5889/White Queen to White Prince. Check.

White Queen to White Prince. Check.
Date of Scene:	01 December 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Emma Frost, Thomas Raith

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Emma Frost has posed:
Emma's stay in Mexico had been cut short due to the little inconvenience of folks from the hero set coming and paying a visit to the Shadow King's base of operations. It not only was a little close to home, given she wasn't ready to play her hand yet, but it had left him in.. well, something of a mood was likely the best explanation.

In short, Emma found herself somewhat summararily dismissed and rather at loose ends. All the while still uncertain of her role.

No matter. Emma was a woman who made her own futures. She always had. And while she figured out her next moves, and pondered the implications of what had happened in Mexico, there was a small matter of keeping a public profile. Her recent sojourns into the clubs and back rooms of all the best parties had left her rather hungering for some more. Teaching at Xavier's had left her feeling - well, if not stagnant, at least removed from the circles she once travelled within, both for business and pleasure. Or such pleasure as Emma Frost allowed herself.

She'd read about this place in the society papers. Some rather big splash on the charity circuit had been held here, and while Emma wans't big on the charity circuit, it did chafe a little to not have been invited. Thus, checking the spot out. What had she missed? Who had she missed. And further, did she even care?

She orders herself a tumbler of scotch, neat, and suggests they leave the bottle, slipping a platinum credit card on the bar to assure her request is met. "I'll let you know when I'm done. Thank you."

Thomas Raith has posed:
The bartender is not an attractive man, though not ugly either. Like an old Bruce Willas, shaved bald with an eye patch. He only grunts slightly at her request and places the card under the bar to be rung up when she has finished. "You'll have to forgive Yosa," a voice from beside her says. The man had arrived silently. He was, in a word, beautiful. Not handsome in the traditonal way, pretty is more accurate. "Now you on the other hand, let's see..." He looks her over slowly, but not in the way most men do, seeming to spend equal time taking in her entire form. "Beautiful woman drinking alone. Not uncommon in a place like this, but you're not looking for a hook up. If you were you'd be drinking Champagne. Maybe white wine. A woman drinking scotch wants to put out a don't fuck with me vibe." He glances at her some more, "No wedding ring, and I'm willing to bet you never have been married though you've had a few husbands in your time. The clothes are designer, but you wear them like they are...well clothes. So you have money and are comfortable with the fact." He offers his hand and grins a bit, "I'm Thomas Raith. I own the Blue LAdy. How'd I do?"

Emma Frost has posed:
There's a soft laugh from Emma, the woman, turning in her seat to take in the man talking to her. "I rarely drink champagne. It's an affected drink, and I prefer my alcohol like I like my men. Straight." Not that Emma had a known history of 'men'. In fact, other than the recent sightings of her in local establishments about New York City, and dripping off of the arms of well placed men (and any number of those who weren't but merely wanted to be), Emma didn't have any of those sorts of known skeletons in her closet. It was something of an anomally in the set she hung around with.

"A few husbands? Oh, how quaint. I'd have to be a lot less.. well, let us just say that I don't find I need a male to complete myself. I never bought into that other half and Disney fairytale claptrap."

She doesn't argue about the clothing. Like most of the ultra rich, she didn't broadcast labels. She wore clothing that made those sorts look like bargain basement deals by cost, and not a label in sight. If you didn't know who she was wearing.. you didn't know who she was wearing. She was rich enough she didn't need to advertise it.

The soft laugh ends with a gesture to the seat across from herself. "Not bad. Perhaps a little adventurous with the husbands matter, but other than that, fairly well. Join me if you wish. Or not. You're the owner?"

A brow arches delicately as she asks that. He's just said he did. There is almost certainly more behind the question than a simple question.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith nods slightly and takes the seat next to her, apparently taking her up on the offer. "I am indeed." he confirms. He gives a hand signal to Yosa who nods, and a moment later places a glass and a crystal decanter from under the bar at his boss's elbow. "I suppose I meant you look like someone who will see something they want and go after it, irregardless of otherwise incidental matters. Even if those matters mean a great deal to other people." He pours himself a drink from the decanter and re-seals it with the stopper. "And you still haven't told me your name."

Emma Frost has posed:
"I haven't have I," Emma murmurs, lifting her glass to her lips. "Funny how that is. And you h ave blythely already given me that information. Funny, I met a man once who told me names were a commodity. Of course, he claimed to be a warlock. I imagine his idea of what was or was not a commodity may be skewed. Still, names have always had power, have they not?"

Again that delicate arch of brow over the edge of her tumbler as she sips.

"You know, so many men fail to see the glass for what it is. They are all so filled with their own import and value that they assume I'm here looking for them. They see the glass as an invitation. You might be one of the few who haven't assumed my presence wasn't here specifically to draw attention to myself."

Her glass is set down and she smiles a cool smile. "Then again, perhaps it is."

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith glances up at what could be an odd sight. A series of 10 light bulbs of various sizes glowing happily. Whatever he sees there satisfies him apparently. "What's in a name, would a rose by any other name not smell as sweetly?" he asks playfully and shrugs. "And I think we both know you are going to draw attention no matter where you go. Where most men fall into a fallacy is that they assume you are trying to draw their attention specifically." He sips his drink and leans his elbow on the table and places his chin in his hand. "Let me guess, as a rule you find it incredibly dull. The bold ones tell you your beautiful, as if you didn't already know that.The ones with the biggest egos may even make a lewd comment or suggestion, something you are far too classy to dignify with a response. The shy ones? They'll never get close enough to do anything, which is sort of a shame because they give you the closest to what you want of our groups so far. Admiring you like a masterpiece sculpture in a museum. Close but just out of reach.."

Emma Frost has posed:
"The bold ones," Emma says, the coolness of that smile showing faint hints of amusement, "Always assume that they're the first to have tried those avenues of approach. As though they'd invented lines I'd heard a thousand times before. Boring would be a kind assessment."

The smile broadens, but grows even colder.

"I've never been that kind."

"As for the others.. interesting that you peg the shy ones more my type. Close, but not exactly a match. But closer than most assess. Not bad."

She gives a fleeting glance to the lights above. "Recording this, are we? For the future, and trying to ascertain what you may have missed?" A negligent shrug, as much as if she could care less what he does or does not record. "I suppose all of this leads to, what ever caused you to step forth and throw yourself into the ring of those who think they might actually have something I'd be interested in. After all, this conversation has an end, does it not? My curiosity lies in trying to decide what category you think you belong in. You aren't shy, but neither are you so many of the others. Intriguing."

A gesture to his decanter. "May I ask, what is it you drink?"

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith glances at the lights and shakes his head. "No, there aren't any cameras up there." He says with the honest ring of truth that the telepath would recognize. Whatever those lights are, they aren't a recording device. He shrugs a little bit, "honestly? Iced tea." He says with an easy smile. "I work in a club all night, allot of times I'll share a drink with a patron or five, to make them feel more at ease, but I can't afford to let myself get drunk, now can I?" he smirks a bit, "As for why I walked over here, well there were a few reasons. The one I'll go with is that perhaps I just saw a puzzle of a woman and thought I'd like to try my hand at unraveling her." He says with a mischievous tone.

Emma Frost has posed:
"Iced tea," Emma says with another of those soft laughs that almost seen to suggest she has a sense of humour. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

It was true. She wouldn't have. It made sense, though. Too many fell victim to the entertain and allow themselves to become innebriated trap. And for all Emma had ordered the bottle of scotch, and would drink a rather large fill of it, if not the entire thing, allowing herself to become drunk was not a thing she did.

"So I'm an enigma, am I? I confess, this line of attack is actually rather entertaining. I had thought to spend the evening watching the crowd and enjoying my own company, but I think this may be even better." In truth, she'd come exactly to check the man out - she'd known before she'd set foot in the doors who owned the place, and had hoped for exactly such a meeting as this. The rest, though, was true. Generally she'd have sent anyone else packing before now. Very few ever got invited to while away the hours with Emma Frost that she hadn't specifically sought out to draw into her presence.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith shrugs a little bit, "Something of one definitely. I'm usually pretty good at pegging people down. Hazard of running a place like this. But I've already apparently made a few erroneous guesses about you, as you pointed out." there is amusement in his mind and a stray thought whispers out of his mind <<And if I had been right about my first guess when I saw you, I'd have had Axe, Smash, and crush throw you out on the perfect little ass of yours.>> Out loud he says however "Well if you won't give your name I think I'll call you Rose then. As in a Rose by any other name.."

Emma Frost has posed:
"You're in good company as it happens. Or bad," Emma notes with a smile that is neither cold, nor forced. "I do tend to prefer to keep myself a mystery."

Not that he could rightly peg this for timing, but as it happens, as he thinks those thoughts, as they skirt along the surface of his mind, there's a low chuckle from the woman. "Ah. You know your Shakespeare. A rose by any other name, would smell as sweet. Though it is often misunderstood. She's actually lamenting the fact that of all the people he could be in the world, he is her enemy, and why must he be. It's quite the misnomer to regard it merely as he could be anyone. Though, you could also be alluding to another famous Rose."

She regards him questioningly to see if he draws the Titanic reference to mind.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith nods slightly, "I know the reference," he says with a smile. Then adds, "But what I mean is that I have a beautiful woman in front of me. Her name doesn't matter. It's not the title of the book, but the heart of the story that draws you in." Then at her other "famous Rose" remark he adds "And I can't imagine you letting anyone draw you like a French girl, Rose." he sips his tea and chuckles, "And somehow in a very brief conversation we've managed to bring up two set s of the most foolish lovers ever considered."

Emma Frost has posed:
That, Emma laughs outright at. "You're claiming I have a heart, are you?" She unstoppers the bottle that has been left behind, and pours herself another measure of scotch. "In someone else I might actually think that they were trying to feed me a line. But you truly do not know who I am, do you? Not one for the society pages?"

He earns something of an indolent glance as she restoppers the bottle she's poured from and retakes her glass for a sip.

"Ah, so you follow the second reference. Good. I'd hate to have had to explain it to you. It's so tedious. Though William would have said ill-fated, not foolish. If there is something of foolery about it all, perhaps it is only to believe one's self in love, or to allow that to colour one's perceptions."

She says it with a tone of voice that is somewhat unsettled - coloured with hints of bitterness, and soemthing else that is not so tangible to discern. Self mockery? Hurt? Something else? Something, at the very least.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith raises an eyebrow at her question and runs his fingers through his long hair, "I really do not to be honest." He says with a self depreciating smile, "Most of my time is spent with managing this club in one way or another. The closest I usually come to reading any sort of pages at all is the Far Side calendar on my desk." he chuckles a bit, "Names I know. Faces to go with them? Only rarely, and usually if I am expecting to meet them." He nod's at her assessment. Let's be honest, Rose would have been better served marrying Hadley and keeping JAck on the side. Been better served staying on the damn life boat both times she was put on one. And JAck sure as hell would have been better served letting go of her hand and finding another piece of debris to climb on top of." he shakes his head. "Love is not only blind. It is stupid, and young love the most intense and by far the stupidest of all."

Emma Frost has posed:
"We'd all be better served keeping Jack on the side," Emma says dryly. "I'm not sure marrying Hadley needed to play into it, though I suppose for the time she needed the respectability. These days, one hardly needs a man to lend credence to one's being. Her mistake was allowing her emotions to enter into the equation at all."

Her glass is lifted once again, but not sipped from immediately.

"So not a learned man, then. Interesting. Your observances are rather keen for one who is self-proclaimed not to read much. As for love, it makes liars and fools of all of us. I suppose there's a lesson for you."

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith smiles a bit, "Oh I have my moments. But the fact is I know people. They are what I read. You can learn allot about a person just by the way they hold themselves. The way they talk. The way they tie their shoes." "He tilts his head. "Which is partly why you drew me over, because that is the vibe I got from you. You're like me, a wolf amongst the sheep."

Emma Frost has posed:
"I had the lucury of a very expensive education. What it didn't teach me was how to read people the way you're able to. I must say, I don't abide by idiots, but then again, you arne't proving yourself to be one. And, a degree on the wall is merely a piece of paper. Many a man has bought their credentials before."

She shrugs, and settles back somewhat, a small smile flitting across her lips, the gesture almost reminiscent. "A wolf amongst sheep. If you only knew how accurate that was."

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith leans back and sips his drink, "And now I reach the crux of my problem, my dear Rose." He says with an amused smile. "With a n normal woman, I'd have them flustered. Most of them wouldn't be able to talk straight, let alone keep up the banter. I'd say something like 'Would you like to see the VIP room?', or something to that effect. That wouldn't work with you, at least not in the same manner. Still..." he considers and refills his glass from /her/ bottle, another glance to Yosa who nods. noting he won't charge Emma's card for that shot. "Would you like to see the VIP room. At the very least we can continue this conversation in a quieter setting without so many of the bleating masses to be distracting."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Other women are fools. Again, all this talk of equal rights, and self-confidance, and when push comes to shove, so many of them still fall back upon the trite and giggle girlishly at the thought that someone finds them interesting. Moreso if that person happens to be a man."

Her laugh is both soft, and bored.

"And if you were any other man, I'd settle my gaze upon you in an icy stare and ask why you thought I might be interested in seeing any room with you. Perhaps even pointing out that I was already seeing a room with you, and finding it rather laugably and mind numbingly dull."

Another of those negligent shrugs, along with small amusement for his reaching for the bottle. "As it happens, you're piqued my curiousity. I think I wouldn't mind seeing what your VIP room looks like. Of course I will lay you low if you try to make a move upon me."

Her blue eyes glimmer with something that could almost be interpreted as mirth. In another, they most certainly would be glittering with amusement. But given it's Emma, there's so much of the serious beneath that look.

In another man, in most men, it would send chills up their spines.

Thomas Raith has posed:
But then, to Thomas at least, most other men are fools. He nods and gestures to the stairs that lead up to the VIP lounge. "I'll have to take my chances I suppose." He says in a tone that is amused as well. Amusement layered with other things... like peeling an onion. Amusement on top... Lust underneath that obviously... playfulness. Enjoyment of the chase... and if she were to dig deeper still hunger. Not just desire for her body, which is certainly there but at a much closer to the surface layer... but a deep gnawing hunger.

Emma Frost has posed:
"You may take your chances, Thomas Raith, but let us not be unclear, I don't invite touches lightly, and unwanted ones will be met with reprisal." The words are serious, and cold.. and, as it happens, fleeting. Her warning given, the moment passes and she is nothing more than the woman he's been talking to for the past half hour or so at the bar.

And she's interested in him - though, perhaps not as he might wish. It's the onion, really. Lust she understands. As well as so much of the rest. But she's curious - that hunger. What feeds it? She's not yet convinced it's merely for the physical, and she's willing to bide time to find out further.

She easily grabs her bottle, and her glass, and slips from her seat. "I do believe a tour was offered?"

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith offers his arm to the woman to lead her up the stairs. It should be noted that if she takes it there is a very pleasant feeling touching the man. Nothing intense, or even definable. Just soothing, like stroking a purring kitten. They walk past a very large black man with a shaved head, who Thomas mentally refers to simply as 'Crush'. Crush lowers the velvet rope blocking off the stairs with a simple "Sir. Ma'am." and ropes the stairs off again once they've ascended. For tonight it seems though they are the only VIP's. Thomas walks to the bar and comes back with a different bottle of scotch, "Well Rose, what do you think?" he asks amused.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma smiles at the offer of the arm, but gestures that both her hands are full, almost apologetically, only it's Emma. Emma rarely does things apologetically. She follows him up the stairs, letting him lead, of course, if only because he knows the way, and also because it has been her experience that men like to believe they have control, and while she isn't a proponent of that belief, she's not above letting a man think it true.

Once there she looks around, placing the bottle she's brought up with herslef upon the bar. "I've seen better. But as far as VIP rooms go, it suffices. You'd be surprised how many of these rooms I've seen. How similar they all are."

She inclines her head at his use of her 'name'.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith shrugs a bit and gestures to one of the sofas which he would join her on but leave enough space between them she wouldn't feel encroached on. Intimate but not invasive. "LEt me let you in on a little inside baseball of the Club scene," he says amused. "The fact they are all similar is more or less by design. There is a specific sort of person that gets up to these places. Those like us, who are genuine VIPs and are given admittance as a matter of course, and the few sheeple that we bring along as sycophants as it were. The Sheeple expect this level of elegance meet decadence. As for those of us that belong here, we are comfortable in this sort of setting. It's what we are accustomed to."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma laughs, the sound a richness in the dulled acoustics of the room - that also by common design. "Oh, my dear Thomas, you can't be under the delusion that this is my first time? Or that I'm not unaware of such things. How quaint."

His gesture towards the couch is met with indifference, though she does pick up her drink, and her bottle, and move that way. She's careful to sit in such a way that any moves upon her person would be not only out of place, but with some effort. It appears she hadn't been kidding when she'd said she suffered touches lightly, and never without invitation.

"There are Sheeple everywhere. Even in these clubs. And by that, I mean people such as yourself. Wanting to be what the rest of us are. Clubs like yours are like the Tasty Burger of venues." She could have been kinder and chosen something rather more upscale as an eatery for comparison, but she doesn't. Let him take that as he may.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith seems more amused then annoyed by her analysis, he pours a glass from his own bottle. No Iced Tea in this one, and tilts his head. "And now you have me curious. What is it you think I am Rose? I mean you let me analyze you, why not turn the tables and you can tell me about myself."

Emma Frost has posed:
"What is it I think you are. Now, there's a question."

Emma settles back in her perch upon the couch, and allows herself some indolent relaxation, even if there is still a subtle air of prepared awareness about her. Everything about Emma is always controlled. Always with an edge of readiness to turn the tables back into her favour.

"I think you want something, and you think I can give it to you. Beyond the fact that if I made even the merest nod towards looking like I might be interested in you in a carnal fashion, you want something that I have. You didn't come upon me by happenstance downstairs. You may not know my name, but you know of people such as myself."

She sips from her glass.

"You recognize the cut of my clothing. And the colour of my credit card. You'll have your man try and pull my name after I leave, but you'll fail. We pay a lot in fees to make certain such things never happen. You want me, but you want something else more. Enough that you're not pushing the envelope to try and attain the first. You'd gladly give that up if you can get the other, and you're hoping I overlook the lust in favour of helping facilitate the rest. You're counting on the fact that you're just different enough from my usual synchophant that I'll be amused and play along for just a little while longer. Yes?"

She sips again, and awaits him.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith listens to her rather intently, a bit of a smile playing at his lips as she speaks. and then says simply, "Well you're dead wrong on several points, and about half right on most of the others." He says as he too leans back and considers her. As though he too were relaxing and unwinding. "I came over to you in the bar because I made a mistake. I thought you were someone you were not. Once I realized my mistake, which was perhaps ten seconds into the conversation, the whole situation had altered. But you intreged me frankly. Like you said, you were interesting. Yes, I'd love to reduce your vocabulary to a half dozen monosyllables, but the most memorable hunts aren't the ones where the prey is easily caught, are they?" he shrugs lightly, "Yosa won't get your name, and I'll believe you on that score, but that's actually part of your appeal." He sips his drink, "I'm hoping to amuse you certainly, but at this point, mostly because you are amusing to me and I'm not ready to give up the game just yet.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma laughs and shrugs. "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying." That, and she hadn't employed her largest weapon to impart those conjectures. She did know he wanted something. And that he wanted her. And that he was willing to bide time on both matters. The rest she'd filled the gaps in on, partially in hopes he'd divulge more. It was a gamble that paid off more times than it failed.

"I can't remember the last time someone reduced me to a monosyllable. However, you're not rightly my type, even were I looking for such a dalliance. So far, you manage to amuse me enough to carry on this conversation, which is more than most can say."

Almost entire truth. Emma before the Shadow King wouldn't be telling even an iota of a lie. Emma under his influence had entertained the attention of many a man and led them down the garden path, simply because she could.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith smirks a bit at that and shrugs, "I'm willing to bet, given the chance I could do more to you to reduce you to monosyllable-itus then any three men you believe to be your type." He doesn't say it as most men would, as a challenge, but rather as a statement of fact. Fire is hot. Gravity makes things fall. Given the chance I could give you the best night of sex you've ever had. He takes a sip of his drink, "So have I at least entertained you enough for a name?" he asks curiously. "Unless your name really /is/ Rose, in which case I'm going to go buy a lottery ticket."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Given the inclination, I could say the same, and I know full well how I would do so. You'll have to forgive me if my insides aren't quivering at your assertion."

Her glass is lifted to her lips, and sipped from, and kept, two-handed, sitting at her midsection. Emma seemingly relaxed.

"Would you believe that I don't actually find myself feeling the lack of sexual activity? Anyone can provide a service that could ultimately be relegated to nothing more than self-indulgence. There are whole industries built upon that fact. I find what goes on behind the mask much more intriguing. Certainly worth more of my time than the other."

He's considered as he asks for her name again. "You have no clue how tempted I am to tell you my name really is Rose. Of course, if you cared, you could look at any newspaper over the past months and solve the mystery for yourself. I'm afraid I already gave you that information already. So, to acknowledge that neither of us are idiots, Emma. Emma Frost."

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith snorts a little bit at her comment about there being entire industries devoted to sexual self-indulgence. And inside, well she might has well done a point perfect recitation of "who's on first and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. That she said that absolutely tickled him At her name, it takes him just a moment to place it, but he does so quickly. "Frost Industries correct?" He nods slightly, "And I wouldn't have searched a bunch of newspapers. I'd have pulled up security camera footage and ran a facial recognition program. Much faster."

Emma Frost has posed:
Another of those rich laughs escapes Emma. "Cheating," she murmurs. "I do like that." Even if facial recognition isn't cheating in any way, shape or form. But still, it amuses her to twit him so. "Much faster, I agree. And yes, that Emma Frost. I didn't think there were so many of us I'd have to clarify."

With that, she might actually be teasing him.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith shrugs a bit, "Not specifically, no." he says vaguely, but again with a hint of amusement in his tone. "And I don't consider it cheating, but then as a rule I don't believe in rules anyway. They are just an attempt, either by the weak to curtail the strong, or the prideful to impose their morality on the masses."

Emma Frost has posed:
"How true," Emma agrees. "However, there are times and places where rules provide a certain.. je ne sais quois, yes? For example, I find it utterly amusing to play poker straight."

She doesn't elucidate what playign straight means, merely suggesting that she doesn't cheat while playing. Or at least most of the time she doesn't cheat. She has been known to bend the rules once or twice in the recent past. For reasons.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith chuckles a bit, as if conceding the point, "Oh I would never violate the holy sanctity of poker by trying to take advantage there!" he says with a mock aghast tone, as though she had suggested he void his bladder on the Mona Lisa. "And my previous statement doesn't apply to most games." <<Which is why you are still dressed and not mewling like a kitten right now.>> he sips his scotch. "IF you cheat at a game, when you win it isn't as satisfying, and when you lose it is doubly infuriating. But in life? Life is nothing but love and war... and you know what they say about that pairing.

Emma Frost has posed:
Again there's a laugh from the woman that falls by happenstance atop his errant thoughts. Nothing pinpointable to anything untoward or amiss about her person. Certainly not that she's reading his mind, though, in truth, she's only scraping surface thoughts. The game of it nearly a delight - he's proving entirely more interesting than most in this manner. All the while thinking how easily she could turn the tables upon him and have him thinking he were enjoying her pleasures, all the while sitting across the room waiting in abject boredom for the.. climax of it all so that she could make her goodbyes and go home.

Her glass is lifted in mock-salute. "I see you undersatnd the rules. Also, in life, there are no rules but the ones you make." The words come out harder than one might expect for someone who has enjoyed all the benefits of life that money and what it can provide afford. There is most certainly a story behind it all.

Thomas Raith has posed:
Thomas Raith however, raises his glass to her's and touches them together. And just from looking at him, even without telepathy, it's as though Emma just preached what could only be defined as a sacred truth. A kindred spirit perhaps. Someone who has likewise sat at the buffet of life and found the fruit to be rotten despite the polish on it.