(2014-05-27) Actions Have Consequences
Actions Have Consequences
Summary: Linda Danvers has not returned to Xavier Academy since the burning of Solomon Grundy. She misses classes on Monday morning. Emma Frost goes to find her and get her butt back in school where she belongs.
Date: 2014-05-27
Related: Burned on a Saturday
Scene Runner: NA
Social/Plot: Social

School's back in session and Linda Danvers has still not appeared at Xavier's Institute. With her speed and powers, she could be anywhere in the world. Maybe even off the world. However, it turns out she isn't far at all. Being a first class telepath (with access to Cerbero) it won't be hard to track Linda down to a coffee shop in Troy, New York. She's just sitting there, holding a cup of coffee and staring off into the distance. Not a word. Not a motion. The coffee, honestly, is long since cold. Linda's been like that for a while.

All things considered, despite what a controlling bitch Emma Frost can be, she has said or done nothing about Linda Danvers' absence from the school for nearly four days. She was not happy about missing one day of classes, but it was a day most other students skated through without really waking up, so who really cares? But when Linda did not arrive in time for classes Tuesday morning … Emma's tolerance ran out.

Emma know what Davners' was dealing with, or she could guess, at least. She can read the news feeds the same as anyone else. But her job is not to handhold the children through the least obstacles out there; she had to wait to see how Linda would handle it. Clearly, the girl has NOT handled it, and now it's up to Emma to step in.

Twenty minutes making phone calls and sending emails to clear her schedule. Fifteen minutes changing her attire. Thirty minutes with Cerebro. Then another half an hour travel time. How does Emma get to Troy, New York? Maybe that stark white helicopter that just landed outside town? Oh, wait. You say no one noticed that landing? Not even air traffic control? Then that /must/ be how she got here. Even the poor pilot has no idea how she got here, but she's having a nice nap, now, while waiting for Emma's return.

The first clue that Emma is here? She just suddenly 'appears' to Linda's senses, already seated in the chair in front of her. No coffee for Emma. Not even any tea. Just Emma, seated, watching the younger blonde. "Ms. Danvers."

For what it's worth? No one else in the shop seems to notice Emma, and that's pretty much impossible in that outfit. No one in this place would miss a double-take on that in their presence.

Linda can see atoms. She can see for miles. She can hear cells divide. Yet, somehow, she missed Emma Frost until the headmistress of Xavier's Institute sat right in front of her. Linda shrieks in a moment of shock, hands turning the ceramic cup she's holding into powder and sending cold coffee in sprays everywhere. Except, it seems, on the perfect White Queen.

Five minutes later, she's done apologizing to the store manager and things are cleaned up and Linda has a new cup - on the house because they assumed the cup exploded due to the coffee. After all, a human being couldn't do that!

"… you scared the shit out of me." Linda mutters to her still "invisible" headmistress.

Note to self: block student's physical responses before appearing in the future, as apparently the student is entirely too high strung. Emma Frost does nothing, says nothing, the entire time during this fiasco. Not even an eloquently raised pale blonde eyebrow. She just … waits.

"Given you were doing your best immitation of catatonia, I thought perhaps 'scaring the shit out of you' might be the best course of action." Emma finally says, in response to her student's bitchy, snarky commentary. Takes one to know one, right?

"What you do on your time off, Ms. Danvers, is entirely up to you. I admit, I would have preferred that you obey our standing curfew rules, including calling in. But it was a holiday weekend, so we can let that slide with a gentle admonishment for the future." Emma starts off. "Nevertheless, you are now late for classes. That, as you well know, is not acceptable."

Only a second later, however, Emma continues. "I believe that perhaps you might have a need to … what is the current colloquialism? 'Rap'? 'Dish'? 'Gab?' Regardless, I believe you might have a need to 'talk' about what you are feeling. What you are going through, internally. I may not be warm and frivolous, but I have a keen insight into the mind, the so-called 'heart', and behavior's consequences. I am also told I listen quite well." Granted, she usually does so in order to use what she hears against people. But it's still a skill she has honed.

"Rapping" with her Headmistresses while the woman is dressed like she's a high class call girl isn't what Linda would call the 'best idea ever'. But she needs to get this over with. She sips her coffee and then girds her loins, so to speak, and sits up straighter.

"I won't be going back to the school." Linda says. Firmly. "I won't qualify soon. I'm looking for a way to get rid of the circumstances that make me eligible to attend there." See? She isn't giving away the secret to a coffee shop full of customers. Isn't she nice?

Emma sighs softly, almost as if put-upon. "They cannot hear you, Linda. Anymore than they can see me." She has never made a big point of this, but she will explain. "I am a telepath. I appeared here, in front of you, because it was time for you to see me. No one else can see or hear me. Neither can they see or hear you talking to me. They simple see you as you were." How tedious. But it's done, now.

"As for the rest," Emma continues, "I rather doubt your chances of success. Neither you, nor your cousin, have any idea how it is you became what you now are. Neither, I should add, does Professor Xavier, nor myself. I rather doubt you could find anyone better, and if none of us know, there'll be no reversing it, short of death. And I gather that is nigh impossible, as well. So perhaps, instead of melodramatics, we can get down to the business at hand of dealing with your current emotional state, and the relevant triggers?"

Yeah. Warm fuzzy? Not in Emma's wheelhouse. At all.

Linda stares at Emma for a moment. "That's creepy." She says, at last. "You are really scary." She stands up. "I'm going away from you now because I don't want you anywhere near my mind you creepy, creepy dominatrix lady." The cup of coffee is left behind on the table. "You don't need to worry about me or my cousin or Kryptonians anymore. I withdraw from your school. Leave me alone."

"Ah, yes. Reflection. You feel poorly about yourself, so now that I hit too close to home, you will now project bad feelings onto me. Linda, I can find you anywhere in the world. You are my responsibility. You came to us to start over and build a new life, and learn how to deal with who and what you had become. Now, at your first challenge, you will run away? I honestly had not thought you were so weak." Emma doesn't move. She doesn't get up. She doesn't even raise her voice. But she makes sure she is heard. And she waits.

"Weak?" Linda snarls. "WEAK?" She whirls around. Then she grabs Emma Frost by that skanky little outfit and within three second they are five hundred feet above the city of Troy. There's a hole in the roof of the coffee house. Let's see Emma telepath her way out of THAT being seen.

"WEAK?" Linda's eyes are red hot and glowing. "You have NO idea do you? The world's made of TISSUE! I have to walk where I set because when I stub my toe? WALLS BREAK! I have to shave my fucking bikini line with my heat vision and a mirror because razors don't work on me anymore! I can't let go. EVER! These aren't a blessing! I'm not a superhero! I KILLED SOMEONE!"

And Emma dangles there, completely unperturbed by all appearances. Oh, she has a little plaster dust in her hair, but you wouldn't know it by her expression. She really is pretty cool about it all. And as for 'telepathing her way out of it'? That's easy. A little judicious editing of their perceptions, and everyone inside witnesses the leg of one of those tripod machines punch through the ceiling. And then they see the young heroes who saved another small town swoop in to save them. All helpfully gleaned from Linda's own memories.

"It is you, Linda, who has no idea. I have every idea how difficult it is for you. It is my /job/ to know, and I am very good at my job. Just as I am very good at dealing with keeping out and bearing up under the constant barrage of minds and thoughts all around me, all the time. Imagine, if you will, how that must have been for a young woman, with no idea what was happening and no one around to help her? All alone, drowning in othrs' thoughts and feelings." Emma looks at Linda, unflinchingly.

"I cannot let go, anymore than you can. For different reasons, I will grant you. But the result is the same. And I manage. Your cousin manages. Others manage. IT CAN BE DONE." Emma finishes.

"Like it or not, mistakes happen. As powerful as you may be, you cannot prevent that. You can do your best - and you should. But you /will/ make mistakes. That is not in question. Not for you. Not for me. Not for your cousin." Yep. Emma just admitted that even she makes mistakes. Mark it in your calendar. It won't happen often. "What matters, now and always, Linda, is what you /do/ about those mistakes. Running away will not fix it. It solves nothing. Resolving to do better is really the only constructive choice. There are many choices about how you may approach that. And I stand - or dangle, if you prefer - ready to help you with that decision, and that process, regardless what you decide."

"I am NOT running away." Linda growls. "I am going away to find a solution." She sinks back down to the ground. Or, rather, until she's on a rooftop. "I'm going to find a way to get rid of these powers. I didn't always have them. I wasn't born on Krypton and carried here in a rocket ship. I got them some way so I'm going to find some way to get rid of them. I don't need you or your school because I am not going to have powers for long. Go help Lana. She actually wants to do something with what she got."

"And so do you. Or you wouldn't have been there, that afternoon. Or all the other times you have helped people." Emma responds, calmly. Still unperturbed.

"You /are/ running away. You don't have a plan. You don't know of any leads that will help you divest yourself of these powers. But instead of learning how to better control them, and yourself, and do better in the future, while building the future for yourself that /you/ said you wanted, you're flying away. Abandoning the only friends you have, after having done quite a good job trying to push them away so they won't miss you as much. Leaving behind your school, your friends, your life, and even your family. All because of one mistake. One bad mistake, I will grant. But not one that is even entirely your fault. As it is, you take the blame right now for a fire you did not start." Emma adds.

Linda stares at Emma. Again. "… you're a bitch." She says before turning away and walking to the edge of the rooftop. She's quiet for a long moment, looking out over the city. This high up, they look like ants. Cars just little rectangles of color. She hugs herself and closes those eyes. Eyes that can see for miles. "Maybe I should turn myself over to the cops."

"Of course I am. And so are you." Emma responds easily. Flippantly. Almost as if she was channeling a particular teenager. Ahem.

"If you wish to turn yourself over to the police, I will not stop you. But if you will permit, there are some facts about which you should probably be made aware /before/ you do that." Emma offers.

"First of all, no body was found. Footage on the scene cannot be matched to any known individual, living or missing. There are some who have managed to match the /name/ the individual was using to records from the 1930s and 1940s. But that individual was, if records are to be believed, a being of 'unlife'. Somehow mystical in origin. That is not my area of expertise, but I have resources who may be able to assist us if you wish us to investigate further." Emma offers up. "Secondly, the individual who actually started that fire would be the one the police would most likely see prosecuted." But then Emma finishes, "Nevertheless, if you wish to turn yourself in, I will not try to stop you. I will admit it is not the solution I would suggest. But the choice is yours."

Linda takes a step off the roof and just hovers there. The wind whips around her body and hair. A draft rises up the side of the building and washes over her. "Then I got lucky." She whispers. Though the words echo in her mind so Emma can most certainly hear them. "How do you do it? How do you stay so dead inside? You're human, right? You must have emotions. You've got hormones and endorphins and all that crap. So, how are you such an ice queen? How do you keep anything from bothering you?"

Emma doesn't smirk, but it's not for lack of wanting to do so. She hears what the teenager asks, and she cannot help being amused by it. She walks over to the edge of the roof and faces the teenaged blonde. "Your question relies on an erroneous assumption. Yes, I am human. I have thoughts and feelings, endorphins and hormones and emotions." she explains, quietly. But that's not all.

"I am not dead inside. I /do/ feel." A shock, surely, that explanation. "Someday, if I truly believe it will help you, I will explain to you my own story. Suffice it to say that like most who gain such powers, I faced a crucible, a great challenge. And I emerged from that challenge having rebuilt myself. So I stay in control. I feel, but I do not expose those feelings, except to those I choose, when and how I choose." Which would be 'no one, ever' for the most part, but Linda doesn't need to know that. Not yet.

"That is how I function. I maintain that control, in my own way, because that is what I have deemed necessary." Emma finishes.

Linda considers Emma Frost for a moment. "And you wear that slutastic outfit because…" Yes, she's curious. And it isn't like Linda's never worn skimpy clothes. She dressed tomboy most of the time but she's got her fair share of miniskirts and halter tops in her own closet.

Emma arches a pale eyebrow eloquently. Linda /will/ learn to moderate her word choice, and pretty soon, or she's going to regret it. Emma is not amused. "I will answer your question. But /you/ will learn to ask your questions in a respectful manner. You may think what you like. I am not, nor will I become, the 'thought police'. But you will /choose/ the words that pass your lips, when speaking to me, with more respect. I am sure you are capable of better, and I am absolutely sure I deserve better." She may dress in a slinky, sexy way, but Emma is all teacher. Never forget that.

"I choose to wear the clothes that I do because they serve my needs. When I have a need to engender in students respect, I dress in a manner that will engender that respect by making it clear nothing less will be tolerated." And even Linda would surely have to admit, it works. "I chose to dress this way, now, today, because I am not approaching merely a student. I am approaching a young heroine who is distraut, upset, and confused. I chose to present myself in a manner not dissimilar to other 'capes' and 'costumes.' As with many women who do so, I chose this outfit in order to 'weaponize' my beauty, as it were. To serve as a distraction, and as an outward expression of my inner confidence and control over myself."

Linda opens her mouth. Then she closes it. She opens her mouth again to comment. And closes it. She places her hand over her mouth and she thinks. For the first time since this whole mess began, she does more than brood and wallow and angst. She thinks. She hangs there, in the air, hovering near the edge of the roof as she ponders what Emma Frost has said.

"No wonder all the guys are too terrified to crush on you." She says after a long, long moment.

Emma watches Linda, inside and out, 'seeing' the wheels turning inside the young woman as she internalizes and evaluates what she's been told. Finally, she nods. "And most of the ladies as well, who are inclined to such things. It helps with enforcing good order and discipline. It is difficult enough swimming through a sea of teenaged hormones, angst and confusion. It would be infinitely more difficult of the students actually felt I was approachable in any sexual manner."

Cold hard reality. That's why Emma is such an Ice Queen. The penultimate expression of such, in fact. "I can help you, Linda, to get through and face the challenges you are facing. I'm not going to make your decisions for you. But I can help you /find/ the options available, so that you can make /your own/ choices. So that you can be the best /you/ that /you/ want to be. The choice is yours." And with that, she extends a gloved hand and waits.

The decision, as promised, is Linda's alone.

Linda takes a deep breath. She looks at that hand. Just out of idle curiosity, she x-rays the hand. Sees the fine bones. So many of them. She thinks about how easy it would be to crush that hand. One little spasm and there wouldn't be a single solid bone in the Headmistress's hand. Then she goes deep. Looks at the cells that make up that perfect skin and those well tended bones and the carefully sculpted muscle. She drills deeper with her vision so she can see DNA. Strands of it and none quite as neat as the models and illustrations they show kids in science class and at museums.

"I'll be back tomorrow." Linda says. Then she shifts form until she's no longer mousy, tomboy Linda but the bustier, taller, blonder Supergirl. Only the costume's different. The skirt's a little shorter now and the shirt's a long sleeved halter that shows off her perfect abs. Maybe she learned something from Emma Frost after all.

Supergirl flies off.

« Very well. I will make sure your teachers know that you are still liable for all assignments, and that you will be completing them with requisite deductions to maxium grades for lateness. » Emma sends. Hey, every decision has consequences. She offers nothing about whether or not she considers the rejection of her extended hand a rejection of her offer. She simply lays down the rules, and departs.

Of course, when Linda /does/ show up at school, she will also find she has been assigned a 'community service project': she will be required to 'volunteer' her time and efforts, as Supergirl, to come help repair the damages to the coffee shop, until it is fixed.

Because all decisions have consequences.

The White Queen:
A vision of beauty, poise and grace now before you to feast your eyes, this stunning woman makes such a striking and commanding first impression that many can't tear their eyes away no matter how impolite it may be to stare. At just an inch or so shy of a full six feet in height - and that before adding the seldom-absent high heels - her willowy and sumptuous form is the equal to or envy of supermodels and the like, with platinum blonde hair perfectly coifed into a flowing silken mane that parts to frame her face draping to mid-back and across her bare upper chest in front, and pale ice blue eyes that sparkle almost luminously almost lustrous, long slightly darkened eyelashes beneath perfectly sculpted pale blonde eyebrows. Her complexion is flawless, the healthy creamy pink unmarred by sun, strain or age. And her body's tone and shape are the kind of idealized miracles that have sent generation after generation of women in search of new and better ways to use and abuse themselves in vain to come anywhere close to the like. Her face's features are the perfected high cheek bones, small pert nose, symmetrical eyes, thinly arched and sculpted eyebrows, and full, ripe lips that are often called aristocratic, and given this lady's clear and firm control over herself and seemingly everyone else around her, that title is all too fitting.

She's wearing an outfit in white that is at once daring and elegant in equal measure. A curious confection that combines a belly-exposing tube top with a fold-over ruff which forms around back into a flowing ankle-length cape and sleeves which start at mid-bicep and go down beneath a pair of elbow-length white leather gloves 'covers' her torso, while leaving shoulders, upper arms, and upper chest as well as most of her abdomen bare. The exposure of her cleavage is significant, but not outright scandalous. A thin white choker encircles her neck, a small 'X' symbol in gold to the right side of her throat to match the one at the upper center of her top. A pair of almost skintight white low-cut hip-hugger pants encase her lower half while leaving the upper swell of her hips bare. The legs of the pants are tucked into a pair of short, mid-calf height leather boots. To top all this off, she wears white lipstick and white eyeshadow. It's definitely a statement.

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