“Please. Are you really correcting me on how pathetic your career really was just for the sake of using the right term?” Not that Emma was not much better, of course, but this was part of the things she would never admit aloud but that others seemed to positively love to point out. She’d never say out loud that she used to be a stripper or an escort – She assumed it, would not deny it, but these were not what defined her, not what she mentioned upon first meeting someone. And again with how Alison was subject to a similar – and yet ever so different – fate. Dazzler, the infamous popstar now singing live in San Francisco for a pay that likely was at most only half of what she received at her best. Everyone had their own ways of stereotyping people – And Emma was not yet foolish enough to believe herself, and her telepathic gifts, omniscient enough to be above that. She stereotyped a different way, however. In the case of Alison, and as much as she may refer to her as Teen Idol, it was not quite that, not quite right. The term was more of a blatant mockery than revealing her true beliefs – In this precise case, the fact Alison was so horrendously similar to her, always thriving to do the best, always standing her ground because she had nothing else. It reminded Emma of how pathetic, how sordid, she could herself be, of all the close to honorable – yet not really honorable – intentions she had had that had failed, and of why she was here right now. And, really, Emma had no use for such a reminder, and yet Alison was still there, still scintillating, still ready to stay as soon as Scott gave her a purpose, a mission to fill in. It was highly reductive – perhaps for both of them, but the telepath would not acknowledge that – but it was. And for as long as it would be, Alison would be a failed teen idol by the former White Queen’s narrative. It was mostly easier this way. “Though by all means, add all of this to your list of achievements if it makes you feel a bit prouder of yourself – I surely cannot, and will not, be the one stopping you from valorizing whatever strikes your fancy, as questionable as it may be.” Alison was whoever she wanted to be.
Observant, prying eyes tried to grasp every little detail, every little movement the other blonde made and that would be of any relevant indication. This was all too easy, all too quick, and they fell into that same endless routine that was dictated solely by their mutual feelings and impression. Times had changed, people had evolved, this was not really the former Charles Xavier School, and yet old routines stayed the same – Nothing that should impress Emma. Sometimes, the thought that a change would be nice, that perhaps she could open up freely without it having any negative repercussions on her life, crossed her mind – How could it not? -, but Emma did not do boring, and she did not really do sociable either unless it was on her own terms. Usually, she therefore went to the undeniable conclusion that people needed to change before anything like that could happen. And there was Alison, so similar and so different, rubbing it all in Emma’s face without even being aware of it – And the telepath was glad Dazzler did not know, otherwise she would have taken far too much enjoyment out of this conversation, and it would have robbed it of the little fun it possessed. It was not a fatality, but no-one found being rubbed the wrong way especially agreeable. And then, there was the fact a part of Emma – The part that had tried to be an X-Men, to make it all work – that was left out to fight her own cruel impulses, and Alison had no idea how thankful she should have been for Emma’s self-control and the sense of ethics people wrongly believed she did not have. All of this for a new costume.
“And yet, I find you are doing very little convincing on my part of the bargain. This college degree must have been worth every penny, I trust.” It was not full true, of course, more of a taunt then anything else. Alison had earned that costume from the moment she came in to claim it, so long as it fitted the budget. It was true her current one was rather horrendously looking and as far as over-sexualization of super-heroines went, Emma waved this banner much better. “By all means, I still believe this logo is not necessary – Unless you plan on being a disgrace to the title of X-Men, that is, and with this disco inspiration you just might be.” She tilted her head then, giving one more look at the sketches before handing the paper to the other blonde. “I want a full sketch with measures and the list of materials you wish to use done as soon as you can. Make sure not to choose spandex.” And then, a cold grin twisted her lips briefly. “The middle one will suit you.”
“Yes.” Alison replied firmly, her arms crossing over her chest in her usual manner–it was the same glassy eyed look she gave everyone when she was being defensive, which was about half of her existence. Analogy was important to her, and if (god forbid) they decided to question Emma for the new Dazzler movie they had in the makes, she at least wanted her to know what she was talking about. “And it wasn’t pathetic,” Alison added, a definite pout to her lips. “it was inspiring.” Alison gave a firm nod before reverting her eyes to the nearby clock. It was Saturday, which meant another gig at another swanky club whose occupants were always far too wasted to even comprehend the melodic beats. Her gaze swerved back to Emma, her face read seriousness. She was a hundred percent serious with her comment, to her it was inspiring. For someone who has dealt with all that she had, it was easy to forget ones roots–and that’s what caused most of the worlds problems. To stay grounded and true to ones self, you can’t forget how you began. It’d be like watching a film, and sleeping for all but the last five minutes–pointless, life wasted, all gone, game over. "I’m just painting a better mental picture for you–I mean, people are going to be asking everyone that I’m connected with dozens of questions when my next album comes out.“ Or at least she hoped they would, success for Alison hadn’t been the best in previous years–her stay in London proved that. She had been working on a big comeback gig, featuring the likes of Lila and she was on track for convincing Pietro to join her merry band of singers too.
As Emma’s light, almost icily cold, eyes bore at Alison, she stared straight back. Dark blue glancing all over Emma, as if this was a mexican stand off. The first to break looses, that was the rules. That same rule applied to nearly everything nowadays, whoever gave up first lost. A mere second could mean everything and nothing, it was slightly daunting once you imagined it that way–she didn’t let her inner thoughts effect her outer, more harsher, expression though. Her smile was still deadpan, her eyelids only flickering slightly. The silence drew on, making Alison even more nervous than before - her composure weakened on the inside, like grains of sand slowly slipping away. It was pretty humiliating to call ones self an actor yet to be having such a mental battle with ones self while doing a simple action. Sometimes, the thought that she was just an actor - and this was just another part of the movie of her life - comforted her in an odd way. It was obvious to anyone that she loved the spotlight, some would go as far to say that she was obsessed with it, so imagining that her whole entire life was just a musical waiting to happen made every moment a bit less daunting, but in the same way, even more daunting than previously. All she had wanted was a new godamn costume, not anything fancy, hell, she’d settle for black lycra if it meant that she could stop parading around with her underparts emphasized. It was like they wanted her to be laughed at. She groaned inwardly, sometimes she really hated Scott, Emma too. She had always made it clear that she didn’t like her, and if that wasn’t clear someone was one hundred percent oblivious to her almost constant ‘I-hate-emma’ thoughts.
"How do you know I’m even trying?” Alison responded, monotonously, truth was, she really wasn’t. Her prejudice against Emma was far too deeply set for her to do anything but be rude in hopes of deterring her.She’d go for crushing spirits, but this was Emma, it was never going to happen. A burning feeling was at the back of her head, the same burning feeling appeared on her cheeks. Her utter embarrassment however, did not cause her gaze to wander, only thicken into a harsh glare.
“You’d guys would be hopeless without me.” She replied, it was barely true, but she did have her uses and no one couldn’t say that she wasn’t powerful enough - despite how much she was written off just because she made pretty lights. “Face it, I’m publicity gold." Her tone shifted from it’s usual, sugary sweet, voice shifted into a sly-er tone that she had perfected while crawling and back stabbing her way up the social ladder. People naturally assumed that by making her seem inferior, she’d be an easy target. And while that usually was the case, she was far too desperate to get what she wanted to let anyone stand in her way. "And the logo will do nothing but good, no one steals your trademark white garbs, so I want my own style - and need I remind you that I’ve been an X-man longer than you anyway.” She huffed as she finished her statement, god she hated Emma with an almost burning passion. She’d say almost because, while she was good at holding grudges, she did sometimes hold an ounce of respect to Emma’s name. Only when she was in a good mood, which right now, she was not. Alison scrutinized Emma once more, she doubted her ability to be prepared. She held out a sheet of her favorite design, accompanied with sizings and materials needed too. "If you need money to buy some of the materials, call my manager.“
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...
