Diamond Bright

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!]

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...]

"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...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!]

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.]

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.]

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.]

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.]

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.]