11919/How Do You Handle Nice People

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How Do You Handle Nice People
Date of Scene: 05 August 2020
Location: Kitchen - Xavier's School
Synopsis: Fire and Ice -- created the world and have the potential to destroy it too.
Cast of Characters: Emma Frost, Phoenix




Emma Frost has posed:
The White Queen is likely the last person Jean wants to walk into first thing in the morning. But Emma looks completely and utterly befuddled as she makes her way into the kitchen carrying, of all things, a vase with a brilliant blue rose centered between the dozen pure white ones. Her composure, a calm facade usually diamond hard, is cracked by uncertainty. Confusion is not an expression she wears often.

She stops in the doorway, almost turning to retreat, and then her spine straightens and she comes the rest of the way in as she smooths out her face for the pleasantly neutral expression Jean knows all too well. "Good morning," she murmurs politely, leaving the flowers on a table and then heading for coffee. Maybe caffeine will make this delivery make more sense.

Phoenix has posed:
It was well past the time she should have eaten breakfast given that Jean had been up with the summer's early sunrise, but well, sometimes you just lost track of time. Often, as it was in her case. More often, in recent cases. There's no business attire for her today. She's got on jeans who's quality has gone from vintage to high school throwback/laundry day. Her shirt is likewise, and both them and her ponytailed hair are flecked with paint in that generic color that most of the student rooms are done in. She's slouched on one of the seats around the island with one hand curled around a cup of coffee and the other stirring a bowl of frosted flake that are growing soggy enough to better resemble oatmeal at this point. Her eyes, which were staring blankly out the nearby window, are quickly yanked back into focus at the voice behind her.

"Oh, hey, Emma." She says in that too quick tone of someone caught off guard. Unusual, for one of the world's premier telepaths. Her gaze turns from the woman and towards the flowers which bring red brows to lift. "Wow, that's one heck of a bouquet. What's the occasion? Birthday, secret admirer, or just sick of our old world decor?"

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma is definitely not the casualwear type -- as usual, she's ready for class in a pair of white slacks, a white silk sleeveless top, and white heels with makeup subtle and on point and hair pinned into an elegant twist at the back of her head. But the very faint rose color that creeps into the woman's face is not the norm -- it matches the subtle mauve of her lipstick even! She chooses not to respond until a cup of coffee is poured and doctored with cream. Then her blue eyes shift to the flowers again and there's a baffled expression in them though it's low-key. "I am uncertain the purpose of them," she confesses coolly.

There's a pause. "I had dinner last night with the Atlantean prince. " Jean has to know that already. Security alerted to an unknown visitor who dropped Emma Frost at the front door instead of the gates last night. The blonde telepath was locked down so tight behind her shields she was practically invisible on that arrival. "These arrived just now."

Her gaze flits to the redhead. "I don't know what it gains him."

Phoenix has posed:
Jean gives the flowers a closer look with her head turned slightly to listen to what Emma says. The security alerts weren't a surprise, no, but even Jean tries to contain her nosiness on some occasions. "Oh. .../Ooooh/." The implications sink in right about then. "Well, that's. Mm." She murmurs as she cups her chin in her hand, hiding the purse of mouth behind tapping fingers. "That's a thing. Maybe."

She sits herself up and turns her eyes from the flowers onto the recipient with her forehead creased in a blend of emotions that seem sympathetic one moment, that she wants to laugh the next, and shifting back around to a bemusement. "Was there a card?" She asks delicately, in that way of covering up something else at the tip of her tongue and in her face that's probably more 'are you seriously afraid of flowers right now'.

"That might explain why they're here. I don't know Atlantean customs. Perhaps its one of their customs to give gifts after meetings? Flowers are one of the most common gestures of appreciation - at least towards women - here on the surface. It'd be easy to presume it'd be an acceptable showing instead of... pens."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma shoots Jean a Look. "I know what flowers are //for//, Jean," she retorts drily. "I am just ... unclear on why he *sent* them." She pauses. This is why she does not *do* 'friends' or 'relationships' or ... whatever the hell this is. "There was a card," she acknowledges uncomfortably. Though she does not share what's on it. The small card is tucked into her slacks pocket where she can run her fingers over it thoughtfully. Psychometry would be such a useful power just now.

"I gave him nothing that he should appreciate enough to send roses," Emma finally articulates. The very fact that she's actually *speaking* of it gives away more than she'd like. "He's.... nice." It's not supposed to sound like a suspicious activity, is it?

Phoenix has posed:
"And it sounds like the card didn't say 'looking forward to our joint partnership' or anything." Jean remarks with a wave of her hand. "Or it did, just with more courtly air quotes around it." The same hand is then wiped over her forehead and back across her hair as she lets out a slow exhale.

"Emma." She says while turning off the undercurrent of sarcasm. "The day you come to me for dating advice is the day we all bury our collective differences, retire to some tropical island, and sing Kumbaya naked on the beach. I don't see an umbrella in my coffee yet, so, what's going on? You know, it's not a bad thing for someone to show you that they appreciated your company. Gifts are easier than words, sometimes. It doesn't mean you have to suddenly give them your deepest, darkest secrets and profound professions of love. Sometimes, it can really just mean 'hey, thanks for the good time, it was nice'."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma's chin tips upward and she sniffs and retorts, "Given your love life, your dating advice is highly suspect." Her manicured nails tap a distracted pattern on the counter while she sips her coffee. "He's *nice*, Jean. Nice people do not like me. And they certainly do not send me flowers."

She pauses. "I can't figure out the angle. And I find.... that I don't wish to dig in his mind to find it or .... otherwise get my own way with him as per usual methods."

The world has not ended. Really. There's no lightning. And Emma's head didn't explode. Huh.

Phoenix has posed:
Jean utters a low noise somewhere between disgust and resignation as she maybe concedes that point to Emma with a wobble that's absolutely not a nod.

"That doesn't mean nice people *can't* like you. Just because something hasn't happened doesn't mean that it can't. Not every gesture has to have an angle. Not every person is out to get you. The world may be awful, but that doesn't mean there isn't some genuineness out there and that it can't find you."

"Above everything else, who do you trust in this world, Em? You. You don't have to believe me or anyone else in this building. For you to not want to read his brain like a book maybe, just maybe, means that you do want to trust him. I know that isn't easy. It's terrifying, but if you refused to take every risk in your life because it might end bad, where would you be now?"

Emma Frost has posed:
It's unlike the blonde not to have a cutting reply. Emma seems to be actually considering Jean's perspective. Much as she and the redhead don't agree on a great many things, what she's saying has a little merit. It's just not comfortable *at* *all*.

Her lips turn down in a disgruntled moue. With furrowed brows, she reaches into her pocket to glance at the screen of her phone, and it's hilarious the way she freezes. Then she slides the device back into her slacks pocket, flummoxed once more. "I squish nice people," Emma hisses softly. Or intimidate the hell out of them. Which obviously is not happening right now, if the slightly deepened color in her cheeks is any indicator. "The world /is/ awful, it's not simply /can be/. The man is a prince of a realm, which means he knows cutthroat politics at least as well as I do." The silent question of 'what does he want from me?' is making her uneasy. "He's too sincere to be for real. No one is that honest."

Now she's just making excuses.

Phoenix has posed:
"I cannot believe I am sitting here listening to Ms. Emma Frost, heiress to majesty and fortune, with all of the beauty and power little girls dream of and that could put the collective balls of the world in her hand, having a miniature panic attack because an actual real life prince sent her flowers."

By sheer will Jean doesn't slam her coffee mug down on the counter and instead sets it down with decorum. "Of *course* he has demons, Emma, everyone does. That doesn't mean someone can't still see another living creature on this planet and feel a connection to it. Who better to understand the weight a prince carries than you? Maybe that's all he wants. Maybe he sees in you someone that he can trust not to buckle under the pressure, who can sit with him and just talk to him like a normal person, who maybe... /just maybe/ isn't out for the gold but might actually be interested in the person behind it."

Jean leans forward on the counter, with those almost incandescent green eyes fixated on the icy woman across the way. "Are you scared of him stabbing you in the back, or are you scared of him seeing you like you insist so many others do?"

Emma Frost has posed:
There is a subtle play of light across Emma's skin, as if that diamond form began to shimmer into view and then .... didn't. The White Queen doesn't *have* panic attacks. *Nor* is she afraid.

"Interesting perspective. I will take it under advisement," Emma replies coolly. "Besides. They *are* lovely." She takes her coffee and the vase and sweeps regally out of the kitchen.

Phoenix has posed:
"Of course, Emma. And they are." Jean says with a weary note as she settles back into her chair and looks back to her disintegrated bowl of cereal. It's a fitting image for how the conversation went. "Have a good afternoon."

Fire and ice, whom shaped the world but just as easily tear it apart.