Diamond Bright

"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.]

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.]

She'd won. Or at least, her lawyer was going to win, and Emma had a stalemate for now.

She waited until she sensed Winston and Hazel leave, along with the on-again-off-again flickering presence that was Cordelia. She couldn't spot Adrienne through the eyes of anyone during her quick scan, so she figured the coast was clear. And victory was very sweet.

To celebrate, she figured she'd hit the mainland for a little bit. Pick up some new clothes for the inevitable court date, as well as a few pretty things for herself, then come back here and see who wanted to hit Caritas or Devil's Nest with her. Or both! Both were sounding pretty good right about now.

Since she was only planning on being gone a few hours, she didn't bother to leave Triela a note. It's not like her roommate would remember after reading it, anyway.

[OOC: Establishy. Open before she leaves, sure!]

Emma had actually managed to drag herself out of bed early this morning to do her duty to the sorority and put up posters all over the island.

( Shamrock Fun Run )

Now it was off to class, and then prep for the event before work. Emma? Keeping busy to repress anything that happened this weekend? Perish the thought.

[OOC: React to the posters if you want, but Emma's no longer here.]

"Aren't you done yet?" Emma's head poked out of a manhole drop, upside down as she looked at Hank. "Hank, I've been here three days, and you've had it for a week."

"I am a geneticist, Miss Frost, not an engineer." Hank pushed his safety goggles up onto his hair and frowned at her. "Where did you get this, young lady?"

"From someone at school," she answered evasively, tossing her pack to the floor and quickly jumping down after it. "Hey, I picked up some Spagetti-Os and a box of Twinkies. Your favorites."

"And how many poor saps did you con at pool to get my groceries?" he asked, picking up the arm or the armor and waggling it at her accusingly. "Shame on you, Emma."

"I don't need to hustle anyone to pay for our food anymore, Hank, with or without my powers," Emma retorted, already putting the groceries away. "With the investments I've made in the past two years, I've already got enough stashed away to pay for my first two years of college, if I'm careful."

"...but parting a bunch of fools from their money is a public service - and entertaining - and I could use the extra cash for rent once I graduate from Fandom," she admitted, sitting down in her chair to carefully count out the change. "Or at least enough money to rent a PO box, so I have a legitimate mailing address."

"You could, actually, get a job," Hank suggest dryly, pulling down his goggles and going back to work on the suit. "It would be a legitimate source of income, and I hear they help build character."

Emma made a face. "Quite a few people would tell you that I have more than enough character," she complained, but finished putting away Hank's food supplies for the next two weeks before wandering over and pulling up a stool. "So. Have you figured out enough yet to tell me how this works?"

[OOC: Establishy, NFB, phone or text OK.]

It was a lazy Sunday so far. Emma had swiped an extra piece of Bobby's cake for breakfast this morning, and now she was at the Perk catching up on her accounting homework, gleefully manipulating the numbers to make them do what she wanted.

Really, the staff should know better by now than to give her that double espresso shot.

( Somewhere just outside the window, there was a rustle. A bump. And the sound of scuffling. )

[OOC: NFI, establishy.]

It was a perfectly lovely morning, and so Emma had decided to walk into town and treat herself to some ridiculously fancy beverage that pretended to be coffee while she made a few calls. First to her stockbroker, to leave a few messages. Then another call, mostly because Emma just liked being annoying and wanted gossip. "Pick up, Karla," she complained, frowning when she got voicemail. Again.

She frowned at her phone thoughtfully before calling one more number. Hopefully he'd be able to figure out how to answer.


( It took three rings before the connection clicked open. )


[OOC: And so it begins! NFI, totes for broadcast, preplayed with the always-cool make_the_shot. Continued here!]

If you had asked Emma Frost a few days earlier what her plans for the weekend were, scavenging about in the ruins of an abandoned outpost while stuck in another world -- again -- had not ranked high on her list of priorities.

"Find anything?" she asked her partner-in-crime. "I think this might be a box of Twinkies."

( Twinkies would survive...whatever the fuck happened here. )


[OOC: WARNING FOR ALTERED CANON AND ABUSE OF CHARACTERS.. Preplayed with the forever fantastical fratboybitch, who indulged me and gleefully nommed on trauma like it was pie. NFI, NFB, OOC = SHINY.]

When it came down to it, Emma was bored. There was only so much sitting quietly and playing nicely that she was capable of the in the first place, and she'd used most of it up the first fourteen years of her life, trying to be perfect for Winston.

Which is how the germ of an idea started tickling inside her head, and why Emma was in her alcove, pecking away at her Blackberry and haphazardly shoving items in a bag. It was devious and sneaky, and might actually work. Now she just needed to work out the timezone difference to make sure she didn't arrive too early, and her evil plan would be complete.

[OOC: Open alcove!]