icecoldfrost: (Waiting for My Moment)
Most people who knew Emma Frost would not expect her home to be quite so... rambunctious. If it wasn't Emma and Candy hollering at each other from all corners of the house, it was Kennendy's Slayer Squad constantly going back-and-forth from their jobs or various adventures around town, or training downstairs in the Rumpus Room. It was a constant hub of light and noise and people, and thank god the residents of Soho just chalked it up to socialites of ill-repute, or Emma would have had a lot more mind-wiping to do to get the neighbors out of her hair.

For the next twenty-four hours, however, Candy was off with Warren and the vast majority of the Slayer Squad were off playing body-guard for various political figures or were in their classes at ESU, or were out at the Massachusetts Academy. There were strict orders that third floor of the house was Off Limits to anyone who came home, yes, even the jacuzzi, and that Emma would not be held responsible for anything anyone walked in on. Thankfully, everyone seemed to have taken the hint, leaving just Jack and Emma in residence for the evening.

"It's no studio in Brooklyn," Emma joked, kicking off her heels to pad barefoot into the kitchen, "--but welcome home, darling."

[OOC: For That Guy, Please!]
icecoldfrost: (on phone)
"~Portfoilo diversification is fun for me and maybe-fun for you but mostly fun for me~" Emma sang under her breath as she worked on her tablet, curled up on her futon. The best part about starting/owning your own company? If you wanted to work from bed in your pjs, YOU COULD. "Oooo...shiny. Mine."

Had she just bought a nightclub in the area that would be District X in a few years? Yes, yes she had, and sometimes having gone to high school in the future was seriously helpful. Not everything turned out the same -- pop stars had different hits, betting on sports hadn't panned out -- but some things? Some things the universe liked to keep running in a particular way. Lately Emma had been funneling a portion of her investment profits into real estate as a side-project, and she was already seeing a few nice returns beyond improved economic stability in the areas she was investing in. "Your name will be 'eVolution,' because I think I'm funny," she informed her screen, "--and now I get to hire people to get you up and running, and get a management company for you, a few layers of investors, and have an accessibility assessment done and your guts checked for asbestos and--."

Her reverie was broken by the 'ping' of an email alert, and Emma switched over to see if it was something she could ignore for now or was a crisis from the school (which was almost ready to re-open), her office, or the Hellfire Club.

It turned out to be none of the above. The realtor she'd hired had just sent her a private listing -- this moving thing was taking forever and 3/4ths of Emma's life was already boxed up but she'd yet to find something suitable -- so she opened it out of curiosity, to see what she'd been sent this time.

She was on the phone just seconds later. "Yes. Offer them thirteen -- the place next door isn't in as good repair and that's got to pull down the value a bit, and it's Soho, not the Upper East Side for fuck's sake. Plus that basement room appears to need finishing, it's practically naked," Finishing with a discreet contractor to reconfigure that storage room/closet/facilities room to add containment for Jack, for starters, and maybe an indoor sauna, "--But I'm willing to go as high as thirty if it means we don't have to get into a bidding war. Close it and close it now, before they get any other offers."

The moment she was off the phone, Emma was sending out a series of text messages. One to Candy, asking her if she still wanted to get out of her parent's place, one to Jack, with just a link to see if he liked it as much as she hoped he would, then there was a call back from her agent -- the woman was damned efficient, Emma was going to have to hire her for other projects -- with confirmation, and then one to everyone else:

Auntie Emma is calling in her favors, children. Who wants to help her move? Take-out and booze provided, and volunteers get to play in the jacuzzi after we're done.

[OOC: NFB, open post! If you think you got the text, you totally did!]
icecoldfrost: (pure ambition)
After many enlightening conversations with Shaw, Leland, Lourdes, and Selene, Emma had ideas.

She didn't disagree with the Council's stated goal of monetizing mutation. If a mutant wanted to use their power to make money, more power to them. There was no reason they shouldn't be able to do so, so long as it was their choice, there was no coercion, OSHA standards were met and followed, and they were paid properly. Setting in place the legislation and technologies to do that seemed common sense, and a logical way to generate revenue given that the Hellfire Club was already ahead of the curve in finding ways to combine mutation and technology and patenting it.

She did disagree with Ned Buckman's continued existence, but Shaw wouldn't believe her about the man's ultimate goals. It was infuriating.

But they'd even given Emma a lab. She wasn't Tony Stark, but after years of living with Hank and tinkering with technology from worlds not her own, she was hardly an amateur. Her pet project of the moment was a sliding-scale inhibitor, which could be worn by emerging mutants. Turn a power off completely, let certain bits and pieces through while blocking other, more hazardous methods of manifestation, setting limits as to how much power they could manifest at once during training, emergency shut-down procedures... it could be a better, safer way of letting new mutants train with their powers and not need to worry about endangering lives.

Which was what Emma's greatest idea came down to -- training. It was obvious, really. Whoever controlled the training programs for mutants was eventually going to be the one controlling when and how mutations were used, and therefore controlled the profit; both monetary and political.

But right now, there was only one person training mutants, and that was Xavier with his handpicked class. But how many more mutants were out there, like Emma had been? Lost, alone, and in need of training before their powers consumed them? Not one of them was any less deserving of training than the poster children of Westchester but Xavier sat there, in his safe little compound, with mutant finding technology and he wasn't doing anything to help the hundreds of mutants across the United States who were alone and trying to survive as homo sapien superior.

(Candy had tried to ask Warren about it once, carefully, without outing Emma, and all he'd said is "Well, it's not an academy for the gifted if everyone can come." Candy had dumped him for two weeks for that, and Emma loved her all the more for it.)

She almost missed the tiny article that scrolled along her newsfeed, to be honest. Just a few lines in between articles on mergers and acquisitions, but Emma had very very few things from her life before Fandom tagged to show up, so the little headline of 'Snow Valley Educational Bastion In Peril?,' it caught her eye.

Low enrollment. Withdrawal of donor support. Oh, these were things Emma could fix, and use to her advantage. It only took a few phone calls, a check, and a telepathic conference with her fellow Hellfire Club compatriots to get her idea in motion. She could push-through co-education enrollment, she wasn't worried about that. Emma had the relevant degree, the money, and now, a position on the board of trustees. It was as good a start as she could possibly hope for.

After all, you needed somewhere to train the next generation of mutants, and the Berkshires of Massachusetts seemed as good and safe place as any. Especially when you had a werewolf boyfriend who needed to roam free on occasion. The Massachusetts Academy was perfect.

Now all she needed as a decent lair residence IN the city -- because she sure as hell wasn't going to retire to the country full-time now -- but finding decent real estate in Manhattan was hell. Seriously. Between the X-Men and the Brotherhood and other nonsense, home insurance prices were insane.

Thanks, Xavier. GREAT PR job for mutants, right there. UGH.

[OOC: Open for calls, texts, hysterical laughing from canonical foreknowledge...]
icecoldfrost: (girls' night out)
This was the most wonderful time of the year, at least as far as Emma Grace Frost was concerned.

She loved Christmas. New Year was amazing. The Met Gala was, as one of her former classmates would say, 'astral.' But New York Fashion Week was the pinnacle of all social events in this town, and was all of those events rolled into one.

"I'm telling you, there's no way we can get from Diane Von Furstenberg over to Jonathan Simkhai in time," she was saying into her phone. "--I'm a telepath, not a teleporter, Candy! There's a difference! I know we have invites to both, but we're going to have to pick one or split up and you have to deal with me in your head later to get a good look at whatever I missed."

"You're sure? Darling, you're a gem and I'll bring my flask. Now, about the after-parties..."

[OOC: NFB, open for calls, texts, etc. I can't NOT post JStam during NYFW."
icecoldfrost: (pure ambition)
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Candy asked for the fifth time as her fingers danced through Emma's hair, weaving the strands into a complex updo. "I mean, are you sure-sure?"

"I dropped off their radar seven weeks ago, have had Frost International up and running and ready to go public for six months, bought my building out from under them two years ago, fired the super that was spying on me yesterday," Emma replied as she expertly applied her eyeliner, "--and sent in my notice over email this morning. If I'm not ready now, Candy-cane, I might as well roll over and play dead."

You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it. -- J.M. Barrie )

[OOC: NFB, NFI, OOC welcome.]
icecoldfrost: (Alone)
Emma hadn't gone to her Saturday morning yoga class. She wasn't with her personal trainer now, either, for her biweekly session. She hadn't gone to kickboxing on Wednesday, or most of her classes, and had called in to work on Thursday and Friday. She'd barely made it to mandated team practice for Regionals, and she was the captain of the fencing team.

Really, she hadn't gone anywhere since coming back on Tuesday that wasn't vital.

She'd read the journal four times now. Four times, right up until the entry for That Party. Then she'd stop, and start at the beginning again. Those last fifty pages were still untouched, unseen, as if not reading them would make everything contained in there untrue and undue the damage of the last decade. That maybe her brother would be pounding on the door between this page and the next, hollering her name at the top of his lungs.

But this was New York, not Fandom and it's fairy magic. It was hard and bright and real, with no room for daydreams or softness, and that was why she loved it. Christian was dead. He wasn't coming back, not again, not here, and not reading the rest of the journal wasn't going to change that.

Fifty pages. That was all she had left of him. That was the entirety of his life after he'd been taken away from her, and the one subject on which he'd refused to speak on the one weekend she'd gotten him back.

She turned the page, and started to read.

[NFB, open for calls or texts or vists, sure. SP until after I finish demolishing this set.]
icecoldfrost: (legs!)
In the end, it proved far too easy to lose track of time. Six in the evening found Emma up against the wall, her wrists pinned above her head by one of Jack's hands (and his new six inches totally dirty), and otherwise preoccupied when there was a flash of light and the world tilted sideways for a moment.

The next thing Emma knew, she was on the floor of her apartment in Bed-Stuy, the rumpled shirt she'd been wearing when she'd gone to sleep on Friday night in a heap next to her.

"OH COME ON!"

[OOC: NFB, Open for calls or texts, sure.]
icecoldfrost: (hanging out)
Emma had...drunk. A lot. And had only her mutant metabolism to thank for not having alcohol poisoning. Hallelujah, genetic awesomeness. The only thing saving her from an epic hangover was using up the vast majority of the hot water in the building, more coffee than God, and eating an entire box of frozen waffles. Candy had already departed for her own apartment, to shower and finish sleeping off last night's revels, leaving Emma and Jono alone to talk shop.

"So, are you going to tell me why your brain feels like swiss cheese - more than usual - or do I get to guess?" Emma crammed the last bite of waffle in her mouth in a manner that should not be physically possible before pointing her fork at Jono. << You promised. >>

[OOC: For that dude!]
icecoldfrost: (girls' night out)
It was the end of J-Term for ESU. A time when students tended to celebrate being half-way through the year, the grueling schedule of a J-Term behind them, and the rumors of an East Coast Spring on the horizon.

For two - very tipsy - young ladies in Bed-Stuy by the names of Emma Grace Frost and Candace 'Candy' Southern, however, it was a time to drunk-dial or Skype everyone they knew, so that they could wave their temporary diplomas at them. Or, in Emma's case, three of her four diplomas.

[OOC: Open for calls, texts, and Skype sessions, if you think Emma would call you to gloat.]
icecoldfrost: (high society girl)
Emma had been going non-stop for the past two days, and had already dragged herself out of bed and started making pancakes before noon. On a Saturday.

Why? Because it was NYFW. And she and Candy had tickets and wonderful seats and there were parties and Alon Livné was at 1:30 today and he had made her swear up and down that she wouldn't miss it. God, she loved New York. They had been out far too late last night - or this morning, depending if you'd bothered to check a clock - and now they were going to be out ridiculously late again. It was a great week to be young, female, and pretty in New York.

"Get up, you lazy buttface," she hollered, tossing a plastic cup across the room to where Candy was passed out on the bed. "I cooked, it's not on fire, and we need to get ready."

Emma Grace Frost, ladies and gentlemen. The epitome of refinement and beauty. Or something.

[OOC: NFB, open to calls or texts. It is kinda mandatory that I post Emma (and Jessica Stam) during Fashion Week.]
icecoldfrost: (Hank!)
"...and we'll be checking for Lichtenberg figures, too," Hank was saying. "Especially at the contact points where you were electrocuted." He cocked his head to study Jack. "I must say, you don't smell particularly singed at the moment. Electrocution can be tricky, how are you feeling?"

Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose from her perch on one of the counters in Hank's lab space. It was greatly upgraded from the last time Jack had been down there, with bright lights, clean and painted walls, and newer equipment. Hank himself was greatly improved as well, the large man seeming more focused than usual as he moved about his lab, making notes on a chart with Jack's name at the top.

"Hank, should I be worried that somehow you already have a chart for my boyfriend? We've talked about the 'no testing on Emma's friends' lately, right?"

Hank just grinned, giving his partner-in-crime a noogie as he walked past her. "Stop fussing, Emma. It's from when he first came down here to transform. I documented the process, so he'd have something to compare against later. Don't worry, it's not like I kept any DNA."

He turned his large yellow eyes back to Jack. "...are we sure I can't keep any DNA from you?"

HANK, NO.

[OOC: For that werewolf boy.]
icecoldfrost: (Waiting for My Moment)
The wonderful thing about currently being a few weeks ahead of Fandom - in Emma's opinion - is that she had spring. Almost. For her, it was early March and her spring break, and the sun was out in New York. It also meant that Jack could leave his shift at Devil's Nest on his Monday night, and still show up in her world at a reasonable hour.

Her little flat was as tidy as a telepath on a binge Spring Cleaning Spree could manage (which was scary), and Emma was happily ensconced in her laptop, working away at her big psych paper for the term. Early. Because someone was an overachiever.

[OOC: Open for calls, texts, and That Boy.]
icecoldfrost: (coffee addict)
"Miss Frost! Mr. Shaw needs those projections before lunch, and then he wants you to be on the trading floor the rest of the time today," Johann - another intern but from NYU - blurted out as he skidded into the office all the Shaw Industries interns shared. "He says you're his lucky penny, and he wants to see another fifty grand before close."

Emma wasn't headblind or stupid )

[OOC: Open for calls or texts!]
icecoldfrost: (pure ambition)
Time had been moving a bit faster for Emma than it was currently running at Fandom, for today, for her, was Friday before fall break, and the day that she - and the rest of the MBA students - had been waiting for impatiently.

It was the day they found out where they'd be interning for second semester. The holy grail of the MBA program. So of course, Professor Carlson was making them all as miserable as possible, and reading off the list in alphabetical order... of the company, not the students. Not that it was causing Emma (much) distress. She already knew where she was going, so she was mentally planning a shopping trip and half-listening.

"...Nishimura International," Carlson droned, and she sat up a little straighter, a bright smile on her lips and her hands folded demurely on her desk. "...Ryan Choi and Frank Poole."

Wait, what?

"Professor, there's been a mistake," Emma broke in smoothly, her smile not faltering an iota. "Mr. Nishimura took me out to lunch last week to personally congratulate me on getting the position."

"So that's what they're calling it these days, 'getting the position.' More like getting into the position," one of the guys behind her whispered, and half the class sniggered behind their hands. "'Personally,'" someone else added, which set off another round of snickering.

Emma hated everything.

"You're correct, Miss Frost, you were the original choice for Nishimura International," Professor Carlson agreed, ignoring Emma's detractors. "Given that Mr. Nishimura apparently felt free to spill the beans early, your interruption is understandable and forgivable."

"However, we had a few latecomers to the party, companies that don't normally partake in our program but are branching out this year." He looked down his list until he found what he was looking for, and nodded. "You were requested for Shaw Industrial. Apparently they're interested in the proposal of developing and funding alternative energy sources that you wrote last year. They requested we reassign you, and Nishimura International was kind enough to agree, on the condition we give them two people to make up for losing you."

"Shaw Industries? Who'd she have to fuck to get that?" she could hear one of her classmates - Dan-something - whisper to one of his friends. "There's no way she was qualified for that or Nishimura."

Sometimes, Emma really hated being the only woman in this class, and wished she'd waited to take it until Candy could too. A lot. Shaw Industries was fantastic, just as good as Nishimura International, but all she could hear now were the psychic whispers about how she got the job. Some were genuinely curious, respectful if jealous, a few didn't care - they'd know their parents were buying them their positions - but some of her classmates were getting...ugly. Emma kept a pleasant expression and her hands folded, looking neither right or left, throughout the rest of the mental torture-session. The moment the bell rang, she picked up her bag, tucked her hair behind her ear, and sauntered out.

It wasn't until she got back to the safety of her apartment, door closed behind her, that Emma allowed herself to crack, just a bit, letting her smooth composure drop, and once she was in the shower, she could pretend it didn't hurt, that she hadn't worked hard for this, that she wasn't crying. She wasn't.

Afterwards, clean and refreshed, she fired off a text to Jack letting him know that his room was about to be occupied. Because Emma was considerate that way, and right now, she'd rather spend the fall break in Fandom than alone in her apartment.

[OOC: Open for calls or texts before she heads to Fandom for the weekend.]
icecoldfrost: (Emma is a bit of a tease...)
The message had only said that Jack required distraction, and so Emma had gotten them seats for the most distracting thing available: The Annual New York After-Dark Burlesque Review, hosted at - of course - The Hellfire Club. Because if you were going for decadence, you needed the perfect backdrop.

This wasn't the usual 'gentleman's club' section of the Club, either. New York's finest burlesque artists (and visual artists) were the ones throwing this party; meaning it was utterly gorgeous and equal oggle-tunity for everyone, no matter your personal tastes.

[OOC: For one & SP]
icecoldfrost: (I can kill you with my mind)
Classes were done for the day, and while normally Emma would be doing some stupid group team-building project with the other students in her human development class, she was skipping whatever stupid feel-good heart-to-heart nonsense the teacher had come up with this week. With an excuse! ...kinda! Candy was coming over once she was finished with work tonight so they could practice for summer internship interviews. Which meant Emma was putting away her groceries and prepping to make an utterly ridiculously large amount of tacos.

Look, she and Candy were growing girls. And they were not going to give in to the self-hate of the American media and body-image magazines. Because tacos. They were not just necessary to live, but to deal with the stupidity of the human race and their male counterparts who were jostling for the same jobs and complaining about how it was 'unfair' that the girls had the 'advantage' of being female.

No, Emma hadn't been experimenting to see if she'd suddenly developed psychokinesis last week in class, why did you ask? Really. Setting someone on fire with her brain, while potentially therapeutic, wasn't actually helpful.

Yet.

[OOC: Open for calls, texts, you know the drill.]
icecoldfrost: (Hellfire Club)
This year's Yule Ball at the Hellfire Club was even more exclusive than usual, and that was saying something. The fact that Emma had scored an invitation - and hadn't forged it, thank you very much - meant that when it had arrived in the mail, it had sealed which party she and Jack would be attending on Christmas Eve. You didn't get an invite to the Yule Ball and stand them up. She'd penned her regrets to the other invitations, and that was that.

And the Club itself was bursting with light and Christmas cheer. The tableau vivant from the charity ball were back, but this time they were scenes of Christmas and morality plays.

Well, as much a morality play as it could be, when the angels were practically wearing see-through gowns, but it was the Hellfire Club. The roaming carolers were dressed, mostly, the holly and the ivy were hung, and mistletoe was strategically placed about the building.

There was spiced cider, roasting meat, and networking with the city's elite, all within the traditional Victorian atmosphere that the Club boasted. Only the elite members wore traditional garb, as their guests dressed in their modern best.

Enter the Club, and do as ye will but harm none, on Christmas Eve.
icecoldfrost: (Hellfire Club)
It was a box that Leland put on his desk, and Shaw raised one eyebrow in silent question.  

"The Frost girl," Harry answered bluntly.  "Bloody hell, Shaw, you could have warned me that she was a slippery one.  I'm not quite convinced she's real after all this."

it's like she dropped off the grid for years. )

"For now, we invited her to the Yule Ball, let's see if she takes the bait."  Shaw smiled and Harry Leland shook his head in amusement.  "Time to see if she's up for the slightly more sordid side of Hellfire."  
icecoldfrost: (long hard night)
Emma Frost was bored, desperately needed a study break, and had beat all the levels of Angry Birds on her phone.

No, let's back that up and tell the truth: Emma Frost was lonely, drunk - she'd stolen a bottle of 151 from the store since she couldn't afford to buy it - and bored. She'd finished her homework for the week, and her readings, and there weren't any grad students doing experiments going on at the psych labs to watch.

...what? You had your entertainments, and Emma had hers. And she didn't have a television.

Which was why she was currently drunk-calling/texting people while cutting out the articles from the various society pages about the Thankful Virtues event. Especially the ones that mentioned her.

[OOC: Open post! If you think she called or texted you, she did.]
icecoldfrost: (cherry lips and)
Given that whatever holiday plans Emma would have made for herself had been thwarted by Portalocity, she had two options:

Twinkies and Hamburger Helper with Hank, whom she'd have to remind that it was Thanksgiving, or accepting an invitation to the Hellfire Club's annual - and tre exclusive - Thankful Virtues Costume Ball & Charity Dinner, which had arrived in the mail at her PO box. Hello, she lived in Brooklyn. Like hell she had anything important sent to her apartment.

And no, staying home alone and eating pasta with basil and balsamic vinegar for dinner (again) was not an option, which meant that Emma Grace Frost needed a dress. Which her student lifestyle would not afford her.

So, Emma had done what Emma did best, waltzed into the most exclusive stores downtown, the type that only carried ONE of each dress, and when she finally found something she liked, she stole it using her powers.

Rather like she had for another party, many years ago, which had set her on the path to Fandom in the first place and was why she was here today. Although that one hadn't *technically* been a Hellfire affair.

So now she was standing at the top of the grand staircase of the New York Hellfire Club, waiting to be announced and trying to resist adjusting the sheer veil covering her face and hair. She'd take it off later for dinner, but she had an entrance to make.

"Miss Emma Grace Frost," the steward intoned, and Emma's chin went up imperceptibly as she stepped forward. "Representing the virtue of 'Chastity.'"

Oh, the irony. It was strong here, amongst the rich and privileged members of the elite, all of whom had come costumed as 'Humility,' 'Temperance,' or 'Frugality.'

Look, she hadn't seen her boyfriend in far too long. She could be a bitch and make the entire damn club look and not touch if she wanted to. Considering some of the other costumes floating around, she was downright demure tonight.

This was, after all, the Hellfire Club. This might be one of the semi-public parties open to non-members, but that only meant that the more salacious bits were taking place behind closed doors.

For now.

[OOC: Open in the OCD for calls/texts/etc. NFB, as usual.]

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Emma Grace Frost

September 2016

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