nextgenerationmarvel | Text To Brooke (And Subsequent Thread)

The doorman opened the door to her, but as it happened, Stephanie was already waiting in the lobby. She smiled warmly at her friend, exchanging a hug and air kisses before smiling.

"The driver's already waiting. We'll do lunch first, before we go to the District. The dealers are normally closed on weekends, but I've arranged an exception." She'd cultivated her father's old connections in the diamond trade and the dealers were all eager to please. Now, if she'd wanted Saturday, that would probably have been different.

"How have things been this week?"

"You're a miracle worker," Brooke said, giddy. She had, in her clutch, copious amounts of cash, withdrawn from an account that Manuel had set aside for her. "Things have been alright? A couple of mishaps with some of the girls at the Institute, but its all par for the course." She had severely pissed off a girl named Willow Woods by plucking hydrangeas and hyacinths that she'd grown for Brooke's own room. Brooke hadn't realized that Willow had grown the flowers with her mutant ability.

Oops.

"They know full well that if they indulge me, the cozy relationship continues. Father was a generous supporter of their trade, and I intend to continue that." Stephanie smirked slightly. "There's no use in letting mutually beneficial relationships lapse, after all." She had plenty of cash on her own person, though she also had a credit card and personal cheques at the ready, because there was always the possibility that the purchase value would be greater than cash could reasonably accomodate.

"One of the girls that you were with at the shelter? They seem like ... interesting folks." A little vulgar, though. And amusingly short, as she recalled.

"We're from different backgrounds, I suppose," Brooke replied. "I can feel all of their hate and dislike directed at me, though. It's...unpleasant. Honestly, sometimes I'm sure I'm simply redirecting that energy back at them with my words." Which totally meant that she wasn't really a sociopath or anything.

Right?

"I suspect hate is a touch too strong of a word." She certainly picked up some dislike there, though there was no real ire there, even from the one who had supposedly played a prank on Brooke.

Stephanie paused for a moment to consider that. "It's possible, I suppose. I can't really speak to the experience of an empath. Most times I'm honestly grateful that I can't discern people's true feelings. Most of the time, it's their actions that matter anyway."

"But let's not get too weighed down by anything unpleasant. This is supposed to be fun." She smiled. "Let's go get some lunch."

"Lunch is good," Brooke agreed, linking her arms with her best friend. "So what are you looking to purchase today, anyway? A few new pieces of jewelry, an entire jeweler's business...?"

"Some gemstones for personal jewelry, but I'm also looking at potentially taking over one of their businesses. I have my eye on a few of the diamond traders." Certainly, the future of Shaw Industries looked solid enough, but there was always something to be said about cultivating other projects. "It also amuses me that I have a far more real presence in the diamond trade than Emma Frost- she's a famous enough customer, but she's never really taken a serious look at the industry."

She smiled and went to the waiting limousine with Brooke. "And of course, regardless of what happens to the economy, rich people will always enjoy gold and jewels."

"I wouldn't mind wearing Emma Frost as a ridiculously ostentatious necklace myself," Brooke said off-handedly. "Besides, I once saw her at Harry Winston. All she does is get herself checked out after every cosmetic procedure, ensuring that she's still in flawless condition."

Brooke tossed her hair off of her shoulder and nodded. "I can't imagine having to wear some horrible hemp jewelry instead of a gold cuff, it's true," she nodded. "Honestly, sometimes I could just settle down with a rich mutant in the gemstone business. I know I'd be a lot happier."

"I've no doubt. A lot of those procedures have best-by dates that she's probably getting close to ..." Not that she was precisely old or anything, but it was well-known that she was already enamoured with cosmetic surgery when she was younger than either Brooke or Stephanie were now.

"Hemp is a useful industrial substance. I have investments in foreign producers ... but indeed. The classics never die." She smirked a little puckishly. "Well, Brooke, that could be arranged easily enough." Now came the wondering whether Brooke would actually get the joke.

"Hemp jewelry is also the tragic style choice of gross hipsters who can't live anywhere else except in the outer boroughs," Brooke said haughtily. "Useful or not, as a clothing option, it's about as disgusting as the snow-spewing guttersnipe that Rachel let into the Institute."

She paused.

"I don't understand."

"Heaven forbid, the outer boroughs. Surely the worst place to live in the world." Stephanie teased gently. As glad as she was to live on her skyscraper overlooking Central Park, Brooklyn wasn't exactly Afghanistan. "Snow-spewing guttersnipe, hm? That is the one who froze your shoes, I am assuming?"

Jokes weren't as fun when they had to be explained. "The joke is that I'm a rich mutant getting into the jewelry industry and that same-sex marriage is legal in New York." She laughed. "It sounds even sillier explaining it."

"They think something called a pierogi is a valid edible item," Brooke said. "It's appalling. And yes. Bobbi something-or-other. She of the bad hair, tragic clothes, and terribly bad manners. Honestly, Rachel should send that one to a finishing school for mutant ladies or something."

She paused, then, at Stephanie's comment, and maybe even blushed a little bit. "Oh. I didn't...Oh." She smiled a little crookedly. "It'd certainly kill Marcello."

"... those aren't half-bad, actually. Especially if you feel like something simpler. Maybe the Russian Tea Room will decide to make a more elaborate version of them." Stephanie was actually well-acquainted with all the various culinary offerings of the city. One never knew when the urge to devour all within sight would hit. Her mutation had the somewhat annoying drawback of necessitating a massive caloric intake.

She smirked at that. "It probably would at that. Through sheer shock at first and then through raging jealousy." She laughed. "Shouldn't tempt me like that, you know." Her smirk widened. "Bad Brooke."

"I do enough simple stuff at the Institute, thank you," Brooke stated. "This making your own food thing is absolute torture. And no one there knows how to poach an egg! I'm certainly not trained to poach one on my own!"

It was evident that Brooke was the one who needed to go to a finishing school - not that she'd ever admit it. Or realize it.

Brooke laughed. "Somehow, I don't think I could sway you that way even if I used my powers on you."

"I have to admit that I'm really no better at cooking. I tried to make myself dinner one day when the cook was ill." She paused for a moment. "It was foolish, ill-advised and singularly messy. Especially when I can order delivery from virtually any restaurant in the city."

Stephanie had actually been through the experience briefly before she went to America. She hated every minute over it, and gleefully ignored most of their mandates as soon as she could. It was hard to believe, but at one time, she'd actually been Catholic.

Stephanie laughed. "Likely not. In any case, truthfully, a good friend is a lot more valuable than a silly little affair anyway." She smiled. "We're almost there. You know, I've heard rumours of a secret menu at Languedoc. One that they only give to a select few return customers."

"The nearest place to get food from is the Salem Center, and I don't think the Institute is all too fond of delivery," she said. "You know, what with the crazy things that tends to happen there."

They pulled up in front of Languedoc and Brooke visibly perked up. "Are we to find out if this menu exists?" Because Brooke did so love feeling special.

"That's the plan. If such a thing existed, I'm sure my father knew all about it." Stephanie grinned. "And in any case, we're more than important enough in our own right. I don't think Languedoc would like to annoy two very important customers."

The limo driver went around and opened the door for them to get out. Languedoc was not a large establishment- it had been around since the turn of the twentieth century and had survived all of the changes that had come through New York since then. There were two floors, the second floor generally being reserved for special customers.

It should have come to a surprise to no one that they were escorted upstairs promptly.

This. She'd missed this service. There was nothing at or close to the Institute that came anywhere near this sort of service.

Frankly, she just missed being served.

"I miss this life," she admitted, "but learning about my powers right now is more important than just laying in the lap of luxury." Once she'd mastered her powers, then she could lay all she wanted.

"Oh, absolutely. And whatever their other flaws, they are very good at that. I learned a lot from them." And more since, though it'd been awhile since she'd really been able to use her powers. It wasn't as if she was going to see out an opportunity to do so, but should it come ... well, it was kind of fun. The insane adrenaline rush of combat.

But so was being served and treated like royalty. The maitre'd escorted them upstairs to a private booth, where everything had been laid out just so. And they were immediately given a wine list with their menus (without any prices printed on them), because it was simply assumed they would have wine with their lunch, never mind asking for ID. They'd even thoughtfully provided a seperate list of cognacs and whiskies, as if they knew of Stephanie's specific tastes.

For herself, Brooke ordered the Cabernet Franc, preferring its light sweetness - along with the burst of strawberry, raspberry, and cherry flavours - to the drier, more full-bodied red wines.

She had always been a wine person. Harder liquors didn't sit well with her, and things like beer were something for the blue collared classes.

"How did you manage it? Certainly, it's not the sort of life you were used to."

As one might figure, Stephanie went straight for the red Rioja wines, one of the things she still loved dearly about her onetime homeland. There weren't many places in New York with a good selection of Spanish wines, and it was a pleasant surprise to see it here. As for the cognacs, whiskies and such, much as she enjoyed them, they were an after-dinner beverage if anything.

"It was better than my life back in Spain in many ways. Not as luxurious, but much freer. It's only really since I graduated that I got to experience the freedom as well as the luxury of wealth." She smirked, and then looked a bit more thoughtful. "I realized early on that there was a lot I could learn there, and that I needed to be on my best behaviour, as a guest in someone else's house."

"Yes, I understand your point," Brooke said with an arched eyebrow. "I shouldn't go about terrorizing the students and the faculty the way I do. I honestly don't mean to, though. They just...leave so many doors open for me to step in and wield my superiority over them. How can one pass up an opportunity like that?"

In the next instant, she waved it off. "But tell be about Spain. Having recently discovered that I'm of Spanish descent myself, I have to admit, I'm curious. Manuel - it's still weird thinking about calling him Dad or Daddy or Father - took me to England over the winter, but he never took me to Spain."

"Consider it an opportunity to network in the mutant community, if nothing else. It's not like you need to actually like any of them, but alienating mutants is never really wise ..." But Stephanie was happy enough to be diverted from a potentially awkward conversation, for now. Especially with wine being poured.

"You feel a very old and blended history when you're in Spain. You see Roman, Moorish and Baroque buildings resting next to modern office blocks. People keep rather odd hours often- dinner is very late and clubbing literally takes you to dawn. The landscape's beautiful in a slightly austere way."

"I lived there most of my life, but to be honest, it feels foreign now. I've become very used to New York." She laughed slightly and raised her glass in a toast.

"To good friends, worth their weight in diamonds."

Brooke raised her own and then took a nice, demure, lady-like sip of her wine, savouring the burst of berry flavours on her tongue.

She smiled a little like the cat who got a taste of the canary and leaned back in her seat.

"I've heard of that happening to people, how they return home, and it doesn't feel like home anymore," she said. "It's funny, my whole life, I was raised to believe that I was this Fifth Avenue WASP, but it turns out...I'm Spanish. Partially. That changes your perspective on some things."

"I would imagine so. I was always aware, vaguely, my father wasn't a Spaniard like the rest of my ... family were, but it was something I never really had to consider until I came here." She took a long sip of her wine. "You know, technically, we could be considered as Hispanic. Both of us." She laughed. "At least half, anyway."

She looked out of the corner of her eye and noticed the maitre'd trying to subtly watch them, as if sizing them up.

"... I wonder if he's trying to figure out if we get offered the secret menu or not."

Text To Brooke (And Subsequent Thread)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)