10528/All I Want For Christmas...

All I Want For Christmas...
Date of Scene:	24 December 2019
Location:	Hellfire Club - Manhattan
Synopsis:	Friends make friendly plans and everything is disgustingly sweet. Or EVIL! Okay, not evil.
Cast of Characters:	Magik, Shadowcat, Cypher

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Magik has posed:
"Let's go somewhere nice, da?" It starts off as an offer for friends. Something simple to achieve, but nothing is simple about Illyana's plans for the night. So much for a walk in the park or hiding in Salem Center to find somewhere to share a drink. "Maybe make a statement... for fun." Fun equals adventure, possibly. A certain blonde Russian doesn't explain /why/ she picked the Hellfire Club, only that she has, and make of that as they will. Now, the problem: getting inside. It's not going to be an easy feat.

Among the creme-de-la-creme of fallen society, true power doesn't leave a mark. It negotiates its passage without being detected, a smirk to those who would brandish their reputation or wealth carelessly. It slips past notice after minimal effort to establish itself, perhaps to avoid the casus belli of age-old feuds. She tinkers with her usual black ensemble, pulling Doug into a quieter backstreet full of pricy vehicles awaiting their impressive masters. A few looks about and a snap of her fingers jazzes up their outfits sufficiently to pass muster among those who shop mostly through personal assistants at Barneys and fashion houses of Paris, Moscow, Milan, London.

Never mind that Illyana could just open a doorway and step through without going through the discreet but thorough shakedown by layers on layers of security. Nothing like bringing a thousand eyes and half as many guns trained on her for the insult, so the intentional delivery the old-fashioned way walks the petite blonde up to the front doors. On the eve of Christmas Eve, the party's in full swing and likely nothing sways the bouncers from barring guests without the proper credentials. Drinks and music blend together in a timeless siren song forbidden to those outside on the street, which perhaps piques the sorceress's twisted soul enough to demand its due. Which brings her to the moment. What /does/ establish one's credentials to the mighty and powerful?

Frost-cold eyes and a raised chin, perhaps. On attitude alone, she can quell most people. The missing piece only appears after she confronts a man double her size who can probably break her like a matchstick. A rich, antique gold pendant appears on a slim chain, inscribed on its outer surface by an inverted pentagram. "Rasputin," she anglicizes it. "And party."

Shadowcat has posed:
The trip to the Hellfire Club will make two for Kitty. The first, Betsy Braddock's birthday party, with enough of a glimpse of the private club to end all private clubs to let Kitty know just how out of her league it would be to attend in her own clothing on a holiday night like tonight. Not that she'd get in.

The dress that she ends up after Illyana's bit of sorcery gets a warm laugh of delight from Kitty. Slinky yet not TOO slinky. Slit up the side to allow her to move freely. Kitty gives a graceful little pirouette, the hem of the dress twirling slightly as she literally takes the magic'd garment for a spin.

Kitty grins over to Doug, joking, "At least if we get arrested for trespassing, we've got plenty of means out of the jail cell." She smiles then and falls silent as they near the door, Kitty watching as Illyana pulls out... what will it be? A sword? Something to hex the man with.

Or, you know. A membership token. Didn't see that coming.

Cypher has posed:
Doug adjusts his bow-tie, the tuxedo Illyana conjured for him impeccably tailored to suit his frame, his techno-organic hand disguised by a pair of sleek form-fitting white gloves. "You know," He says, checking his hair, "I really do rock a bow-tie?" He glances back up, and then says, "You know, I should've known you inherited membership from your great-grandfather? But--" He always figured it'd be uncomfortable to bring that up. Considering that Piotr got said grandfather's size and strength and Illyana got -- the other stuff he was famous forrrrr...

"I work for Roberto da Costa," He says, to the bouncer, "I'm here for business networking purposes on his behalf, because he's in Rio with his mother for Christmas." That may or may not be true. He didn't ask, but it sounds plausible. "Just send him the bill." He beams.

"Miss Pryde is Miss Rasputin's plus one. Though that does mean you two'll be expected to dance with one another to the Nutcracker Waltz tonight, I think. Fortunately for Berto, I don't touch champagne..."

Magik has posed:
Even social events are battlefields. Gems can be a woman's weapon, a finely tailored suit a man's armour. That must be exactly how Illyana approaches it, a tactical advance past the doors as a certain infamous amulet radiates fell intent even to those with all the sensitivity given an ox. Unfair claim on the ox, really, they might be more earth-bound than many realize. Still, her loose hair cuts a razor-sharp line down her back and the intriguing midnight-black dress arranges devious slashes an angles to permit unrestricted movement in the event she needs to lay low some demon or infernal captain of commerce on the way to the bar.

"We have every right to be here," she murmurs in a frosted tone, chilling and dry as an Arctic wind swirling around the Siberian plains. "Pretenders to flame act like they wield it." Her face doesn't change, no smile anointed there, for it might as well be an expression worn like the closed helm by a knight. Does the door staff particularly _like_ hearing that? Likely not, but there is already possible mayhem if any psion on staff attempts to scan the trio and ends up hitting a dead, blank wall where she is. Life signature, yes. Mental activity? Good luck with that. With the scan down hovering on the precipice of being cold, she sharply inclines her head in a wordless, pointed statement.

They probably don't like it. Not like the goons hired as the front-wave security are going to question Roberto da Costa; that name opens doors. Kitty's might be an eyebrow raise, but ra, ra, Rasputin, lover to the Tsarina--sin!--is the quibble point. Eventually the passageway is opened, the lovely sounds of Schubert given an oddly slanted impression with a minor key. Light and life simmer past the hallway, through lush impressions borrowed a little too heavily from other spaces to be wholly unique. It has the vaguest quality of a movie set; high quality, yes, but still artificial in a sense. Everyone is a puppet on a stage being watched by unseen producers and directors, even if the actors operate independently for the most part. Inward. The token vanishes.

Shadowcat has posed:
The brunette's grin is a wry one for Doug. She gently straightens his bow-tie, though he already fixed it, and then pokes him in the chest. "And if Ellie should end up with any pictures of said dancing for spreading around social media, don't think we won't know who is responsible," she tells Doug, her tone sounding serious but the twinkle in her eyes suggesting otherwise.

Kitty follows inside, and almost stops in the doorway at the sight of just the hallway. She starts forward again quickly, waiting until they clear the door's security staff before saying, "I figured it would be well-decorated. But... this?" she says, gazing around as they reach the first room. Obviously little expense was spared, but then the young woman is walking the halls where expense is barely even noticed by those who come to partake of what the club has to offer.

Kitty leans over to her old friend and whispers to Illyana, "You don't have one of those that lets us shortcut the line at Katz's Deli too, do you?" Again there's that twinkle in her eyes. Kitty seems to be in a good mood tonight.

Cypher has posed:
"Who me?" Doug says, "I'm the picture of innocence." He strolls inside, with his hands slipped into his pockets, and then he says, having overheard them, "Please, there's exclusive and then there's exclusive," Before he looks around at the glittering splendor of sumptuous American excess.

He takes a canape from a passing tray and says "I can't even afford to look at this foie gras." He says, before he pops it into his mouth, chews, and swallows, and then gives a merry grin. "Listen, I'm just enjoying being alive." He seems to be in better spirits than he's been. "But, if you'll excuse me,"

He says, before he gestures to the ballroom, "It's not the Nutcracker Waltz, but may I have this dance?" He offers his gloved hand to Illyana.

Magik has posed:
Illyana flicks a look to the side, marking a correcting of a bowtie, the fall of black enchanted attire. Doug and Kitty look the parts, the parts they play executed well. She doesn't smile as she surveys her surroundings with equal parts suspicion and survey, the kind that ranks and separates subjects by danger rating more likely than not. "Dance?" she murmurs. "Each one costs a glass of champagne because you said you wouldn't drink. Stop thinking of prices." The low timbre of her voice is like glass, deflecting tone even as she slinks down the hallway with a mildly restrained gait. It wouldn't do to own the world. She tilts her head back to hear Kitty slightly, and then gives the mildest lift of her chin. "That would be telling. Should that be my gift for the night? Pastrami on marbled rye for all the good boys and girls." Good has a slight, wicked emphasis.

Over her shoulder, the world: cast in scarlet and silver trimmings, tinsel to go with the grand brass chandeliers. A full quartet accompanied by a pianist and a torch singer of old give the Forties glamour of Christmas a deeper impact. No touch of the war here, not with the abundance of classic cocktails on practically every hand. The dance floor is set aside behind a viewing gallery of small tables, each lit by a candle set in bunches of cranberries and fresh Norway spruce cuttings for scent. It's all very pretty. The sonorous rise and fall of liquid notes mingles among the laughter and bubbling conversation. Or the bubbling fondue pot that -surely- doesn't contain a spirit about to break free and become the Cheese Ooze monster for them to bring down. Molten chocolate tumbles down over several champagne glasses at one party's booth, because evidently they want to relive 1976 all over again.

A server brushes past with sherry in small cups, and some apple-scented concoction enriched by spices. One's offered to Kitty, whilst the Russian turns her back to that. She slowly extends her hand to Doug's gloved one, light as can be. "You may."

Shadowcat has posed:
Kitty Pryde slips an arm about Doug's shoulders, patting the far one and giving a soft, "I'm sure you are," at his protestations of his innocence. She lets him go then as she takes the mulled apple drink, inhaling the fragrance as she surveys the room.

The corner of Kitty's lips turn up in a smile as Doug asks Illyana to dance. "Oh sure. Take my date from me," Kitty complains with a dramatic huff and a forlorn look before shooing them towards the dance floor. "Go have fun," she tells them. "I'm going to wander around. Probably get into trouble. You know, the usual," Kitty says with a gentle grin.

She sips her drink as she wanders through the crowd then, making it as far as a dozen steps before she's stopped by a man with a decidedly pencil-thin moustache, but rocking his tuxedo. They introduce themselves, and Kitty's voice can be heard repeating, "Viscount? And thank you, and a pleasure to meet you, Lord Velthomme."

Cypher has posed:
Doug takes Illyana's hand, and sweeps her into a whirl on the dance-floor. He can't cook worth a good god damn, and he can't hold his liquor, but he is an AMAZING dancer. He lays his hand on her hip as he leads her through the spiraling, swirling motions on the dance floor, in sync with the other dancers, and says, lightly, "I don't think she suspects yet. We need to drop bigger hints."

He adds, "Also, she hasn't said anything about my Hannukah gifts to her yet, I mean, Lockheed was happy to pose for the paintings but it was a nightmare finding a silk bathrobe in his size, and an artist who'd reference from my photos without laughing."

Magik has posed:
For one frozen moment, Illyana's step falters. She threatens to collide with another jet-set pair headed for a private room where the party bubbles on at a higher clip. Only a fast turn jarred back into the timeline keeps her from dousing herself and Doug in some kind of wine. Faint lines scour her brow but haven't a hope of surviving, washed out even as Doug carries her deeper into danger where dancers roam and...

Has anyone ever -shown- the Russian how to dance? If so, she is at the whims of his knowledge. Otherwise the parallels with sword-fighting are going to be especially awkward to explain when half the crowd drops around them. "I need to find a gift." A beat brings a frown to her lips, briefly caught in thought. "A sandwich is not good enough. Not even for Katz's. What makes for a proper gi--" Another spin cuts her off, a whirl on her toes making it very clear who leads as her hand ends up around Doug's neck and the near ruination of sight and innocence for all those wonderful New Yorker Hellfire members when the intrigue of the dress finally reveals itself in the wicked sway of the skirt in a deadly high slit. "Doesn't Amara sew? She is from two thousand years past? She has to weave, yes?"

Another pause, and the winding twirl close to danger finds her turning to see further if Kitty's paused or not. Velthomme brings an eye-narrowed look at best, but then all is forgotten as she brushes her cheek to her partner's and murmurs something terribly soft. Or she just randomly enjoys pouring poison into his ear, the brush of her lips hard to decipher even for a skilled lip-reader. Assuming there are, in fact, words.

Shadowcat has posed:
Is smiling and laughing as she talks with the Viscount Velthomme. Sips of her warm beverage are taken, but Kitty also keeps an eye on her friends out on the dance floor, smiling as she watches Doug maneuvering the younger Rasputin around the room.

Soon Kitty's glass is set on a server's tray and she's being led out onto the dance floor by the dark-haired man. It's not the traditional Christmas carol, but there is at least one Lord a leaping as he dances Kitty around the floor as well.

The pair draw near to Illyana and Doug. Kitty's eyes taking in the closeness, and a sparkle resulting in her gaze. "You two look wonderful dancing together," Kitty comments. "Ah, are these your friends?" the Viscount asks. "Yes, Douglas Ramsey, and Queen Illyana Rasputin," Kitty says. Hiding her grin as she is sure the noble will be wracking his brain trying to figure out Queen of what? He gives as deep of a bow of his head as he can without interrupting Illyana's dance, or his own. "Viscount Velthomme," he says in introduction. "A pleasure, Your Majesty."

Cypher has posed:
Doug whirls Illyana easily, recovering the beat, before he says, "Just spend some time with her, that'll be gift enough to make her happy. I mean, my gift was just a gag gift. I figure, it's one heck of a great prank, since she's opening them all in front of the other X-Men." It's a house full of snoops.

"The last day, he's wearing Emma's old Hellfire Club getup. Thigh-highs and all. She's gonna lose her mind. And if Emma Frost ever sees it, I'm going to lose mine."

When Illyana whispers to him, his cheeks flush scarlet - but he nods, just a dip of his chin. "And a Merry Christmas to me."

Magik has posed:
"Too soon for twelve days?" asks the Russian. "My Christmas will not begin for a few weeks yet." The statement comes low and soft, melting into the general conversation. She can match Doug's pace well enough but the finer points probably elude her. Waltzing or foxtrots are as foreign as the ins-and-outs of a five-year-plan or the KGB's objectives in northern Lebanon during 1983-1985.

Point is, when the pivotal turn reveals Mr. Fancy-Prance showing off for Kitty with styles that probably went out, a deadly twinkle might be found in eyes pale as the glacial crowns on the Alps. Thoughtful, her tone goes soft. "We should call for a Cossack dance." Hey, hey, hey. This could absolutely go wrong on so many levels. Still, she draws into just a position that subtly blocks Doug from the stranger, on the pretense of looking at her back and the sinuous spill of the dress won't cause much trouble compared to a tuxedo.

Poor nobleman, he gets no help from her unless he tries to read her aura, and the collision-course of fractured opalescence sees fit to burn. "Lord Velthomme. Charmed." By that measure, she's probably dazzled beyond excitement when meeting the mailman or random golden retrievers. A thrilling life, that one. "Your dance is most vigorous. You have a gifted dance partner. Do make the most of her before I steal her back for a time." No, she totally doesn't have 'this is mine' and 'that is mine' and 'this right here is /MINE/' insinuated with that simple delivery, not at all, not with the possessiveness of a demon buried beneath an angelic countenance. "Schastlivogo Rozhdestva."

Shadowcat has posed:
The Viscount picks up on undercurrents, but smiles back in charming fashion. "Of course, thank you, Your Majesty," he says regally enough. Kitty's eyes are going to explode if they sparkle any more. She's doing her best to keep her face limited to a smile, but it's a huge one.

The noble is as good as word, dancing Kitty about the room. The young woman wanted to be a professional dancer and was well on her way towards it when her mutation emerged, so the man is able to show her off easily enough.

Eventually the song ends and Kitty makes her excuses, a huge grin on her face as she eases her way through the crowd over to Doug and Illyana. If they are still dancing she just asks, "Mind if I make it a threesome? So what are you two over here conspiring about?" she asks, eyeing them both askance.

Cypher has posed:
Doug thinks about that, and then he says, "Hey, we can keep it going. But yeah, if you want to say that... sure." He looks over to the Vicomte, and then murmurs, "Ja, es ist mir eine Freude, Sie kennenzulernen, Sir. Sprichst du eigentlich deutsch?"

After they separate again, and Doug steps back, offering Illyana a polite bow, he turns back to Kitty as she approaches. "Conspiring? Us?"

Magik has posed:
The world turns on its axis, and people turn in the dance, cycles within cycles that endlessly revolve according to their nature. Illyana is part of the clockwork that moves them on, piqued but mildly. Your Majesty this. Your Majesty that. No doubt the moment their backs are turned, Viscount Velthomme is looking desperately on Wikipedia for any entry about Rasputin or Illyana or something that suggests she doesn't run a micronation stationed somewhere southwest of Dogger Bank.

She does not show off a talent for dancing. She shows off finesse at not getting the lot of them killed, starting by snagging a glass of rose' when it goes past and making brief work of some of it. A sip, anyway. Doug bows; she bows to no one. At least not without three sips of wine, which makes Kitty's return cause for nearly downing it all in a go. Almost. "You may find us open-minded. We both have a taste for adventure." The deadpan impression doesn't help. It would kill her to crack a smile at the moment, even as the unconscious blot of her lips is almost mirthful. Never mind numerically not even Russia would let her drink.

"Noble privileges," she adds, emphatic on that point.

Shadowcat has posed:
Kitty gives Illyana a grin, but Doug gets a full hands on the hips posture and a, "Yes, Douglas Ramsey. You're doing that thing that you do when you're up to something," she says, waggling a finger in a circular motion towards his face. Does he even have a thing? Would he know if he did?

"And before I forget, these maybe the best Hanukah gifts I've ever had," she tells Doug. "But, not mentioning that to give you a distraction. Illy dancing? The two of you..." Kitty says, and she motions with both index fingers at them and then kind of brings them together. "Or am I just imagining things?" she asks.

Kitty glances about for a drink, and soon a server is there with a tray, offering a glass. She smiles to the person and takes it, then grabs one for Doug and passes it over to him.

Cypher has posed:
"Hmmmm?" Doug says. "Imagining things?" He gestures between him and Illyana.

"Me?" he says, "And 'Yana?" He gestures, back and forth. "The two of us? Are you SERIOUS?" He says before he puts his hand over his mouth, and makes a noise kind of like Muttley laughing.

Magik has posed:
Illyana hands off the glass with the greatest of ease, born purpose entirely. "What did he give you for Hannukah? I have not forgotten the holiday for you." She steps away towards Kitty, briefly pausing and holding out her hands in that mute offering of sisterhood in kind. "All happiness and blessings in aspirit of light. You set a high bar. Maybe we have one of Katz's chefs come to the school, work there, da? You would never leave the kitchens." They might have be rolled out to class.

Her blond hair spills over her shoulders in a curtain, for stillness is a bit off on the edges of the dancefloor where the music tips and soars. "I am too wise to dance with anyone not here. Too likely they would get carried away or expect me to lead them astray."

Shadowcat has posed:
Kitty gives Doug a penetrating stare. "Yep, you are," she decides. Then breaks out in a big grin. "If so, that's awesome. You two are the best, bar none," she says to Illyana and Doug. "Though let me know if you're going to tell Piotr so I can be standing by with Triage. And, probably Elixir too. Maybe Shannon as well. And a first aid kit." Her eyes are a-twinkling again.

Kitty laughs and says, "You'd think I'd have made it Katz's as long as I've been back." She came back from Oxford in early February. "But every time I've tried, something has conspired to keep me away. Maybe I'll do that this week, take Peter and his Aunt May," Kitty says.

Kitty pulls out her phone and pulls the artwork of Lockheed posed in all sorts of hilarious manners. Of course she digitized them. She passes it over to Illyana so she can take a look. "I can't wait to open the new one each day," she says with a big grin. "And I have some Christmas presents for you both back at the school," she says.

Cypher has posed:
Doug straightens up. And then he reaches into his pocket, and takes out a $20, and holds it out to Illyana in two fingers.

"I expected more plotzing," He says, "She said you'd be cool with it." He rubs the back of his neck, before he murmrurs,

"Yeah. You're looking at the newly minted Favord Consort of Limbo, First among Her Majesty's Slaves, Count of the Forests of Agony, Markgraft of the Pits of Foiled Passions and Duke of the Valley of Endless Screams."

He gives a sheepish little shrug. "The titles are ceremonial."

Magik has posed:
Of course Kitty -would- digitize them! The glimpse of Lockheed in all his various positions and measures brings a faint smile to Illyana's mouth and not much more. She hasn't the easy smile her brunette friend does, or that Doug does for that matter. The world ends if she starts acting particularly happy, even joyously frolicking from one side to the other. Or it won't fit here, where they expect a certain comportment missing from ninety percent of the royal cohort of Europe under forty. Maybe above forty. "Of course that would be his."

That statement in its entirety encapsulates /everything/. It's bound to be the same tone adopted by Piotr when he learns his precious little sister has any kind of liaison that isn't 'study partner.' Or Jean when trying to look past the flashes of lightning or a crater in the ground as the siblings face off. "Shannon would be good to add. She can bring him some black bread," she says off-handedly. "I will make sure to have Xraxre busy hunting in the Bronx." Somewhere, in another dimension, a barghest is lifting his head and perking his ears hopefully. Obviously.

"His Serenity," she says languidly.

Shadowcat has posed:
Kitty Pryde laughs at the offer of money between them. "Of course I'd be ok with it, pal," she tells Doug. "Though that doesn't mean you're not going to be hearing about it for a long time to come, either." Kitty flashes Illyana a quick wink. Doug is the only one she'll give a hard time over it, but even that is all out love.

And revenge. Yes, the thing with the bucket of ice water when they were 16.

"I'm really happy for you both," Kitty says, and unless one or the other stops her, Kitty will try to pull them both together for a big hug. "I think Mom might be coming in town next month. Will have to have you two out to dinner with us one night when she is," Kitty suggests.

Magik has posed:
The squish of bodies together is a celebratory moment that sees Illyana stock still at the centre of it, a haphazard pat giving way to a stiff embrace. Her Russian side isn't the problem, it's the ice-rimed exterior that needs to crack first. When it does, she can figure out how to embrace them all. "See, Your Serenity? She made it a threesome," she mutters in that charmed circle, safe as it is.

A sly smuggling of the previous conversation point, verily, and there may not be horns on her pretty golden head, but they ought to be there all the same. "Thank you, Kitty."