2240/Patronage

Patronage
Date of Scene:	30 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Meggan, Black Queen

---

Meggan has posed:
The Hellfire Club is a place where some people conduct much of their wealthy lives, and as such, since it is the year 2025, it includes spaces that are a little less...

You know.

It is into one of these co-working spaces that Meggan Puceanu is coming. The carpet is still dark and red; the walls are enclosed, with no windows. But the tridentine imagery is a little lighter, and while the receptionist who admits Meggan for her business meeting is in a slightly-outre outfit, it isn't one where you can see the garters.

Meggan is wearing the nicest piece of clothing she owns. It is a little black dress and has very little accessorization. She has done her face up (literally) to be clinically perfect, and has even put on pumps, though they make her wobble. Her hair is up in a bun, because she thinks that looks more professional. Her phone is firmly set in her purse, and she turned it off in the reception area.

She has practically memorized the project inquiry email as it is. Some part of Meggan wishes she /had/ written down her discussion points on the palm of her left hand, even as she approaches the 'Second Circle' meeting room.

Why is there a chandelier in here, is Meggan's first thought. Well, second, after 'oo, pretty, a chandelier!'

Black Queen has posed:
    "My goodness. Would you look at you?"

    The question comes, rhetorical and spun up in a tone softer than silk, at the exact moment that Meggan Puceanu allows herself to be so briefly distracted by the odd, out-of-place presence of the chandelier hanging above her like some pretty, ostentatious Sword of Damocles. From ahead of her -- where she need only look to find the source of her invitation to this (excessively) prestigious place, gracefully presented on the threshold to the Second Circle: wrapped up in a black wrap dress bound at her waist and slit dangerously up its left side with a gold collar set with a bright red ruby at its center her only decoration, Selene Gallio presents herself with the most welcoming smiles dancing upon her black-painted lips.

    "I would hardly have thought it possible, but somehow you're even more striking in person, Ms. Puceanu. You'll have to tell me the magic you work with your cosmetics some day." Her words warm in a subdued sort of way, Selene approaches Meggan with an unerring sense of confidence, looking to offer her a hand by way of greeting and welcome. "Selene Gallio. You have my most sincere gratitude for finding the time to make it out here."

    And if that hand is taken, Selene hardly dawdles. "Please -- follow me." Without even a moment's hesitation, the Black Queen of the Hellfire Club will helpfully usher Meggan towards the meeting room with at a calm and guiding pace, not even stopping as she looks the young woman's way to offer the hint of a conspiratorial smile as she whispers, for Meggan's ears alone, "Heel to toe, Ms. Puceneau. The trick to walking in heels is to measure your stride with confidence. Walk like you have all the time in the world, and people will believe it. Trust me."

Meggan has posed:
Meggan looks towards the woman who has come to greet her and feels tremendously underdressed and plain in that moment. It is visible on her face, even as she smiles. "Oh - thank you, Miss Gallio," she says, taking a hand and returning the proffered shake. She feels warm and /extremely/ alive.

And also flustered. She might as well have worn a T-shirt saying This Is My First Big Business Meeting. Such as it may be. As she's guided forwards she blushes as she's escorted, saying as she does, "Oh, thank you -"

Heel to toe. Heel to toe. She gets the pace after a couple of attempts. Though there is still an ominous hint of excessive sway, she's not about to pitch over. Probably. Don't push her.

"Please, though, call me Meggan if you like," she says on the way. "I have to say that this entire building is gorgeous - I feel like I'm entering a palace, but I'd hardly heard of the place!" Indeed, Meggan only got the address, and went in through the entrance that does not say THE HELL-FIRE CLUB on it. (It may not even say that on Google Maps. She didn't check too closely.)

Black Queen has posed:
    If she notices the way Meggan's inadequacies in that moment swell to the surface - and she must, unless she's completely oblivious - Selene has the good grace not to call attention to them even for a moment. No -- she just welcomes her guest with all the hospitality that one might be expected to be afforded if they were a longtime friend visiting someone's home, ushered in through that doorway like she belongs there before Selene carefully and comfortably lets swing those grandiose double doors to shut behind them with nary a groan and only the most understated and subtle of clicks.

    Endlessly patient, Meggan's reward for -- eventually -- figuring out the way towards precarious stability in those pumps of hers is the lovely sense of approval that rolls off of Selene both in sensation and in expression. The office is large, spacious -- there's a fireplace (of course) and what will probably be some of the most comfortable leather (of course) chairs that Meggan will have ever sat in. And also the most palpably expensive. Of course. And though there is a desk, large and imposing and shuffled towards the side, Selene will comfortably guide the girl away from it and towards the lounge area. As if this were simply a comfortable, casual chat. A place to relax.

    "Meggan, then," agrees the raven-haired woman genially as she brings the girl to one of those seats. "Please, make yourself comfortable. A palace should be properly enjoyed, shouldn't it?" Amusement tinging her tone, Selene will make her way towards the opposing seat, smoothing out her flowing skirt as she settles in to cross one leg gracefully over the other. "We don't advertise this place too much, I'm afraid. Invitation only. My colleagues are just that dedicated to maintaining their precious prestige." She shares a smile with Meggan, like she were sharing some little secret just between them, before she continues on. "So -- I take it by the simple fact that you're here that you're interested in my offer?"

Meggan has posed:
The doors open with mystical smoothness and beauty. Meggan is working hard to not be utterly enchanted. It may not be working out fully. She passes the desk, which is the most expensive thing Meggan may have seen in a little while, and lingers on the outside of those chairs, before she's invited - with new emphasis.

"Well, if -" she says, and THEN sets herself down in the chair. Gingerly. As if she's afraid she'll stain it or ruin it. "If you're certain," she laughs, folding her hands on her knee and then looking at Selene and then /smiling/ and -

The fireplace. It's GLOWING.

Meggan takes in a deep breath and lets it out as a small sigh, her eyes closing. The warmth is a full-body, deep-infrared delight after wading here through clammy humidity.

Her eyes open again. Only a moment of silence. "I'm quite interested, yes," Meggan says, "though I wasn't quite certain of the details..."

Black Queen has posed:
    "I'm never anything but," is Selene's immediate and effortless answer to Meggan's laughing words. And sitting there, her posture sublime and that grace to her almost like a second nature, one would be hard-pressed to doubt that claim.

    Hands folded in against her lap, one long, darkly-painted nail tapping against the back back of her left with all the consistency of a metronome's swing, Selene Gallio just watches Meggan with curious, ice-blue eyes as she settles in against that warmth in all that bundled up delight.

    "It must have been awful making your way out here in weather like that," Selene empathizes, her voice nothing more than sincere in sympathy. "But I admire your dedication. Take your time. Enjoy yourself."

    But eventually, that silence is broken. The tapping of Selene's finger stops as Meggan addresses her, black lips parting as she turns her gaze up to Meggan's opening own. "I'm glad to hear that, Meggan," she assures, and the way she says that name is almost like a subtle praise in and of itself. "The truth is, I've seen your videos you've been making, and I'm quite impressed. You have a gift, and not simply in disguise -- you seem to have quite the actor's soul." Her brows lift, her head tilting to the side with a slow, idle curiosity.

    "I'd like to see your talents get the recognition and respect it deserves, Megann. So, tell me..." dark lips tilt up in a charming, fascinated smile. Fascinated by, interested in, Megann.

    "... how well do you think you could be me, if I asked you to?"

Meggan has posed:
Meggan seems to be sheerly enjoying herself. She didn't get wet on her way over - probably through taking trains and subways for the most part - but she is definitely chilled. Or was. After another little exhale her eyes turn towards Selene again as she is confronted with that question.

"Oh! I c-" Meggan begins, which is an honest statement. In ten years, perhaps, of aggressive glamourization she might. But now?

Except, of course, that Meggan knows full well that she is being challenged.

She coughs into her wrist. "Hhew- excuse me - I could, certainly," Meggan then says with renewed, deliberate effort, her face turning to look at Selene and release a radiant beam of a smile which she practiced in a mirror and a camera for hours. "I think it depends on just how you'd want to be been, if that makes sense. I have my tricks and methods, but some parts are easier than others."

"For instance," she explains, "if you wanted me to imitate your appearance, I - well, I admit I couldn't quite carry it off the way that you did, but I could certainly look just like you, or near enough to be your sister!" An attempt to sound like a female BBC announcer is struggling, and winning (with attrition), against growing excitement. "If you'd want me to do your voice, that would take more practice. It'd be easier in a way, actually, I usually don't have - forgive me - access to the person I'm trying to come off as."

Black Queen has posed:
    Excitable, but trying to control it. The anticipation there is palpable, and it draws a (good-natured, of course) smile of amusement to stretch across black lips as Selene watches Meggan so expound at her recovering and deliberate length. She is, of course, patient while she listens. Generously so. Endlessly so. Like she has all the time in the world.

    "Presentation is key," she begins, only when Meggan is truly good and finished with her train of thought, "especially in the circles I find myself having to dabble in. They are a very particular breed of shark -- any trace of social faux pas is as good as throwing chum to the waters." Of course. -They're- the sharks. Her poise elegant, regal even, Selene uncrosses her legs and pushes up off her seat, arms folding elegantly over her midsection as she makes her way to stand at the side of that fireplace. Her movements are fluid as water, yet so full of purpose, her features lit by flame as she turns that calm gaze back towards Meggan. "I believe I manage quite well, for the most part." She looks upon that practiced, radiant smile, and the one she offers in return is an effortless contrast to it, full of a calm, enchanting magnetism.

    "Unfortunately, even I can't juggle every event I am expected to make an appearance at. So... I'd like to offer you a proposition." The raven-haired woman turns to face Meggan fully as she says this, comfortably leaning her shoulder against the warmth of fireplace's mantel. "I have a charity event one week from now that I unfortunately don't have the time to make myself, but at which my appearance is an absolute necessity. Sharks never stop swimming, I'm afraid. It is nothing too demanding -- a simple appearance for perhaps a half hour. All you would need to do is sit down, and smile that breathtaking smile of yours." Ever-gracious, Selene turns that warm, if critical, eye toward Meggan, considering her curiously.

    "I'll spend time with you during that week to help you to acclimate, of course. And if you do well -- if you impress me -- I think I may very well have a role in mind for you where your talents may be properly rewarded." Pushing off from that framework, Selene approaches Meggan's seat, looking down at her, confidence and an air of expectation in her stare.

    "I won't lie to you. If you accept -- and if you meet my expectations -- you'll find I am a very demanding woman to work for. I expect the best from everyone who is under my employ." But her smile is so encouraging. So full of promise. "But my high expectations are only because I only bother with the best to begin with, Meggan. And I believe your best will be very impressive indeed." Her brows quirk upward. Black hair cascades softly across her shoulders as her head tilts.

    "So... what do you say?"

Meggan has posed:
Meggan leans forwards then. One leg comes up to cross over the opposite knee and her elbows rest on the upward-facing calf. This is not a very mature posture. She is looking right dead at Selene, though, and maybe she has the excuse of having already started working.

She drinks in how Selene moves. Her emotions are under control, Meggan can tell that much, and it's not her sort of bag to just jam herself forwards anyway. She attends like she's at a lecture - no, more so. She seems almost rapt. The texture of her hair has gotten notably straighter by the time Selene finishes her statement and turns her eye toward Meggan; a stray strand of hair makes this clear.

"I say yes," Meggan says, and she beams as she does it.

"I do feel I should be honest with you, though," she continues, "about my methods. I don't want to present you with an unpleasant surprise. And," though she really, obviously, hopes this will not be the case, "if you don't want to be involved with them," Meggan's hands come up and lace together lightly, "then I won't blame you in the slightest, Miss Gallio."

After that she waits, with hope on her face, for an answer.

Black Queen has posed:
    That hair. It's not obvious -- not too obvious, at least. Anyone else might have overlooked it. But those keen, blue eyes take in the difference immediately. Straighter. Like a slow, subconscious echo of her own. She doesn't draw attention to the fact. Doesn't dare. She just watches with rapt attention. For Meggan's answer, of course.

    Yes, she says. She beams. And Selene's smile is nothing short of inspiring.

    Closer now, Selene listens as Meggan puts forth her stipulation. The woman's poise has all the understated grace of a queen as she stands over the girl so full of hope and expectation. Her expression, her stance, is nothing if not accommodating and approachable.

    "Of course, Meggan," she assures, with a light touch to her tone, as if Meggan could confess all her greatest sins without fear of judgment, "I appreciate the gesture." Far be it from her to crush those hopes, after all. "Please -- tell me."

Meggan has posed:
Meggan says, tilting her head down, "I'll do better than that," and she rises upwards with a fluid motion. "I'll show you:"

There is a certain ethereal effect to this. A shimmer that's hard to define and would be hard to notice if Selene was not, as amply and abundantly prompted, looking right at Meggan. She doesn't change height- if anything she /shrinks/ a little, contracting around the waist as her hair ripples, going from blonde to black. The clip on the bun falls loose, scenically. She puts a hand on her hip afterwards, looking right at Selene -

Because now she looks just like her.

That isn't true. Not quite. Meggan is more like the younger sister - the same features, shape, and hair, but the attitude is different. (And the outfit is simpler, too.) Her eyes blink once, and something about this gives Meggan a passing shiver up her spine, the sense and knowledge that she's like a mirror now, looking right dead at someone.

She didn't do it much - it was often unsettling to the other person, the subtle disturbances between one's own self image and the slightly askew studied presentation able to throw things into the uncanny valley with some speed. That must be what it is, Meggan thinks. But she's asking me to do this, so even if I'm startling her -

Never mind that the feeling came from herself.

"It's very lucky," Meggan says, accent identical even if the pitch and timbre are much closer (if not /quite/) at Selene's, "that we're about the same height, isn't it? I think so, anyway. Anyway, this is my mutant ability," Meggan explains, reaching up to smooth back a lock of black hair from her ears, which lack their leaflike points.

"I hope it isn't a problem for you."

Black Queen has posed:
    A ripple. It's like watching a pebble disturb the surface of a lake. The fabric of what is warbles around Meggan, wavering in ruffles that settle as soon as they're born until what -is- has changed. Until Selene finds herself staring in a mirror without a mirror in sight.

    Well. Not -quite- like a mirror, is it? No, there's enough scarcely noticeable differences in bearing and presentation that make it seem off. Like staring at someone inhabiting a very convincing flesh suit of her without any grasp of what -is- her. Just enough to confound and confuse the senses. There is just something... off.

    She is silent as she watches that display; her expression an inscrutable neutrality that settles comfortably into those timeless features, it would be easy to assume she is startled, disturbed. Perhaps even disgusted. She doesn't say a word even when she starts to move after Meggan's explanation. The lone sound to give the metamorph company is the way her heels striking marbled floor echoes through the sublime acoustics of the room as Selene begins to circle around her. But even as she disappears to the back of her, the presence of her eyes on Meggan watching her, scrutinizing her, weighing her, is palpable. Her presence is ever at the girl's shoulder. Until...

    "We will have to work on your presentation. Your bearing, your attitude... the way you look at the world. All these things are the ingredients that flavor who a person is. A canny observer could see that in a heartbeat. But..."

    ... until her fingertips, warm to the touch, curl around Meggan's shoulder in a soft, validating squeeze of encouragement. "... you are perfect, Meggan. Everything I could have hoped for."

Meggan has posed:
Meggan stands still. She does a very convincing imitation of a statue as Selene orbits around her. She can feel.. something. It's faint, it's subtle, and of course, Meggan can't exactly ask for clarification, can she? You can ask that kind of thing of a friend or a colleague but not someone who hasn't even, technically speaking, hired you yet. Her eyes half lid and she bites her lower lip just a little as Selene orbits behind her, the heels clicking like the precise, crisp machinery of destruction.

God, what a metaphor, she thinks. I need to relax.

I can't, though, she thinks further.

If I let myself go for one moment, Meggan thinks, I'm going to melt into a puddle and soak down the grooves in this marble and be soaked up by that plush hallway carpet and vanish completely.

Selene talks...

The touch on her shoulder makes Meggan shudder. With relief. Partly.

"Really?" she breathes, head turning as she smiles at Selene, half-shyly. It is probably not an expression seen on that particular face since before the birth of Christ.

Black Queen has posed:
    That smile, so awkward, so demure, coming a face that looks so almost like her own. It's remarkable, how a little, underused sentiment can make someone look like an entirely different person. Just another thing to work on, in the end.

    Ultimately, Selene doesn't dwell on it for long; her hand slides away from Meggan within a handful of seconds after making its presence known there, fingers scraping past before she lets that arm drop to her side. She continues to walk forward, her trajectory shifting towards that desk as she speaks. "Of course. You have a gift, Meggan. An incredible gift. And it makes you something truly special. Regardless of what the world might thing of you..." She makes her way to that desk and pauses just in front of it, glancing over her shoulder at her imperfect double. "... you are in safe hands here."

    Fingertips pressing against the burnished finish of that African blackwood surface, Selene glides around her desk as effortlessly as a wisp until she finds her way behind it. Pulling open a drawer, the woman procures a single, eloquently crafted invitation and slides it across the desk, towards Meggan. Handwritten, of course.

    "One week from today," she explains, blue eyes lifting to affix herself back on her guest. "The relevant details are there. We will have several meetings over the course of the week for training and practice so that you may more convincingly imitate me. Those will simply be the bare minimum, of course. I am much more partial to people who show initiative." She looks down at her desk, tapping her fingers against the surface exactly twice. "Leave your contact information with me -- we will be dealing with each other directly. Not the club's secretaries, not my assistant, no middlemen. Just you and me, Meggan."

    Her right brow lifts. Her black lips curl in a confident smile. "It will be an exhausting process... but a gratifying one, too. I'm very much looking forward to working with you, Meggan."