xp_logs | Hellfire Club Investitute; Emma, Manuel, Adrienne, Doug, Shaw

The arrival

"I've heard rumours that the butlers will be naked," Adrienne mused casually to Manuel as he helped her out of the car. "I don't want you to spoil my fantasies, but I feel like I should ask you if this is true so that if I see clothed butlers when we go inside I'll have been prepared and my disappointment won't show." When she'd exited the car continued along the driveway that extended the length of the Hellfire Club's mansion headquarters and disappeared towards the expansive front gates. Its position at the front entrance was quickly replaced by another car, from which Doug appeared. Adrienne kept hold of Manuel's arm, not entirely sure if they were going to wait for Doug and Emma or go inside on their own, and willing to follow Manny's lead.

"Mmm," he agreed in amusement, perfectly at ease and comfortable with waiting for the other two. Pulling out his watch from his front pocket, Manuel flipped it open and checked the time briefly. In the face reflection, he caught sight of Doug stepping out of the vehicle behind him and tempered his mood, knowing his place was no longer White Knight. It was still a slight he had not stomached properly.

"I believe you will be so busy, you will not have time to appreciate the meat," he replied, snapping the watch closed and replacing it back inside his pocket.

Since they were staying, Adrienne waved to Doug to hail him over. "Ah, yes, playing politics is so much work," she grumbled good-naturedly to Manny, not at all surprised he considered the butlers to be meat. "I'm sure I can find some time to enjoy a little leisure, though, while you boys are off doing whatever it is you're going to be doing. I can't decide which one of you looks more like James Bond," Adrienne said to Doug with a smile for the white suits both men were wearing.

"That would be Pete," Doug replied with a wry but easy smile. "Complete with being British and such. I doubt he'd be amused if you gave him a vodka martini, though." He shrugged and pursed his lips. "I always fancied myself more the Martin Bishop type until I fell in with my rich and terribly cultured boss."

"Who said you can't be both?" asked Emma, twitching the cloak that trailed behind her until it hung correctly. "We are vast, are we not? We contain multitudes. And you would be very, very surprised what Pete Wisdom would do with a vodka martini." Her lips twitched slightly even as Manny's dark thoughts about Wisdom whispered past her shields. She would have congratulated him on the fact that not a hint of them showed on his face, but she knew he would consider it patronising.

Adrienne glanced back at Emma, sent her a mental greeting, but said nothing as she was steered inside by Manuel. The main chamber of the mansion was rapidly filling with guests, and Adrienne spotted several people she was interested in talking to, mainly the gentleman she'd have accompanied tonight if Manuel had turned her down, a lawyer with aspirations of joining the Black Court. "Do you mind if I go give a few greetings to a few people?" she asked Manny. "I'll be right back." With a kiss to his cheek she glided away to circulate without waiting for a comment.

"It appears I have been ditched," Manuel said with approval. He did not enjoy a leech, let alone someone hanging off of him the entire night. Her ambition was quite the thing to behold as she buzzed off and he watched from afar, casually picking up a champagne flute in passing. He paused to sample it. Swirling the liquid around in his mouth, his gaze briefly locked onto Emma's and promptly set the glass down on a nearby table, abandoning it.

"You must have had a hand in the selection of champagne tonight," he commented, eyes narrowing on a rival in the crowds. "You know I do not like sweet luxuries."

"There are details one pays attention to and details that are beneath one's notice," replied Emma. "Champagne will always be on offer at such soirees. And," Emma paused as she took an appreciative sip, "very fine champagne it is. But the bar is open. Options swirl around us, breathe the same air as us, flirt with us." Emma raised her glass in response to a warm glance from a besotted Outer Court devotee. "The important details to remember are those that help us make the right choices. Such as not choosing the glass that contains the poison."

Doug took a flute for himself and sipped at it, scanning the crowd, his usual 'people watching' tendencies in something of a high gear. He nursed at the champagne, more for the social aspect of having a glass in his hand than for actual intoxication. Given that he was to be tested, it would not do to be drunk when that happened. Despite his implicit trust in Emma, he could have wished for a few more familiar faces in the crowd, particularly Amanda or Marie-Ange. Though, he mused as a particularly shapely woman whose dress clung to her curves walked by, perhaps not. Given the public face of what the Hellfire Club was, there might be the chance things would be expected of him that he might prefer to keep...private. A flick of Emma's hand was as good as a spoken command, and he nodded slightly, slipping into the crowd to see what he could see.

"Looking for anyone in particular?" Adrienne asked Doug as he waded through the crowd. She was casually chatting with the lawyer she'd gotten acquainted with on several occasions, glass of champagne in her hand as she scanned the room subtly for other familiar faces.

Doug shook his head at Emma's sister. "Not particularly. Just people watching." And getting a feel for the membership of the Club, who might be involved in intrigue, who might be more inclined to back Shaw's Black Court, and the like. He kept a particularly sharp eye out for Shaw himself or his Knight, though he hadn't seen them up close yet.

"Well, this is definitely the place to people watch," she said with a small smile. "Would you like me to introduce you to anyone?"

"That would be very nice, thank you," Doug accepted gracefully, smoothing the front of his suit. Adrienne's introductions would make things smoother for him, and that moment of her talking would give him the chance to size people up before speaking.

"It appears my sister is a natural at this," said Emma quietly to Manuel. "So, your advice, O-Bishop-to-be. Should I take her under my wing as she asks and make her part of my Court? Or should I throw her to the wolves and see who bites? She may be an asset, but is she more or less so if the Black Court still thinks we are enemies?"

Manuel caught several familiar eyes from where he stood but a subtle gesture held them off as he stood with Emma and watched Adrienne whisk Doug away. "Let her find her own way. It is easy to slip under the protection of your family's hand and she does not need protection. She requires a stepping stone to find higher grounds. No, leave her. If she needs you, she will ask."

***

The investitute begins

The signal from Shaw was discreet, but Emma was ready for it and nodded in response to the Black King's gesture. #Manny, Doug# her mental whisper cut through the hubbub of the crowd and their inner thoughts as if they did not exist. #It's time, darlings. Be ready. Do me proud.# She turned towards the door that led from the large and elegant room where the party was taking place to the steps that led to the inner Ceremonial Chambers.

Manuel disengaged from a conversation, cutting it short politely though he loathed to leave so soon. There were many more faces he needed to speak to, contacts that had given him the slip while others sought to see if the rumor of the returning son of de la Rocha was true. It came as no surprise as three people knew of his father's wife's death and Manuel thought to look into that, though he had no love for the girl. The general mood of the room had him curious, filtered through his shields that had been slowly set into place, if only because he couldn't suffer so many at one time. Slipping another business card within his pocket, he promptly made his way to follow where Emma had departed, if only to catch Adrienne's eye in the passing and regard her with that simple gesture.

Adrienne broke off her own conversation as politely as she could and sashayed over to Manuel. "Leaving me to my own devices, oh date-of-mine?" she asked with a smirk; "very brave of you." She knew he had his test and so she couldn't help but tease him about causing trouble in his absence. Her heels had put her on par with his height so she didn't have to reach up to kiss him on the cheek. "Good luck," she purred, encouraging. "I'll be anxiously awaiting your return."

"Don't assume he will return," replied Emma coldly. "This is not the game that you think it is. The rules we play by are deadly." Emma's hand touched Manny's sleeve lightly but possessively. "And do not assume that he will be returning to your side. You have no claim on what I own, Adrienne." Emma's words were quiet, but her tone was deadly serious and she regarded her sister with obvious contempt. Her touch on Adri's mind, however, was gentle and almost apologetic.

"You don't own him, Emma," Adrienne retorted, matching Emma's volume and tone, "he's not a piece of meat." #Although he does look delicious,# she mused, pleased that a few pairs of eyes had subtly turned their way. #Do you think hair-pulling would be too much?# she joked. If she'd thought there was any chance that Emma wouldn't return with Manuel, she would have pressed the issue, but since she knew what the man meant to her sister, Adrienne wasn't worried that Manuel wouldn't return. Emma wouldn't let that happen.

#Far too much# replied Emma. #The eyes that watch us are not the ones that turn our way.# Emma turned her back on Adri, drawing Manny with her. "This is my world, little sister," she said out loud. "Do not presume to know what role Manuel plays."

Adrienne considered stomping her foot but thought even that would be too much, so she merely glided away and went to get herself a drink, barely concealing the smirk that went along with her bemused thoughts.

Doug materialized out of the crowd to join Emma and Manuel as they turned away from Adrienne. Something seemed a bit odd about the exchange between the Frost sisters, as though it were for the benefit of the 'audience' surrounding them. He mentally shrugged. Emma would tell him if he needed to know, most likely. Instead, he turned his mind toward what was ahead of them.

The group was just about to descend to the formal court rooms, when one of Shaw's functionaries appeared at Emma's elbow. "White Queen," he said, respectfully. "The Black King requests that Senor de la Rocha attends a meeting with him prior to the formal part of the proceedings. He says that it will not take long."

Emma raised one eyebrow at Manny, testing Shaw's proposal for danger. None seemed apparent - Shaw respected the de la Rocha family too much to pre-emptively strike against Manuel. She nodded and watched as the two men left. "Come," she said imperiously to Doug and started back in the right direction.

***
Manuel's test.

The Hellfire Club was known for its overstated opulence, but despite the public image, not every room in their massive New York manor was known for Victorian excess. Sebastian Shaw sat behind a glass desk, dressed smartly in a bespoke suit that radiated the image of a confident captain of industry, rather than the frock coat and ascot that usually adorned his large frame at Hellfire galas. His one concession to his role today as Black King was the ornate signet ring on his left hand, a jet black opal the size of his thumb set into its face. He watched the light reflect off it as he raised a glass of cognac, savoring the moment. After a long silence, he raised his voice to carry through the thick wooden doors of his office. "Please admit Senor de la Rocha," he instructed the functionary who waited on the other side of the double doors. "and inform him that the Black King is prepared to receive the White Court's candidate for Bishop."

Manuel expected very little tonight concerning entrance into the inner courts. He knew there was plenty of ways that his night could go as opposed to Doug's, who caused an indirect threat to the Black Court, but with his history towards Shaw, it more likely he was under some spotlight that he neither liked, nor did he back down from. He was under the assumption that Shaw would not be pleased to see him but he cared little about that. He was older now, less irrational and with an air of sophistication, Manuel walked through those doors as though he already belonged. His place had always been in the Hellfire club, with or without his father's blessing and he believed he needed little to reclaim that right, aside from whatever ridiculous test they concocted for him.

His ebony wolf headed cane was the first to step into the office of the Black King and he regarded the man with very little in his dimly lit, red glowing eyes. Reining in his shields, his eyes deepened in their crimson light and the effort was maintained, despite its distraction to keep those shields in place.

He stopped before Shaw, giving him a polite bow as was tradition and respect. Shaw acknowledged the bow with a nod of his head, taking a sip of his cognac before replacing the glass in its holder. He steepled his fingers, looking over the younger mutant. "I owe you an apology, Manuel," he said in a contrite voice. "Not as the Black King to a potential White Bishop, but from one man to another. Your father, Alphonso, was my Black Rook. And beyond that, he was a man I considered a friend. I never properly conveyed my condolences to you, and for that I am truly sorry. He was..." Shaw paused momentarily, "I will not dissemble and claim that he was a good man. Alphonso was what he was. Ambitious, but loyal. Emma sees those traits in you, I believe, else she would never have considered you for her Bishop."

Manuel picked off a fluff from his forearm and dusted the place off before returning his gaze to Sebastian. "She has her reasons and I have mine which, I am sure, are mutually beneficial. There are no apologies necessary Senor Shaw," he said, letting his accent thicken to the name. "What is done is finished. We move forward, lest we fall and repeat our mistakes."

Shaw nodded and walked over to Manuel, looking the young man over. "Very astute, Manuel. You will find that in that regard, we are not so different, you and I. Tonight, you are making a petition to be accepted into the Hellfire Club's elite, the Inner Circle. As the White Bishop, you know that we may come to cross purposes in future endeavors. But tonight, Manuel, you have my word that I bear you no ill will. You have my hospitality, and my pledge." The words were well-practiced, traditions and concepts established hundreds of years ago in the first days of the Inner Circle. But behind Shaw's words was a surprising sincerity, something beneath the patterns of tradition.

Stepping to a panel of aged wood, Shaw reached up and twisted a hanging sconce, smiling as the wall panel slid aside, revealing a staircase. "This way a good soul never passes," he quoted. Manuel was familiar with Dante Aligheri's Inferno, of course. And the reference was likely to be quite apt as the Black King took a step onto the staircase. "Welcome to the Inner Circle, Manuel," he said quietly. "May you accomplish all your father dreamed for you."

He noted the change, the shift that was not what he'd been expecting. The emotions behind it, subtle as they were in their colors and there was always the possibility that Sebastian had convinced himself to believe despite the truth behind it. But he was not under control enough tonight to be able to bridge that gap and the honesty was what he left to assume as only real, rather than what his own powers betrayed.

He nodded to the reference and nodded again to the comment of his father, following Shaw. He was not interested in speaking of his heritage tonight and his lack of response said as much, lest it sink his mood and it was already clawing its way there at the mention of Pete Wisdom. Reclaiming his right in the inner Circle was his own form of retribution, a justice he wanted delivered swiftly without incident. If Shaw spoke the truth, tonight would come easier than it had previously. A detail he noted with caution.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Shaw stopped by a large door, flanked by two Hellfire Club employees in full Victorian finery. "When we enter this room," he said to Manuel, "by our traditions and laws, I may demand of you any test of loyalty, to prove that you are worthy of becoming part of our Inner Circle. My predecessor as Black King was challenged to a duel by the man he was supplanting. The former Black Bishop proved himself in... more interesting ways to our late Queen, Selene. When your father was petitioned to the role of Black Rook, he proved his loyalty in... most interesting ways."

Shaw placed his large hands on the door, looking for one moment almost nostalgic before standing up to his full height - at once becoming the regal Black King of the Inner Circle. "Your test is finished now, Senor de la Rocha."

Manuel nodded. "Gracias,". Though wanting to admit confusion, his calculating nature wouldn't' allow for it, understanding the underlying meaning beneath and he merely waited for Shaw to pass through and make his appearance before Manuel would follow. He had withstood his father's loyalties and how he proved them and he could with stand Shaw's now, though he was not sure if this was to instigate Emma, or separate him from the White Court by having this little meeting. Either way, he had patience for an outcome.

***

Doug's test

Pearly whites shone beneath thick lips curling back into a grin, stroking his black goatee as Doug entered the room. "Hello pretty," he cooed and brushed a gloved hand over the side of his long black, ringlet hair. Licking his lips, he watched the way the boy in front of him walked, the way the pretty pretty blond eyed him, speculation all written across his face. Poker faced, he thought vaguely, scrutinizing coordination with hidden skill. What if... what if..., he questioned, tapping his chin and brought a hand up, tucking it under an arm and wetting his lips one more time.

Fun, fun, fun precious fun, he whistled like he was calling a dog, tossing his hands to his sides and walking out before Shaw and Emma with an uneven gait. To the new comer, he looked drunk, as though functioning in a normal walk had some sort of effort to it and he sauntered up to his opponent, cutting close into Doug's personal space in the nook of his collar bone. Sniffing but no, never ever touching! No touchy!

"Smells like fresh meat," he said, slurping up his salivating and arched back, drumming his fingers over the hilt of his sword. "Want to see what I can do?" he asked in a sing-song-tune.

Doug blinked as he stood before the Royals and the man who was obviously his opponent approached. ~I think perhaps someone has been watching too much Pirates of the Carribean,~ he thought carefully behind his impassive expression and shields. The man looked almost like a caricature of Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow. At least his teeth were better kept than Jack's, he mused. And the gold-filigreed basket hilt of his opponent's sword, while rather ornate, rested at the top of a scabbard that looked well worn and used.

He merely inclined his head at the sing-song taunting, then turned and bowed to Shaw and Emma before crossing to his end of the basement that had been cleared away for the testing, the rest of those privy to the ceremony standing outside the more well-lit flooring. He carefully removed his suit jacket and handed it to one of the faceless pawns serving as his 'squire'. Then he just as precisely removed his thin wireframe glasses and handed them over. He suspected the uneven gait was his opponent's way of inviting underestimation. Doug had selected the glasses as a similar road to the same goal, and he reminded himself not to fall into the easy trap.

He loosened his white tie and undid the top button of his shirt, then took out his silver cufflinks and rolled the cuffs up into the sleeves and past his elbows. His opponent looked already dressed for their bout, but Doug had needed to dress especially well for his first presentation to the Club. And then, his preparations complete, Doug motioned for the case that had been brought from Emma's car straight to the chambers. The pawn laid it across his arms and Doug unlatched it. He removed an rather plain hand-and-a-half broadsword, its only decoration the runic stamp of its maker just above the hilt. Plain was not the same as poorly made, though, and the crafter's skill was obvious in its balance.

He turned to the Royals and saluted them with his blade, then turned back to his opponent. He murmured a few words almost inaudibly in the Asgardian dialect, the only clear one being the name 'Tyr'. Then he raised his blade to a slanting high guard just above eye level and narrowed his eyes and waited.

His unamed oppanent pivoted on his heel and paraded around the room, bowing dramatically in a mock to the thrones when the young champion did and walking five extra paces in a circle, loosing his tie, throwing it over his shoulder and unbuttoning his shirt. "Ooohhhh," he cooed, raising his brows and unsheathed his sword, twirling it as he walked, awkward and unbalanced in his step.

"He speaks," the wild eyed man taunted, dropping the point of his blade to the ground. As he walked, the blade dragged and carved a line into the flooring, betraying the weight of the sword in his hands. A faint nod of acknowledgement from Shaw bounced Doug's opponent into action and he turned into Doug, aiming high, a cut, testing Doug's strength.

Doug turned the cut away with a ringing clang. His eyes narrowed farther, the only indicator of his surprise. The man wielded a rapier, but the impact of his cut had been more like that of a massive greatsword His eyes flicked to Shaw and where John Lense stood off to one side of his King. Lense was a gravity manipulator, perhaps he was putting extra force behind the clashes? The former Mistra operative didn't look as though he were concentrating on the use of his power, though. In fact, he looked rather bored as his eyes followed one of the scantily-clad serving girls. More likely it was his opponent's power, Doug concluded after the split second of analysis, and turned his whole mind back to the fight.

Doug lashed out with a high cut at the other man's head and followed closely with a swift kick to the belly when he moved his sword to parry. He could practically feel Manuel's disapproval from where he stood behind Emma at the barroom tactic, but Doug's first teacher in bladework had been a half-drunk at the best of times Asgardian. Those sorts of things tended to leave an indelible mark on your style, no matter what you learned afterward.

Just as predicted, Manuel snorted from the sidelines, silencing his disgust at a swift gesture from Emma. They were going to have a talk when they left this room. Code of conduct concerning swordsmanship was insulting, the way Doug wielded it and he slowly reined in his condescending gaze, slipping back into a stoney expression.

Duck and turned into the kick - the wrong direction - the blow doubled him back a pace or two with a yelp. No such sound should have come from the petite man but his recovery was quick and the high pitched squeak was forgotten as the sword took another swipe at Doug's side, narrowly missing the blond. The blade sliced through the floor and he ripped it out of the ground, a chunk of stone coming with it and with blade still in hand, swung at Doug to throw the stone to his midsection.

Doug twisted at the waist to dodge the rubble, only partially successful. It dragged across his midsection, ripping his shirt and scraping some skin off of his belly, scoring a red trail that began to seep into the silk of his shirt. It continued past and slammed into one of the retainers who was not as quick, sending him to the ground.

Doug danced backward, giving himself space and time to analyze. The man's strikes were brutally powerful, and Doug seriously doubted he could stand toe to toe with him. But the swings were wild, almost flailing. It was reminiscent of Siegfried from the Soulcalibur fighting games. He could work around that. Footwork. Mobility. Speed. He had all of those things, all his opponent had was power. Much like the rest of the Black Court, he seemed to subscribe to the theory that only power was power. Doug knew better. 'Give me a lever long enough and I will move the world', Archimedes had said. And knowledge was just such a lever. Swords were not truly dangerous. The minds and wills of their wielders were what made them dangerous.

Stamp. Feint. Twist. Thrust. Back. Left. Lunge. Turn. Kiai. Bob. Right. Knee. Elbow. Cut.

The staccato pounding of Doug's shoes on the floor were like the intricate steps of a dance set to a fevered beat. His focus narrowed to the sharpness of a blade, each strike from his opponent telegraphed with astonishing clumsiness. Still, a chip flung by another errant strike sliced Doug's eyebrow. Even a single lucky thrust with that much weight behind it would be the end of the fight.

A heavy weapon was only powerful with movement and momentum behind it, though. So when the black-clad man came back to a guard, his sword slowing to a halt, Doug seized the initiative. He sprang forward, locking the hilt of his broadsword against the rapier, trapping it between their bodies. He knew that he had only a moment before the weight would begin to bear on him, and holding his sword with one hand, he reached down to grasp at a pressure point in the wrist. The rapier tumbled from a hand that no longer obeyed its commands from the brain, and it clattered to the floor with a normal weight once free of its owner's hand.

Continuing the motion, Doug swept his back foot around behind him, pivoting at the waist and dropping his own sword to use his other hand to grasp the man at the upper shoulder to take him to the floor. He kept the one arm trapped in close to his body, bearing down against the other man's ribs with his knee to keep him in place. The fingers of his free hand curled into what would be a lethal strike.

In that instant of decision before his hand began to move downward, Doug's eyes went to Emma's where she sat impassively observing. In a flash of insight, Doug realized that -this- was the true test, at least on Emma's part. Any musclebound thug with a low IQ could kill on command. But the true place and duty of the White Knight was to understand and anticipate his Queen's wishes. And although she had made no movement, and sent no telepathic communication to him, Doug knew instinctively what her desire was.

"Yield," he growled to his opponent with all the force and command he had available.

The darker man took in a sharp breath, holding it and gritting his teeth. "Do it," he hissed, tempting Doug to take the ultimate power for himself but the hesitation, the lengthening of that pause made him laugh, hysterics that came only from a man who had lost all moral sense.

"Weak! The White Court holds true to their white flag. They're weak!" he sang song until Doug released him and without so much as a glance behind him, he retrieved his sword and took up his position nearby Shaw. All the while, the opponent picked at the hilt of his sword as though nothing had transpired just now.

"Weak? Really?" said Emma, boredom in her tone. "If you misjudge your opponent's strength so badly, it is no wonder you lose." And then, despite the fact that the use of her power could only be sensed by another telepath, the lash of her willpower was so strong that it seemed to crack across the room, almost audible in its fierceness. Doug's opponent dropped like a stone. After a moment, blood began to trickle from his nose onto the floor. Emma nodded at one of the functionaries at the back of the room, who quickly busied himself with removing the unconscious man from the room.

"My White Knight stands alone and undefeated and makes clear his capacity to defend his Queen" said Emma. "Do you propose such a test for my White Bishop, Black King?"

Shaw just leaned back in his chair and gave Manuel a knowing nod. "I have spoken with the White Bishop, and I am content with his qualifications to serve the best interests of the Inner Circle." He folded his hands and smiled at Emma. "The Black King waives the right to a formal test in the matter of Manuel de la Rocha's petition for White Bishop."

Emma did not let a frown touch her features, even as she mentally sought to review what game Shaw was playing with Manny's investiture. She would have to ask Manny what Shaw had said in that office, but now was not the time. Instead she inclined her head gracefully, nodding at the young men who stood before her.

"I present White Bishop and White Knight," she said, her tone formal. "They have passed the tests set for them and proved their worthiness of a place in these Courts. Do you have any further protests, Black King?" Emma let her contempt with Shaw's manoeuvring ring through her words.

Sebastian waved his hand almost dismissively. "On behalf of the Black Court, let there be no further obstacle to the investiture of your new Bishop and Knight. Welcome to the Inner Circle, gentlemen."