Owner	Pose
Penance	It's not often Monet finds herself leaving the creature comforts of the fashionable Upper East Side of New York City to schlep her way out to the boonies of Westchester, where the morally vanilla reside. When she'd first come to America from Monaco, Professor X had expressed an interest in her having more to do with the X-folk, especially with the Institute, but... Well, Monet is an uber-wealthy sixteen-year-old with her own Amex black card, and no time for snivelling kids who aren't smart enough to've graduated early the way she did. But, occasionally, when she's been socially isolated for long enough, she makes the trip out to meet up with some of her 'kind.'     Today is one of those days. She's been a bit too isolated in her own world of decadence and self-indulgence, and it's been a bit too long since she last consorted with the less-fortunate. That's why she's driving out in her leased Rolls-Royce Phantom Coupe, a sleek vehicle, and generally always kept in a parking garage unless she's using it for trips like this. When she's in the city, she uses a car service, so this is really the only chance she gets to drive on her own. She could, of course, hire a car to carry her to and fro, but she's always enjoyed driving. As she pulls into the large circle drive, she rolls to a stop right in the middle of the drive, in the most convenient spot for her, and the most inconvenient for anyone hoping to make use of the cul-du-sac.     She exits the car and straightens her form-fitting banadage skirt in a deep black, and brushes at her loose white blouse--its back is very open in a low-reaching scoop of pooled fabric with a delicate chain of platinum stretching across the breadth of her shoulders to keep the shirt's sides in place, while the front sits high at the base of her throat, covering the tops of her shoulders, but leaving her arms bared. Like the rest of her bespoke outfit, her heels are high-end, and the black, shining patent leather shoes' stilettos clack cold, sharp clicks on the pavement as she begins heading toward the mansion proper. Her copious amounts of curls are pinned atop her head in an artful amassing of spirals, with many around her hairline left free to frame her face, the curling strands bouncing with each purposeful step.
Booster Gold	"No, right? Like, I'm just saying, merchandising is an important part of any contract dispute," comes a voice from the east landing-- not the main doors, but a servant's entrance around the corner. It's the sort of voice that makes college freshmen swoon and young professionals cringe-- a young man who's never really sorted out the limits most people get sorted out before they graduate. The speaker seems to be addressing a mixed crowd of students between sixteen and twenty years old; the younger ones are staring at him with awe, while the others have rightful suspicion on their features. His armored suit is sleek, stylish, and covered in obnoxious gold cladding; he looks like he escaped some druglord's armory. A helmet covers most of his head, save his face, and a razor-thin visor of a deep translucent amber partially conceals everything but his tousled, curly blonde hair and Colgate grin. "So, rightly-- you can't just say 'Well, I'll work for pay', because you don't wanna be a mercenary, yeah?" he asks, eating a banana somone had brought out with his free hand. He towers over everyone else by inches, at least a half a head over six feet, and talks with expressive, big gestures from both hands. "But like, what's the harm in a little side contract? If you can like, set stuff on fire with your -brain-," he says, pointing the banana at his temple, "and Sterno is like 'Come do an adspot with us'-- what's the harm there." Chew, chew. "Right?"
Penance	Monet hears the voice and, naturally, her curiosity is piqued. It's not wise to judge based on a voice, but this one definitely sounds handsome, so she finds herself altering her original course in the direction from which it comes. As she finds the gathering of young mutants, she edges nearer, but keeps somewhat out of sight as she first assesses the situation. She looks around for anyone she might recognize, but considering the fact that she's really pretty snobby and anti-social, she doesn't notice anyone as being more than slightly familiar. She grimaces inwardly at that. She should have friends, dammit. She has everything /else,/ after all.     Once it becomes clear that this is a casual gathering, she slowly edges her way to the back of the group with casual meandering prowess. She's good at practically everything she tries--why not this? She listens to the gold-covered young man talk of merchandising, monetizing one's abilities for personal gain. Some might think it's sleasy, but Monet can appreciate someone wanting to capitalize on their abilities. If one has nothing outside of that, it's a way to become better off than one was, and that is preferable to remaining utterly destitute. Right? Well, maybe not. But, it certainly doesn't offend her sensibilities. It's a bit tacky, and reeks of nouveau-riche tactics, but she can't blame anyone for wanting to be well-off. It's so nice to be rich.     She looks around the group of people gathered to see what kind of reactions they're giving to what the helmeted guy has to say. "I'd say the only harm is in becoming potentially 'typecast' as Sterno-lad or something equally limiting when considering one's earning potential. Beware of exclusivity clauses in contracts for that very reason," she offers as a counter-point to his question.
Booster Gold	Booster twists around to find the source of the strange voice; he blinks in surprise at the haughty Euroteen addressing him and the crowd, her cultured voice so effortlessly cutting through his (mostly) con-artist style bullshittery. Though to be far, he doesn't look like a particularly duplicitious fellow. Probably a bit on the vapid side, but there's a weird sincerity about him too-- someone who has had too much handed to him to really ever /need/ to be deceitful. A little golden drone pops up, shaped a bit like a windswept traffic cone; a single red eye gleams as it scans Monet, and the drone-- hovering on its own power-- returns to hovering near Booster's shoulder. It's weird to describe it as such, but there's only one word for the drone's posture: devotion. Like a floating, golden... dog. With one red eye. "Hey, this lady knows what's up!" Booster tells the little crowd, much to their consternation; a few of them give Monet the ugly side-eye perfected by teenagers centuries ago, just as irritated by her haughty superiority as she is by their proletariat economics. Booster misses it utterly, of course. "Like, if you do an ad for LexCorp Brand audio tech, then you can't go and do a spot for Stark Beatz headphones," he explains. "Unless your contract is written right," he adds, a second later, with hasty amendment. "So, uh, Mister Booster," one of the kids asks, tentatively. "What endorsements DO you have?" <<Booster Gold has done promotional spots for a US Senator, a children's breakfast cereal, and a late-night cable advertisement for Yacho! brand cola. Hecho in Mexico, not FDA approved for consumption,>> Skeets adds, as if reading off a warning label on a bottle.
Penance	Monet's very clearly an outsider, the second she opens her mouth to speak. Her accent is very obviously not American, being thick with her Monaco's native French accent. She looks at the jealous teens that cast ugly looks in her direction with disinterest. It's only natural that they'd be envious of her. She's perfect. They're terribly flawed. She rarely mixes well with others.     She looks uncertainly at the little hovering drone that scans her, narrowing her rich brown eyes in distrust, perhaps considering reaching out to grab it and crush it. But, it's gone before she can make up her mind. Probably for the best, considering the way it hovers adoringly next to Mr. Merchandising.     While it's certainly true that Monet's a lady, in that she's incredibly refined and dressed better than most. But, she's visibly in her late teens, nearing adult-hood. Her clothes and her makeup does offer her a bit of a more mature look, but it's her bearing that causes her to rarely be carded when she orders an alcoholic beverage. Well, that and her black card--or, perhaps a small bit of telepathy.     Ah, Booster Gold. She's seen him on commercials for some of the things mentioned, the familiarity of his handsome features snapping into place. "Are you here giving a lecture for the students?" she asks out of curiosity, lifting her feminine voice above the general murmur of teenagers. "If so, how much are you being paid?" she continues with a hint of a smile.
Booster Gold	"Hey, this is a public service!" Booster jokes, holding his hands up as if fending off Monet's attack. "C'mon, these kids are just starting out," he adds, clearly not lumping Monet in 'with them'. She has the regal poise that elevates even youth, and frankly were it not for Booster's significant height and the few years he has on her, it'd probably cow him a little if Monet was even the same age (though Booster looks barely old enough to be out of the Institute himself). "I don't mind sharing a bit of my hard-won knowledge with them, and they were nice enough to bring a snack out here," he explains to Monet. "So, uh, listen, you-- can someone let me in? They all said a teacher had to do it, but apparently there's no one around, so...?" One of the boys chimes in. "Monet's not a student here! She doesn't have admitting privileges," he tells Booster. He looks at Monet. "Is Professor Gray coming back anytime soon? Or even Logan?" he adds, clearly hoping An Adult is going to show up and handle Booster. Frankly, everyone's looking a bit tired of his ongoing lecture but they're too polite to say anything.
Penance	Monet's small smile doesn't disappear as Booster defends himself with charm and bluster. In fact, if anything, that smile deepens at the idea that he might be feeling a little pinned-to-the-wall by her pointed questions. That he doesn't immediately assume she's part of the crowd counts for at least a couple brownie points with her. //Hard-won, sure.// She can't help but laugh a smidge at that, arching her brow as if to say: 'oh, really?' Then, at the question, she's shifting from one foot to the other as she looks around at the students. She shoots eye daggers at the boy who yelps out the fact that she's not a student. "That's right, cretin. I graduated while you were busy fiddling with your micropeen last year," she sneers at the boy. "And, I think you really should reconsider calling your little member 'Big Boy,' because the name doesn't fit," she adds rather loudly.     Looking to Booster, she lifts a shoulder. "I'm not a student, nor a teacher, but I am considered a friend to the school. I suppose, if I were so inclined, I could be persuaded to bring you as my guest," she says, letting the words drag out of her, purposefully it out, letting Booster dangle in the wind for a little longer.
Booster Gold	Everyone, including Booster, winces as Monet savages the boy-- that alone is enough to break up the little assembly and the kids head inside, most of them shooting Monet dirty looks and someone comforting the aghast, embarassed young man before he hurtles himself indoors. "Sheesh, shots fired," Booster half chuckles, looking a bit unnerved at her sassy, adult tone of retort. "Uh, like, sure! I mean, I really just came here to, like, talk to Xavier I guess?" he hazards. "Y'know, I figure-- nice big mansion lots of students, there's some money or somethin' coming in here. He's gotta have some sick merchandising contracts, like some raw wicked cash," he speculates, looking down at Monet. "So what is it? You guys eat at Mcdonald's twice a week? Get all your tires from Goodyear? Leotards from Adidas?"
Penance	Monet is completely unconcerned and unruffled by the nasty glares that are shot her way by other students as they close ranks around 'Big Boy' and shuffle him inside. She greets Booster's comment with a smile and a gentle bounce of her shoulders. "People who 'ave big mouths should be more circumspect about opening zem if zey do not wish to call unwelcomed attention to zemselves," she says simply. "Besides, I did 'eem a favor. Beeg Boy is truly an ill fit in 'ees situation," she says, tossing her head imperiously.     As for the rest, she favors Booster with a bored expression. "You would 'ave to speak wiss Professor X. 'Ee is zee moneybags of zis place, zough I use zat word very loosely," she says, shrugging her shoulders. Charles Xavier's rich, of course, but not /St.Croix/ rich. "I'm sure 'ee 'as some kind of agreements wiss vendors and such. 'Ee is zee world's most formidable telepath, after all," she murmurs, insinuating that Charles /probably/ uses his gifts to get stuff for free or at very, very reduced costs, considering just /how often/ the mansion is rendered to rubble.
Booster Gold	"Ohhh," Booster remarks, mouth forming a circle. He nods his head slowly, as if he understands; it doesn't take a telepath to figure out he's stalling a little to suss out the hidden meaning of the teenager's words. He glances at Skeets, who bobs in something like a shrug. "I guess like, if I were the Professor, I wouldn't bother with merchandising options either," he says, wryly. "I mean, just a little--" he *prrts* his lips, wiggling his gloved fingers near his head. "Huh. That's a real zinger," he grumbles. "I guess for the rest of us mere mortals, we're stuck doing it the old school way," he says. But he laughs a moment later, loud and uninhibited. "Hey, it's all good. There's always Wayne Industries and Stark Tech, right?" he jokes with Monet. "Maybe I'll get a big WI on my shoulder pauldron."
Penance	Monet doesn't help Booster out one ounce! She lets him dangle there, like that Hang in There, Baby! kitten poster. She cants her head to the side slightly to take a look at the tall blonde walking next to her and muses to herself that he rather does resemble the little marmalade tabby clinging to a branch, after a fashion. This brings an unbidden laugh to her that probably seems inappropriate. Or, perhaps he'll presume she's laughing at his funny mouth sound-effect! Either way, she smiles cryptically and keeps walking.     "Speak for yourself, blondie," she says with a drawling tone. If Booster is at all familiar with fashions-- which, a former thief/man trying to make it big /could/ have an eye for it when trying to spot rich marks-- then he would certainly recognize that Monet is decked out in designer duds. Depending on his level of knowledge, he might even be able to appreciate the bespoke nature of the clothes, each piece fitting her perfectly. "Do you believe zat your costume becoming somesing like a racecar driver's vehicle will be good for your image?" she asks, lifting an elegant brow. "Besides, from what I know of Bruce Wayne, he's not the sort to let people use his brand for zeir personal gain. My father has done business with him, before. Very straight-laced man," she says, sounding bored. Utterly bored.
Booster Gold	Monet could be wearing peasant shoes and a shawl, for all Booster would know about modern clothing. Some might remark that Booster wears his armor all the time to avoid the inevitable social trap that -is- modern fashion! In a day and age of Gotham's far future, where deocrative rings and blinking light displays form perfectly normal daywear, who's to say what is or isn't fashionable? But gold-plated sports attire-- that's ALWAYS fashionable! "Well, I mean-- maybe not like, THAT much," he says hastily, suddenly finding himself keeping up with Monet rather than vise-versa. "Y'know, like a little one. On my shoulder. Or something on my back! I mean, c'mon, you see football teams do it," he says, defensively. "We had the Rigel Rainbow on our uniforms back home, and we /had/ to wear Shunkie brand running shoes while we were training or competing. It helped bring in some revenue for the school-- why not do it here, make a little...?" he says, rubbing thumb and forefinger together suggestively. "I'm just sayin', I can put a few grand away in a bank, and when I get home-- boom, instant capital gains from interest," he tells Monet. There's a little twinge against her psychic senses; 'home' is not something in Booster's near future, though he's clearly got some dogged cognitive dissonance on the topic.
Penance	Well, Monet is /clearly/ not wearing peasant /anything/. No, she looks amazing and high class, especially when held up against gaudy flashing light display clothing. Talk about tacky! She nods her head, however, at his reasoning. "Of course, I can see what you're trying to get across, yes. But, in zis day and age, what you wear on your body, if you are a super, it is a reflection of who you are," she counters in a reasonable tone. "So, if you go out in your pretty, glittering golden uniform wiss your little 'WI' on zee shoulder or back, people will wonder what it means. 'Booster Gold,' zey will say. 'What does WI have to do wiss Booster Gold?'" she holds her hands out, as if acting out the part of the people asking the hypothetical question. "Oh, and, someone will say, 'I heard it means 'wiss impotence,' and is zee spokesperson for it,'" she clucks her tongue sadly, though he can see the mischievous glint in her eye. "'Alas, he cannot maintain an erection? Poor Booster Gold! Let us donate some money to zee WI charity for his sake,' zey will say."     She makes a note of all that she learns from Booster's wide-open mindscape, literally projecting loud enough that she doesn't even really have to try to read him to hear it. "I'm not against you making money. Just saying zat not being circumspect about how you earn it could really negatively impact you, along zee line," she says. "It's up to you how you handle zat, whether or not you see my point," she smiles and lifts her shoulders.
Booster Gold	"Wha--" Booster glances at Monet in befuddlement, but misreads the sly glint in her eye. "Oh, yer having a go at me," he scolds her, laughing and bumping his forearm lightly against her shoulder. "Ha-ha, very funny." "That's why -branding- is so important-- man, I had this talk with Ted just the other day," he mutters, full of pompous self-assurance. "That's why it's not just 'WI'. It's the -Wayne Industries- logo," he tells her. "I mean, you see a big set of golden arches, you don't think 'Monet', right?" he inquires, with a lifted brow. "You go 'Oh hey, Big Macs," he points out. "It's not like I'm looking to get sponsored by, like, Doctor Doom. So... thanks, for the advice? But Booster Gold doesn't make rookie moves," he pronounces, jabbing a thumb at his chest and grinning at Monet.