Owner	Pose
Penance	Monet has recently decided to acquire some property in New York's coveted Upper East Side. As a result, she's been traveling all over the area, looking for a suitable space for her pied-a-terre. When she's found the right place, before she purchases, she secures the right to tour the place with a contractor to discuss possible changes to the space. If the changes she wants aren't possible, she'll move on and keep looking for the right place. Of course, the celebrity that owns the place is hoping she'll buy, because real estate just isn't what it used to be.     After speaking with some of her contacts in New York, she gets the name of a contractor-- John Aaron. After calling him and setting up a meeting time at the location, she arrives a bit earlier (which is actually out of character for her, preferring to arrive late, if at all, as most one-percenters do). But, she wants time to visualize what she wants out of the space ahead of time, so she has good questions to ask and details in mind for her plans. When John arrives, he'll find the door open and an impeccably dressed Monet inside, wandering about the barebones of a very large apartment, taking up most of the building's floor level. She's got on a creamy white sleeveless blouse of a silky material that drapes down in a low, open scoop in the back, and a form-fitting white bandage pencil skirt, along with sparkling strappy heels-- those aren't cubic zirconia, either. Her masses of curls are piled atop her head and, were it not for the time period, and the obviously mixed-ethnicity of her lovely features, Ares might have confused her for a Greecian woman, with that lovely blouse of hers. She hasn't noticed his presence, yet, and is apparently preoccupied with the ceiling's track lighting.
Ares	The world Monet lives in is different than the ones that John finds himself cast into. She is a creature of the moment and the material. Imagery is important and its maintenance even moreso. For him he looks on the world as pieces, systems, considering what would be needed to assemble them into a particular way he likes... or even better, how to take them all apart.     Yet he does have an eye, at times, for the divine. For beauty. It has preyed upon him in the past, and can at times draw his curiousity. Though in truth it often takes an exceptional example of such. But for now his focus is instead on what is to be his task. When the foreman had called him over it had been a curious moment.     "John, you gotta do me a solid, man."     "What is it, Jenkins?"     "I got this guy, who knows a guy. He talked you up and he's got you angled to cover a role for this gal who's looking to buy. Give her what she wants, point her towards the purchase, you'll get a cut."     "A cut of what?"     "The sale, you in, man?"     "You have used my name to engage me to perform a service for another? I will do as you say. I will perform this duty. I will not need your cut, I will treat it as a job. But you shall never call on me again for such?"     "Whatever man, jeez."     And that had been that. Obligation placed upon him, and a scowl that had followed him up the elevator. When the door opened, he had at least cultivated a more neutral expression. A few strides down the hall, moving towards that open doorway. He stepped inside, knuckles rapping upon the door lightly to signal his arrival. "Ms. St. Croix?"     That voice is deep, a strong baritone that rumbles like a growl. And should she turn to face him she'll see that he perhaps fits the image in her head she may have conjured of a contractor. Except, perhaps... taller. And with a broader chest. A full foot taller than her, assuredly, without the heels. He has a frame that looks like he had been carved from granite and then darkened. His features are severe, haggard, with a beard that could use a trim and a short buzz cut. Clothes? Hardly worth mentioning as at the moment he's wearing work boots that are brown, blue jeans, and a black t-shirt that is tucked into his pants.
Penance	From the back, it's certain that Monet looks older than she is, because, as she turns around, the softness of her facial features reveals she's not nearly as old as Ares probably expected. At the most, she's possibly in her early twenties, but that's definitely pushing it. However, it's also true that girls are looking more and more mature at younger and younger ages. But, her makeup gives her a fresh, clean, chic look, with a dewy quality to her tawny skin, and she smiles as the very tall man speaks, turning to greet him. "Ah, yes. Mr. Aaron," she says by way of greeting. Well. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. I'd like to start with the master bedroom's bathroom, if you don't mind?" she asks, but doesn't wait for an answer, simply walking in that direction with a raised, beckoning hand. Her heels' clicks echo on with the acoustics of the empty rooms, and she pauses inside the bathroom, looking back in John's direction. "Now, this bathroom's not big enough for me, so I'd want to knock down this wall and push it out a bit. Then, of course, I'd want to reconfigure the bedroom's shape to accommodate for that loss of square footage," she says, crossing her arms as she leans against the wall. "How hard would it be to put floor-length windows in the wall facing out? Privacy ones, where you can see out, but people can't see in?"
Ares	The tall man's brown eyes meet hers levelly, and without the usual wander that most men might grant her. Oh he had considered her frame from behind, the way she stood, the line of her form and the musculature evident in her features. But it was not a glance of the leering wolf smiled man, instead a glance of a warrior that gauged her.     No further words come from him for now as he follows her into that bedroom, his brow furrowed as he considers the surroundings. His footsteps, as opposed to hers, are quiet, perhaps a slight 'clunk' when he steps from a height.     Stopping a few steps behind her he'll eye her suggested changes and then answers her with that same stern tone of voice. "That wall is load-bearing, though may be possible to implement a column. I'll need to check the blue prints. Considering that it might be wise to consult an architect and see what they would like as an option."     But then he looks past her and steps beyond her, turning his shoulders to the side as his large frame must get past. He moves towards the wall of the bathroom and rests his palm upon it. "However, we have some options."     He rounds back to face her and lifts a hand as if to casually brush aside her concerns about the windows, "Floor length windows would be feasible, though we may need a panel at each end. Size I would again need to consult the blueprints."     That having been said he holds her gaze and blinks slowly as he awaits her further words.
Penance	Monet is used to eyes lingering on her for one reason or another, sometimes for many reasons. It doesn't seem to unsettle her, this piercing gaze of John's. She could, in theory, scan his surface thoughts to find out what he's thinking of her, but...truth be told, she doesn't really care. She's treating him with respect, since that's what one /does/ with someone who will possibly alter one's abode, and could cut corners or purposefully wreck something for later, more expensive repairs. But, in her mind, John is no better than a servant, albeit a servant with skills that will keep him solvent. People will always need builders!     Monet's full lips will pout slightly when she learns that the wall is load-bearing, meaning it can't fully come out. The column idea could be worked in as a design element, which isn't the end of the world. She nods her head to the other notes he makes. "Well, I'm certain I could easily get access to the blueprints," she says in a slightly distracted tone as she drops her eyes to her smartphone. She's sending a request to her real estate agent for the aforementioned blueprints.     Looking up as she finishes the brief text, she crosses her arms at her waist and looks at the wall thoughtfully. "Do you know of any architects that you trust, that handle this kind of job?" she asks, tapping her perfectly manicured stilleto nails together for a moment in a thoughtful fashion. "I'm new to the area," she says, and it's only now that her accent starts making an appearance. If John is good with accents, he might have noticed that a French accent pops in and out of her words, though she appears to speak fluent English. "I'm sort of relying on word-of-mouth, since I have no prior experience with craftsmen in this part of the world."
Ares	For the last two hundred years, John has indeed traveled the world and gained a rather strong insight into the languages that he's been exposed to, and as she speaks she will get the feeling that he's watching her closely, judging, gauging. But there may well be something about his words, the choice of them, the rhythm. It's almost as if there is something ritualistic to his voice, that makes him sound so very formal.     "No." He answers her simply, directly as to if he knows an architecht.     But then his brow furrows slightly as he folds his arms over his chest and looks to the side, as if something just occurred to him. But then he shakes his head and reaffirms. "No."     He then turns to the side and pushes a rough hand over the short buzz cut of his scalp and grimaces. "However," He looks back to her, "I would not recommend you purchase this land, St. Croix." He doesn't wait for her to question him, instead he steps past her again and murmurs, "This building was constructed in 1962. During that time faulty building practices were rife through this neighborhood. I cannot say for sure unless I break down this wall," He touches a hand to it, "But this," He sweeps a finger along the edge of the frame, the touch drawing back with a hint of greyish dust. "Indicates that those materials were used. If we begin construction all of these will need to be replaced and the entire apartment will require in depth reconstruction that will end up costing you almost as much as the apartment itself."
Penance	As of yet, Monet has not particularly noticed John's pattern of speech as being stand-out in any particular way. But, that can easily be attributed to the fact that she's not a native English-speaker. However, she very clearly understands the word 'no,' and, judging by her facial expression, she doesn't particularly like hearing it in response to her question. She exhales a sigh and bites the fullness of her lower lip, listening to what John has to say.     As he walks past her, she turns to stay facing him, her arms remaining folded at waist level. Maybe she's hungry, or something. As John finishes his explanation, Monet purses her lips as though trying to hide a smile.     After a moment of quiet reflection, she inhales, "What if I said to you...'money is not an issue'?" She says this without any boastfulness, or pride. It's just an honest question. "I mean, I would want to ensure that whatever is done to the property /I/ buy, the shoddy workmanship and materials of the *surrounding* building won't negatively impact my investment," she adds, looking around the place. "The location is important to me. This building isn't. If you know of a better property in a similarly affluent part of town, I would happily take my business there and pay you a generous percentage for helping me find a more worthwhile place to call home," she says, smiling lightly.
Ares	"If the location is that important to you," John rounds on her away from the wall, "Then this may well serve. I am not a realtor, this area of expertise is not mine." There is that rhythm, the word choice as he meets her gaze with his own, those brown eyes stern and it's clear that he has an element of unease about this matter. It's clear not only in those eyes, but the small micro gestures she can perceive, subtle narrowing at the edges of his eyes, flared nostrils, a subtle curve to his lip downwards.     But then he may well reveal the reason for his trepidation as he steps forwards, "Ms. St. Croix, whomever you engaged to assist you in this endeavour does not seek to do honor by you, they hold not your wishes to heart. I was engaged by a man of ill repute who wished me to simply agree to all of this matter. Considering what I see now, and what I know of what has passed, this is an unwise investment."     Then his features twist slightly, "And your money is unimportant to me." He points at her, "I advise you to engage a better representative, and pass on this apartment. But if you are so intrigued by this place, then I wish you well of it."     That last is delivered sharply, sternly. And the way he looks at her it's as if he fully expects to be sent away angrily.
Penance	Monet's rich brown eyes meet John's without hesitation, or unease. She's paying very close attention to every bit of information he gives her, both verbal and otherwise. It's disheartening, of course, to be told that it's ill-advised to buy the place. However, the rich don't stay so by making poor monetary decisions. And, if he's telling her this is a mistake, then that's all she really needs to hear. Perhaps he expects an angry response from the pretty light-skinned black young woman, but he'll be surprised to find her reacting in the opposite fashion.     She nods and smiles, extending her hand-- which is likely dwarfed by his-- to shake. "Thank you, Mr. Aaron, for letting me know. I won't buy this property, because I believe you. I appreciate your honesty. I'll be certain to tip you a bonus for the assistance," she says, holding her hand out in an invitation for him to walk ahead of her as she moves out of the bathroom, aiming to exit the property.     "I will be sure to fire my realtor and find a better one. You've helped me more than I could've hoped for, being a blind hire. Is it all right with you if I keep your information for future inspections and potential contracting work?" she asks, locking the door behind her.
Ares	As she does not explode into a fit of a tantrum he cocks his eyebrow and considers her curiously. A small grunt slips from him as he eyes her askance, but then he follows with her towards the exit, their footsteps calm and precise. "I don't need a tip," He furrows his bow, eyes holding hers as he murmurs, "You have allowed me to discharge a debt, and for that I appreciate what you have done."     That said and he'll accept her hand, his own large one taking hers. There's no aggression there, business, two pumps, done. But what may cause a reaction is the way when their eyes hold each other, when his hand touches her, that subtle touch of telepathy that she holds in her control, small tendrils of thoughts and impressions slip together and create a blurring moment of sensation.     The man who holds her hand is not what he seems, there is a wild roiling surging primal abandon that threatens every moment to rage forth. It is a whispering shadowy creature that is held back by the man's strength of will, and yet she will catch but fleeting glimpses.     An army stands behind her, all holding aloft their weapons and roaring in honor of her as she makes ready to charge a great mountain.     Hundreds of armored men flee screaming from her as she lands in their midst, each way she moves death follows but a step behind her.     A great creature raises its head and roars its defiance to her even as she leaps into the air, blade in hand as she /laughs/ at the purity of such a moment.     And as quick as that, it's gone when he releases her hand. And suddenly right before her is that tall man with the calm brown eyes.
Penance	Monet nods her head in response to John's terse remark. "I know you don't /need/ a tip, but I would like to /give/ you one, because I am grateful and have more than enough money to spare. Consider it an unexpected windfall in the face of honesty for honesty's sake," she smiles prettily, shaking his hand. Her hand, though smaller than his and quite delicate in appearance, doesn't seem to be lacking for strength. Her grip is pleasantly firm, and her shake is confident. That is, of course, until she's blasted with the unexpected psychic connection.     When the connection is broken, her eyes widen and she seems almost unsteady on her feet for a moment, her expression one of slight shock. She quickly recovers her composure, taking a deep breath and clearing her throat. "Well, Mr. Aaron, it seems as though you are a man of great depth, with a very interesting way of approaching life..." she words herself carefully. She is, after all, a mutant, and she just accidentally touched minds with this man. Not everyone looks kindly on this sort of thing. "It's been my pleasure. Do you, perhaps, have a card I might have?" she asks," still sounding slightly dazed.
Ares	Whatever she saw, she might realize that he sensed naught else from her save the touch of her hand. But there was a look in her eyes, however brief, something distant and unexpected. The tall man's brow furrows and then he draws his hand back, giving her a nod as she asks for his card. "If you would,"     From the wallet he produces he gives her a simple white card of bare information save for his name and his number. It's extended towards her and when she accepts it he gives her another nod. "Good day to you," And with that said he turns away from her and begins to move down the hallway away from the apartment and from the curious young woman.