Owner	Pose
Luna	On the Corner of West 23rd and 7th sits the aged brownstone fixture of the Fulham Hotel, its red-lettered yellow sign pointing it out from the crowded Midtown Manhattan thoroughfare. The door lets out a familiar squeak to welcome in customers, which has been partially masked by the jingling sound of two little bells. Behind the front desk leans a brown-haired and silver-eyed teenager with her white sneakers up on the table and only two chair legs supporting her negligible weight. She's currently skimming through a music magazine with the image of a rocking Dazzler on the front cover.     This afternoon, she wears a cold shoulder white and black raglan sleeved top, with a skull and roses aces playing card motif. Heavily distressed light denim jeans pair with the top. She seems quite distracted. Or bored. Or both. It takes a certain type of person to wait for customers at a quiet extended stay hotel, on a lazy afternoon like this. Still, one always appreciates diversions!
Miss Moreau	Really, the Fulham is infinitely better than other places that Moreau has crashed in her life, both during her younger day and after a particularly dangerous heist. It's become a mainstay of her organization whenever members have been in Manhattan. Those men and women with white roses on their chests have always paid in cash, sometimes in advance, and have never been a problem. The perfect clients for this hotel. For a very stark reason. The White Roses take care of their own, and Luna's presence is enough to secure their patronage. Tonight? There's been an apartment fire a few blocks away. A local beat cop that was getting too close to a heist some months ago related to the Roses. No one ever expects exploding snakes. Thus it is that Miss Moreau comes striding happily into the Fulham, cane tapping and her raven set upon her shoulder. Luna would know that bird, as many varied forms it's taken. Constance, Moreau's seeing eye bird and deliverer of messages all at once. Moreau is dressed in her usual charcoal-and-white ruffled dress as she makes her way into the Fulham. A tap upon her Scarlet Tome with a free hand, she takes a small breath on the threshold of the hotel, and she moves to the counter. "Luna! My dear! Hello, good evening my little sweetling! Please forgive my absence..." Another tap to her book, and another sniff of the air. The place is alone. She can speak openly. "The Russians were most troublesome. And despite a little bird-shaped interference, I do believe my message has been sent." Offers Moreau to her favorite young thief. She's right up to the counter, and a dainty hand is offered. Should it be taken, there's a gentle, almost denmotherly squeeze to it. "How have you been?"
Luna	Despite the less than stellar state of the old building - the smells that have long since absorbed into the wood, the noises of hustle and bustle just outside, and the occasional brownouts - it's still very much Luna's home. Thus, she's more than happy to share it with family, especially that which deigned to help raise her. So, when Moreau comes tapping through the door, silver eyes flicker up and immediately brighten in surprised delight.     "Moreau!" Setting aside her magazine for now, she drags her kicks from the desk and altogether refuses the oh-too-simple gesture of a handshake. Instead, gingerly running her fingers along Constance' feathers in greeting, she goes in for a hug. "God, you have -no- idea how dead it is in here. I haven't seen anyone walk by in like..." She vaguely lifts her hands, "hours! Uncle Antonio is out, so it's just been me. At least the air conditioning is working today. That's a god-send." 'Uncle' Antonio Giordano, her godfather and the other regular employee of the Fulham Hotel. An ex-con and a bit of an alcoholic, he may frown on Luna's relationship with Moreau while at the same time subtly appreciating knowing someone else is at least looking after the young Fulham heiress.     "You know I hate unnecessary violence..." Luna breathes out a sigh, "but I'm glad you've at least let them know your boundaries." Sliding out of the embrace to finally squeeze the other woman's hand, she asks in a clear tone of worry, "did everyone make it out ok? The Daily Bugle didn't exactly cast us in a great light..."
Miss Moreau	All at once, Moreau's proper mein is shattered, even if for a moment. Constance, today feathers of a glowing green and about five inches taller than last, leans into Luna's pets. A happy call comes from the bird. And then Moreau is returning the hug. As ever, it's the usual press of her myriad ruffles and layers, but returned with as much strength as she can. And most importantly, affection. A cheek presses to the top of Luna's head, rubbing almost cat-like just before they part. Then she steps back, hand behind her, and seems to semi-kneel just a bit to be roughly the same height. She's off about an inch, but Moreau is nothing if not stubborn about being on the same level as this young woman. A small smile, and there might just be the vague pangs of guilt in it. Few can bring such from the wild woman, as many marbles as she might be missing. "A shame, I had hoped to offer him a minor job. Oh well! Yes, yes, I am aware, good Luna. You..." Her throat clears. "Forgive this beast her urges, and her pride. But the pack must be together, and claw, and rake at those that oppose us, all for the sake of cubs such as yourself. It is a terrible, rough thing, and it only pleases me that you do not so easily shudder in delight in the things that I do." Her voice in honest. Her hand reaches, and tossles Luna's hair vaguely, in pure affection. And then she straightens, far too proudly. Like a lion before her pride! "Everyone lives. Poor Sebastian and a few others took stray lead, but not a single casualty! Pure success. However, I'm worried. The Batman and his cohorts, I think that man that interrupted us was one of his, judging by what Constance says of his outfit. Luna. Deny everything, if you're asked. I will not see you harmed for me." A frown.
Luna	Luna smiles gently to feel Moreau's chin nuzzle atop her head, a familiar interaction while growing up with the occasional lap-sit or two. Giggling lightly as they part, she responds, "it's a shame he isn't here. The last time you asked was like watching a mouse trying to hide away from a hungry cat. I would so not be surprised if he planned to be away." She rolls her silvery eyes, "you know how shy he is when it comes to work. Which is wierdly adorkable for a big Italian guy like him."     Blushing and frowning all at once as Moreau tussles her hair, she does her best to put it back in order while sliding back around the desk and opening a drawer. When she returns, she's holding a ziploc bag of homemade dried mango, and she promptly lifts a little piece to spoil handsome Constance, "Just so long as you forgive me my occasional obsession with sparkly, pretty things beyond my means. I love you, Mori. I also worry. I just don't want to see you hurt." She breathes out an obvious sigh of relief to hear about Sebastian, then shakes her head to say in a mischievous tone, "deny what? All I know is what I've read in the Daily Bugle." A brief pause, glancing up at her friend and boss and sometimes-mother.     "Have dinner with me soon? I want to try out a new recipe I found online."
Miss Moreau	Moreau sighs happily, finally settling back into what passes for a lobby seat amidst the Fulham. One leg crosses over the other, she leans back, and her head tilts aside. Never looking at Luna, but the young woman would well know her peculiar insight by now. And still more importantly, the big bird is suddenly on the front desk table, a light caw, and then she's devouring that bag of mango with such relish. A few feathers flick in Luna's way. The defiant birds' way of thanks. "Agreed. A little mouse...but an important one. When you see him next, tell him that he is more important to this city than he may know. And that's not just flattery. This hotel rots, and should he but indebt himself once more, this place could be saved." Then, she snaps her fingers and shakes her head. "On the other claw, that would risk his territory, his independence. I won't interfere either way, as long as he does his best to protect you, Luna." Her voice places sharp emphasis there. There's no pleasantries for a moment, a single threat. To her, Luna is a Rose, and as precious as blood. A deep breath, and she settles. "Luna, you are a Rose. Should you desire something? Steal it. Claim it with your own power, of if required, with the help of your pack." Offers Moreau, not for the first time with a bow of her head. Then she straightens. Her sightless eyes shimmer with tears. "Luna. Little Luna. You are such a good person. It pains me that you are amongst my kind. And yet, it lifts my heart! It is the way of a predator to face harm. Worry about yourself, this hotel, and most importantly, those lives here that you love. My heart is dark, beastly. I would offer my life to spare you that. Continue, grow more skilled and stronger, and care for those you love. That is all I ever ask of you." She stands, and curtseys. "But I might have a job for you soon, if you'll accept it. A department store has gained it's hand on an object more valuable than it knows. Once my casing is done, I'll send you the details." Offers Moreau seriously. And then she pauses, and points towards the sound of Luna's voice. A grin. "Nothing at all. Who could blame a young girl ignoring the news?" Wink! Just before she's out the door? Moreau giggles. "Name your time, and place. Superman himself could not stop me from having dinner with you, my precious moonlit child of Rose." She's gone, in a flurry of feathers and ruffles, the lingering scent of perfume and love for adopted family in the air.
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau says, "Now who would want to harm Lex Luthor? he is a brilliant generous man. And never does anything evil."
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau hands Lex a Designer Kitten. It's fur is gold. Actual gold.
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau joins the 'fight superman' crowd. Just throws kittens at him
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau says, "Ngl, fancy clothes are a huge thing for me. I need to give moreau some Extra Fancy Alt Clothes"
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau says, "Man, I need to poke my head into Metropolis some time"
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau ....that is a good point. I should get something fuzzy. LIke a fur stole
Miss Moreau	Miss Moreau says, "At least my wardrobe is now full of fancy, probably made in china dresses"