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.]

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.]

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.]

"...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.]

"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!]

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]

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.

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.]