her into the air, driving her body across the stones. She scrabbled at concrete, stopping her slide at the water's edge.

"Bitch," snarled Emma as she rose, turned eyes full  of murder on Boudica. "You're going to pay for that one."

Boudica looked at her, her expression still serenely powerful, her hands light on the gossamer reins. The horses pawed lightly at the ground, eager to go forward and Boudica let them, her hands releasing the reins. Emma found herself astonished at how fast the horses could go from a halt to a dead gallop and then found herself thinking nothing at all as she let her body flow, dancing lightly, all grace and desperation as she flung herself to the side. There was a terrible noise beside her, then an almighty splash as Boudica, horse, chariot, daughters and all galloped headlong into the Thames.

"Well, that was easy," said Emma as the water stopped roiling at her feet. "Or not," she finished as the horses' heads broke the water on the other bank. There was magic involved, she knew, as tonnes of bronze arced gracefully up over the bank, the chariot wheels gliding easily out of the water and around as the statue turned back towards Emma. Queen faced queen across the water and for a moment Emma thought she could hear the whisper of Amanda's voice in her head again, creating the magic that animated the Iceni Queen. Then Boudica released the reins again. The horses surged forward and back into the water and Emma ran.

She had barely made ten strides before the chariot boiled out of the water behind her, leapt onto the Pier. She heard the scrape of metal on stone again and the spear took her in the back again, flinging her across the ground again. The chariot thundered past, the scythes barely passing over her tumbling body.

Emma rose again, suddenly aware that this fight was not going to be easy. "Amanda," she growled at the voice she could no longer hear in her head. "Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this?" she screamed at the statue of Boudica.

The Iceni Queen looked up from where her daughter was handing her the spear and looked at Emma. Really looked at her.

"You can hear me," breathed Emma. Maybe there was another way to deal with this.

Emma stood straight suddenly, ignoring her shredded corset, her stained trousers and ripped boots. She raised her chin and suddenly the White Queen of the Hellfire Club was there in all her glory - terrible and fair and glorious - untouchable and regal in command.

"You were the Queen of the Iceni," she said and the statue bowed her head slightly, in acknowledgement of the fact or of her equal - it was hard to tell. "And I am the Queen of Hellfire."

"You were loved," continued Emma. "So loved that he left you his kingdom. So loved that he gave you daughters you would have died for - daughters you would kill for. Loved by your people because you were terrible in your wrath but fair and just in your rulings."

"I was not loved," said Emma. "I fought for my kingdom. Scratched it out of the bodies of the men and women who thought I should be their plaything, fought for every inch of ground and stepped over the bodies of those who would thwart me. But when I was Queen - oh, they worshipped me and I too was glorious and terrible and just."

"The Romans came for you. The Romans ignored your husband's wishes and tried to break the Queen of the Iceni. They used you," said Emma. "They stole your land. They flogged you. They raped your daughters. And they expected you to give in. They wanted you to break. And you burned them all."

She stalked forward, closer to the vast statue, the horses pawing at the ground at their eagerness to leap forwards, held back by the bronze hand of Boudica. "They took away my school," she said to Boudica. "They killed my children," and her voice was a terrible cry. "All of my children. They burned them and shot them and killed them. To punish me. To make me hurt. My children died because of what I was - they were innocent. So very, very innocent." Emma's head dropped for a minute and then raised again to stare Boudica in the eye. "I know what they did to you. I am you. And they deserved to burn."

Silence echoed on Westminster Pier for seconds, minutes as Boudica went still, even the horses suddenly silent as they faced the diamond queen. The sound that broke the silence was unexpected.

Water splashed on to the chariot's prow. Ancient sorrow squeezed ancient water from the depths of  metal.

Queen Boudica was weeping.

For a moment, just a moment, Emma thought she had won. Then the whisper came in her head ~London Bridge is falling down~ and she knew that she hadn't.

Weeping, Boudica raised her hand and let fly the spear.

"Screw this," said Emma as she twisted her body, flinging herself from the path of the spear. "New tactics," she said, and ran down Bridge St. She could hear Boudica reaching for her spear, but she had to risk it. She let her body melt into flesh as she ran and gathered her power to her.

Into the heart of London, Emma threw a psychic bomb.

From The Mall to Petty France, Westminster to Buckingham Palace, the command rolled out into minds, an imperative impossible to ignore. #Run# it screamed. #Get away. Run for your life.#

People ran. Away from the river they ran, away from the Palace, the Mall, out of their homes and cars, people sprinted into the night, away from that terrible command, the voice in their head that drove them onwards, would not let them return that night.

Emma watched the crowds flee before her as she ran, heard the terrible whisper of the spear behind her and managed to dodge just in time. The spear clattered harmlessly past her, too close, too close, and she shifted back to diamond just in time. The bronze horse's teeth clashed against her shoulder, ripping the last of her corset from her body as it threw her to the ground, but leaving her unharmed.

"Too damned close," groaned Emma as the chariot thundered past her. "Got to get rid of that damned spear. Slow her down."

Looking up, she realised she was on Birdcage Walk, the park looming to her right, the wide road before her. No good for her plan she thought, even as Boudica's chariot completed its turn, began thundering back towards her. She had to get to the left, she knew, to the buildings. She needed a corner, took the time to glance about her as the chariot came nearer. Storey's Gate was just behind her, not far, not far - time to turn and run, to feel the thunder of the horses' hooves rolling behind her before she could throw herself to her right, into Storey's Gate and run, run faster.

It worked. Somehow, improbably, wonderfully, it worked. Boudica's chariot slewed wildly after Emma and clipped the edge of the large stone building on the corner. Bronze screamed along the front of the building and something scraped off the edge of the chariot.

It became a game, a dance. The chariot was huge, unwieldy, forced to take to the larger streets to turn and chase. Emma darted between buildings, down alleyways, keeping the chariot always in view, just enough to draw Boudica's attention, keep the Iceni chasing after her shadow. Stone chipped and fell, great gouges ripped from the corners of buildings as the chariot bounced wildly round tight turns. Somewhere a daughter's arm was lost, Boudica's gowns torn, the left scythe torn off on the edge of a building.

But Emma needed more. For a start, she needed to get rid of that damned spear and she thought she might know how to do it, if she could work out some of  the geography. She twisted between buildings, twisted between forms - diamond to flesh, reaching out with her mind to find someone who had the knowledge she needed.

She found someone at last, a fleeing man that had the knowledge she needed, but it nearly killed her. She had thought Boudica was further away than she really was - even as she riffled the man's mind, pulling out street names, the shape of buildings, geography, she heard the whip of the spear whisper past her hair, held flesh a shade too long. A bronze fist punched into her back, a terrible explosion of pain tearing through Emma's ribs and back, so bad that she almost blacked out. It took every ounce of her willpower to shift her body back to diamond even as she fell forward, pain leaving her in a gasp.

No more flesh was possible, she knew - the damage done would be too distracting while she was fighting for her life. She would have to use the information that she had. Hauling herself back to her feet, she began the dance again.

Twisting and turning, back and forth, Emma drew the chariot to Tothill Street, forced it into a wide turn as she ran between the buildings, got to where she wanted to be. Boudica turned into Dartmouth Street and Emma waited in the shadows, behind the edge of the building. As Boudica thundered towards the corner, she stepped out, just enough of her showing, catching Boudica's eye where the chariot could not go. If she had timed it right . . .

She had timed it right. Boudica knew she couldn't make the corner, so she threw the spear. It clattered past Emma, up the Cockpit Steps - and was lost to Boudica. There was no way that the chariot could make it into the narrow passageway between buildings.

It was a small victory. Until Boudica changed the rules. The Queen of the Iceni was a formidable warrior and she knew she was starting to lose. No longer would she chase Emma, no matter how swiftly, how lightly Emma danced into her vision. Ponderously the chariot rolled forward, slowly stalking the diamond queen, stopping the damage to itself.

Emma couldn’t keep it up, she knew. It wasn't dodging Boudica that was the problem - the problem was that her psychic bomb wouldn't stop new people coming in to the area. Switching back and forth between flesh and diamond would kill her - adrenalin would keep the pain away for a while, but she would lose concentration quickly and the energy drain of constantly driving out new people would reduce it even further.

She needed momentum.

Years of chess helped. Slowly, carefully, Emma teased Boudica. She showed herself, glimpses of diamond, letting Boudica move closer, manoeuvring the chariot until Boudica turned onto Birdcage Walk, the long straight area that Emma had been so assiduously avoiding, where Boudica could again reach a gallop. Emma let herself turn flesh, pain radiating from arm and back and ribs, letting it ride over her even as she sent her mind out again, another bomb, all her power reaching out again. #Go. Flee.# she sent to anyone who had returned to the Walk, the park, the Mall, filling the command with all her pain to drive people faster. She showed herself to Boudica, standing on the corner of Queen Anne's Gate and Birdcage Walk, holding herself still, letting herself droop with pain and exhaustion as the chariot swayed towards her, walking, then trotting then galloping, heading from the river towards Buckingham Palace. Longer she stood still, making sure everyone had fled from the Mall, that Boudica couldn’t change direction. Longer she stood again until the last moment had been and gone and gone again, until it was past the last moment for the chariot to avoid her and she was sure to be struck - she turned into diamond and twisted. Metal hooves and hands and scythe blades whirled past and Emma ran into the park, across the lake, towards The Mall.

There was no way for Boudica to follow her, no point in doing so. Emma fled towards The Mall and it was easier for Boudica to gallop to the end of Birdcage Walk, use the roundabout to turn and run down Emma on the wide and pitiless road before Buckingham Palace, where there was nowhere to hide.

Emma was counting on it.

So, at the end, they faced each other down the length of the echoing road, empty of traffic, empty of everyone, even the Palace Guardsman fleeing before the power of Emma's psychic command. Before the Palace, Boudica's horses pawed at the ground, held only by the will of their charioteer. At the Marlborough Road crossing, Emma stood - near naked and battered, exhausted, she wore again the bearing of the White Queen - untouchable, aloof, icy cold, terrible and fair to behold.

"You were the Queen of the Iceni and you burned down Londinium," said Emma to Boudica, her voice carrying down the length of The Mall. She drew herself up to her full height, rippled flesh, rippled blue, held pain at bay by sheer force of will.

"But I am the Queen of Hellfire and if I chose to, I could burn down the world," said Emma.

Boudica released the reins, the horses leaping forwards, thundering towards Emma. For a moment Emma was still and then she ran, ran towards the chariot, picking up speed.

~I hope they're right about the invulnerability,~ Emma thought. ~Or this may be rather terminal.~

The bronze feet of the horses, the terrible wheels, churned down The Mall, their clanging the only sound in the now-deserted section of London, over-riding the patter of bare diamond speeding towards them. For a battle so long, so vicious, it had been strangely silent, thought Emma whimsically.

Then Boudica was upon her. Emma almost thought she could feel the hot breath of the horses blast upon her as she aimed between their legs, although she knew they did not breathe. Then she leapt, so lightly, diving up into the air.

The perfect diamond spear that Emma had turned herself into arched over the prow of the chariot, met the bronze of Boudica - and shattered it.

Emma fell into the road with a flat thud, unable to turn the movement into a roll, all momentum torn from her by the terrible concussion of her collision with the statue. And it was a statue now - broken off at the waist, Boudica was torn in half and the horses now were still, frozen in their original poses, the gossamer reins flickering into non-existence as the magic leached away.

Slowly Emma lifted herself from the ground, looked back at the broken statue. "I win," she said, softly. She touched the bronze of the chariot lightly. "I always win."

She turned back into the Mall, slipped back into flesh, unselfconscious despite the fact that the collision had torn the last of her clothes from her, leaving her stalking, naked and terribly bruised, towards Buckingham Palace. Adrenalin and anger and a desperate desire to discover what was happening to her team drove her onwards.

She reached out into the night, found the mind she wanted, nearly asleep. #Jeremy,# she said and felt the night concierge at Harrods snap back to full wakefulness.

#Ms Frost,# came his response, carefully not surprised at this unorthodox means of contact.

#I need the store opened,# Emma sent. #I find myself in urgent need of a new outfit. And a car. And possibly a very good doctor and a very large martini. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.#

#Certainly, Ms Frost,# came the answer and Emma snapped back to diamond, felt the pain ease away and wondered what had happened to her team.

And why the hell she couldn't find Amanda.