| Agent Meets Queen |
| Summary: | Peggy Carter runs into Emma Frost at the Hellfire Club. |
| Date: | 2017-01-26 |
| Related: | None |
| NPCs: | None |
| Scene Runner: | NA |
| Social/Plot: | Social |
| Players: |
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The Hellfire Club in the Upper East Side does not present a very ostentatious exterior, by design. It looks like any number of stately old buildings, with no real identification to mark it as anything special. Of course, even decades ago, the Hellfire Club existed in New York City, and it served much the same purpose that it does now: a home away from home for the wealthy elite, host to both soirees for socialites and backdoor negotiations for plutocrats.
In the reception area, the woman on duty is keen not to let in non-members. She's dressed in a smart pinstripe suit with a dark blouse, looking like an anonymous stereotype of a sleek, chic, modern businesswoman. Still, there are no turnstiles or card-readers like at many modern places of business. That would disrupt the feng shui of traditionalist opulence.
Whether Daimon had told her this was a good place to find him in an emergency, or Peggy had sniffed it our herself, isn't entirely clear. What is clear is that the once-Agent is stepping up to the elegant, stately old home on the upper east side. Dark eyes take in everything around her, memorizing where cameras may be located, other security measures she can spot even through their hidden subtly, and anyone else coming or going. She still was wary, still paranoid, even in this seemingly 'safer' world.
Chunky, old fashioned high heels carry her across the marble floor of the reception area. Peggy is in a smart, dark plaid suit with high waisted slacks. The style is achingly old fashion, but then retro things are back in these days. Her dark eyes flicker across the blonde in pinstripes, studying a heartbeat or two before she clears her throat quietly, "…Is Daimon Hellstrom in?"
There are indeed many subtle security measures. Every step has been taken to keep these things inobtrusive, both to preserve the decor and to just plain hide them. An old pro like Peggy would know full well that no matter where she steps in this room, she's being recorded, and the rest of the Club probably operates the same.
The woman working reception looks Peggy up and down after her question. She replies: "I'm afraid Mister Hellstrom is not here at the moment." This may well just be an answer anyone is given when they ask to see someone. The Club values its privacy, of course.
The click-clack of heels announces another presence. Draped in a white cape with fur lining that's totally closed around her, giving her a silhouette like a Halloween ghost, Emma Frost approaches the pair. "I'm afraid Daimon's unavailable, darling," Emma says, eyeing Peggy from toe to tip. "But if you're in need of assistance, I might do. My name is Emma Frost — I'm an associate of Daimon's."
"That's fine, I'll just see him at-…" Then Peggy's words are slightly cut off by the approach of another woman. She turns dark gaze towards the striking, white-clad woman, looking her up and down a heartbeat to evaluate for strength, weapons, any other threat she might represent. A slight smile tugs at Peggy's red velvet lipsticked mouth. "Ah… no assistance. I was simply checking in. I will no doubt find him later. It is fine." Peggy's half prepared to go already, but something in her mind catches on that it'd be awful rude to not at least give her name in turn. "…I'm Peggy… Peggy Carter. A… sometime associate of his as well."
Emma doesn't look like any more of a threat than any other woman who walks around in New York swaddled in a floor-length cape. A hand emerges from the cloak, in such a way that any view of what's beneath is not made clear. The hand is encased in a white leather glove. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Carter. Especially someone who might understand what a true pain in the ass Daimon can be." Emma's features quirk into a wry smile. She's subtly reaching out mentally, skimming Peggy's thoughts for ill intent toward Daimon or the Club. She's not getting too intrusive. Yet, anyway.
No ill intent at all. A touch of wariness, a hint of being perplexed, and the scattered thoughts of a woman who has really just found herself landed in this reality and is still trying desperately to catch up. There is a strong mix of affection and frustration for Daimon, but that's probably a very common reaction to the man. Peggy returns the shake smoothly, her palm strong, slightly calloused in the spots that daily gun range practice would make a hand calloused. "He… has not actually been that awful as of late. It's a bit strange, I'll admit." Her British accent clips out lightly.
Emma's accent is more of a Received Pronunciation type accent, like she was taught to speak 'correctly' at some point in her life. "Oh, don't get me wrong, darling." Emma's hand snakes back beneath her cloak. "When I called him a pain in the ass, it certainly wasn't meant as an insult." She smiles, perhaps trying to put Peggy more at ease. "I quite like your outfit, by the way. You'll have to tell me who your designer is."
"Designer?" Daimon's magic. Or so, that's the surface thought that comes in response, considering sha arrived on this world with nothing but the clothes on her back, "Oh…it's…vintage. No special designer. I suppose I'm still a bit old fashioned." Peggy admits with a half smile behind her clipped, somewhat professional words. She seems a woman who is always slightly stiff. Perhaps it's the Brit in her. Or the old fashioned mannerisms. Or having spent most of her life as a spy. "But…I didn't mean to bother people here. I can be on my way."
Emma is about as hard to read as Sanskrit. She seems like she might be the kind of stiff, professional type as Peggy, but with a glossy coat over it, a veneer of luxury. She smiles when Peggy starts to beg off. "There's no bother," Emma says. "I'll have to make Daimon bring you along to one of our galas. Certainly it would make me happy to have more people around with a true flair for style."
Sadly, Peggy doesn't have the gift of telepathy to help her in reading someone. She does have two decades of training and experience in cold reading individuals, but it's hard with someone like Emma. She's not particularly worried, though, not pressing the matter, just keeping her neutral smile in place, shoulders square and back straight. "Galas? Oh, I… don't really know that I'm a gala sort of woman. I'm much better at work. Which… I should be getting off to."
"Of course. I hope to see you again soon, Ms. Carter. Know that you have a standing invitation to any of our little soirees. If not from Daimon, then certainly from me." Emma gives a gentle smile, and a nod, as if to inform Peggy that she can leave now.
"Well… that is most kind, Ms. Frost. I will keep that in mind. Do let Daimon know I stopped in, if he comes back…" With that, Peggy gives her one last, warm smile and turns on the ball of her foot, moving back for the exit. No need to snoop around more today. SHe's just poking at the surface of information here and she has all the time in the world, really.