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Illyana's sitting on the table in the library. Mostly because she's still not convinced 'chairs' are a thing. A dozen books are stacked up around her and she's bouncing between several of them at once. Most are recent and contemporary histories of America and Russia— it seems the waifish blonde is catching up on her world events. She looks a frightful mess, though, a bit leaner in the cheeks than usual and healing from prolonged frostbite on her nose and ears. She's a ragged looking mess, and the rough ponytail she's tugged her hair into doesn't help. Naturally, she's barefoot, and exposing too much leg as she sits with her legs folded under her.
For someone who's almost perpetually in the kitchen when not in classes, Rory Sinclair is still a skinny little bloke. This time, the red-headed lycanthrope is carrying a rather large sandwich, piled high with pastrami and corned beef, on a plate to take up to his room. Why he's going through the library to get to the stair is somewhat of a mystery, though. But in any event, he sees Illyana sitting on the table, and there's a lot of differnt thoughts that go through his mind. The primary thought, though, involves a look of concern towards the blonde Russian. "Dear Lord," he murmurs a bit at seeing how ragged she is. "Illyana…wha' happened to ye?"
Psyche was tucked away in a corner of the library, doing some studying when she hears Rory's voice call out. She glances up and closes the book, pulling out her chair before heading in the direction where she hears voices. The girl has mostly recovered from her night in New York City, and has stopped sporting the sun glasses that she was for the last day or so. She's dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, looking like the typical Xavier student. Her braids bouncing along her back as she clears the shelves.
The library in the mansion is anything but small, and it is quite possible for someone to come into the library and be completely unaware tha someone else is there, if they're in the right place and quiet enough. And it's a library, so there's plenty of incentive to be quiet enough. So perhaps that is how it is that Illyana and Psyche never noticed an exceptionally well-coiffured and attired platinum blonde who was already here. But now that there are people, speaking aloud, the silent telepath has reason to look up, and then to move.
Emma Frost is not a face most anyone at the school would be familiar with, though some could know of her from news reports, especially society columns and the like. Nevertheless, the woman dressed all in white moves like she belongs here; indeed, with the kind of regal bearing that implies she owns everything she surveys. "Is there a problem?" she inquires, in that cool, upper-crusty Boston accent. Yep. She doesn't even bother introducing herself, as if everyone should already know … or as if it should not even matter.
With a black bag slung over her shoulder, Kitty Pryde stalks from the entrance towards the Dorms only to see the door to the library open, and students lingering inside. Considering the last time she hesitated in the hall, and popped in to meet the super secret book club, she peeks her head in. Worry tugs her lips and eyes downwards as she peeks about the room, but rather than draw attention to herself, she quietly lingers along the door.
As per usual, however, life plays against Kitty, and the weight of the bag tugs uncomfortably on her shoulder. Quietly she pulls it over her shoulder to set it down on the floor, but when she pulls it over her head, she loses her grip on it, and the bag falls with a ridiculously loud clang. Begging questions whether Kitty has taken to transporting metal. She forces a tight smile, "Hey." But concern continues to reflect in her eyes.
Illyana looks up at Rory, and the suggestion of a smile curls at her lips. "'lo, Rory. Had small detour into land of ice giants. Was stuck for several days in very cold castle. I am fine, is mostly healed," she says, gesturing vaguely at the ruddy, rough skin on her cheekbones and nose. "How are you?"
She twists and turns, hearing people shuffling around as if woken by Rory's words— Psyche, she doesn't recognize, nor does she identify the haughty, picture-perfect blonde who moves near them. Her eyes narrow at Emma. "Is no problem," she tells Emma, warily. "Problems sound more like 'no, look out'," she says, flailing one hand in the air demonstratively, "and then usually Piotr yells at me for something that is not my fault."
The clang at the door gets her attention, and her cold expression splits into a warm genuine smile for Kitty. "Hello Kitty. What is matter?" she inquires, brushing a bit of hair back behind one ear.
Rory bites the corner of his mouth some, looking Illyana over again. "Well, ye should be bundled up more. Wearin' only that shrift can nae be good for ye helth! Ye're already got frostbite, do ye want ta catch yer death of cold?" He clucks his tongue lightly and is about to head up to his room when the others arrive. And when Psyche and Emma reveal themselves, Rory back up and huanches his shoulders, looking warily at the two women. Then, Kitty causes a ruckus and Rory looks over at her. He's still slouching, but he nods to her. "H'lo, Kitty. What've ye got there?"
Psyche takes a step back when she gauges the less than warm welcome in the room. She looks at Emma with a frown and shakes her head, "No problem." She motions to where she was before, "I was just reading…" She looks at the other students, knowing that she's seen them from a distance but somehow the girl has managed to stay off the radar until now.
"My apologies. I am unused to such exuberant volumes within the confines of a library." the vision in white offers so primly. "I simply assumed that had to mean there was a problem." That said, however, Emma walks over towards Illyana, eyeing the girl's condition with a critical eye. Clearly, she needs to supply more funds to Charles and direct them towards the proper equipping of a medical facility. Turning her gaze to sweep the room and the others present, she offers, "I presume, then, that each of you are in fact students here?" Though Emma is barely older than the others, her aura of maturity should carry the day. Or so she clearly expects.
The tired look in Kitty's eyes is replaced with an easier smile at the greeting. And then, with a measure of indecision, she manages, "Nothing." And then with an indecisive waffle of her head, she offers a shrug, "Just got home from…" her head ticks to the side with even more indecision as her eyebrows stitch together tightly, "…home?" She shrugs. "That's all. Thinking about…" her lips purse, "family things." She manages a tight smile.
Rory's question merits a more pensive smile, "Oh. That's just… my luggage. From my trip."
The assertion about being a student has Kitty smirking, "I was a student here. I graduated. Early." Before she left. For things.
Illyana shrugs negligently at Emma. "Is only library during assigned study hours. Rec room, rest of time," the blonde waif says, her accent thickly Russian. "Not sure if game night tonight— was checkers yesterday," she suggests to Emma.
She gives Psyche a curious, appraising glance, though it's not unwelcoming one. Rory gets a lift of her brow. "Cannot get sick— toxic blood. Diseases can not take root."
She hops off the table with a leggy, adolescent ease and walks up to Kitty, giving her friend a flat look of examination. "You look upset about something," she says. Illyana, Captain Obvious. "What is problem? Do I need to beat someone? Is Piotr? Can take him by ear and drag him around until he apologizes," she promises Kitty, impulsively.
There's a bit of a blush in ROry's cheeks as he watches Illyana move to Kitty. He snorts at her response to his concern. "Tha's just what auld Ian MacDougal said until he caught the chest cold. The…new…new something." He shakes his head and shrugs. To Emma, he looks at still cautiously, and nods. "Aye. Rory Sinclair. Doctor MacTaggart brought me here to learn about m' gifts and get a proper education." He also looks over Psyche again, although with less unease since he recognizes her as being a part of his classes from time to time. Still, hes moving towards the two persons he knows here: Illyana and Kitty. "C'n I help ye with anything, Kitty?" The question is almost laughable, given the boy's small size and frame.
"I'm a student here," Psyche confirms for Emma, "Dani Moonstar." She gives her name tentatively, "I haven't been here long." Or rather for the first few weeks she wasn't fit to be around others but she's getting better…most days. A few days ago she slipped out and got drunk and was delivered on the doorstep by strangers but she's managed to avoid being taken to task over the matter.
With all of the space in this mansion, Charles really has his library doing double-duty as a recreation room for teenagers? Clearly, he needs additional funds, and some stern talking to! Emma observes the others curiously, taking note of the curiosities. Clearly, some of these students have been raised properly, and others have not. "Mr. Sinclair, Ms. Moonstar, thank you kindly for the introductions."
The platinum blonde glances at Kitty and Illyana, the two of them clearly conferring on whatever issue is at hand. "With the Russian accent, I will presume you are Ms. Rasputina. And with an early graduation, I would assume you would be Ms. Pryde, yes?" Clearly, someone knows what is going on around here. Emma sees no reason to explain she has picked up names telepathically, rather than having been briefed in detail by Xavier himself. "I am Ms. Frost, an associate of Mr. Xavier." She has issues calling him 'Professor', given he isn't actually an accredited professional educator, no matter how talented he may be.
"N-no! Piotr is amazing! No,he was fantastic. Is fantastic! He's… " Kitty's cheeks flush. "No. We just drove back to Illinois. It's my mother, to be honest." She manages a tired smile. "Seeing my parents turns into — well — " her cheeks flush. "It has actually gone worse before." Kitty's eyes roll emphatically, "She suggested I should think solid thoughts when I fell through bed, and into the first floor of our home. So. Maybe this was better than some times. Maybe."
Rory earns an easy smile, "Thank you, Rory. It's just family stuff. I think we all have things that come up, and expectations we can't meet. My mom, well, she has her misgivings." A glance is given to there bag, "Do you know somewhere a person might get rid of a sword that they probably shouldn't have?" That seems like an oddly specific question.
And then towards Emma, she nods, "Yes. I'm Kitty. Kitty Pryde. Or Katherine, I guess. Depending on who is asking." Like the Professor. Or her mother.
"Illyana Nikolivech Rasputina, Queen of Limbo," Illyana tells Emma, with a bit of stiff pride. "And ally of the Sorceror Supreme. /And/ Kitty's friend." She points a finger at Kitty, the weight of her voice clearly emphasizing in which order she prioritizes those three titles.
"You are well met, Associate Ms. Frost." She gives Dani a speculative look— having not met the woman, she pays her careful attention as introductions are made.
Then she keys onto Kitty's words. "Sword?!" Illyana dives for Kitty's bag, snatching it up and digging inside it to find whatever weapon is inside.
She comes up with not one, but TWO swords, once in each hand, and brandishes them at the sky with a careless expertise. "Bozhe moi! Swords! But," she frowns, examining them both. "Is not my birthday for several weeks," she frowns.
"Wait, why do you have swords?" she asks her friend. "Are you learning fencing?" Her eyes widen to big globes. "Do /I/ get to teach /you/ fencing, this time?!" she asks, looking extremely excited by the proposition. Weird as it might sound to everyone else….
"Rory, look!" She swings the swords dangeorusly near the lycanthrope, though she's skilled enough he's in no real danger. "Swords!"
Psyche views the interactions with the other students, keeping a part from it as it seems to be her way. She murmurs her thanks to Emma when the lady notices her manners, "Thank you Ms. Frost." She glances at the swords with a curious eye but stays off to the side where she is, not getting closer to the other teens, "What sort of swords?" She's less familiar with that kind of weapon.
Rory is about to nod to Danni when he has to duck to stay out of the way of Illyana. "Ach! Watch where yur swingin' those things!" And with his ducking, Rory falls to the floor, along with his large sandwich. The Scottish lad sighs heavily. "An' now look at this…" He grumbles as he tries to salvage the food quickly within the 5 second rule period. He looks up from the ground at Illyana, smirking at her. "Aye, they look nice an' shiny." Slowly he gets back up, trying to keep the plate with the sandwich upright. "Mind ye, a good claidheamh-mor would break those blades in half." After the others have introduced themselves, Rory nots to both, slowly dropping his defensive posture towards them. "Dani. Mrs. Frost. Nice to meet both o' ye."
There's now a young Russian girl waving around a pair of katana. Emma is too hard-boiled a personality to let her concern show, but it is there. What is wrong with Charles, letting the children run rampant like this?! "Perhaps we should put down the blades, ladies? Before someone or something is damaged?"
Emma really does visibly turn up her nose when she spots Rory recovering food lost on the floor, with anything more than an intent to toss it all in the rubbish. "Mr. Sinclair, seriously? Please be so kind as to toss that away, rather than deign to eat it in that condition." Not in front of her, at least.
"May I ask, Ms. Pryde, what it is you are doing bringing a pair of katana into the school?" Emma inquires.
"Yes," Kitty replies easily towards Illyana. "Definitely my friend," her smile grows. But then Illyana is diving for her bag, "N-no!!!!" Kitty makes grabby hands towards the weapons. "You, you can't! They're mine — "
There's a flush of Kitty's cheeks. "I got one while I was in Japan," the nonsense with Ogun isn't something she feels like explaining, so instead, she frowns, "The other? Well," she scowls slightly, "my mother found it somewhere and decided they're a matching set." Her lips purse lightly. "They're not. Or, they better not be." Because that's too concerning to Kitty.
She shoots Illyana an easier grin at the question, "I'm sure you could teach me a thing or two. I've become rusty, I'm afraid." Her lips hitch up on one side in a lopsided smile. She reaches out to grasp the sword that is undeniably hers. "I actually should… take those with me for now. But, Yana, I'd love help disposing of the one later. For now I really need to unpack," the rest of the bag. "And get some laundry rolling."
A smirk follows Emma's question. "Because I needed my sword to dispense with whatever evil seems to be coming out of Central Park. They're getting put away. Some place ridiculously safe. It's handy to be able to put things in walls." Her eyebrows lift. Finally, she motions towards the hall, she really does have to get rolling. Once she manages to at least get at least one sword back, she retreats for the dorms.
Illyana gladly surrenders the one sword to Kitty, but hesitates before turning the other. "Er.. may I? Just for now. Will give back tomorrow," she promises her friend, gripping it tightly in her hands. She flickers a smile at Kitty, one that widens once Kitty leaves everyone else to their fate with an ARMED AND FULLY OPERATIONAL ILLYANA!!!
Just kidding. She handles the sword with extreme competence, dspite the unfamiliar construction of the blade. "Mm. Interesting design." She shrugs at Psyche, holding the blade out so Dani can examine it. "Do not know name. Will have to research a bit— is interesting, yes? Looks like better for cutting than chopping." She eyes a table leg contemplatively, but thinks better of it before going full Kurosawa in the Library.
She rests the blade's blunted edge on her shoulder and scowls at Emma. "Is perfectly safe. I have killed tens of thousands of demons with a sword. Very few people are equal to me with a blade. If I wanted to hurt someone, they'd be hurt." She sniffs derisively, and pokes at a scrap of meat on the ground, flicking it to her hand and biting at the coldcut. "And leave Rory alone," she says, stepping between Emma and the young lycan man. "He is perfectly fine. Maids were in here yesterday. Little dust never hurt anyone," she chides Emma. "You are very bossy for new girl," she says, jutting her chin at the (much) taller woman.
She looks down at Rory and sniffs. "You whine like old woman. Will not hurt you unless you have it coming," she says, tousling his hair affectionately.
Psyche gets uncomfortable as Illyana speaks back to Emma, an associate of Charles. She doesn't look like a fellow student to the teen so she's surprised at her words. She starts to take a few steps back, inching away from the scene and potential conflict, "I'm done reading now…it was nice meeting everyone." She gives Emma an awkward smile, "Ms. Frost." She then starts to hurry her way out of the library, leaving the chaos behind her.
Rory is torn between having his hair tousled…and Illyana tousling his har. In the end, he makes a few flailing motions with his free hand trying to get her to stop. "Ach! Will ye stop that?" He smirks at Illy. "Tis embarassin'…" He looks over to Dani to gauge her reaction to him getting his hair mussed like that. And then, he adresses Emma's demand to dispose of the sandwich. His posture becomes a bit more agressive towards the blonde woman, like she's coming between a predator and it's kill. "I will nae toss out perfectly good food," he says with a near snarl. "Some o' us come from places where food is precious enough without havin' to throw it out because it gor a few mites o' dirt on it." And he hold the sandwich close to him, daring Emma to take it from him by force.
"Ms. Moonstar. Ms. Pryde." Emma offers to both younger women as they make their retreats. Then she turns to regard Illyana rather coldly; failing to respect the White Queen never goes well, for anyone involved. Collateral damage can be disastrous. "I am not a 'new girl', as you say, Ms. Raspuntina. I am your elder, and you would do well to keep that in mind." She also seems rather unphased by the mention of tens of thousands of demons slain. "Appropriate behavior and responsibility are not items for debate or discussion." Because Emma says so.
Emma places her hands on her hips, projecting an aura of true command as she faces Rory. "Wherever you might come from now, Mister Sinclair, you have no need to fear starvation, nor risk sickening yourself with food that has fallen to the unclean floor." Apparently she doesn't respond well to anyone trying to be threatening to her.
Illyana /snorts/ at Emma, cornflower blue eyes locked with Emma's azure gaze. "If you are my elder, I am tomato," she tells Emma scornfully, unaware of any potential dangers, standing near Rory and slightly ahead of the lycan, protectively. Illyana's a ragged thing, but she's at least eighteen or even a bit older, by Emma's estimation.
"Does not matter if you are elder or not. Demons have no care for age, and I do not, either. I have killed beings that count their years of age like stars in the sky. You," she tells Emma, waggling a finger at the tall blonde, "Do not impress me."
"I do like your shoes," she admits, a beat later. "But! That is not material to this conversation," she says.
Rory's heart is pounding in his chest, as a stew of emotions come to a boil within him. His mind is full of flashes back to Scotland. To his life as the ward of the Reverend Craig. from his earliest memories until he was 16, a life of abuse both physical and verbal. His minds eye hears Emma's voice coming through the Reverend's mouth as a heavy switch is taken to him, being forced to eat old, slightly spoiled food and being told that's all he's worth. Rory's breathing intensifies, and there's a feral growl in his mind like some savage beast clawing to be let out. He's being torn between submitting to another authoritarian and the unusual position for standing up for himself. And with a paniced look on his face, Rory comes to the only conclusion that's ever really worked for him…
In the blink of an eye, Rory is gone and a red wolf starts running out of the library. The plate with the sandwich drops to the ground and shatters, forgotten as every flight instinct in Rory's brain screams at him to flee. The sound of canine claws scrabling on the mansion floor echos as Rory heads for the nearest portal out and away, escaping into the mansion's grounds to go an hide somewhere…
Illyana's scorn flays Emma's last nerve, and she responds, ready to teach the arrogantly disrespectful young woman some lessons in humility, when suddenly young Rory Sinclair dissolves into canine panic and retreat. She felt his panic, experienced his memories and feelings, and understands the psychology of what transpired for him. Even worse, a part of her feels poorly about it; she, after all, has been as much a victim of emotional abuse in her life as young Rory has, if in a much more affluent manner.
The moment passes, but it has taken a bit of the immediacy out of Emma's response to Illyana. She turns to regard the girl coldly. "Child, if you wish to be a tomato, that can be arranged. As for failing to impress, you cannot even manage to master the dominant language of your educational institution. You are ill-behaved and rude."
Aware that the other's mind has an alien flavor to it with which she is unfamiliar, and taking into account that some of the child's boastful hyperbole might have a seed of truth to it, Emma resolves to solve this problem rather more forcefully than would usually be her want. A brief but powerful jab of telepathic force slams into Illyana's brain. She cannot be sure how effective it will be, but it is only the beginning. Because Emma follows that by transforming into her diamond form, and taking a swing at the girl's chin with an opened hand. A diamond slap, just in case that sword were to come to use.
"Rory! No!" Illyana reaches for the young canine, recognizing the shift to his furry form— but she's too late, and he slips past her fingers in a rustling of russet fur. "Come back!" She whirls on Emma, wide-eyed, and that psychic blast hits her full force—
but it's muchly lacking much of the impact the blow would have had against a human being, or even a metahuman. Her mind is strange, weirdly alien, and the blow seems oddly deflected or as if the energy were shunted into vast depths in her strange mind. Still, she's staggered by it, as it takes her utterly by surprise. She gasps and twists, eyes screwing shut— but too late.
The crack to her jaw, however, sends Illyana stumbling off, and she pitches over a chair with clatter of books and an ancient candelabra. The sword goes flying, too, clattering along and sinking by the edge deep into a bureau drawer.
She rises slowly, eyes literally alight with eldritch fire, hands curling into fists. "Blondinka suka… you have met my brother, yes?" she says, her jaw already swelling. She snaps her hands into claws and purple fire flares around her fingertips. "Is practically love tap!"
She lifts a hand and gravity-defying force conspires to lift Emma off the ground, eldritch light crackling around the young woman. "Careful," she says, her tone mocking Emma. "Control is not so good today. Accidentally crushed a statue this way two days ago," she tells the haughty blonde. "Strange was very cross." Black, crackling power flows around her brow like a dark and hideous helm that surrounds her with pitch-black energy, rather demonic looking and wholly unnatural to the eye to behold.
"Your brother?" Emma responds. "No, I have not." Though she did see Piotr in Kitty's thoughts, earlier, and knows who Illyana is talking about and why she'd bring him up right now. "It was meant to be a 'love tap'. I have no desire nor need to permanently mar you. You are a student and a recalcitrant child, not a threat to my life." And yes. Emma says all of that while being surounded by that eldritch energy.
It's unnerving to Emma, of course. She has never experienced anything like this. But her diamond form is heavy, and virtually - as in nearly - indestructible. Which means she is not lifted easily, and she doesn't break. Instead, she pushes off, launching towards Illyana with the grace one would expect of a ballerina, or a trained martial artist.
But there's no attack. None. Emma stops where she lands, or hovers where she is then lifted, impassive and unmoving, utterly fearless. And it's not a put-on. "I suggest, Ms. Rasputina, that you kindly get over yourself. Your fellow student is in need of assistance and counseling. The necessary point has been made. Let us not unnecessarily compound this foolishness."
"I suggest, Miss Frost," Illyana says, tartly, "you dismount high horse," she tells the leggy blonde instructor, eyes still narrowed. Empty night crackles around her, stinking of something infernal and otherworldly. "I promise Piotr, no banishments to Limbo. Otherwise?" She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. "Nest of giant wasps, with your name on it."
She gives Emma a baleful look, then dismisses the magics around the woman and walks away, moving to the window. "Rory! RORY!" she bellows, into the fields around the school. "Is okay now! Come back! RORY!" she calls, growling under her breath in Russian. "<Damnit man, where did you go now?>"
The wolf is running as hard and fast as he can. But then, there's a scent that reaches him that breaks him out of his single-minded pursuit of escape: the smell of ozone and strangeness that accompanies Illyana using magic. And that can't be good. Rory slows down, then turns back to head towards the mansion. Fortunately, it looks like it's all over but the seething by the time Rory comes padding back into the foyer, tail between his legs. He shifts back to his human form, timidly peeking from around the wall before entering the library. There's a feeling of relief when he sees both Illy and Emma unharmed. At least physically. He slowly comes around the corner, walking into the library, head hanging low and feeling like this is all his fault. " 'M sorry," he mumbles out to no-one in particular. "I'll…go fetch a broom and clean up my mess."
Emma lands and just shakes her head. "Poor child." Honestly? If Illyana were to be so ill-mannered and foolish as to do something like a nest of wasps to Emma? She's likely to find herself well and truly assassinated. Emma really doesn't have a sense of humor.
"Mister Sinclair, I hope you understand that there was no need for you to flee. That you were in no danger, and that no one meant you any harm here." Emma offers the returning mutant gentleman. "Perhaps, once you are done cleaning up the mess, you might like something more to eat?" The teenaged boy was hungry to start with, and now he's shifted form twice, and is probably closer to starving. Meanwhile, Emma has already made contact with her driver's mind, and summoned him to go pick up some takeout. The most interesting part is that he'll remember nothing of that errand, but that won't prevent him from getting it done.
"I think you have helped enough," Illyana tells Emma, teeth grinding together. She's about to continue to speak but a little voice seems to sound in the back of her head, and she moves to Rory's side, hugging his arm and touching his temple reassuringly. "Come. I will attend to the mess." She glances at it, then snaps her fingers and mutters something eldritch under her breath. The plate quivers and leaps, and the food flies at it. It's not perfect, but the mess sweeps up into a disordered lump which she flicks into the nearby wastebin with a receptacle.
"Yes, let's you and I," she tells Rory, deliberately excluding Emma, "get you something fresh to eat. Perhaps sandwhich? I think there are leftover steaks in the refridgerator."
All the attention being shown to him is just making Rory more skittish and he shakes his head at the offer from Emma. "No thank ye, Mrs. Frost. I should just tend to the mes and go up to my room." He's to tired to be anything other than submissive, but it's an emotional weariness, rather than a physical one.
Illyana's display of magic does manage to bring a smile to Rory's face. But there's the same note of weariness to him. "Thank ye, Illyana. But I'm nae so hungry right now. I think I just want to be by m'self right now." Again, he smiles a bit at Illy and nods to both women. "Mrs. Frost. Illyana.." And he starts to head out to the foyer to go up the stairs.
Emma arches an imperious eyebrow at the smart-mouthed, ill-mannered Russian girl, but she chooses not to raise her voice or say anything to disturb the girl's attempt to calm and reassure Rory, since Emma of all people can feel how much he needs that. Instead, she simply watches it all transpire. She could pull up Illyana short for trying to exclude her, but she says nothing, merely letting things unfold. She does not stop her driver from going on his errand, however. She's guessing after some rest, the young man will be hungry. And Emma will have that food to share when the time comes. "That is Miss Frost, Mister Sinclair. I am unmarried." And likely to continue to be so indefinitely.
Once Rory has departed, Emma speaks up for Illyana's benefit. "I did nothing, young lady, to cause Mr. Sinclair's outburst, and I have done all I could to help and support him. I shall continue to do so. After all, I am here to help."
Illyana watches Rory go, then turns and narrows her eyes at Emma. "Your overestimate of yourself, /Miss/ Frost, is matched only by your lack of grasp of obviousness," Illyana says, her ire lending her accent extra weight. "You are going to have lonely time here, I think, because sounds as if you are more trying to convince yourself than try to convince me."
With a baleful final look at Emma, Illyana turns, sticks her nose in the air, and sweeps out of the room in as grand a manner as she can. A moment later, around the corner, there's a muttered curse in Russian and that katana quivers and flies through the air, bending around the corner to land in Illyana's hand.
"I think you shall require a mirror for that speech, child." Emma responds, calmly and without invective. She simply talks back to the spot where she had been reading earlier, and settles down with a good book to wait until her driver returns with the food. she is apparently immune to baleful looks and pouting Russians.