11935/Emma Frost-- Sea Cow

Emma Frost-- Sea Cow
Date of Scene:	06 August 2020
Location:	Atlantis Poseidonis Embassy, Oyster Bay
Synopsis:	Garth of Shayeris calls Emma Frost a manatee and lives
Cast of Characters:	Tempest, Emma Frost

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Tempest has posed:
    The Embassy is different. It has different architecture. A different feel. It is also mostly empty at this hour, not that it is too late. Her driver pulls up and the sun is still well enough in the sky. Still, as she is let in, there is only a few people, mostly regular humans, maybe a couple of families. It is a little disconcerting. There is a noise from nearby as a door opens in a more private room and Garth is standing there. He pauses, taking in her appearance. He is wearing a surface world suit. The tie is properly tied, but is rakishly crooked. He appears to have been fidgeting with it. "If I keep them late for a state function, their family eats the same meal as I do." Garth states in a soft voice.
    Stepping out from the door, Garth adds, "You look fantastic." It is not flattery. His min is distracted though. Drawing his brows low, the prince adds, "Most of the Atlantean staff has already retired underneath." His left hand points downwards. "Many Atlanteans have issues with the air, and almost all of us much prefer to be underwater. If you really want a tour, you will have to change your clothes."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma slides out of the car, dressed in a simple white halter-topped dress with a light white lace shrug on her shoulders to ward off mild chills. The architecture of the place fascinates her, and when Garth opens the doors to the room he's in, she offers him both a small smile and a nod. "Thank you," she says for the compliment, but she also adds, "It's good that you treat employees well." It speaks well of him that he's conscious of being considerate to others when he could simply *expect* them to serve him and not care about their schedules being disrupted.

She approaches him and her deep blue eyes study his face. "I love your embassy's feel. Your architecture shares some of the Greek influence, but it is quite unique." She holds out her hand to him to silent let him lead her where he wants her to go. "I wasn't planning on being underwater this evening, so perhaps we can do that another time?" she asks. Assuming there is one, of course, which ? well, it's not polite to assume.

Tempest has posed:
    "I must be doing something right then." Garth says. His cheeks flaring red. "I'm not so good at this dating thing, Emma. I am a prince and a pariah. There are not many places for me in this world. I just sort of lurch from one adventure to another and try not to make a massive fool of myself. I'm not saying this to make you pity me, I am saying this so when I let you down you know it is because I really am as big of an idiot as I seem to be."

    Idiot Garth may be, but he is an idiot with manners as he grasps her hand and leads her to a chair he pulls out himself. He then leans over to pour her champagne for her. It is a slightly generous flute, but not obnoxiously generous. "Surf and Turf you call it, is the main course. First though?" He removes the cover from her plate without flourish. "This is some variety of surface vegetation arranged in a salad. It is all some shade of either green or blue to me. I do like the orange things though?" His chuckle is at himself.

    "Can we play a game?" he asks, still looking and feeling awkward. "You can ask me any question you want, so long as you answer the same one in return." He moves to pour a flute for himself.

Emma Frost has posed:
Now that's not something she thought about, really. She slides her hand beneath her skirt in a graceful movement as she settles into a seat and asks curiously, "Do you see everything in shades of green and blue? Or are those shades easier or harder to see?" Her smile is amused. "I will happily answer the same questions." Emma has an idea that dinner this evening is going to be? different than most of the ones she has. "You can ask me anything you like as well and I will endeavor to be as honest as possible." It's not exactly the same offer -- in some ways it's broader.

She takes the champagne glass and says, "You know, you don't have to think of it as a date if it makes you uneasy. It is simply? two people getting to know one another." Which is really all a *date* is, but sometimes the word creates expectations. Emma doesn't want him to worry over what she might or might not expect of him. She simply wants to enjoy his company.

Tempest has posed:
    He catches that. "That is not the same thing." Garth tells her as he moves to be settled. He drops his napkin in his lap. Pausing after biting his lip for a moment. "No. Not at all. I see you fine. A rosy blush to your pale skin. Startling hair color, teeth are like pearls. The white polish on your nails. The platinum, I think, at your ears and throat? I see that. I see that your eyes are blue and have a pearlescence to them that is striking. What I have problems with is telling ?"

    He stops. "This is better. This lettuce here?" Garth skewers it with his salad fork. "To me it might as well be a shade of blue. It doesn't match the shade of blue in your eyes, but it is a shade of blue. My eyes are adapted for both low light and viewing underwater. Blues and greens, and some blacks and grays? They all look like a shade of blue. Think umm, grayscale but in what everyone assures me is blue. But green might as well be blue to me." Garth pauses, gesturing with his free hand in a small circle as he struggles to explain what to him is something fundamental to his perception. "So, when I say your eyes are a remarkable shade, I mean it. They would have to be for me to differentiate them from all the other blues I see. I can see the horizon, but the sky might as well be green to me. I would never tell the difference." he taps his askew tie. "I'm told it is blue. I think it is blue. I hope it is blue."

Emma Frost has posed:
She listens with her full attention on him. Emma colors just a little at the compliment of her eyes, his sincerity quite plain to her, but she's also thinking about what he said. Making connections. "I can see that the wavelengths of light reflection there are close enough together to cause that kind of issue in eyes adapted more for darker environs," she says thoughtfully. And then she looks down, her expression genuinely amused. "It is. A very subtle what I would call sky blue. Quite a nice shade of it," she assures him. "It goes very well with the gray of your jacket." He has good taste -- the surface world suit is cut to his form, which helps immensely.

Reaching out to pluck a cherry tomato off the salad, she pops it into her mouth, the movement casual. It is perhaps calculated a little to continue to set him at ease with her instead of steeping them in formality. "The dressing is lovely," she compliments. "A hint of lemon is so refreshing." As she raises her glass to sip, she murmurs, "I believe it's your turn to ask a question."

Tempest has posed:
    "I am glad it is suitable." He picks at his salad. His body language is pensive and slightly ill-at-ease. He's not uncomfortable, that is too strong a sentiment. He simply is not comfortable in his own skin. "How?" His forks makes an oval gesture at her, encircling her form. "How did you end up a billionaire at your own hand by the time you were, well, our age?" He shakes his head. "Not the nuts and bolts of it. Rather I say, why? You seem to enjoy creature comforts, but you are too tasteful to be debauched."

    Words just continue to fall from his mouth. "You wield power with ease, but to you money is not the basis of your power? I'm unsure. There is something mysterious about you, Miss Frost, and I think I prefer the mystery. You ask your question. I defer."

Emma Frost has posed:
It's not the question she really expected. Not that Emma knew *what* to expect of him, but still. So instead of allowing him to escape the query entirely, she says simply, "You've told me of your own familial difficulties? I was raised in a wealthy family, so 'taste' and 'style' and 'grace' were certainly watchwords as I grew. But I determined young that I did not intend to rely on the family's wealth. I had? bigger plans." Some of them of a pretty questionable variety. "But the lessons on ruthlessness they taught me, hidden behind the facade of politeness as they were, served me in good stead." He would like to retain the mystery for a time longer, and she sees no reason not to oblige him while still answering his questions honestly. "Some might consider me extremely manipulative," she concedes. "But ? I see it as simply following my own code."

Tempest has posed:
    "I do not take kindly to being manipulated." Garth says quietly. "It has happened from time to time, and you might very well be doing so now. If you are? You might wish to depart now. I do not share some of the surface worlds compunctions." Garth considers his blues on the plate before he. He skewers a couple more pieces of lettuce, though with a sliver of carrot "You are not the sort to respond well to threats, though. I am not the sort who likes to give them. I merely act."

    Garth pauses. He settles his gaze on her. "Are you manipulating me? I understand there is no such thing as a truly honest social interaction. Even the most altruistic of motives is accompanied by the pleasure of satisfaction. Are you doing this just to laugh at me?" Someone has hurt Garth. "If so, my companions have a variety of names they call me, but with affection. That might be a good place to start. Clownfish, bubble guppy? The Fish Prince of bel Aire. That last one is particularly clever."

Emma Frost has posed:
Tipping her head, Emma can see the hurt that has been done to him without even having to use her telepathy. And she finds herself in some ways disliking these 'friends' who call names with affection. "No," she replies candidly. "I am not manipulating you. And though I rarely dignify such a question with an answer -- I tend to think that if you have to ask if I'm laughing at you, you really don't want to know -- no, I am not laughing at you."

Reaching out and touching his surface thoughts with her power, she says simply to him, <<If my honesty is what you need to believe that, however, then I offer it.>> She allows him to look at the surface of her mind if he so chooses -- there's not laughter there. Though he has amused her and given her moments of laughter, it has not been at his expense.

Tempest has posed:
    For someone who has mental conversations with fish, his touch is a little more gentle than she might have expected. Fish apparently can respond to subtlety. He can feel her mind. That's not wholly something unfamiliar, but there is this sameness. His lavender eyes regard her seriously from beneath dark brows.

    "You manatee." Garth says. Being called a sea-cow is not an insult from him. From the touch, apparently manatees are known for keeping secrets and revealing them to delight themselves with the reaction. "Your mind is like a humpback's. Clever, but reserved." Garth continues to compare her to large, blubbery marine mammals.

    Slowly he regards her. "Is this why you wanted to know how we treated undersea mutants?"

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma peers at him, skeptical about the reference at first. And then the amusement again, as it's not an insult. Whales are immensely intelligent, manatees are fascinating creatures. So she takes it as it's meant. "It is," she agrees quietly, setting her champagne glass down. "I teach young mutants? and as with many in their generation, they are ecologically aware and conscious of the effects of pollution in the world. Our meeting made me consider the idea of ? perhaps a field trip. But I couldn't in good conscience speak to you or to the school about such a possibility without knowing how much danger it could pose for my students."

She offers him a slow smile. "Though I do very much like your reaction. It is not every day someone compares me to a sea-cow? much less to my face." Emma's amusement is teasing.

Tempest has posed:
    "Manatees are far more graceful than many would have you believe." Garth replies before considering his next thoughts. "You wanted to be certain we would not mistreat your charges?" Garth's mental touch registers equal parts disgust and understanding. "I will not say that we do not hurt children in Atlantis. I was left out to die. I will say that is the exception that proves the rule. Given what I told you though, that is a fair concern."

    Disappointment registers, and Garth thoughtfully chews a bite of salad before continuing. "An exchange could be arranged. I will want to meet your students prior to it. I will require at least one of your teachers as well. I would prefer you go." He is torn. He is still fascinated with her, and conversely he is on guard.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma makes a point of letting him feel when she withdraws from his mind, as he comments on the manatees being graceful. "They are quite lovely creatures," is her reply. As to the rest, she nibbles on her salad while he speaks and the nuances of his behavior make her a little ? uneasy? that she told him. She's usually a damn good judge of character, and she's certainly used to people on guard mentally once they know.

"If you would like that, I would certainly enjoy the opportunity to learn about you in your own environment," Emma tells him in a mild tone. "It seems unfair that you always have to meet me on what could be considered my home territory. Imbalance of power in a ? friendship? can be detrimental to it." She pauses and looks up at him from her salad plate. "I do not manipulate friends, Garth." Well? that's maybe not entirely true, but ? extenuating circumstances don't count, do they?

Tempest has posed:
    "It will take some doing. Protecting people I do not know well from the depths will require that I gather some components and make some objects to hold the spell in place." Garth considers things. He idly chews on a bit of salad, swallows after a bit, then nods.

    He smoothly stands. "Wait there." He says softly, and adds, still sincerely, "Please." It is only a minute or two. He returns with two plates, and a whole pie. The pie gets settled on the table. It is some decadent chocolate cream. He then settles her lobster tail, some steamed vegetables, and a filet in front of her. He doesn't sit back across from her, but instead moves to sit next to her.

    "Ask your next question?" He then reaches across the table for his silverware, flute, and the bottle, refilling hers and his.

Emma Frost has posed:
She reins in the desire to scan him and see what he's doing next, instead taking a slow sip of her champagne. When dinner *and* dessert appear, she is maybe caught a little by surprise. It's not a feeling Emma likes very much at all, frankly. So instead of keeping her own counsel or finding out by taking the answer, she offers him a question. "Why were you disappointed when you found out that I am a mutant?" Because she registered his emotion, and at the point where it registered, it makes sense that's what it was related to.

Tempest has posed:
    "I cannot speak for the character of the cow, but I assure you that the lobster was a cranky one and deserved what he got." Garth deadpans so well. He reaches onto his plate and puts his molten butter on her plate. As he does that, he considers things.

    "I felt foolish." Garth says finally. "I stumbled into this dinner. I thought you maybe were intrigued by me. Then, well, it was just another mysterious, powerful, gorgeous metahuman woman who wanted something from me." He pulls in a breath. His violet eyes look for hers. "I've been played for a fool before." There is no question asked there.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma makes a sound of objection. "The conversation about the students is? a natural extension of the conversation about why I asked how Atlanteans viewed mutants in my office, but ? Dinner was for us." She moves to set her napkin on the table. "I'm sorry." She says it simply, retreating behind the pleasant face he first met instead of the warmer expression of moments ago. It's a familiar reaction -- many people retreat when they are embarrassed, especially at court.

Tempest has posed:
    "Sorry for what?" Garth asks, keeping his eyes on hers.

Emma Frost has posed:
The blonde is fighting the need to simply get up and sweep out of the room with her nose in the air, though he can't really know that of her. "That you think I wanted something from you." The admission is difficult.

Tempest has posed:
    "I am sorry I doubted you." Garth returns, having found something in her expression that reassured him. "Now?" Garth clears his throat, and reaches for his glass. He downs it, then nods, wiping at his mouth with her napkin before handing it back to her. "How about you eat before it gets cold, and before the pie gets warm. Do you want to leave it at questions?" There is a note of challenge to his tone. There is also a change in his attitude as if a decision has been made and that choice has made him profoundly uneasy.

Emma Frost has posed:
It's funny how some fall back on formality when they don't know what else to do. At least in this regard, her behavior is familiar enough. It would be bad manners to leave before dinner is over, and so Emma takes the napkin somewhat gingerly from his hand and replies quietly, "Of course." to the eating of their dinner. "I believe it's your turn to ask a question," she murmurs, keeping the neutral calm face.

Tempest has posed:
    "I do not want to." Garth replies. "I want to make a demonstration of my intentions, since I misinterpreted yours." That's a 180 degree turn, and a psychic fingertip on his mental pulse warns her in advance that the young Atlantean Prince is about to do something poorly considered.

    His left hand slides up to almost touch her cheek, but stops. He doesn't want to smear her makeup. Then he follows up with his head. There is time for her to stop him, or scramble.

Emma Frost has posed:
The hand on her face is enough to warn her that he's about to do something she's not sure is a good idea. Emma goes very still under his touch and she seems about to demur but instead allows him to kiss her. It's tentative on her part, far more so than most who know anything about her would dream, and a hesitant hand rests on his chest. It could be read as standoffish.

Tempest has posed:
    There are no tongues down throats and no sweaty panting. It is a respectful, but lingering and exploratory kiss. When she prompts it to deepen, it does. Still tentative, with enough tongue to be pleasant, but not so much to be like a tongue sandwich.

    A finger caresses her hair once. As he pulls back, though, Garth inhales a little air. He was too scared to breathe while he did it, and he desperately needs the air. It's hot and stifling in here or something. He then chokes on something, and coughs a couple of times. "So-sorry. I got some of your lettuce!"

Emma Frost has posed:
What could have been a really sweet moment or a really awkward one is suddenly something else altogether as he pulls back and then says that. Emma Frost, the White Queen who intimidates the hell out of most people, blushes furiously and chokes back a laugh, her retort what most would consider classic Emma. "Then you shouldn't kiss me while I have food in my mouth."

Tempest has posed:
    What would Nightwing say? What would Nightwing say? What would Nightwing say? Garth stares at her for a moment. The silence lingers, and then he finally answers with a very soft voice. It's hard to push it out. "You got anything in there now?" Inwardly, he cheers that he managed that. He is sure Orin would be proud of him. Inwardly, all she can hear is his own mental applause and an idle stray thought that he will never be that smooth again.

Emma Frost has posed:
Oh? she could very much like this guy. His mental cheering breaks the awkward moment and Emma starts to laugh. "No, but the lobster is getting cold." There's an interest in her gaze that bodes well for him, just enough tease to her to intrigue and just enough uncertainty showing in there to not make him think she's backing off and *just* teasing. SHe's off balance and not sure she's okay with being that way.

Tempest has posed:
    "Well, Mrs Eddison would be profoundly disappointed if her hard work in the kitchen went for naught." The atlantean prince gently moves to slice his own steak. He changes his mind and refills his flute, again. He lets it linger at the table though and then quietly says, "Your turn." Garth pauses. He raises his napkin to wipe at his mouth. She wears good lipstick. No smear.