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Kevin and Emma cross paths late at night in the office and their conservation ranges until ended up at the Eliot Lounge.
Emma was used to coming into the Snow Valley offices late. Frost Enterprises took so much of her time that it wasn’t unusual for her to arrive at Snow Valley after 10pm. Sometimes the offices were still a bustling hive of activity, but tonight they were quiet, giving her the opportunity to work through the reasonably impressive amount of emails that had accumulated in her account. She’d also taken the opportunity to break into her stash of cognac and start to make a small dent in it.
"This was not a light I was expecting to see on." Kevin appeared in the door. It had come as a bit of a surprise to some people the fact that Kevin put in the kinds of hours he did when he wasn't in the field, spending long hours pouring through intelligence, working deep into the evening and showing up early in the morning. More so, that they rarely caught him in anything less than a full immaculately tailored suit and tie. He hadn't seen Emma come in, but had caught sight of the light on while on his way for a cigarette on the tiny patio. Boy, did he miss the days that he could smoke in his office.
Emma raised an eyebrow at Kevin. "I acknowledge that I’m not exactly the most active member of staff here," she said. "But I do try to turn up reasonably regularly. You just need to be mostly nocturnal to interact with me."
"I assumed late on a Friday night you'd be occupied with other matters." He shrugged. "There's a new round-up of intel for the month. It's been quiet, which of course has all of my natural paranoia ringing alarm bells."
“And if it had been busy, I assume that would also have had your paranoia ringing alarm bells,” smiled Emma. “I presume there is some kind of sweet spot of exactly the correct number of intel reports that let you know all is right in your world?” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her hand at the cognac bottle next to her, a clear invitation to join her, if Kevin so desired.
"All of them, but that is an unattainable goal. Everyone in Intelligence is a Grail Knight of one type or another; seeking perfection that can't be achieved." He took an entirely too expensive seat next to her and picked up the bottle to pour a couple of glasses. "I thought the White Queen was immune to those kinds of considerations."
"The White Queen's considerations are many and varied, sometimes from week to week, sometimes from day to day, sometimes from minute to minute. It's only a slightly exhausting lifestyle," replied Emma. "I need to do some more recruiting, spread the workload a bit. Only so many nefarious deeds I can manage in a twenty-four hour day, after all." She smiled at Kevin and took up the glass of cognac he'd poured for her, taking a small sip and letting it breathe upon her tongue before swallowing it. It was, after all, very good and very expensive cognac and should be appreciated.
"Obviously we need a chronopath on the team. Or a masseuse. Or the ability to expense a significantly higher amount of our booze expenditure." He said over the rim of the glass before enjoying a sip himself. It was, as expected, excellent. "Or fifty operatives and twice as many analysts, but despite all my letters to Santa, I don't see that happening any time soon."
“Have you asked me about increasing the expenditure on alcohol?” asked Emma. “I mean, I pay the bills and I definitely appreciate the value of high quality products. And I’m fairly certain everyone would tell you the White Queen has a fairly amoral view when it comes to reality-enhancing substances, so I’d even be willing to put into place a recreational substances budget, except they do tend to intersect with powers in unusual and occasionally very exciting ways. Let’s just say I don’t feel any need to be fifteen years old for a third time. The operatives and analysts, unfortunately, I can’t do as much about. They’re specialist talent and only so available.”
"Fifteen years old for a third time? I'm just going to hope this is some kind of roleplaying sex game or something and move on." He shrugged. "Also, to be fair, Worthington unknowingly usually pays for my alcohol. Or any number of Wall Street parasites who don't bother to watch their accounts particularly closely. It's my own private tax system."
Emma rolled her eyes. “Those kind of games are fine. Well, generally dull and the thought processes can devolve distastefully rather fast, and then I have to do things to stop them and then everyone ends up bored and occasionally vomiting every time they hear the word “potato”. I mean at least sub/dom games are creative. And as a member of the rich, I’m rather pleased that you just choose to tax us for alcohol, rather than eat us for our varied sins.” She sighed and took another small sip of her cognac. “I mean, are you supposed to want to eat the rich, when you are the rich? They’re just all starting to seem dreadfully… gauche.”
"I come from a union household on the wrong side of the tracks in Depression era Chicago. We had whole slaughterhouses to imagine converting into the new guillotines." Kevin confirmed. "However, hard to imagine one of the scions of the Hellfire Club getting onboard with the revolution. Hell, I remember them in the sixties, collectively whispering nervously over dinner that Dr. King was a Communist and the Equal Rights Amendment was the first step towards the state seizing their assets and creating gulags in North Dakota. Considering the assholes running the place at the time, I'm now a lot more open to the gulag idea, to be honest."
Emma smiled at her cognac glass, contemplating its depths. “The Hellfire Club tends more towards the seditious than the revolutionary, I believe. Well, in my time as the White Queen, anyway. Of course, being mutants, we have much to be seditious about. But tell me,” she looked up from the amber liquid that had captured her attention and smiled at Kevin. “What were they like then, those nervous scions of the old wealthy? Sebastian and I rather cleaned the place out when we took over. I doubt I’m anywhere near as across the background of our not so illustrious predecessors as someone who was there at the time.”
"I only have an outsiders perspective. My in-laws were members, but not Inner Circle." Kevin shook his head. "But as I recall, the Queen's position on both courts was more managerial. They used to be minor former celebrities or social beauties who were capable of running the house. At least, when running the house means setting up the supply of whores of both sexes, drugs, and elaborate dinners that always involved a Chicken Supreme option. There was a rumour that Mae West had been the Black Queen for a couple of years in the 30s before getting bored and moving on, but I've never been able to confirm it. Mostly, it was like a number of private clubs; a safe space for rich men to indulge their pleasures."
“Well,” Emma raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain the entire world is a safe space for rich men to indulge their pleasures. Though I certainly understand that certain things that barely raise a tut these days were not exactly acceptable back in the day, so cheers to progress really. I would imagine the paid… personal relaxation staff, were somewhat less diverse than we tend to hire now. More pretty young things, fewer metamorphs? I mean if I thought you were up for earning money in that particular way, Kevin, you could make a small fortune at a Club party.”
"I have a feeling my winning personality might off-set any potential financial windfall." He said wryly. "I don't remember mutants ever being really connected to the club. Hell, mutants were still almost a myth in those days. Rumours, a few unexplained incidents, a couple of examples buried behind layers of classification... even I didn't discover the extent of my own abilities until after I was killed for the first time."
Emma shrugged. “I’m fairly certain you could make money at a Club party from people who would want you to insult them soundly. We cater to all types and predilections, after all.” Emma poured herself another measure of cognac, topped up Kevin’s glass at his nod. “Yes, the Club would have known no more of mutants in those days than anyone else. It’s not like they would have considered inviting Logan or Charles to join.” She laughed suddenly, unexpectedly. “I can’t really imagine either of them fitting in to one of our soirees. You,” she raised an eyebrow at Kevin, speculatively, “Maybe. You’d probably be considered the insulting socialist someone kept around for that frisson of pretending they really were out to break all the rules. They’re mostly really terribly dull and staid and can’t imagine a world where they’re not privileged and in charge and can buy their way out of anything. Most of them have never used a single brain cell beyond those necessary to keep them breathing. I mean Sebastian and I used to think we were using the Club as a vehicle to take over the world, but then I realised that would mean having to spend even more of my life among rich old dullards with filthy minds and taking over the world lost all of its appeal. Lucky, I guess. Who wants to be responsible for the mess we’re currently in?” She leaned back into her chair. “So how many times have you died, Mr Sydney? If that’s not too personal a question.”
"See, I just had to deal with Congress. Similar profile and calibre of members, but at least the sex swing and spanking paddles weren't allowed in the Capitol Building during work hours. As for deaths... two that I know of." He held his hand up just away from his temple and waggled his fingers. "The first few years out of the lake are pretty scrambled, so it's possible that there were a few more. I wasn't very functional, mentality, that is, so my imprints were often transients, people on the street or in shelters... it's flashes and short bursts of memories without anything to tie them together."
“Well at least you’ve clarified why I’m never going to run for Congress. What a dull workplace it sounds.” Emma considered Kevin for a long moment of over the rim of her glass. “Is that what happened the last time?” she asked. “When I had to scoop your brain back together? I had to leave a lot of holes. I thought that was probably why you disappeared afterwards.”
"No, that was more of a mix of a crisis of faith and some selfish asshole-ish behaviour. After all, how often did you get to confront the fact that you might not ever die and your life and identity could disappear completely in a few easy steps simultaneously?" He still wasn't necessarily comfortable talking about it, but Emma had been deep in his mind. He didn't imagine she wasn't already aware of the basics of his crisis. "I'd say it was profound but I'm not entirely sure it wasn't just an excuse for a bender and to screw anything that moved and took American Express."
Emma tilted her head slightly and considered Kevin carefully. “I... There are worse ways to deal with a crisis,” she said, her tone carefully non-judgemental. “I mostly sort of knew where you were and could keep the others from trying to find and save you. The joy of rebuilding your brain did leave a bit of a... residue. Which means I didn’t have to make too much of an effort to make sure that you weren’t actively out to destroy all my excellent work in making sure you had a mind and that it was the mind of Kevin Sydney. I can offer... There are things I can do, if ever you are interested, that means you have some options about staying Kevin if someone else turns your brain into a smoothie. If you want to stay Kevin, of course.”
"That's the real question, though. I'm dealing with the idea that I don't have to be Kevin. Easily. All those sins of the past just left behind." Kevin shook his head. "I'm a lot less worried about coming back from a bullet lobotomy than I am choosing not to. But... I appreciate the offer."
He tipped back the last measure of the bottle between them. "So, with world domination off the table, what's next for the White Queen or, more interestingly, Emma Frost?"
“Well now, how am I supposed to maintain my enigmatically alluring reputation as international reprobate, dominatrix and master of spies, if you go around asking me what my plans are?” Emma smiled. And I believe the answer might currently be as simple as ‘survive’, Mr Sydney. And maybe revel in the sins of my past. I don’t know if I could stand the thought of leaving my sins behind. But I have tried to ensure the ratio of disgracefully wickedly delightful sins to unforgivable appallingly terrible sins runs at least eighty to twenty. Which at least ensures I retain both fitness and supple joints.” She grinned wickedly at Kevin, knowing that he would be aware of how very much she was failing to answer his question.
"You might be a gifted telepath, Emma. But I'm an old man who spent his life on the other side of the table from people trying to get me to believe their version of the truth." Kevin leaned back in his chair, regarding her levelly. "You want to tell me it's none of my business, that's your choice. But I know that it isn't just to 'survive'. And you never know..." He shrugged. "Maybe an alcoholic shapeshifter might help you achieve what you want. Even the sins."
Emma laughed. “Kevin, darling,” she purred. “It’s not like I’m making the slightest secret of the fact I’m evading your question. As for sins and shapeshifters... have you been talking to my sister, by any chance?”
"I'm not the person to lecture anyone on keeping things close to the vest. Just saying that allies might help. It's a lesson I learned not so long ago." Kevin's entanglement with Worthington had left an obvious mark.
"Your sister- oh, right, Adrienne. She's dating the cop. She's tried to get the name of my tailors a couple of times, which is the limit of our interaction. Should I have asked her about shapeshifters?"
“I think I need time and patience more than allies at the moment,” replied Emma. “See how things play out before I make any decisions. But yes, that’s my sister. Dating the cop, as you say. Positively staid these days.” Emma smiled and shrugged. “We all have our tastes. I enjoy the company of metamorphs. When I can change into anything I want in someone else’s head, do whatever I want, do whatever they want without ever having to touch them - well, let’s just say that sometimes is nice to stay on the physical plane and still have what you want. The grass is always greener and so forth.”
"Really? My experience is that most people, even those who think they're experimental, tend to get a little overwhelmed. Shift some sizes, maybe a bit of an ethnic switch and suddenly, it's time to pump the brakes before things get too crazy."
Emma laughed. “I’m not most people,” she said. “The laws of physics apply, at least, with shapeshifters. Not so much in my head. And I’m reasonably certain that I should stop drinking cognac now before I tell you anything more about my... hobbies. Professional boundaries, work colleagues etc etc.”
"Emma, do you know why most of my liaisons have been professionals? Because I can be someone's fantasy, just like you. Which means I can hurt people easily if I'm not careful." Kevin said, running a finger around the edge of his glass. "But I'm certain that you're a woman I can be confident who isn't going to fall in love with me to be hurt. If you want something from me, ask. I'm too goddamn old for the bullshit and you're too smart and been in my brain too deep to think that crap matters. Your call."
Emma smiled. “I really am that person who doesn’t want to sleep with work colleagues, Kevin. For the same reasons as you. It’s too easy to be someone’s everything and that’s... it doesn’t end well. But I agree.” She leaned forward, contemplated Kevin across the table. “I put too much of your mind back together to think you would be that person. I’m tired, Kevin, and it’s late and I’ve drunk too much cognac in pleasant company and I don’t want to make bad decisions. But,” she shrugged, a smile flickering at the corner of her lips, “could we agree that it’s not a definitive no? I mean, if you want a forever answer right now, then it would be. But if you’re willing to wait for a day when it isn’t after midnight and we haven’t finished the bottle before the topic arises, the answer might be different.”
"I wasn't expecting you to wear my class ring going forward, Emma." He saluted her with his empty glass. "I think we understand each other well enough to know which pitfalls we want to avoid and which rules can be... fungible. If you want to revisit this conversation another time, I'm happy to do so. However, it is late and that means I've got three or four hours left to seriously dent someone else's tab that they're not aware I'm on. If you feel like a nightcap, I think I'm going to head to the Eliot Lounge."
“Another day, perhaps. I have a truly exercrable number of emails in my Inbox, a small percentage of which require my personal attention. Which is best provided at least relatively sober.” Emma smiled. “The glamorous life of the White Queen - emails after midnight instead of visiting bars with handsome shapeshifters making offers of sin. “ She paused. “Actually, fuck it, Mr Sydney. Let me get my coat. Let’s go be drunk and glamorous in New York.”
Kevin and Emma cross paths late at night in the office and their conservation ranges until ended up at the Eliot Lounge.
Emma was used to coming into the Snow Valley offices late. Frost Enterprises took so much of her time that it wasn’t unusual for her to arrive at Snow Valley after 10pm. Sometimes the offices were still a bustling hive of activity, but tonight they were quiet, giving her the opportunity to work through the reasonably impressive amount of emails that had accumulated in her account. She’d also taken the opportunity to break into her stash of cognac and start to make a small dent in it.
"This was not a light I was expecting to see on." Kevin appeared in the door. It had come as a bit of a surprise to some people the fact that Kevin put in the kinds of hours he did when he wasn't in the field, spending long hours pouring through intelligence, working deep into the evening and showing up early in the morning. More so, that they rarely caught him in anything less than a full immaculately tailored suit and tie. He hadn't seen Emma come in, but had caught sight of the light on while on his way for a cigarette on the tiny patio. Boy, did he miss the days that he could smoke in his office.
Emma raised an eyebrow at Kevin. "I acknowledge that I’m not exactly the most active member of staff here," she said. "But I do try to turn up reasonably regularly. You just need to be mostly nocturnal to interact with me."
"I assumed late on a Friday night you'd be occupied with other matters." He shrugged. "There's a new round-up of intel for the month. It's been quiet, which of course has all of my natural paranoia ringing alarm bells."
“And if it had been busy, I assume that would also have had your paranoia ringing alarm bells,” smiled Emma. “I presume there is some kind of sweet spot of exactly the correct number of intel reports that let you know all is right in your world?” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her hand at the cognac bottle next to her, a clear invitation to join her, if Kevin so desired.
"All of them, but that is an unattainable goal. Everyone in Intelligence is a Grail Knight of one type or another; seeking perfection that can't be achieved." He took an entirely too expensive seat next to her and picked up the bottle to pour a couple of glasses. "I thought the White Queen was immune to those kinds of considerations."
"The White Queen's considerations are many and varied, sometimes from week to week, sometimes from day to day, sometimes from minute to minute. It's only a slightly exhausting lifestyle," replied Emma. "I need to do some more recruiting, spread the workload a bit. Only so many nefarious deeds I can manage in a twenty-four hour day, after all." She smiled at Kevin and took up the glass of cognac he'd poured for her, taking a small sip and letting it breathe upon her tongue before swallowing it. It was, after all, very good and very expensive cognac and should be appreciated.
"Obviously we need a chronopath on the team. Or a masseuse. Or the ability to expense a significantly higher amount of our booze expenditure." He said over the rim of the glass before enjoying a sip himself. It was, as expected, excellent. "Or fifty operatives and twice as many analysts, but despite all my letters to Santa, I don't see that happening any time soon."
“Have you asked me about increasing the expenditure on alcohol?” asked Emma. “I mean, I pay the bills and I definitely appreciate the value of high quality products. And I’m fairly certain everyone would tell you the White Queen has a fairly amoral view when it comes to reality-enhancing substances, so I’d even be willing to put into place a recreational substances budget, except they do tend to intersect with powers in unusual and occasionally very exciting ways. Let’s just say I don’t feel any need to be fifteen years old for a third time. The operatives and analysts, unfortunately, I can’t do as much about. They’re specialist talent and only so available.”
"Fifteen years old for a third time? I'm just going to hope this is some kind of roleplaying sex game or something and move on." He shrugged. "Also, to be fair, Worthington unknowingly usually pays for my alcohol. Or any number of Wall Street parasites who don't bother to watch their accounts particularly closely. It's my own private tax system."
Emma rolled her eyes. “Those kind of games are fine. Well, generally dull and the thought processes can devolve distastefully rather fast, and then I have to do things to stop them and then everyone ends up bored and occasionally vomiting every time they hear the word “potato”. I mean at least sub/dom games are creative. And as a member of the rich, I’m rather pleased that you just choose to tax us for alcohol, rather than eat us for our varied sins.” She sighed and took another small sip of her cognac. “I mean, are you supposed to want to eat the rich, when you are the rich? They’re just all starting to seem dreadfully… gauche.”
"I come from a union household on the wrong side of the tracks in Depression era Chicago. We had whole slaughterhouses to imagine converting into the new guillotines." Kevin confirmed. "However, hard to imagine one of the scions of the Hellfire Club getting onboard with the revolution. Hell, I remember them in the sixties, collectively whispering nervously over dinner that Dr. King was a Communist and the Equal Rights Amendment was the first step towards the state seizing their assets and creating gulags in North Dakota. Considering the assholes running the place at the time, I'm now a lot more open to the gulag idea, to be honest."
Emma smiled at her cognac glass, contemplating its depths. “The Hellfire Club tends more towards the seditious than the revolutionary, I believe. Well, in my time as the White Queen, anyway. Of course, being mutants, we have much to be seditious about. But tell me,” she looked up from the amber liquid that had captured her attention and smiled at Kevin. “What were they like then, those nervous scions of the old wealthy? Sebastian and I rather cleaned the place out when we took over. I doubt I’m anywhere near as across the background of our not so illustrious predecessors as someone who was there at the time.”
"I only have an outsiders perspective. My in-laws were members, but not Inner Circle." Kevin shook his head. "But as I recall, the Queen's position on both courts was more managerial. They used to be minor former celebrities or social beauties who were capable of running the house. At least, when running the house means setting up the supply of whores of both sexes, drugs, and elaborate dinners that always involved a Chicken Supreme option. There was a rumour that Mae West had been the Black Queen for a couple of years in the 30s before getting bored and moving on, but I've never been able to confirm it. Mostly, it was like a number of private clubs; a safe space for rich men to indulge their pleasures."
“Well,” Emma raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain the entire world is a safe space for rich men to indulge their pleasures. Though I certainly understand that certain things that barely raise a tut these days were not exactly acceptable back in the day, so cheers to progress really. I would imagine the paid… personal relaxation staff, were somewhat less diverse than we tend to hire now. More pretty young things, fewer metamorphs? I mean if I thought you were up for earning money in that particular way, Kevin, you could make a small fortune at a Club party.”
"I have a feeling my winning personality might off-set any potential financial windfall." He said wryly. "I don't remember mutants ever being really connected to the club. Hell, mutants were still almost a myth in those days. Rumours, a few unexplained incidents, a couple of examples buried behind layers of classification... even I didn't discover the extent of my own abilities until after I was killed for the first time."
Emma shrugged. “I’m fairly certain you could make money at a Club party from people who would want you to insult them soundly. We cater to all types and predilections, after all.” Emma poured herself another measure of cognac, topped up Kevin’s glass at his nod. “Yes, the Club would have known no more of mutants in those days than anyone else. It’s not like they would have considered inviting Logan or Charles to join.” She laughed suddenly, unexpectedly. “I can’t really imagine either of them fitting in to one of our soirees. You,” she raised an eyebrow at Kevin, speculatively, “Maybe. You’d probably be considered the insulting socialist someone kept around for that frisson of pretending they really were out to break all the rules. They’re mostly really terribly dull and staid and can’t imagine a world where they’re not privileged and in charge and can buy their way out of anything. Most of them have never used a single brain cell beyond those necessary to keep them breathing. I mean Sebastian and I used to think we were using the Club as a vehicle to take over the world, but then I realised that would mean having to spend even more of my life among rich old dullards with filthy minds and taking over the world lost all of its appeal. Lucky, I guess. Who wants to be responsible for the mess we’re currently in?” She leaned back into her chair. “So how many times have you died, Mr Sydney? If that’s not too personal a question.”
"See, I just had to deal with Congress. Similar profile and calibre of members, but at least the sex swing and spanking paddles weren't allowed in the Capitol Building during work hours. As for deaths... two that I know of." He held his hand up just away from his temple and waggled his fingers. "The first few years out of the lake are pretty scrambled, so it's possible that there were a few more. I wasn't very functional, mentality, that is, so my imprints were often transients, people on the street or in shelters... it's flashes and short bursts of memories without anything to tie them together."
“Well at least you’ve clarified why I’m never going to run for Congress. What a dull workplace it sounds.” Emma considered Kevin for a long moment of over the rim of her glass. “Is that what happened the last time?” she asked. “When I had to scoop your brain back together? I had to leave a lot of holes. I thought that was probably why you disappeared afterwards.”
"No, that was more of a mix of a crisis of faith and some selfish asshole-ish behaviour. After all, how often did you get to confront the fact that you might not ever die and your life and identity could disappear completely in a few easy steps simultaneously?" He still wasn't necessarily comfortable talking about it, but Emma had been deep in his mind. He didn't imagine she wasn't already aware of the basics of his crisis. "I'd say it was profound but I'm not entirely sure it wasn't just an excuse for a bender and to screw anything that moved and took American Express."
Emma tilted her head slightly and considered Kevin carefully. “I... There are worse ways to deal with a crisis,” she said, her tone carefully non-judgemental. “I mostly sort of knew where you were and could keep the others from trying to find and save you. The joy of rebuilding your brain did leave a bit of a... residue. Which means I didn’t have to make too much of an effort to make sure that you weren’t actively out to destroy all my excellent work in making sure you had a mind and that it was the mind of Kevin Sydney. I can offer... There are things I can do, if ever you are interested, that means you have some options about staying Kevin if someone else turns your brain into a smoothie. If you want to stay Kevin, of course.”
"That's the real question, though. I'm dealing with the idea that I don't have to be Kevin. Easily. All those sins of the past just left behind." Kevin shook his head. "I'm a lot less worried about coming back from a bullet lobotomy than I am choosing not to. But... I appreciate the offer."
He tipped back the last measure of the bottle between them. "So, with world domination off the table, what's next for the White Queen or, more interestingly, Emma Frost?"
“Well now, how am I supposed to maintain my enigmatically alluring reputation as international reprobate, dominatrix and master of spies, if you go around asking me what my plans are?” Emma smiled. And I believe the answer might currently be as simple as ‘survive’, Mr Sydney. And maybe revel in the sins of my past. I don’t know if I could stand the thought of leaving my sins behind. But I have tried to ensure the ratio of disgracefully wickedly delightful sins to unforgivable appallingly terrible sins runs at least eighty to twenty. Which at least ensures I retain both fitness and supple joints.” She grinned wickedly at Kevin, knowing that he would be aware of how very much she was failing to answer his question.
"You might be a gifted telepath, Emma. But I'm an old man who spent his life on the other side of the table from people trying to get me to believe their version of the truth." Kevin leaned back in his chair, regarding her levelly. "You want to tell me it's none of my business, that's your choice. But I know that it isn't just to 'survive'. And you never know..." He shrugged. "Maybe an alcoholic shapeshifter might help you achieve what you want. Even the sins."
Emma laughed. “Kevin, darling,” she purred. “It’s not like I’m making the slightest secret of the fact I’m evading your question. As for sins and shapeshifters... have you been talking to my sister, by any chance?”
"I'm not the person to lecture anyone on keeping things close to the vest. Just saying that allies might help. It's a lesson I learned not so long ago." Kevin's entanglement with Worthington had left an obvious mark.
"Your sister- oh, right, Adrienne. She's dating the cop. She's tried to get the name of my tailors a couple of times, which is the limit of our interaction. Should I have asked her about shapeshifters?"
“I think I need time and patience more than allies at the moment,” replied Emma. “See how things play out before I make any decisions. But yes, that’s my sister. Dating the cop, as you say. Positively staid these days.” Emma smiled and shrugged. “We all have our tastes. I enjoy the company of metamorphs. When I can change into anything I want in someone else’s head, do whatever I want, do whatever they want without ever having to touch them - well, let’s just say that sometimes is nice to stay on the physical plane and still have what you want. The grass is always greener and so forth.”
"Really? My experience is that most people, even those who think they're experimental, tend to get a little overwhelmed. Shift some sizes, maybe a bit of an ethnic switch and suddenly, it's time to pump the brakes before things get too crazy."
Emma laughed. “I’m not most people,” she said. “The laws of physics apply, at least, with shapeshifters. Not so much in my head. And I’m reasonably certain that I should stop drinking cognac now before I tell you anything more about my... hobbies. Professional boundaries, work colleagues etc etc.”
"Emma, do you know why most of my liaisons have been professionals? Because I can be someone's fantasy, just like you. Which means I can hurt people easily if I'm not careful." Kevin said, running a finger around the edge of his glass. "But I'm certain that you're a woman I can be confident who isn't going to fall in love with me to be hurt. If you want something from me, ask. I'm too goddamn old for the bullshit and you're too smart and been in my brain too deep to think that crap matters. Your call."
Emma smiled. “I really am that person who doesn’t want to sleep with work colleagues, Kevin. For the same reasons as you. It’s too easy to be someone’s everything and that’s... it doesn’t end well. But I agree.” She leaned forward, contemplated Kevin across the table. “I put too much of your mind back together to think you would be that person. I’m tired, Kevin, and it’s late and I’ve drunk too much cognac in pleasant company and I don’t want to make bad decisions. But,” she shrugged, a smile flickering at the corner of her lips, “could we agree that it’s not a definitive no? I mean, if you want a forever answer right now, then it would be. But if you’re willing to wait for a day when it isn’t after midnight and we haven’t finished the bottle before the topic arises, the answer might be different.”
"I wasn't expecting you to wear my class ring going forward, Emma." He saluted her with his empty glass. "I think we understand each other well enough to know which pitfalls we want to avoid and which rules can be... fungible. If you want to revisit this conversation another time, I'm happy to do so. However, it is late and that means I've got three or four hours left to seriously dent someone else's tab that they're not aware I'm on. If you feel like a nightcap, I think I'm going to head to the Eliot Lounge."
“Another day, perhaps. I have a truly exercrable number of emails in my Inbox, a small percentage of which require my personal attention. Which is best provided at least relatively sober.” Emma smiled. “The glamorous life of the White Queen - emails after midnight instead of visiting bars with handsome shapeshifters making offers of sin. “ She paused. “Actually, fuck it, Mr Sydney. Let me get my coat. Let’s go be drunk and glamorous in New York.”
