Operation: Kefauver - Log 4
Aug. 25th, 2022 12:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsInfiltration into the party starts with Emma and Doug accepting the invites sent to the HFC.
The Jerome Manor, just off 5th avenue on the Upper East Side was one of the few estates not torn down for luxury condos or converted into a museum. Bought by the Maggia during the Second World War, they had established it as the one neutral ground in New York. The Commission typically met twice a year in the boardroom upstairs, and lavish parties were held in the ground floor parlors and ball room. The emergency meeting was being covered with the excuse of a social event celebrating an upcoming inter-family marriage, and to support the cover, invites went out to New York's high society. While their invitations had been ignored up until now, when the doors opened, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club made her debut entrance to the party.
>>
The fact that the Maggia’s cover was an engagement celebration had thwarted some of Emma’s more extravagant choices of outfit; even in the highest of societies it was considered absolutely crass to try and outshine the bride-to-be. So she’d reluctantly put aside a number of fabulous designs and instead was wearing a gown of the palest silver. It was almost decorous in appearance, except when she moved, when it became obvious the gown was sheer beneath the lights, and that Emma wasn’t wearing any particularly noticeable underwear. Except she would move again and then it wasn’t obvious at all that it was anything but a trick of the light, a suggestion whispered and withdrawn.
In the circumstances, Emma decided, it would do.
“We wield what weapons we must,” she murmured into Doug’s ear, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow. “Including fashion.”
"Words are weapons sharper than knives," Doug quoted, a low guitar riff flitting through his mind where Emma was connected to it. Most everyone Doug was close to could prompt a little musical sting to run through his head when he thought of them. Emma, of course, had more than a few that suited her. Given that this wasn't a Court event, he wasn't wearing his habitual all-white suit, but the color definitely featured prominently in his dinner jacket, along with a silver bowtie and vest to match his Queen.
::looking good friendos:: he dropped along his link to the nanites. Since he was out in society, among people who might remember discrepancies when they saw him at another function, tonight would be his first test drive of his new hand in 'looking normal' mode. With Emma close by, any lapses could be covered up, and the stakes were relatively low since they were guests and the focus would largely be elsewhere.
“But a good stiletto on the right throat…” Emma sighed to Doug, adding in a mental picture of her foot, dagger-edged heel resting in the notch in the throat of an anonymous muscled man. Then, “Darling! Giovanni! You look splendid,” she trilled, leaning forward, flawless skin nearly brushing the cheek of the man in front of her, air kissing once twice three times as nimble, diamond-tipped fingers dropped a bug into the man’s trouser pocket. “I haven’t seen you in such an age.”
Whatever the response was, it was lost behind them as Emma and Doug continued to move through the crowd with the fluid grace of hunting sharks.
~I thought it was my job to plant the bugs while you dazzle everyone the way only you can,~ Doug observed along their private mental link. ~Not that I can't distract using my charms, but the target audience for mine is a bit more...limited.~ While all the powerful men in the room were focused on Emma, he had noticed a few of the cougar-slash-trophy-wife set casting hungry looks his way.
~But dazzling them is so easy, darling,~ replied Emma. ~Sometimes it's nice to set myself a little stretch goal.~ Her mental laughter trilled in Doug's mind as she broadened her telepathic broadcast slightly. ~Besides, Kevin always wants me to practice my spycraft, and he gets so disappointed looking when I do it all with my powers. And there's nothing sadder than a droopy Kevin.~
~I don't droop. It's one of the nice little benefits of my powers.~ Kevin sent back drily. ~Sarah and Felicia are nearly in position. You need to give Topaz and Marie-Ange a window to act ASAP.~
~You may not droop, but you grump like nobody's business,~ Doug observed. ~Time to cause a scene. Tag team, auntie Em?~ he asked, casting his glance toward a particular couple. The trophy wife was clearly sloshed, but she was casting very hungry looks at Doug. The heavyset husband, on the other hand, had only eyes for Emma's decolletage. ~Fan the flames from both ends, as it were.~ He sauntered up to where the trophy wife was holding up the bar, parking himself just inside the polite amount of distance for personal space. "My eyes are up here," he quipped with a sly grin as he flagged down the bartender.
“And yours are down there,” said Emma, coolly, to the man. She reached forward, slipped one finger beneath his chin, lifted it until she could lock her cool blue gaze on his eyes. “I don’t,” she breathed, “approve. I think you should kneel to your queen,” she said imperiously, reinforcing it with telepathic command. “Kneel.”
Drunk as she was, his trophy wife winced at the heavy thunk of her husband’s knees hitting the floor, as he dropped heavily, instantly, Emma’s finger still holding his gaze up.
“That’s better,” Emma purred. ~Dramatic enough?~ she sent to Doug and Kevin.
~Oh, I'm pretty sure that got their attention.~ Kevin said, shifting his view. ~You two have fun now. Topaz, Colbert, the crowd on the floor is distracted. Get by those guards.~
The Jerome Manor, just off 5th avenue on the Upper East Side was one of the few estates not torn down for luxury condos or converted into a museum. Bought by the Maggia during the Second World War, they had established it as the one neutral ground in New York. The Commission typically met twice a year in the boardroom upstairs, and lavish parties were held in the ground floor parlors and ball room. The emergency meeting was being covered with the excuse of a social event celebrating an upcoming inter-family marriage, and to support the cover, invites went out to New York's high society. While their invitations had been ignored up until now, when the doors opened, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club made her debut entrance to the party.
>>
The fact that the Maggia’s cover was an engagement celebration had thwarted some of Emma’s more extravagant choices of outfit; even in the highest of societies it was considered absolutely crass to try and outshine the bride-to-be. So she’d reluctantly put aside a number of fabulous designs and instead was wearing a gown of the palest silver. It was almost decorous in appearance, except when she moved, when it became obvious the gown was sheer beneath the lights, and that Emma wasn’t wearing any particularly noticeable underwear. Except she would move again and then it wasn’t obvious at all that it was anything but a trick of the light, a suggestion whispered and withdrawn.
In the circumstances, Emma decided, it would do.
“We wield what weapons we must,” she murmured into Doug’s ear, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow. “Including fashion.”
"Words are weapons sharper than knives," Doug quoted, a low guitar riff flitting through his mind where Emma was connected to it. Most everyone Doug was close to could prompt a little musical sting to run through his head when he thought of them. Emma, of course, had more than a few that suited her. Given that this wasn't a Court event, he wasn't wearing his habitual all-white suit, but the color definitely featured prominently in his dinner jacket, along with a silver bowtie and vest to match his Queen.
::looking good friendos:: he dropped along his link to the nanites. Since he was out in society, among people who might remember discrepancies when they saw him at another function, tonight would be his first test drive of his new hand in 'looking normal' mode. With Emma close by, any lapses could be covered up, and the stakes were relatively low since they were guests and the focus would largely be elsewhere.
“But a good stiletto on the right throat…” Emma sighed to Doug, adding in a mental picture of her foot, dagger-edged heel resting in the notch in the throat of an anonymous muscled man. Then, “Darling! Giovanni! You look splendid,” she trilled, leaning forward, flawless skin nearly brushing the cheek of the man in front of her, air kissing once twice three times as nimble, diamond-tipped fingers dropped a bug into the man’s trouser pocket. “I haven’t seen you in such an age.”
Whatever the response was, it was lost behind them as Emma and Doug continued to move through the crowd with the fluid grace of hunting sharks.
~I thought it was my job to plant the bugs while you dazzle everyone the way only you can,~ Doug observed along their private mental link. ~Not that I can't distract using my charms, but the target audience for mine is a bit more...limited.~ While all the powerful men in the room were focused on Emma, he had noticed a few of the cougar-slash-trophy-wife set casting hungry looks his way.
~But dazzling them is so easy, darling,~ replied Emma. ~Sometimes it's nice to set myself a little stretch goal.~ Her mental laughter trilled in Doug's mind as she broadened her telepathic broadcast slightly. ~Besides, Kevin always wants me to practice my spycraft, and he gets so disappointed looking when I do it all with my powers. And there's nothing sadder than a droopy Kevin.~
~I don't droop. It's one of the nice little benefits of my powers.~ Kevin sent back drily. ~Sarah and Felicia are nearly in position. You need to give Topaz and Marie-Ange a window to act ASAP.~
~You may not droop, but you grump like nobody's business,~ Doug observed. ~Time to cause a scene. Tag team, auntie Em?~ he asked, casting his glance toward a particular couple. The trophy wife was clearly sloshed, but she was casting very hungry looks at Doug. The heavyset husband, on the other hand, had only eyes for Emma's decolletage. ~Fan the flames from both ends, as it were.~ He sauntered up to where the trophy wife was holding up the bar, parking himself just inside the polite amount of distance for personal space. "My eyes are up here," he quipped with a sly grin as he flagged down the bartender.
“And yours are down there,” said Emma, coolly, to the man. She reached forward, slipped one finger beneath his chin, lifted it until she could lock her cool blue gaze on his eyes. “I don’t,” she breathed, “approve. I think you should kneel to your queen,” she said imperiously, reinforcing it with telepathic command. “Kneel.”
Drunk as she was, his trophy wife winced at the heavy thunk of her husband’s knees hitting the floor, as he dropped heavily, instantly, Emma’s finger still holding his gaze up.
“That’s better,” Emma purred. ~Dramatic enough?~ she sent to Doug and Kevin.
~Oh, I'm pretty sure that got their attention.~ Kevin said, shifting his view. ~You two have fun now. Topaz, Colbert, the crowd on the floor is distracted. Get by those guards.~
