Le Bernardin (if you have to ask where it is, don’t even think about getting in)
Wednesday, June 1, 2006. 1:13 pm
Emma sat with her back to the wall in the corner of the main dining room, one of her favorite spots when meeting clients or… potential tools. She sat relaxed, owning her space, with a glass of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and the open bottle on the table. She was twenty five minutes early, long enough to relax with a glass of one of her favorites, but not long enough to look eager.
Even the way Emma dressed was a masterclass in weaponized elegance. She wore a structural, alabaster-white silk blazer tailored to razor-sharp precision, its architectural lines broadcasting a cold, unapproachable power. Beneath it, a sleeveless, cream-colored silk bodysuit clung to her frame, transitioning effortlessly from boardroom intimidation to something decidedly more intimate should the occasion demand it. Paired with high-waisted, ivory crepe trousers that elongated her silhouette, the entire ensemble was a monochromatic study in superiority. It didn't just look expensive; it looked lethal.
The boy… no, she admonished her daughter for underestimating the Seere heir yesterday, she wasn’t about to do it herself… The young man walked in only ten minutes after she sat down and ordered her drink. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but this wasn’t it.
She watched him saunter into the restaurant, ignoring the minimalistic decor, unimpressed by the high ceilings and the dim lighting, and unfazed by the stares of the high society elites… including the hungry stares of many of those present, both male and female. As he approached the table, he looked directly into her eyes, with a warm and open smile reserved only for her.
Emma should have been annoyed that all of the carefully planned atmospheric elements, chosen carefully to distract and confound a young man fresh out of boarding school, failed so spectacularly. Instead, she felt… intrigued. Emma almost wished she’d brought Esme with her, so she could give the girl a lesson in ‘owning the room without even trying.’
And honestly, if it had been too easy, Emma would have been seriously disappointed in the boy.
Even the boy’s clothing impressed without effort. The unstructured wool-silk sport coat, fine-gauge midnight navy cashmere crewneck top, and charcoal wool trousers were perfectly tailored, showing off his rather impressive swimmer’s frame without drawing attention to it. As the young man drew closer, his watch was visible as he moved, an A. Lange & Sohne 1815 with a white face and a black leather band, understated but elegant and expensive.
Emma barely noticed the young woman following him into the room, and when she probed the young man’s mind as he approached an instant and intense feeling of vertigo interrupted any plans she’d had up to that point.
“Miss Frost,” a young man’s voice with a slight posh accent, calm and concerned, cut through the sudden overwhelming near migraine she was experiencing, “Miss Frost, are you feeling alright?”
Emma clenched her teeth and quickly recovered… this wasn’t the first mind protected from telepathy that she’d encountered, even if she’d never encountered someone whose mind was as… chaotic as this one. Pushing through the pain, Emma quickly raised her menu, giving her something to focus on besides the blur of scattered memories that had been assailing her moments ago, and gave her order to the waitress that had walked up behind the Seere heir.
“I’m fine dear,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice level and calm, “I’ll take the barely cooked scallop for myself, and the poached halibut for him. And do ensure the scallop is prepared exactly as the chef intends. No modifications.”
"Of course, Emma," the voice came. It was a sound Emma hadn't expected to hear again for a lifetime… warm, familiar, and painfully alive, “I’ll let the waiter know when he gets here. In the mean time… how about a hug?”
Emma’s mind stopped. It was as if everything in the room fell away, as Emma slowly looked up from her menu to see a gorgeous red haired young woman standing patiently near the table. She wore a sleeveless, bias-cut midi-dress of deep emerald silk, the fabric clinging and flowing in equal measure. It was a sophisticated, high-fashion homage to the green of her past, tempered with a structured, interlocking gold chain belt cinched at her waist… a sharp, intentional metallic yellow accent that caught the dim light of the dining room.
“Jean,” Emma’s voice was barely above a whisper as she digested the sight of the woman standing next to her table. The woman that Emma had personally watched transition from a timid pre-teen to a heroic young woman willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect the people she cared about.
The woman that, by all accounts that she’d heard, had made that sacrifice only a few months prior.
Emma didn’t remember moving, she didn’t remember standing up from the practiced and comfortable power lean she’d been posing in since she sat at her seat, she didn’t remember crushing the shorter young woman into her bosom. One moment she was recovering from the pain of attempting to read a mind she had no business invading… and the next she was holding on to a girl for dear life. A girl she had secretly thought of as her own daughter. A girl she had been mourning only moments ago.
A girl she was currently crushing to her chest as chaotic emotions washed over her.
“Headmistress,” the girl playfully whispered to the older woman, “You’re going to mess up your mascara.”
“Fuck my mascara, and don’t call me headmistress,” the older woman choked out as she struggled to contain the uncontrolled sobbing, “I left Xavier’s institute three years ago. Jean, you’re alive. How is this possible? Charles said that you’d pulled the entire storm into yourself to save your friends… that you’d been consumed by the flames… they couldn’t even bring a body back for me to bury.
“Let me take a look at you,” the vice grip loosened a few moments later as the older woman brought her emotions under control, bringing Jean out to arms length, completely unconcerned at the scene she was making in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan, completely forgetting that she had come to this place to manipulate and/or seduce a potential business rival, “Oh my god Jean, you’re alive.”
“You’ll always be my Headmistress, Emma,” Jean's smile was wide, genuine, unapologetic, without a hint of the meekness and deference Emma had grown accustomed to, “Can we please sit. I’m not going anywhere, you can ask me any questions you like.”
“Fine,” she said, throwing a side eye at the grinning boy across the table from her, all of her previous calculations thrown out of the window, “Well girl, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Emma,” Jean said, the smile even more radiant than before, “This is my boyfriend Gregory. Gregory, this is Emma Frost, a woman that I deeply respect and care for, so be on your absolute best behavior.”
“Of course dearest,” the boy’s gentle posh accent was polished mahogany in the quiet atmosphere of the michelin star restaurant, “Miss Frost, Jean has told me so much about you. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the opportunity to order when we arrived. I didn’t want to interrupt your time with Jean.”
“Of course not, and call me Emma, dear,” Emma’s entire playbook went out the window as the waiter arrived with an open bottle of Krug Grande Cuvee and a generous caviar appetizer for the table. Not one to be caught on the back foot for long, Emma quickly decided to pivot her strategy from ‘potential tool’ to ‘potential ally’...
But try as she might, it was impossible to hold in her curiosity about the familiar girl across the table from her… with a completely unfamiliar aura and demeanor.
“Well, this is awkward, girl,” Emma said, mostly joking, as she grudgingly dug into the large platter of finger foods, “I was planning to intimidate and seduce your young boyfriend into helping me take over the board of his own company… but I suppose that’s a plan I can forget about.”
“Oh?” Jean said after swallowing a blinis absolutely loaded with caviar shoved into her mouth by the boyfriend who was happily putting together new things for her to try, “You don’t have to hold back on my account. It might be rather interesting to see you work.”
“Jean! Something is definitely different about…” Emma’s eyes immediately shot open wide as her jaw dropped, the realization hitting her almost immediately after asking the question, “Charles’ mental block… you’ve kicked that controlling bastard out of your mind.”
It made complete sense now, the quiet confidence without a hint of mousey timidity, the comfortable way she wore her sexuality… something Jean had always struggled with in the past… the genuine, unapologetic smile, the public flirting.
“It’s not just that, Emma, but yes, there is so much we have to catch up on.”
“Well, at least you ditched that awful hanger on… what was his name? Scott.. That’s it,” Emma quickly changed targets, “What about you boy. I’ve heard almost nothing from you.”
“Oh? Uh, well, I didn’t want to interrupt your reunion, and being intimidated isn’t really my thing, but if you’re insisting on the seduc…”
“Not that boy,” Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exaggerated frustration, “What’s your angle in all of this?”
“Ah, oh, yes,” the boy blushed as he tried to control his stammer, “Sorry, I’m just sort of going with the flow, really. I have almost no interest in the company, but I’m not a big fan of what the current board is doing with my mother’s legacy.”
“Oh, and what is the current board doing that’s so wrong?”
“Well, honestly, it’s easier to show you,” the boy made a gesture with the hand that wasn’t currently stuffing food into his girlfriend’s face, and a red runic circle appeared in the air. A split second later a similar circle appeared on an empty spot on the table, and a thick file materialized in the center, “The evidence is all right there… offshore accounts, records of funds being redirected, email correspondences… the current CEO has been part of some serious money laundering. I’m talking about tens of billions in dark money flowing in from thousands of untraceable accounts… and redirecting the funds to several unknown facilities in Sokovia, Madripoor, and to a corporation referenced only as Advanced Idea Mechanics… one I’ve been able to find very little information on.”
“This… Gregory,” Emma said, allowing her surprise to show on her face as she glanced over at the documents that appeared as if by magic on the table, “I’m trying very hard to ignore the use of your abilities in public…”
“Ah, sorry… Don't worry, I find that humans tend to ignore things that don’t fit into their standard world view. If any of them notice, well, I don’t much care.”
“Gregory, while I find your attitude to be refreshing and direct, mutants like us are humans, no matter what Erik would tell you, and we are seriously discriminated against in this…”
“He’s not a mutant, Emma,” Jean interrupted, quickly grabbing the last of the blinis before Gregory could start feeding her again, “And to be frank, neither am I. At least not any longer.”
“Not a… Jean, have you lost your…”
“Sorry, Emma, it’s a whole thing. We can explain after we get past all the boring crap.”
“Fine,” Emma reluctantly agreed, as she fought to contain her rising annoyance at the couple’s nonchalant attitude, “Regardless; if what you have is conclusive, it seems that you’ve uncovered more incriminating evidence in just 24 hours than my entire team has in two months.”
“Well,” Greg replied, not missing a beat, “I can’t really take all of the credit for that, you see…”
Back at the apartment.
Six hours ago.
Gregory and Jean were curled up on the couch enjoying a fresh cup of coffee. Greg was reading a financial newspaper, and Jean was doing a crossword puzzle. Jess was curled up on a newly purchased beanbag chair in the corner like she owned the place, playing with a small tuxedo kitten that had not been there the day before. Zebadiah Kilgrave hung from the ceiling of the apartment only two doors down.
The kitten was named Spot, incidentally, because Jess was not very good with pet names. Spot was primarily a therapy kitten… which, honestly, is something that can be said about all kittens… picked up by Jean and Jess from a local shelter the prior day while everyone else was working on the ‘strategy meeting’.
The peaceful morning (for everyone but poor Zeb, of course, who was still quite itchy and thus hadn’t had a moment’s peace for more than two full days) was interrupted by a terse knock at the door of the apartment.
“It’s open,” Greg called out.
The door opened and Bobbi Morse entered, wearing a powder blue workout suit (if her 'employer' wasn't going to bother dressing up, why should she), pink sneakers with glitter along the sides, and a laptop bag. Without a single word she set her laptop bag on the table, grabbed a mug from the hooks above the sink, and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee from the half full french press sitting on the breakfast bar.
Bobbi paused, inhaled deeply to let the scent of the fresh brew enter her nostrils, and sighed heavily before taking a deep swallow of her cup.
“I swear,” Bobbi said with deep reverence and a near worshipful tone, “The quality of my coffee intake has improved significantly since I took this assignment.”
“I know, right?” Jean agreed without looking up from her puzzle, “Can you believe that Greg insists on being the only one to make coffee? The man is very particular about his beans.”
“I’d say you missed your calling as a barista,” Bobbi retorted, “But I guess not, seeing as you’re one of the few people I’ve met whose academic history is more impressive than my own.”
“Oh, I see, your” Jean said teasingly, making finger quotes with her fingers as she said, “‘Academic History’.”
“Oh yes, completely fabricated. Imagine taking ten years to earn a high school diploma, an MBA, and three PhD’s.”
“Right? I mean, you’re brilliant Greg, but you’ve only been here for a little while.”
“Huh? Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” he said distractedly while looking up from his paper, “It took me only six months to earn those degrees. Aunty Fiona said it wouldn’t be right to retcon a bunch of degrees that I didn’t even earn, and the Old Man agreed, so they helped me submit all of the tests online. The dissertations were a pain, but with a little work I was able to get all of it taken care of.”
He then went back to his newspaper like he hadn’t dropped a microphone so hard it had stunned the three women present into speechlessness.
“Okay,” Bobbi said slowly as she fixed her second cup of coffee, this time with a splash of cream and a packet of Splenda, “I’m going to file that away as something that headquarters is never going to believe when I submit my report.
“In other news,” Bobby segued masterfully, pulling a thick folder out of her laptop bag, “I was able to grab that evidence you needed. I spent the night highlighting the relevant information. Apparently this guy John Allan Adams…”
“Never trust a man with three first names,” Greg said under his breath.
“...has been using your company as a glorified money laundering vehicle.” Bobbi continued without missing a beat, “He’s pulling in some serious dark money from unknown sources and directing it to even more unknown destinations… including a company called Advanced Idea Mechanics… something I’ve come across more than once during my own field work.”
“Oh, and someone named Esme Frost emailed about setting up a meeting today.”
After the second mic drop of the morning, Gregory finally put his newspaper down and started paying attention.
“Miss Morse,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “That is… much more than I expected. Did you sleep?”
“I had a couple of power naps before and after the heist. Honestly, it was only the four guards and the automated security system that were even remotely a challenge, the guy’s laptop was painfully easy to break into.”
“Well. If you are ever in the market for another employer, please let me know. I would like to make you an offer that is both extremely generous and nearly impossible to turn down.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Bobbi,” Jean interrupted, “What did Esme want with Greg?”
“Hmm? Oh, apparently Frost International has a spot on the board of Seere Industries. I’m guessing the CEO wants to touch base before Greg confronts the board.”
“Greg! This is perfect!” Jean was practically bouncing on the couch as her eyes lit up, “I’m friends with Emma Frost. She used to teach at the academy when I was a student. She would be perfect for what we need!”
“What we… Jean dearest, what are you talking about? What do we need?”
“Duh Greg,” Jean said with a teasing smirk, “Isn’t it obvious? Every successful polycule needs a Glitter Goth Dommy Mommy to keep things organized!”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Bobbi said with an almost casual dismissal, “And quickly change the topic to something more pertinent. Miss Frost wants to meet for lunch at Le Bernadin… total power play, pretty typical for this kind of thing.”
“Yeah,” Jean agreed, “That sounds like Emma.”
“So, my question is,” Bobbi said as she pulled out her phone and pulled up the contact information for one of the best tailors in Manhattan, “What were you both planning to wear, because flannel pajamas and flip flops are definitely not compliant with the dress code…”
Back in Le Bernadin
Four bottles of champagne, a four course meal, and two rounds of dessert later.
“That is… an amazing story,” Emma said, struggling to determine if she should be astounded by the reveal that the supernatural world was actually real, terrified by the fact that the boy across the table from her was an actual devil, exasperated by the casual way the couple across from her revealed all of this life changing information, or aghast at the amount of food and expensive alcohol the couple casually put away in the last couple of hours, “A new race of extradimensional beings making our world their home… and now you’re one of them, Jean?”
“I mean, technically Greg is the only pure blooded member of his species on our world right now, so the two of us are going to have our work cut out for us… but we have thousands of years to work on it.”
“Honestly,” Greg said, “The actual lifespan of a Devil is unknown. No devil has ever been known to die of age related complications, though we do show signs of aging over time. It’s just that after we reach maturity, the normal signs of aging aren’t apparent for at least 10,000 years. I believe one of my kind estimated our lifespan is somewhere around 50-80 thousand years only based on appearance alone…
“Sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I,” Greg said sheepishly as Jean smiled indulgently up at him.
“It’s fine baby, I love when you turn into ‘Professor Greg’.”
“Right, if the two of you get any cuter I’m changing to diamond form so I don’t have to experience the cringe, I don’t care who’s watching,” Emma interrupted, a playful smirk following a few moments later after the couple looked sufficiently admonished, “Back to the matter at hand. I still don’t see how I can be of any assistance.”
“Well Miss Frost,” Gregory answered as he pulled a business card from a sleek looking gold plated card holder, and handed it to Emma across the table, “Haven’t you ever wanted to make a deal with the devil?”
The card was simple, with the following words in extra-bold Allegreya SC typeface on the left:
‘A. Gregory Seere’
“Mq., Clan Seere’
The right side of the card was dominated by an elaborate red circle with runes printed along its edges and an intricately detailed pentagram filling the center.
The back of the card had a simple single statement… ‘Make a wish.’
“I am a Devil Miss Frost,” Gregory said, his voice going low and sultry, “What do you desire.”
“...”
“...”
“Really Greg,” Jean nearly shouted after a moment of stunned silence, “That was the line you decided to go with?”
“Well, it was one of the shows that Auntie made me watch that I enjoyed the most. Absolute garbage, but it was fun garbage. I can’t believe they turned one of Gaiman’s masterpieces into a ‘will they, won’t they’ procedural detective drama. It was so shameless it was almost amazing.”
“Oh, whatever…” Jean rolled her eyes, “What does the A. stand for?”
“Asmodeus. I was named after my paternal grandfather, but I always felt the name was a bit pretentious.”