Diamond Bright

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!]

Some people coped with bad news with shopping therapy, or chocolate, bad movies, or being anti-social. Not Emma. Emma wanted to be with people.

You would then think that if Emma Grace Frost was going to have guests, she'd take them out somewhere special, somewhere nice. Show off the city she loved so much. Maybe around ESU, if she was feeling lazy, but it was well-known how much Emma adored the glitz and glamor of the Upper East Side. Manhattan was her kingdom.

Most people would not expect to find Emma Frost in horribly seedy bowling alley on a back-street somewhere near Yankee Stadium, dressed in ripped jeans and a metal t-shirt, chugging something that passed as beer and punching the console to make it set-up a game.

Pity the poor fool she had dragged with her. "I should type you in as 'Sparky.'"

[OOC: For that one dude.]

Emma was in the middle of her kickboxing class when she was just struck with the sense of - for lack of a better term - wrong. She couldn't sense anything with her powers to account for it, it was just... like a voice over an intercom where you couldn't make out the words, or a popular song with two notes out-of-tune. Or a ripple in a lake with no source. Nothing she could articulate, just...wrong. Echos of nails on a chalkboard and why couldn't she place this damned -

- Of course, the middle of kickboxing class was generally not a good place for one get hit by nebulous feelings of doom and dread, and the next thing Emma knew, she was on the floor, her sparring partner shrilly apologizing over and over, and her classmates hovering.

"Please stay down, Frost," the the cute coach was saying, even as things swam in circles around her. "You might have a concussion, and you've got a bloody nose. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Three, my name is Emma Grace Frost, I am about to turn nineteen years old next month, this is Kickboxing for Beginners, and Ellen there just nailed me on the side of the head," Emma said crossly. "That wasn't the move we were supposed to be practicing."

"But you always seem to know what I'm going to do next!" Ellen wailed, looking distraught. "I didn't think it would hurt to try something new!"

"Ellen, go get Emma some ice," the teacher sighed. "Fine, no concussion. But take it easy the rest of the day, okay? I'd skip any other classes today if I were you, and I'll give you a note in case your other professors raise a fuss."

That was perfectly fine with Emma. She was just going to hole up in her now single-room with an ice pack and a large mug of tea, and try to resist the urge to call Kerrigan or Sookie or Karla like a frightened child. She was Emma Frost, dammit. She wasn't going to go running to other people over a mild spook like this.

....start randomly texting, maybe. But at least it was something to focus on that wasn't homework, and now she could do it without worrying about a roommate catching her.

[OOC: NFB, Open for calls, texts, what-have-you.]

When they got back to the hotel, Emma was positively giddy. She'd gotten them two-bedroom luxury suites at the Roosevelt Hotel, and ordered up oodles of desserts and drinks from room service.

"Now that is what I call a party," she laughed, popping open a bottle of champagne. "Here's to us, gentlemen."

[OOC: LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE BOYS! Post One | Post Two | Post Three | Post Four.]

It was startlingly simple to find a secluded corner at the party -- or perhaps not, given that the Hellfire Club seemed to specialize in hidden nooks and crannies.

"We have a problem," she said shortly, once the others have arrived. "Namely, bad people doing bad things, and while I normally don't care about that sort of thing, I am not very fond of their idea of fun."

( Don't mind George, he was just sliding his hands over the walls to make sure there wasn't anything obvious to allow others to listen or spy. )


[OOC: Continued from here. Preplayed with the fantastic bitten_notshy, furnaceface, noearsyet, with an assist from the spectacular gotrocketboots. To be continued! NFI, NFB, OOC = AOK.]

The young scions of New York were out in force tonight, laughing as they tumbled past the formidable entrance of the Hellfire Club. Each one handing over their invitations to the stern-faced bouncers without even acknowledging the men as they passed under the banner reading "Welcome, Future Leaders of Tomorrow."

Emma had presented their invitations with an air of bored entitlement, not even glancing at the bouncers looming menacingly just behind the footmen.

"Do as you will, but harm none," the footman said after looking over the invitation carefully, and they were swept past the majestic doors. Inside the Hellfire Club was a splendid display of wealth and privilege. Sparkling chandeliers, a live orchestra on one balcony, and people mingling about, eating, drinking, seeing and being seen.

Emma almost gleefully grabbed a glass of champagne off a waiter's tray, looking around the party with a predatory look. "So far, so good," she said. "Let's have some fun."

( It wasn't that Jonothon was hell-bent on remaining ridiculously antisocial, really. Except for how he probably was. Yes, he was well aware that hanging around the edges of a large social gathering like this one did somewhat defeat the purpose of crashing what was possibly the most elite party ever held for people their age in the world, but. )


[OOC: Continued from here, and preplayed with the awesomesauce furnaceface. NFI, NFB, OOC = Love. If Uncanny X-Men Annual 2 can play fast and loose with the timeline, so can I.]

After her talk with Hank the day before, Emma knew there wasn't much time if she was going to pull this off. She'd no sooner gotten back from class than she was pulling a small box filled with stationary supplies out of her closet and setting to work, occasionally making a quick phone call.

Practice the lettering, first. Then match the paper and inks properly. By the time of the party, Emma was going to have an absolutely perfect match, for herself and all her guests.

( Jonothon was nothing if not mildly curious at the best of times, and there had been a message on his machine from Emma that had certainly done wonders to pique that mild curiosity of his. )


[OOC: NFI. That Emma had visitors is FB, that they're dirty little delinquents and party-crashing on Thursday is NFB.]