1963-07-13 An Evening at the Hellfire Club
Summary: An evening of gambling and debauchery at the Hellfire Club.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-07-01-it-begins-with-a-dress
Theme Song: None
shaw clea Castelione emma 


The Hellfire Club.

It has a private facade, and a public one. Truth be told, both are private, but there are layers of privacy. The Hellfire Club has no desire to be known to the general public, except insofar as whispers are made of institutions like Skull and Bones. Something debauched the rich and powerful attend to. Within that role…which is as public as it gets…its a place for those movers and shakers in the world to attend to their very exclusive needs by means of very exclusive pleasures.

Legal or not, you can obtain it in the Hellfire club. Senators, FBI Agents, Generals - a local chief of police - mingle with millionare businessmen, governors, politicians from all across the globe, and mobsters. In here, nothing is illegal. In here, there are no enemies. Communists sit beside neo-McCarthy rabble-rousers, Republicans sit beside Democrats - and for a night, for a time, all the old emnities are forgotten. Deals are made behind closed doors and silk screens, egos soothed by soft silk touches, and injured prides offered salve by ways of liquor and gambling…and other vices. They may often be enemies in public. They may sometimes be egotistical, uncompromising buffoons in the public eye…. But here, in the sanctity of the Hellfire Club…things get done.

Of course, that is its more benevolent, more public facade, as secret as it is. Few to none of those present know of the Inner Circle, and the true purpose of the Hellfire Club, to manipulate and control the world. To that end, the mistress of the Hellfire Club, Emma Frost, can be found some evenings offering…entertainment. Conversing in various scantily-clad outfits, not fit for the public world, with the generals, the governors, the CEO's - offering a smile and a comforting ear, while picking their brains of all their little secrets. She's doing that tonight, sitting in a large, semi-circular cushioned red couch, between a mob boss and a US two-star General, as they play an illegal hand of poker being delt out by a member of the British House of Lords. Across the room, a nearby state attorney general, noted for his strong 'war on crime' focus, chats with a lady of questionable morality, so to speak.

Business as usual in the Hellfire Club.

*

Clea is not a lady of ill repute, at least in this dimension. She could probably be mistaken for one, given that she's taken her preferred theme of 'purple' and put together something novel but low-key enough that she does not out-shine Emma. Mesh top, bare midriff, tight mini that looks to be leather or plastic. The boots are impressive too, but presently irrelevant, because she's sitting next to an alderman and looking at a hand of cards. She is also managing to hold a glass of whiskey /and/ a cigarette in the other hand, but that's just a sign that she's acclimating well.

She has also occasionally sent a thought at Emma; while no real telepath, she /has known/ telepaths, and that always makes it easier. Most of an hour ago they were questions about the game. Then nothing in particular. Now she /does/ have a mental inquiry for the White Queen:

«This hand's quite strong, but I think that this gentleman is frustrated. I should fold?»

*

Francis Castelione Jr., to some he might not seem the type for this kind of place. A medal of honor recipient with enough medals to choke an army of horses to death, and a confirmed kill count rivaling some micro-nations, but he was a special invite by one of the generals. Arriving back to the table with a small drink this black haired Italian man looks in tip top physical condition the kind of shape some people work their whole lives to achieve.

He comes back from the little soldiers room still dressed in one of his nicest sets of clothing, baby blues scanning around the poker table before he has a seat. There's a smile on his finely shaven face as he picks back up his cards. "Hope no one decided to peak while I was gone, not exactly a poker playing man." His own smile holding as he looks down at the rather flimsy hand.

*

«Only if you don't want him frustrated, dear.» Emma replies to Clea mentally. Smiling, she playfully elbows the general beside her. "Francis - I hope you don't mind I call you that - I think General Harris here is a bit too confident to need to cheat." she says, keeping her voice to a slightly higher and less-intelligent sounding pitch then usual. She's not here to impress people with her intellect, after-all. She's here to abuse the powerful by means of hers.

The general, with only an Ace, a Jack, an Eight, a Five and a Three, of mixed suits, smiles confidently even as sweat pours down his thick neck.

«You have a few choices.» Emma explains to Clea. «You can play for money, or play for influence. Decide which is more important to you. They can be the same thing in certain circumstances. Some men find a little bit of frustration from a woman…enticing. But go too far and humiliate them, and it can turn into bitter resentment. Good men won't act that way. But most of these are not good men. Thats part of the reason Shaw and I do what we do.»

Looking back over at the returning player, Emma smiles. "I'm not exactly a poker player myself. I just enjoy watching the game." Again, not really true - she enjoys watchings the minds of those playing it. But she plays her part, nonetheless.

*

The re-arrival of Mr. Castelione gets a light-eyed look from Clea and a ghost of a smile, but no deeper words, not yet. She laughs at the discussion of taking a peek at the cards, but then considers her own pair of queens.

«I understand, I think,» Clea thinks - and given her situation, she leans forwards to toss in the dough and stay in the hand. At least for now. It is not a large wager, at least. «Money is useless to me, anyway, thanks to you.»

Aloud she says towards Emma, even as she gestures with her drink hand, "Oh, you shouldn't be afraid to get your feet wet. It's terribly fun, even when you lose." Her voice is bright, if oddly inflected. To Frank she asks, "Have you had much chance to play?"

She adds conspiratorially to her neighbor, "I think I feel fortunate. Do you?"

*

"The good general here taught me everything I know about it." Offered with a friendly and upbeat smile from one ear to the other as he takes a sip of his own scotch. His attention falls back down on the cards. "Though I think last time I played a round was Guadalcanal." The young lieutenant colonel giving a bit of a nod in the generals direction as he sets down his glass. "It's no trouble at all Ma'am, Francis works fine, just glad I could tag along is all."

*

The Alderman beside Clea grins excitedly. He has a straight, and he's feeling a mixture of hope at his hand, and frustration at the…attractive young woman next to him, who keeps seeming to outdo him. But this time, this time he'll win the hand. He ups the ante when it comes round to him. "You bet I do." he says, a bit cockily.

"You two must have known each other a long time, then." Emma says to Francis. "The general here doesn't like to loose." She puts a hand on his arm. "And I'm sure he'll win again, right?"

Turning her attention back to Francis, Emma eyes him up and down. "You strike a powerful figure in that suit yourself. What do you do these days? I don't think I've seen you in here before."

The general, reluctantly, also ups the ante.

*

Castelione really likes the number 21

*

Clea shifts in her seat, her hip pressing against the alderman's as the bettering comes round again. "Mmmm. Well, I feel /very/ lucky," she tells him, before she matches the general and doubles him! This represents most of what she'd won on a tiny level while loitering and going through several more cocktails previously.

"That must have been a relief," Clea then tells Frank - sympathy in her tone - "to take your mind off… off of that."

As Clea flicks ash from the cigarette into one of the ubiquitious ash trays, she does think at Emma: «My friend here is going to beat me. How exciting! So that I am sure: That was the name of a battle, yes? The Guadalcanal he mentioned - it is not an actual canal?»

*

"Little bit of this and that, still working with the core when I can, but I don't think I'm going to be re-upping." There's a long moments pause from Francis as he looks down towards the cash that's been thrown in, a bit of hesitation in his movements as he pushes out the cash. It's hidden slightly by the smile but it is there. "Don't think I'll make it long enough to retire proper, got a lot of work left around that needs finishing."

He goes back for another swig of his bottle, still friendly all around on the outside. "If he liked losing he wouldn't have signed on with the US army." A slight pause as his face falls back to a more regular resting pose. "Known you since Croatia right?" Offered over towards the general as he throws in a few extra bucks onto the pile.

*

"Zagreb." the General says, his voice sounding a bit annoyed. "And I still hate the place." He throws more money into the pot. He'll be damned if he's outdone, hand or no hand.

Emma sends a mental message to Clea. «No, he isn't. Francis will.» she sends, even as Clea's inexperienced man (in terms of poker, at least) remains visibly confident and rather upbeat. He's not like the General at all. The General's just hoping to make the other idiots fold. This guy actually is stupid enough to think he's going to win. In the end, it might not be that different.

"You ever think of doing private security, contract work?" Emma asks.

*

Clea watches as the betting cycles round the table, listening to people talk. She remembers place names, though they mean nothing to her, even as she takes a thoughtful drag on the French cigarette and then —

Her turn! She shifts in her seat, squeezing the Alderman's knee for a moment in sheer excitement before —

"All In," Clea says, with a note of imperiousness. And in goes everything. It probably helps that she leans forwards while doing it and takes her time settling back down, brushing a bit more against her neighbor as she does it.

"Oh-h-h, now I'm anxious," she sighs after finally settling all the way back into her seat. "I shall have to go back to making shoes at this rate." With this, and in the air of experiment, she leans over to rest her head on the alderman's shoulder.

*

Frank moves his fingers round a few times rapping them down onto the table. There's a pause before he finally slides out a matching stack of cash from his own personal reserves. "I've done some side work in the past but I've got some unsettled accounts that need taken care of first."

*

The General, for his part - isn't an idiot. He folds. "I'm out." he says, gruffly. Emma, for her part, wasn't playing. And Clea's Alderman, still feeling cocky, also puts everything in. "Sorry to say your probably going to regret that." he says.

«Yes, it was a battle. A series of them, really, between the United States and Japan, during the second World War.» Emma explains to Clea.

Watching everyone's reactions as the hand comes to an end, Emma's gaze turns towards Francis. "Unsettled accounts. Sounds exciting."

*

«Ah, that war, with the hellfire weapons, yes! - Now… Hopefully this will work,» Clea answers Emma mentally, because when the cards come down…

Well, two queens isn't bad, but it doesn't win. Clea lets out a cry of dismay and covers her face with both hands, leaning backwards and stretching herself as she says, "But I was sure that I had you—"

Of course she isn't looking at /him/, Clea is instead looking partly towards Emma (as if expecting marks, perhaps, for her manipulation of a man's emotional status), and thus towards the general and Frank as well.

*

Francis sets down his hand onto the table, before sliding it across so that the royal flush becomes visible. His own expression a rather calm one as he grabs another drink. "Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories." Said as he grabs another swig from his glass. "Never leave a debt unpaid."

*

The young man sitting beside Clea is momentaily gleeful - then quickly horrified. "Aaaarrrgh!" he says, tossing his cards down, before quickly glancing over towards her and composing himself. His ego allows him to loose to another man. He didn't loose to Clea, after-all. "Now now, its alright. This veteran clearly knows his stuff." he says to her.

Emma rolls her eyes. «Pathetic.» she says to Clea. «But you have him.»

"Looks like you win, Francis." she says aloud. "But with an attitude like that, I have to wonder - do you even believe in games of chance?"

*

Clea bubbles mental laughter even as she is inconsolably still for a moment. «I don't even know what to do with him! I suppose he'll think of me fondly.» She straightens up after the comforting, saying to him softly, confidentally, "Yes, of course. You're right…"

"Isn't that a terribly big stroke of luck?" she asks, about the royal flush.

*

"You can win with a pair of twos, the game isn't about luck." Francis says in a calm voice as he sets down the glass with a light tink of it hitting the table. He pulls in the money close to himself. "Don't think I much do, it's just a way to pass the time." He looks back to the man who was so confident just a few moments prior, in silence."You want your money back, you can keep it."

*

Shaw has arrived.

*

Sitting around a circular, cushioned gambling table are a group of the wealthy and powerful - as well as Francis, in formal dress and invited by a general (also at the table) and Clea, sitting next to a younger Alderman. The young man sitting beside Clea harumphs at Castelione. "No, no no, the game is the game, you won it fair and square." He frowns, and leans in towards Clea, looking less pleased then before.

Emma, for her part, stands up. "Well, if you'll excuse me gentlemen…" She nods to Clea, "And Clea, I have other patrons to check in on. You all played a very good game. I'm sure Francis will give you a chance to win your money back."

*

"Of course. Good evening, Emma," Clea says to the departing lady in white, before she leans on that man who was leaning into her.

To Frank she says, "Oh — the play's the thing, though. Personally I just hope you have fun with it." Her voice lowers with faux-confidentiality. "I like making shoes, anyway."

Clea herself is on the far end of this poker game in something kind of skimpy and purple and seems to have been livening things up, shortly before she blew her entire roll on a losing hand. "You won't make me leave just because I'm banked out, will you?" she asks her young friend. "I can scoot over," to where, onto his lap? "if you need the space."

*

In a crisp white, hand-made suit of the fintest quality comes Sebastian, stepping out of one of the private rooms as he pauses, there looking around the Club with a serene expression on his face. He carries with him a glass of his favorite scotch as usual, but for the moment, he's observing his domain. The Black King, tonight, has been wooing people. After taking a moment he wanders over towards one of the gambling table, coming up behind Clea, "Good evening." he says to the group. To Emma he raises his glass in toast with a smile, though if she's off to do something he doesn't go out of his way to stop her. He has no business to tend to at the moment.

*

There's a sizeable stack of cash set up right beside Francis a man dressed in a simple suit with a pair of striking blue eyes, and a head of well groomed pitch black hair. The Italian man tilts his head for just a second before saying. "Suit yourself." Not exactly one to be so rude as to count his money while he's sitting at the table though maybe the pun he's making is its own rude gesture.

He gives a low nod as Emma leaves the room watching back towards the table a friendly smile crossing his face. "No problems here."

*

Emma has left.

*

"Oh, Sebastian! Have you met Sebastian?" Clea says to the man she's not quite getting into the lap of, and then towards Francis and the man who he came in with. "Sebastian, these people have just cleaned me out utterly at this game. Like a duck."

A pause. "A fish," Clea corrects herself, before giggling behind a hand.

*

Sebastian smiles as he sips his scotch, nodding to Clea, "Well, my dear, would you like a line of credit? I can arrange it if you wish to keep playing." He makes the slightest of gestures, and one of the serving women comes over, "One thousand." She's gone a moment later, and Shaw is settling down into a chair. Curiously, he looks to Francis and regards him for a moment, "I am Sebastian Shaw. Chairman of the Board for this branch. I don't believe we've met, so that means you are someone's guest, yes?" He sounds idly curious.

*

"That's about the size of it." The man offers with a bit of a nod towards the General who has so graciously brought him along. His own scotch glass setting empty off to one side of himself. He leans back up to a full and proper sitting position.

The Cigar smoking hard whiskey drinking two star General speaks up in between puffs of his cigar and sips of the good stuff."Man lost his family about a month back, thought I'd take him out for a taste of actual high society." His voice graveled and aged, the general himself the epitome of overweight desk bound general. "Starting to regret it." He throws out a bit of a smiling jab before laughing a bit to himself. "Damn card shark."

*

"Oh, if you insist," Clea says to Sebastian, resting her elbows on the table, folding her hands, and resting her chin on them. Nonetheless she seems to be sitting out the hand.

She picks up her own drink and takes a sip. "Oh—" she then says as the general brings up the news, looking at Francis with sudden, unfeigned sympathy. Past that she doesn't know much of what all to say, and so she takes a second, larger sip.

"He's excellent at the game," she asides to Shaw.

*

"You didn't give me your name." Sebastian chides Francis mildly; the General, of course, he knows. Shaw knows everyone.

The server comes over with a tray, upon which is a few stacks of money. Fives, tens, twenties. A thousand dollars worth. This is set before Shaw, and he quickly divides it in half, and puts one stack over in front of Clea with a quick grin. But he does nod to Francis, "My sympathies for your loss." He nods over to the General, "Never play a game you do not know you will win first, General. You know that."

*

"Francis Castelione." The italian man offers looking Shaw right in the eyes for a moment trying to get a read on him. His expression is a friendly one as he does so a million little gears whirring away inside of his head, as he extends out a hand in the direction of Shaw. "Interesting place you've got here."

*

Money! Clea picks up a fifty and rolls it into a little tube in one hand, before she hears Francis refer to the place as 'interesting'. That's a rather pregnant word, she thinks, and wishes in silence that she could simply signal and recieve from Sebastian as she can with Emma. Oh well; nothing is ever easy, she concludes, as cards come back out.

She looks at her hand with a studiously neutral expression. The rolled-up fifty is placed in, with ceremony, afterwards.

*

"Interesting?" Sebastian considers the word as if he were tasting it, and from his expression, he's not entirely sure if he likes how it tastes on the tongue. "The Hellfire Club is a centuries old establishment where those of excellence can come and be who they really are, and embrace the simple pleasures of life with the only people in the world who are their true peers. Interesting? No, my friend. The Hellfire Club is unique." He smiles slightly, "Except for the other branches which are its sisters. Still, though London and Paris will argue with me, the New York branch is the paragon against which all are judged. He lifts his cards and with a slight glance, makes a gesture of negation as he folds. Sebastian, who has the bearing of a man who considers himself a king among mortals, does not seem to be the kind of man who folds, yet he does here and now."

*

There's a slight shrug as the rounds go on between participants the ante upping as it circles round and round the table. "Nothing meant by it, just not used to places like this." His own attention drifting slightly as he goes. "The world's a big place some might say there's nothing unique in it." Said with a slight smile, before finally going all in, only to eventually win with a hand of a pair of 3's.

He comes to a slow stand. "Keep the money General, it's been something." His own hand reaching down behind himself in order to grab his jacket. "Never a man to step on hospitality."

*

"May the — angels watch over you," Clea tells Francis as he gets up, apparently with all sincerity. She may be a weird-looking woman loitering in this den of sin, but at least, at heart, she cares.

Somewhat. After this and some casual introduction to the alderman she'd been flirting with, Clea tells Shaw, with evident pleasure, "Thank you so much, by the way — for having me. Hopefully I'll be able to pay you back."

*

"Ah, so says one who hasn't seen enough of the world. There are innumerable unique things in it." Shaw counters with a slight shake of his head. As Castelione seems intent on leaving his money to the General, he arches a brow slightly and shakes his head. He does smile over to Clea, "Please, my dear. There is no need for thanks between us. You are a member of the Hellfire Club. Its purpose is making connections, bringing people together." Those of power, wealth or influence. "There is no debt between us. I would, of course, expect a certain amount of loyalty and assistance from time to time, but only what you are comfortable with providing." He smiles his most charming smile. "In the meantime, enjoy yourself."

*

Castelione has disconnected.

*

Clea returns that smile with a slightly more flirtatious one. (Shaw can probably see some minor shades of Emma in it.) "Well," she says, "I would certainly hope to do so. But if you want to speak so sweetly…"

She goes in for 200 on her next hand, which is… well she has a king! One king. That means she'll win, right? That's a really high card.

"I don't think I've been outside for two days," Clea continues, casually. "Or is it three?"

*

Sebastian eyes her bet with an arch brow, and looks at his hand. Two Queens. Fitting. He smiles and goes in and matches Clea's bet, "Do you actually know how to play poker? If not I can set you up with a teacher. It is an exquisite game, a war of minds and money all at once. You don't so much play the cards as the other players. You look at them. Watch them. Know them. Dare them to risk, conquer their fears. It is very much like business." That said, he smiles, "If you are missing the outside, you should indulge in the roof gardens. Or take a ride to Central Park. Hmm. Or come with me on my yacht for a dinner at sunset. There's nothing quite like eating on the open ocean."

*

"Oh, I've learned the basics," Clea says. "But I wouldn't mind to learn a little more." Her lips purse for a momenta s she considers, glancing at the others, before taking a deep breath… and opting, abruptly enough, to fold. Pow! Money down the drain.

She looks at it. The thought occurs to her that not so long ago it seemed like a massive sum.

Then with a smile back at Sebastian, she says, "I'd love that. I've never been on a yacht."

*

Sebastian blinks slowly, "Why did you fold? If you were so confident in your hand to bet two hundred dollars, yet you folded? You were either trying a terrible bluff you shouldn't have, or your initial bet was made on an impulse." He shakes his head, amused.

"I'll speak to Emma and arrange a gathering of the membership." Obviously, not the whole membership, so he must be speaking of the Inner Circle. "Do you fish? I've been known to go deep sea fishing from time to time. Its exhilarating."

*

Clea smiles mysteriously by way of her reply and doesn't answer until the hand is finished.

Then she leans over to say, quietly, "But now if I stay here, they'll all think I'm silly, won't they?"

Straightening back up, she says, "I've done something… like it. That's the thing with the stick with a string, isn't it?" She has probably only seen this in cartoons.

*

"They might, but that was a very expensive way to play a roll. Don't get me wrong, if that's your intent, I applaud you." Sebastian murmurs in response, "But they might have thought the same if you bet fifty, not two fifths of your money." Then louder, he nods, "Its a little more sophisticated then that, but that's the gist of it." A man comes over to him, and leans down to whisper into Sebastians ear. He reaches over to lift his money and set it over by Clea as he rises, "Do tell me how your strategy works out, my dear. I have a matter to attend to."

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