1963-09-26 - Miss Frost
Summary: Emma Frost visits the mansion and takes on a curious case!
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
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emma logan jean 

Logan has been resettling in around the mansion after his brief walkabout. He's just about done with his cabin now, but, for the moment, he's sitting in the lounge, reading a book, smoking a cigar and sipping on some whiskey. Which is pretty much what he'll do in his cabin, only with much less fancy furnishings and a bit more privacy.

He cocks his head as he hears Jean heading his way, knowing the redhead has probably decided to do another of her cooking experiments, given the way his nose twitches at her approach. He hopes this one will be one of the successful experiments. And there's another scent in the air, an unfamiliar one…who's that?


Ya' darn tootin' Jean was cooking again. It wasn't muffins. She actually decidedly tried to make a few 'gourmet' burgers, though they looked as plain as ever. The meat had no seasoning, and it yet it was browned to perfection. The cheese was on it's way to melting, yet the pickles were oddly cut. The bun was supposed to be toasted neatly with a coating of butter, yet it was soggy. But it was dressed up with too thick cut fries that were still frozen in the middle.

She winds herself down the walkway towards where Logan sits in front of the mansion, her movements careful as she grips the metal of the wheels to push it forth. While earlier she was in use of her crutches, she was exhausted and took to the chair again, following Bobby's advice.

"Hoo.. kay. So I made cheeseburgers and fries for dinner." With Crystal absent, and Sam gone, she had taken to feeding Logan.. though the cook handled everything else. "I used garlic. Can't you smell it? It smells divine.."

And it probably tasted like holy hell.


Outside, a white towncar pulls up, with custom license plates. A liveried driver hands out the platinum blonde riding in the back seat. "Thank you, Andrew. Pull around to the coach house, if you will. I'll have a message sent when I am ready to depart." That said, Emma Grace Frost walks up the stairs to the front porch of the mansion, and then presses the doorbell.

It's like the Wizard of Oz in reverse. Ding-dong, the wicked witch is here.


Lucky for Jean, if there's one thing he isn't picky about, it's burgers. Is there beef? Is there cheese? Then he's all in. He reaches out and takes one of the offered burgers, biting down with a great deal of enthusiasm, starting to wolf the food in a way the gourmet at their door would probably not approve.

"Hey, darlin', there's a broad at the front door. Fancy 'un, too, from the way she smells. Maybe oughtta go get it, could be some lawyer or fancy lady come to check on Chuck," he says.


Luckily for Jean, Logan will eat anything. Even as she was ready to take a bite there after, she stops herself as the door is rung. With the burger placed upon the plate, she leans forward to put it upon the table. Logan was already eating, so that was just fine with her. "A lady?" She asks, her brows shooting up. "It's.. oh. Fancy. Not Moira then." No offense to Moira, but she had a practicality to the way she dresses as a doctor would. Medical researcher would! Same difference.

Jean backs away from the table with the push of her wheel, manuvering her way around the hall as she approaches the front door as quick as she would. If this was a rich lady, or at least a friend of the Professor, there was no need to keep that person behind the door waiting. It would seem rather rude.

It was also rude to do a quick scan. So with that in mind, she leans up and forward to reach for the door, carefully unlocking it and tugging it open..

..woah. Pretty…



On the other side of the door is a stunning platinum blonde, arrayed in a plethora of stark white, in styles that would be a cut above even Jackie Kennedy - and that's saying something. The woman doesn't look too much older than the redhead who answered the door, but there is a maturity of purpose and presence about her that belies that, to the aware.

"Hello." Emma offers, looking over the wheelchair-bound redhead curiously. Lots of wasted potential, there. And why is she /in/ the wheelchair. The hint of bindings implies injury. Perhaps it won't be permanent? "I am Emma Frost, an associate of Charles." She extends a hand by rote of proper conduct, making very light contact, an elegant and feminine handshake. "Charles left a message with my service, asking me to drop by. Is he in?"

By comparison to Jean's restraint, this woman shows none. Emma's mind gently but efficiently sweeps not just beyond the door, but most of the entire property, starting with the house. Her touch is very light and subtle, but it's quite possible Jean would notice. There's no intent to compel or alter, just an intent to be aware of who is about and where. Which means Emma must already know Charles isn't in right now.


Logan moves to walk in behind Jean, still eating on his burger and not particularly caring if it's ill-mannered to do so. It's good. She put butter on the bun! That's new to him and he likes it.

"Nah, he and Moira went out for a walk. Prob'ly smoochin' in some lover's lane somewheres or eatin' at some rich joint," he says.

"C'mon in, though, make yerself comfortable, kick up yer feet. An associate, huh? Now, knowin' Chuck, that could mean a whole lotta things. So just how're you associated?" he says, reaching down and putting a protective hand on Jean's shoulder. He may not be telepathic, but it doesn't take it to see the urge of Emma's nose to tilt up.


Emma was the stuff of magazines. It was as if she walked off of the cover of some page in France, transported herself to this very doorstep to give Jean a heart attack. Her big green eyes widen at the offer of a shake, her own lifting and limp as it was, it was due to mesmerisation and the wonder of just how much that -entire- outfit had costed her. One hundred? Two? A weeks worth of rent for a local.

"I'm.. Jean Grey?" The sound of her not being sure withstanding, for Logan's press upon her shoulder brings her back to reality as she looks up towards the ruffian with a smile. Though as he answers, Jean's brows suddenly furrow, it was as if she was alerted to something so subtle that it had the inner bird chirping as well.

'You felt it.'
"Yes." Jean openly says to no one in particular.

Jean snaps her gaze to the side, her brows furrowing. If she were about to speak it was tossed aside with Logan's allowance of entry. "Excuse me.." She says to the man, backing up so that Emma has the room to enter. "Sorry. Please. Could I get you something to drink? Water with ice?"


Emma's nose does not in fact lift. Not physically, anyway. But the change in the light in her eyes, a tightness about her shoulders and a hint of a chill in her voice does the same thing far more subtly and in a way far more socially acceptable. Logan's sheer presence and lack of couthe brings it out in her, and she can't - or maybe won't - stop it.

"Thank you, kindly." Just those simple words. But she will not be 'kicking up her feet' for anyone, thankyouverymuch.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Grey." Emma offers, and steps forward as Jean rolls back to make room. There's a tiny twitch, as if she sensed something for a moment, but she says nothing about it. "You are in a wheelchair, dear. Please, do not go to any special effort on my behalf. That would be rather gouche of me. If you could lead on to a seat, that would be more than enough." It's not that Emma is a nice person. But society has rules and guidelines for proper, polite behavior. And she is a stickler for it.

"Charles sought me out a few years ago, due to some common interests and circumstances." Emma replies to Logan rather obliquely. One might almost imagine she's keeping her own counsel or something. "Since then, I have made a point of supporting his efforts to assemble this school project of his, financially." There's more. There has to be. But that's all she offers right now.


Logan takes another bite of his burger, his cigar still smoking in the nearby ashtray, "That sounds like a fancy way o' sayin' you got an interest in mutant matters an' you lent Chuck some money," he says, resuming his seat and more than happy to kick up his own feet.

"Well, if you wanna see how it's spent, I'm sure it's up t'him t'show you around the place. Jeannie there's a product o' the institute, 'bout to get started on college. Me, I just…keep the place safe an' secure, best I can, an' help out the kids when I'm able. 'Course, I ain't got much in the way o' learnin', so the school part ain't really somethin' I do much 'bout," he says.


"Oh. That's Logan." Jean almost forgot to introduce him.

'She already knows.'

Jean's gaze flits yet again, but as Logan takes a seat, she aims herself to follow where the rows of comfortable seating was, but decidedly parks herself near the table. "I can still walk, Ms. Frost. It would be no trouble at all to get you a glass. Trust me. If you need anything, just ask. Okay?" The smile she puts on was genuine. A small reassurance that those injuries were soon to be a memory. But physical therapy and her own need to get around without help was wearing her down. But while the two talk, she leans forward to grab her plate, setting it within her lap as she picks up her soggy burger, one glance given to Logan, the other to Emma… and rightfully she puts it right back down.

"I hope to go to Columbia one day. Major in Psychology. But I'm very sure Charles wouldn't mind if we give the tour. But I understand if you wish to be in his company than people like us." It didn't sound wrong at all. In fact, she was cheerful. And curious. It was almost as if she were baiting Emma, just to see.

'You should not do that.'

"What?" Jean asks no one in particular, the plate removed once more for the table as she looks over her shoulder.


Emma resists the urge to arch an eyebrow at Logan's succinct and unnecessary translation of her words. "I did not … lend the money. It was freely given. After a fashion." Which would be Emma's oblique way of saying that she intended to have some influence over the form and function of the place, commensurate to her contributions.

"I am not entirely sure what Charles' intent was in leaving his message. So I shall stay until he appears, so long as that does not take too terribly long." Emma offers. She's not going to say here for days if Charles is too busy to get back to her. But a few hours is nothing. True, she could be doing business and so much more. But she has people for that. She'll let them be about it, until or unless they screw it up. Then she'll fire them, ruin their lives, and take over to get it right.

"I am sure you can still walk, Ms. Grey. But I have no need to put you out, either." Emma offers. "Please. Sit, and eat your meal. I can certainly wait for you to provide yourself sustenance, before we continue."

Emma does not speak for a bit. She lets Jean's words, and her own, hang in the air for a good while. Even that last little outburst, and all without outward comment at all. Not even a quirk of an eyelid. Then, having given Jean five minutes or so to be about eating her sandwich, Emma finally speaks up. "Columbia, you say? Well, it is possible I may be able to assist with that. I am an alumnus, myself. And psychology is quite the interest with me." Was that a hint?


Logan sees that he's largely going to be ignored and shrugs to himself. Wouldn't be the first time some snooty dame got it into her head she was too good to trade bon mots with the ol' canucklehead. He focuses his attention where it belongs then - on the cheeseburgers. He digs in with gusto, eating noisily.

"Seriously, Jean, ya outdone yerself, this is good grub," he says, wiping his mouth with his fingers and then popping up out of his chair, "I'm gonna get myself a beer, so I'll get ol' Frosty here that icewater while I'm at it. Go real well in her veins, I'm pretty sure,' he grins."


Jean happens to keep the gaze that she directed behind her, her brows furrowing as she turns back towards the two with an unsettled look. Her hands press against the arm chair, visibly uncomfortable, but once she rights herself within her seat again, neutral tones were taken up as Emma explains. "He seemed in good spirits this morning. Good as could be hoped." At least she hopes so. She has barely seen Charles as of late, though the psychic repoire was kept up whenever she was alone so that she could have 'company' of sorts.

In fact, it was a sad deal. She wasn't even sure if the Professor was on the other end of it. It could have been the effigy of the Phoenix she was speaking to, but either way it was a great comfort.

As Emma allows for the moment for Jean to eat, she picks up her plate for a third time, settling it into her lap, lifting the burger which was a soggier mess than before to take a bite. The flavors, they were rich to start. Lambasting her tongue with a deliciousness she never thought that could come from her fingers. That was until the rest of it caught up to her. Which screws her face up into something unimaginable and red, which has her opening her mouth in a 'bleh' motion, plate lifted, and bits of food spat out of her mouth and upon the plate.

Even Logan's praise of her food had her boggled, and the plate was soon held out for him to take. "Uh.. put that in the kitchen for me?" She asks.. and she didn't need to say that she needed water too. But with Emma piqing her interest in that moment, all attention was focused upon the woman in white. "Really?" She asks. "I.. well it would be silly for me to ask, but I would like to get a head start. If it's no trouble at all.."


Jean flinches a little, her right eye batting. And soon her head dips so that fingers could rub across her forehead.


"Thank you kindly, Mister Logan." Emma offers, despite her distaste for the man's manners, which are honestly reprehensible in her view. Wiping one's mouth with a hand?! And taking such liberties with her name frankly has her thinking seriously of inducing a brain aneurysm in retaliation. "My name is Miss Frost. Not Frosty, I am no snow man on a holiday season. And I am most assuredly not 'old' anything, thank you kindly." The tone is scathing, yet the words are actually polite. Even when she's furious, she minds her Ps and Qs.

Emma is about to respond to Jean's enthusiasm and queries when instead the girl visibly flinches, and Emma picks up a sharp echo of that inner shout. Her usually impassive features tighten, her pale blue eyes widen. "Ms. Grey, is something wrong?" Emma inquires, leaning a bit closer as she focuses ever more of her telepathic attention upon the girl, looking for some sign of where that outburst came from. She can already tell this young woman is no idiot, and whomever just called her that needs pulled up short, promptly and fiercely. Perhaps some strangulation will be in order.


"No no no.." Jean murmurs quietly, still rubbing her fingers against her forehead. "It's just a minor headache.." Even though Jean was lying, there was still a matter of trust to be had. Whilst she had an inkling that Emma was something like her, she wasn't sure that the woman would understand. Though her situation wasn't unique.. it was.. something different. And even if a person was different, Jean wasn't sure that they'd take kindly to what was in her head.

But she finally lifts her green gaze to put upon a grand smile, her hands splayed out before her which soon slap against her thighs in regisnation. "You'll have to forgive Logan." She waves her hand in the direction of the kitchen. "He has an odd slang of affection that I've never really heard before until I reached this place. We also have two Russians.. a man from the country?" Though now, her expression wonders. "Though, I'm not -too- sure where Logan came from. I think somewhere in the Midwest?" Taking the attention off of her was best. At least it's what she think was the smartest modus opperandi. "I will say that despite his gruff exterior he is really a great man. A .. great man who's taking too long with the water. I'm really thirsty. That burger was disgusting!"

She laughs, a slight melodus sound, but complete and filled with the awkwardness that only Jean Grey could muster. "I don't mean to pry though, well I do.. I mean.. just.. what do you do for a living? How are you so.." RICH!


Emma lets Jean respond as she sees fit, and does not gainsay her, merely listening. She was about ready to reach out to her and offer assistance, but she has been rebuffed, and Emma is not one to intrude and extend herself unnecessarily. There's a reason she's not on staff here, for all that she is allied with the school. Emma is not a nice person. She's not evil, per se. But 'nice' doesn't enter into it.

If Emma is insulted that Jean hasn't heard of her, she makes no sign of it. Instead, she just answers the question. "I am a CEO of a Fortune-500 company. Frost International." Yes. A woman CEO of a multinational megacorporation. Curious yet?

Emma's voice carries … without audiowaves, as she reaches out to Logan. ~// Pardon me, Mister Logan. I am sorry to intrude. Could you be so kind, please, as to return with no just water for Ms. Grey, but also some analgesics? I am sure Charles has common asprin available. //~ Just that simple, Emma blows cover and proves herself a telepath to at least one person in the mansion.


Logan thinks back at Emma, in the midst of pouring her ice water, his own beer sitting on the counter, «Well, I'll be damned. Yeah, ain't no thing, darlin'. I dunno what an analwhatsit is, but we got some aspirin, I'm sure.» he thinks back.



"What?" Jean leans back within her chair. She had -never- heard of something like that happening, though one could attest to her many years in a mental institute as the culprit. "No way.. that's.." Impossible! A woman! Running the show? Emma Frost just found her new fangirl.

(Editors note: Corsair probably just crashed his space ship with that notion alone.)

There was a new respect and adoration for the woman, trust was still a little shaky, but there was a little tingle within the back of her mind that notes that communication was afoot. Her gaze lifts and shifts, her head turning back towards the kitchen and then towards Emma, her shoulders slumping slightly as she quietly comes out with a small hint of the truth.

"I.. I don't have anyone to talk to about this.." She says quietly. "I don't know if Logan understands it much.. but he lets me talk. Not.. to him." She frowns then, her hand lifting, the palm of her hand digging into her eye. Whatever was inside of her was kicking up a ruckus. Nothing full of words, but it was clear that it was a bother. A scream to get out or to stop this line of talk. "I want to help her but she's loud.. she's so loud.."


Emma has certainly never sought a 'fangirl', but she isn't objecting to the possibility, either. When Logan returns with water and asprin, she directs Jean to take it and waits, before speaking again. She has time, and patience is a virtue. or something.

Then Jean starts assaulting herself mentally, as she tries to explain. And Emma reaches out with her hand outstretched, slim, elegant fingers lightly spread, and lays them lightly over Jean's other hand, the one not grinding her heel into her eyeball. "You have someone to talk to, now." she murmurs. There's no doubt in Emma's mind that this is why Charles called. Why he wanted her to come here. So be it.

"Take the pills. And breathe. Give me a bit of time, and let me see what I may be able to do to help turn down the volume for a while, to let you rest and recuperate."


Logan returns with the medicine. Part of him wmants to be suspicious of Emma, but…Jean's needed help. He knows he isn't equipped to offer it - the fact that she's in that chair is prove enough of that, however much she absolves him of it.

But he never forgot her troubles. Others tended to sort of imagine she was okay or pretend it didn't exist. They let her struggle and figured she'd work it out on her own. Logan wasn't so naive.

"Thanks," he says to Emma sincerely, resuming his seat and taking a fresh drag on his cigar.


Jean at least kept her wits about her; she was smart enough to know when to give a little, for once the asprin and water was handed to her. She took them almost immediately even though her apprehension to medication was at an all time high. The water was almost desperately drank, her hand lifting to wipe at the back of her mouth as she leans forward to place the glass carefully upon the table. As much as she wanted not to, her leg begins to bounce. And it irritated the wounds within, but it kept her sharp, and if anyone could see it clearly? It kept her just a little bit angry.

Though once Emma reaches over to grasp her hand, the bounce of the leg stops. Her lips bunch up into a slight frown as her head slowly lowers. She doesn't say anything at all, that was her acceptance. Even though Jean and Logan share a bond, she didn't need to voice her own sentiments because he had done it for her. "I'm.. really, really tired.." She confesses.

'You would let her do this?'
'We have had enough of you letting people pick through our heads!'
'You are -tired-! Of what?!'
'You won't be rid of me so easily!'

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