783/Cold War

Cold War
Date of Scene:	04 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Emma Frost

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Ares has posed:
    Saturday in Manhattan is always busy, particularly in the evening when the tourists are rushing about in full swing. It's a time when all of the best restaurants are full, when every show is seated to capacity, and when various festivals or festivities are prominent along the streets or in Central Park.
    Earlier in the day there was a sports exhibition. Various athletic celebrities were about, autographs were signed, jerseys were sold. There were games of baseball played, a bicycle race as well as some kid football games. But the evening has seen the end of that. With the sun setting and the people turning from the active to the more restful.
    It's Shakespeare in the Park that's taken to the stage that was used earlier for the celebs. It provides a lovely backdrop, the sound of the actors and actresses reciting their lines distantly can be heard fairly far off, as well as the sound of the crowd laughing at points in the show.
    As for John Aaron, he's there seated on a park bench some distance from the stage. Leaning back and listening to the play absently as he watches the ebb and flow of the crowd, the tourists enjoying the beginning of a great weekend in the city.

Emma Frost has posed:
Having just returned to New York and Metropolis, Emma Frost seems to be having herself a tough time and hasn't quite made it home yet to change. She's wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and buttoned with a small flap on the inside of the sleeve to keep them from going back down. It's mostly unbuttoned with the top four left open, but she's kept modest with a white tank top. She wears a pair of tight fitting blue jeans that are bleached but also there's a few burn marks on them and a large tear across a thigh, showing off some bandages. She has a band-aid on her forehead, a few scrapes on her palms and walks with a miniscule limp.

Seems the white queen has gotten herself into trouble this week.

Frost walks through the park slowly, her pony tailed hair bobbing to and fro against the top of her shoulders, when she spies John sitting and gives him a polite nod of her head.

Ares has posed:
    At a distance he's a man that might be dismissed out of hand. This time if onight, in that faint halo of the street lamp coupled with the haze of the still barely blue horizon, he casts a long shadow. If he wasn't sitting his height might be of more remark. And if he was seated next to someone else his build might be more noticeable. But for now he just seems a fella... who is wearing clothes rather fairly similar to her own. That red flannel jacket of his looks like it's seen better days, though his t-shirt underneath it is black and tight over his chest. He's also got well worn jeans on and a pair of brown work boots. But other than that... just a guy.
    But what might draw her interest is at first the initial glimmer of thoughts that she discerns. He must be strong of mind in a way as she is able to perceive him, his awareness, the brightness of his mind against the backdrop of the city...
    Yet should she move closer, allow herself to perceive the being before her upon the park bench she might touch upon a mind that is an alien thing. Unlike anything she may have experienced in the past. It's still understandable in a way, his inner voice is a polyglot of many languages, at least six that she might notice as thoughts flit through his mind so very quickly. And the imagery that accompanies them is an intense thing as he perceives this normally peaceful time. His thoughts are red, with memory, with blood, with history. Oh he tries perhaps to shift the thoughts less grim, but they're always there, hovering at the borders of his senses.
    It's when compared against the backdrop of mortality, however, that his his psyche stands out. Like a brilliant beacon growling and held in check by the force of his will, yet still blazing across the face of the world.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma spots this wild man rather easily, his mind is oddly unique. Especially for someone who's been a telepath for so long, most thoughts tend to be something, mundaine or rudimentary. If not repetitive.

The CEO chooses to be bold in this encounter and takes a seat on the bench and leans back against the wood of the outdoors sofa.

"Good evening." The woman says, leaning forward to reach her hands down to her boot in order to double check that her jeans are still tucked into the leather. She leans back slowly and looks back to Ares with her piercing ice blue eyes, saying nothing.

Ares has posed:
    A look to the side and the bearded man's brown eyes meet hers. He's weathered, his features a bit haggard and severe. Yet his face shows little of what flickers through his mind. On the outside he gives her a calm and slow nod, remaining relaxed and seeming like a man who is utterly at ease with the world as it passes. He offers a calm voiced response with only a hint of an accent to it, "Good evening,"
    But his mind, although it roils at times, although it seems like a restless bestial creature, within there is an area of control, of calm. Yet there are still flashes of images, people she most likely would not recognize, memories connected to anger and rage and conflict. His glance to her was a calm controlled thing, but in his thoughts he takes her measure, gauges her as a possible threat, considers what she could want of him, what her goals must be. Not the same flavor of a paranoiac, yet... similar.
    He takes a deep breath and then turns his head to the side, looking across the distance in the direction of the stage. They can't quite see the actors from here, performing A Midsummer's Night Dream. But they can still hear the lines, the laughter. "Here for the show?"

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma, satisfied with her attire, despite it's blemishes and wear, leans back up to press her shoulders and back against the bench, making sure her posture is not just physically alluring, but correct. Something about sitting tall and straight tends to give off an image, an aura of authority.

The woman, young in comparison to the man beside her, glances up to John's eyes and squints for a brief moment as she looks a bit deeper into his mind, attempting to sift through the rage and see if her womanly features could disarm the guraded, troubled psyche in some way. She responds vocally with a calculated smile, showing off her pearly teeth from behind her red painted lips. "Not at all. I am passing through the park on my way home."

Ares has posed:
    "Ah," The tall man's lips part as he accepts her words, his head turning to the side slightly until the neck gives a short faint crackle. He hasn't shifted posture for the most part since she's arrived, but she has gained more of his attention as he glances at her sidelong. "You are fortunate to live closely to such a place."
    There is a formality to his words, to his pattern of speech. And she can see it in his mind, the words formed and chosen rather precisely, as if each one were a sword stroke aimed towards a goal. She can feel a measure of calm being /enforced/ upon his thoughts through an act of will of his own. To her mind's eye his nature is a thing existing alongside the man himself, a palpable thing.
    That glance takes her in again and she will see herself in his gaze, the way his eyes move over her form. Oh there is definitely an appraisal of her femininity, an attraction that is there perhaps a moment but then pushed to the side. Yet that brief glance she can also tell it lights upon aspects of her that most men might no consider. The line of her form, the strength in her firm musculature, the reach she might have with each limb. How she might lash out at any moment. As if this is how he views anyone near him, just a way of viewing the world.

Emma Frost has posed:
"I do consider myself fortuitous." The woman says her voice husky in tone and in a lower tone than the average woman around. She's not a usual woman, but she does hide her pleasure at the revelation that the man beside her is in fact a man, albiet incredibly abnormal.

Her telepathy is as sharp a tool as they come, it's something she's honed for a long time, so even with a great surprise, the well practiced woman wouldn't twitch so much as a muscle at what she discovered, however this man doesn't have the normal thoughts. Normal being subjective based on her long history of peeking into minds.

"What are you in the park for? And don't say it's the theater, you're not even paying much attention to it." The blonde inquires, raising her golden eyebrows inticing John to answer truthfully.

Ares has posed:
    At that she gets a subtle feeling, as if only then with her question does she break past his... auto-pilot. That being the way he conducts himself when out and about, the face he wears for the masses and the responses he gives as they have proven acceptable. So it's only /now/ that he fully looks on her, a glimmer of suspicion touching his features even as a half-smile slightly twists them.
    "And how can you tell that?" He asks, not exactly combative, but direct, confrontational, as if challenging her with the mild incredulity. Yet she is right, for he had not been truly listening, his thoughts had perhaps been wandering. Now they're focused on her and she again sees herself in his mind's eye. Sees the way his gaze meets hers, the intensity in his brown eyes matching the intensity of the regard. She can see as well as sense the way his eyes narrow subtly as he looks her over again.
    His thoughts are still in multiple languages but she can translate them easily enough as she gets the hang of considering them. The first is, 'Who is this woman?' The second is, 'What does she seek?' The third, however, is edged with a feeling that is similar to that smile as he considers, 'She is as beautiful as a newly drawn blade.'
    But then he looks aside and the last thought she might catch is a mildly hopeful one that if matters take a turn... hopefully he will not have to kill her.

Emma Frost has posed:
"Easily enough." Emma says with a wink of one blue eye as she turns her attention over her shoulder towards the play and nods in that direction. "Because it's occuring that way, and we're sitting way over here. You're not even close enough to see the actors." Frost says, her attention turning back to John and lingering now.

Hearing his thoughts, she allows herself to smile and even chuckle a little bit. She'll be able to recover from it, that's why she allows herself to reveal such emotion but the comedy in that they're both incredibly curious about what the other's goal might be is just too much for the mutant to hold in.

Ares has posed:
    The calmness seems to grow, easing gently into place and allowing his thoughts to grow easier, albeit still wary. He continues to look away from her, listening to her words and as she speaks it causes his smile to grow just a touch. He shakes his head slightly as a rumble slips from him, almost a chuckle. He flares his hand aside, as if brushing past her words and offers his own version on reality. "Perhaps I simply do not care for crowds?" He offers her as a possibility.
    Then those intense brown eyes turn back towards her and he meets her gaze fully, intrigued by her for the moment and unrepentant in letting it show even though she can see it behind his features. "Perhaps I am an understudy of a sort and don't want to risk contaminating my performance by witnessing another's interpretation of it?" All lies of course, and she can see them for what they are. Jibes aimed towards her to see simply what her response will be.

Emma Frost has posed:
"Your claim about crowds is fair enough, but proven false by your very own follow up question." Emma says, lifting her hand to tap at her nose, signifying that she's caught him in a trap. "For actors tend to not only work in crowds, but seek them out to show off their talent." Emma explains passively.

The white queen continues on to answer question number two, "If you were an understudy, you wouldn't want to even hear another's portrayal of a character if you were worried about "contamination." Frost counters, even lifting both hands to give him the visual air quotes before lowering her hands to her lap and turning her shoulders to square with John's.

"Again, why are you out here?"

Ares has posed:
    Her verbal sorties are accepted and he grants her the victory, her prize an open smile as he turns away from her and takes another deep breath as he looks off across the way towards that stage that has its back towards them. A moment passes, and yet she can see the swirling whorl of his thoughts as they produce the words he gives her in that deep baritone of his.
    "I was meeting with an old friend of mine," She'll see the imagery of the friend, an Asian man who seems young at his first thought. He's wearing a uniform of some sort, holding a rifle with a bayonet and grinning at him as he aims it at John himself. But it's mixed with all these other images. Of the Asian man practicing martial arts. A brawl in a Singapore bar that... looks like it was from the 1930s? 40s? And the slow progression of the man growing older, wizened. Until he looks ancient, and his name is Zhao.
    "He teaches martial arts and asked for me to observe some of his students during the athletic exhibition." Those answers are true, she can tell that. Yet he looks back to her and then adds, "I had to give him an answer that he did not care for, so I decided to..." He looks around the area, as if only now realizing his surroundings, or rather realizing the passage of time that led into night. "To gather my thoughts before I departed."

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma had met this man. The Asian in Ares' thoughts, but she hides her familiarity and simply nods her head once. "Then I must apologize sir."

Emma stands up, not as quickly as she'd like, but rapidly enough and with another limp she starts off down the path she was walking originally.

Pausing to turn her head towards John. "It was nice conversing with you." She says simply with a smile and starts to walk again, maybe making her hips sway a bit more than necessary.

Ares has posed:
    There's a small shake of his head at her apology, with him holding up a hand as if to stay her from that course of action. "There's no need to apologize." His brow knits for a moment as he looks at their surroundings, thoughts drifting for a moment towards Zhao and the way the sun seemed to set while he sat there thinking. "A man my age often spends too much time... woolgathering."
    He then stands as she does so, brow furrowing. It's then that she may realize how truly tall of a man he is, a full foot of height above her own. She can sense the roiling suspicion, the way he continues to gauge her. "Before you depart, I would have your name. My own is John Aaron." There's a certain precision in his wording as if it must match a particular form.
    Yet before she can answer he adds with a certain seriousness, "Also, are you well?"

Emma Frost has posed:
"Nice to meet you John." Emma says, looking up towards Ares, but somehow finding a way to not feel small to the man, she's commanding of respect and dignified. Even with her vacation clothes still on and how they are slightly ruined from her injuries.

She lifts her hand up to her forehead bandage at his question and nods once. "I am fine. No need for you to worry yourself mister Aaron."

Ares has posed:
    She is able to observe that duality to him rather clearly, the way he maintains himself directly to her as he imagines he is supposed to be, as is required by this particular society. There are no cracks in the facade, he gives her a nod and tells her levelly in that rumbling tone, "If you so wish. But I would not be adverse to offering you what aid I can."
    It's a perfectly polite and understandable offer. Yet she can see the thoughts, the way he is watching her, on some level privy of the subtle manipulation she is attempting with her feminine form. She can almost feel the subtle smile in his thoughts, as if willing to entertain this... fiction, if only to see what is to her, if it is a game she is playing. For if it is, then he is willing to play along as well.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma reaches up towards the collar of John's flannel jacket and straightens it out for him. Her smaller hands dwarfed against his chest and she looks forward into his black shirt for a brief moment while responding, "What aid is it you think I might need mister Aaron?" The telepath asks, enjoying the internal show of this man picking his words, and trying to hide his truest nature from her while playing along with her own games. There might not be the high stakes she's used to when doing a conquest like this, but this is one of those times she can practice her craft.

Ares has posed:
    Ah it is dangerous to toy with the darker nature of an Olympian who has spent the better part of two centuries trying to overcome the affliction of being proclaimed a representation for an abstract concept such as War. For every moment he maintains this calm and controlled facade, there is that wildness that hovers just underneath the surface, a primal enraged abandon that threatens each moment that is spent ignoring it. She can sense this as he meets her eyes and the wryness is seen there in his eyes, in the turn of his lips as she adjusts his collar.
    On one level he is amused, intrigued, for it is teasing... playful. And yet this dark personification of conflict and rage roars in his thoughts to dispense with such civilized notions. It is a creature that would seek to growl and take and exult. But to his credit, she can sense the way he brushes the darker aspect aside, using... humor? Amusement? As some method of dealing with it.
    "You are injured, madame." He looks over her slowly, then back up to her eyes as he adds calmly. "Your gait is fatigued. If needs be I would walk at your side for a time, then perhaps hail you a cab. If you have not shared with me your name by then, then I shall depart and think back on the time I met this mysterious woman. And I will do so fondly."

Emma Frost has posed:
"Nonsense, I wouldn't ask you to go out of your way like that for me. However I wont stop you if that's what you're going to do anyways." She winks and pulls her hands back away from the god and smiles up into his eyes.

Emma turns and starts to walk, without looking if he's following beside she continues, "You can call me Emma." Not her last name, no, just the first. For now.

Ares has posed:
    "Emma," He repeats with a small momentary puzzled 'hm' for some reason. But she can discern from his thoughts that puzzlement is perhaps that he had for some reason thought of another name for her, or that perhaps another name would suit. Yet as quickly as it comes that thought is gone as he accepts.
    Falling into step beside her, he slides his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Indeed, it would not be acceptable to be however marginally indebted to another, that is simply not done." Is he... making light of her in some way? At a look she might not catch that he's making a joke, perhaps keying into some aspects of her own that she let slip with her manner, her word choice, her bearing.
    But she can sense the hidden smile in his thoughts as he walks, lifting his eyes to the distance as they move. "You are a curious woman, Emma."

Emma Frost has posed:
Walking briskly, as she doesn't like to move slowly, Emma turns her head briefly to the side to address John, "Do you think I am named poorly? Should I be called something else instead?" She smirks and then raises her eyebrow, not commenting on the idea of being in debt, but choosing to ignore it as she aims now to get into her penthouse, have a nice bath and go to bed.

"I aim to be a curious woman mister Aaron. I am a closely guarded individual, playing my cards close to my chest is just how I am."

Ares has posed:
    "I had imagined perhaps..." He turns those brown eyes back upon her, quirking an eyebrow curiously as if lowering his appraisal upon her again, considering her with all the terrible aplomb of a panel of judges. "Cordelia... perhaps a Cassandra?" He scrunches up on eye and then adds, "Or a Beatrice." Each one having a particular reason of their own, though they appear rather quickly. Though the last she might get the feeling of a connection to the play? Ah, or Shakespeare.
    But then he looks forwards again and gives her a nod as he moves. "It is wise to be wary of others." He tells her as he moves, "Yet if you present a rather intriguing front, and yet hide all of the details about yourself. Well, that is positively cheating."