“Why yes indeed – I must say the fact you were a teen-idol was rather a surprising fact to learn when you were first located. Not that this gives you much credit, dear – But don’t you worry, I am sure this blue, butterfly-shaped face-paint made you appear very threatening to the Hellfire Club mercenaries.” And with this, the blonde threw her head back ever-so-slightly, blonde hair from a bottle running down her back, as she left out a small snort that could have appeared to be contempt. The night she was referring to had not been a very pleasant one for Emma either, no matter how it had all started perfectly well. Later, when she’d get out of that coma the Phoenix left her in, she’d blamed it all on the incapacity of her guard, and those who were still alive from the X-Men break-in had magically disappeared. It had not made her feel much better, still – She’d taken no pleasure in the idea of her failure. And perhaps this was one of the many ways in which Alison and herself were both strangely similar and yet diametrically opposed, in the way in which they coped with failures, with traumas, by trying to avoid themselves for a little while – Be it through sarcasm, or through a tiresome bubbly attitude.
The telepath felt the sudden need to be cruel, to be out of herself in a way that would never be possible for a telepath to be, but this was obviously not happening anytime soon, and Alison was waiting for an answer on the mundane subject she went to talk to her about, and Emma was not an unfair person – She did not play fair, she had favorites, and she would bend and twist people’s common perception of The Truth solely for educational purpose, but this was not really being unfair. Just like this was not really a mundane conversation. For a split second, Emma wondered when it had stopped being such a thing – Was it when she had mentioned Loïs, when Alison’s need for approval had kicked in, or when she’d handed her the drawings thus mixing business with each of their personal lives and opinions? – or if it had even been a mundane conversation to being with? It would not have been a strictly bad thing if it hadn’t, of course, because mundane was boring, and boring was one of the many things Emma neither wanted to be or to represent – Still, what did it say about Emma, and about Alison, that neither of them would entertain the usual pleasantries with each other? Was it respect or hatred, or a weird mix of both?
“And in case it wasn’t, you are the spotlight yourself, darling.” Alison’s powers roughly – and in a non-complex summary – consisted in changing sounds into light, turning praises into a spotlight. There seemed to be a pattern, with the usual need for approbation, for people to appreciate her – because everyone loved Alison, except those who did not -. Emma would have dug deeper into it, but now really was not the time – Not when she felt mildly insulted. “How would you pretend to stand underneath it, then?”
And then, Emma took a few steps back, eyes looking at Alison in as many little details as her contact lenses enabled her to do so. She then eyed back the sketches, then Alison, tapping a light and thoughtful finger under her chin. “Why, Alison dear… If your commercial speech consists mostly in insulting me, dear, it is more of a deterrent than an incentive for me to accept - Especially when people here already know full well I am an-“ Her hands mimicked quotation marks. –“’uptight snob’.” She tilted her head, then, going briefly for her desk and opening a few folders up. “Still, do keep me entertained – Have you got any idea of the rough cost producing this outfit would be?”
“I wasn’t a teen idol then.” Alison rolled her eyes casually, she’d thought Emma, of all people, would know how rough she had started out. Her only audience was druggies and people who were too dumb to realize that she wasn't actually Madonna. Unfortunately, the low rent music newspaper she had put her adverts in interpreted her description as just ‘budget brand Madonna with class B light shows.’ At least they put an epilepsy warning on it. “You’ve forgotten the part where I whited out my eyes so I looked like I was a ghost or possessed and something.” Alison bit back a sigh of aggravation, she wasn’t too fond of her first gig that was crashed by super heroes. It had paved the way for others to do exactly the same, The Enchantress, Doctor Doom, the people from project Pegasus the light master–or whatever he actually called himself. She had to fight some of the lamest and some of the best super villains around, and the hellfire club was probably responsible for it; the whole 'well if the X-men wanted to recruit her, it wouldn’t hurt to try and use her for any evil plans.’ She chewed the bottom of her lip slowly, the pink lipstick rubbing off against her almost pearl like teeth. It was disconcerting to think that you might be having your thoughts read any second, it was one of the many reasons she was slightly wary of telepaths. But in this business, there was no way you could avoid them–which was even more disconcerting.
She pushed herself up from her sitting position, she was roughly the same height as Emma, if not taller, and if there was one thing she had learned from her dad, it was that if you have good posture, people are going to respect you and your judgement more. She had always believed that that was one of his silly things to do with being a lawyer, but after her drama teacher had drilled the same idea into her head–it was pretty hard to forget it. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, she hadn’t clipped it back or wore it up so it kept on falling down and covering her left eye. It could be described as an annoyance, especially to someone who led most of their life with it cut short and neat. It was so much easier when fighting, not having to keep on pulling it back, or having to worry about someone frying it mid battle (which is an extremely serious problem if you didn’t know).
Alison pursed her lips, her teeth grazing the side of her cheek slightly. She knew that, but to her, she wasn’t her own spotlight. She’d always just been there to make others look good, or at least that’s how she saw it. It was probably because of how much laughter her powers got, light apparently wasn’t anything compared to teleporting or being able to shift forms. Her dire need for the spotlight was another thing entirely, while she loved being a team player and having a group of people who’d have her back, she was a star–or at least she tried to be. It was her weakness during Inferno, it still was her weakness now. Despite the cogs crashing and burning in her head, Alison’s outside exterior had no change. She simply stood and looked at Emma, her expression was a mix between hopefulness and contempt. Which was the complete opposite of her inner feelings.
She readied herself for a swearing and/or snark contest, the sudden shift of movement indicated some sort of thought pattern which could either be her waiting for a bitch fight or she was doing some weird thing that only weird people do. “I don’t know id you know this Emma,” Alison began, a slight pause between he first sentence and the following one, “but I do have a law degree, arguing and convincing people is second nature.” She did take Emma’s words carefully, rudeness wasn’t the way to win someone’s heart–but Alison wasn’t the best at forgiving, and Emma and Alison had quite a lot of bad blood. “Cost doesn’t matter, anything you can’t be willing to pay I can supply myself–I also could probably get a lot of stuff cheaper, but I’m going to say roughly a hundred dollars. Maybe more or less, depends on how much things cost.”
wamph-archive reblogged this from lightengale-archive-blog and added: “Inspiring?” Emma carefully repeated, articulating each syllables as if talking to a small child to make him understand...
lightengale-archive-blog reblogged this from wamph-archive and added: “Yes.” Alison replied firmly, her arms crossing over her chest in her usual manner–it was the same glassy eyed look she...
