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Emma Frost

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take me away [27 Sep 2003|01:33am]
[ mood | gone ]

She'd walked through the halls, looking into the common room at students who didn't pay her any mind. She could walk past and never be noticed, it'd become a trademark, the thing she was best at, disappearing in plain sight.

She'd said farewell to this place three years ago, she'd had to break through to a part of herself that she'd managed to keep hidden in order to survive. Now, she was tired of surviving, she was ready to live. And had the resources to do it.

She swipes a bit of caramel from the corner of her mouth, licking it from her finger as she pushes a crisp thank you note into an envelope for Rahne. She'd already packed, not much, just a few effects that she wouldn't want to have to come back for. She knew she probably wouldn't be back. There were other worlds, other places that called to her more than anything here ever could.

It was time to disappear again. Forever.

Now she looks up at the sleeping house, Jack walking up beside her after closing the trunk, his fingers warm as they slide over her elbow, gripping her arm possessively. It's time...

She smiles, nodding, her gaze shifting slowly to him. It's been time.

They slide into the back seat of the hired car, a black-suited man with light eyes and slick black hair smiling at them from the seat opposite them. "It's nice to see you again, Ms. Frost."

"Mikhael, this is Jack Winters. He'll be traveling with me...I'm sure that won't be a problem."

A cool smile, a certain shake of his head. "Of course not, Ms. Frost. Any particular place you're interested in?"

Emma looks out the tinted windows of the limousine, trees rushing past them as they leave the mansion's grounds. "Someplace better than here, Mikhael." She smiles deviously over at Jack. "We're ready for anything."

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narrative: a change of plans [22 Sep 2003|12:20am]
[ mood | determined ]

She runs her fingers over the silver bracelet, rubbing her thumb over the charm and waiting a few moments before a groggy voice sounds through the tiny, hidden com device.

"What the fuck, Emma, it's three in the morning!"
"I need to meet with you. Soon. Tomorrow, if possible."
A rustling sound. "What is it?"
"John, please, I can't talk here, you know that. Just, meet me..."
"Fine. I'll pick you up. Salem Center. Noon."

She sighs heavily as the connection goes dead, and she rests her head in her hands.
Drastic measures, Emma.

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wound up at your door [17 Sep 2003|12:02pm]
[ mood | determined ]

but somehow I want more

She’d taken on a student. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that the girl had come to her for help or if it was the fact that someone had referred her to come to her for help. It’s only because of your unorthodox methods, Emma she tells herself, wondering if that little voice in her head will ever disappear. She’d let him disappear out of her life, but those remnants of Christian had stayed. She had to find some way to get rid of them. Something other than what she’d already tried.

She’s so much better at blocking things now; emotions, desire and rage, they all have to break through much thicker barriers than the jagged walls she’d had up before. The Hellfire taught her that. It was a different world, there. No humans meant that the only threat came from within, from around you, from yourself. She was always the biggest threat to anyone, she realized quickly. Especially herself.

She spreads the papers from the folder in front of her, plans of a machine that she’d been working on for a while. It was still rough, still in just the drawing stages, but the thought of what she could do with it…what anyone could do with it was exhilarating. Raw inspiration, creativity, the desire to learn, not to share knowledge only seek it, accept it, and use it.

She looks up as the door to her office opens, quickly arranging the papers back into their folder as the man walks through the door, an apple, shining crisply green in the afternoon sunlight held in his outstretched hand. Apple? he asks, having walked in with no acknowledgment or invitation. Typical of him.

She raises an eyebrow before moving to her feet, trying to will those suddenly crumbling walls to stay fast. He knew how to get to her, which buttons to push to get her to let him in...and she knew she could never try to stop him.

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narrative: sunday morning in the city [14 Sep 2003|07:21pm]
[ mood | awake ]

Love sometimes requires that you're on top.

She could handle that. Being on top. Being in control. Being in love? That was another matter. She'd fallen in love too much, too easily. Letting people in was becoming harder and harder a task. She'd lost that trust, that ability to put her life in someone else's hands.

*she slides her hands over his arms, nipping gently at his bottom lip* ...what else does love require?
Love requires only that we trust each other. *his eyes firm on hers*

Emma rolls over in bed, sheets tangling through her bare legs as she looks at the clock. It's still early, only a quarter of eight, but he's already gone, nothing but an imprint left on the pillow, the lingering scent of earthy spice and clove cigarettes clinging to the air around her. She crawls out of bed, pulling a robe around her naked form before opening the heavy curtains, looking out on the city.

She frowns as a beeping sound catches her attention, turning to open the drawer of the bedside table and pulling out her cell phone. John must be nearby she thinks, closing her eyes as a chilly guilt washes over her. Trust him, Emma she tells herself, biting her lip as she turns and throws the phone against the wall, watching as it shatters into several pieces.

She slumps down on the bed, drawing her legs beneath her as she thinks, ponders the events of the past few days. She's letting herself become too emotional again; she'd almost let herself get too weak with John. Maybe that's why it was so hard to trust him... he was the only weakness she had left, the little part of her heart she hadn't yet learned to control.

They all leave in the end, they're all unfaithful. Trust yourself... she shakes her head, that small child's voice of dissention in her mind, the one that even after three years she hadn't been able to purge from her memory. A knock at the door quiets it, clears her thoughts, a once-again blonde Alison peeking her head into the room.

"Yeah, you had a visitor...and he's gone, so come eat breakfast."

Emma looks perplexed, standing up and walking toward the door. "I don't know what you-"

Ali waves a hand, padding through the hallway and toward the kitchen. "Oh come on Em, you left your ripped shirt in the foyer."

Emma laughs, combing her fingers through her hair. "Yes, well, I'm sorry about that."

"Girl, you've got some messed up conception of what deserves an apology." Ali opens the refrigerator door and Emma leans in the doorway. "So, anybody I know?"

She sighs, frowning, if there's anyone she trusts it's Ali, but...

"I...no. No one you'd know." Emma smiles weakly, crossing the room. "How about pancakes?"

Sometimes, Love requires that you keep secrets.

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narrative: things to do, people to see... [11 Sep 2003|01:30pm]
[ mood | annoyed ]

She'd called ahead and her sister had dispatched a cleaning crew to the apartment. It'll be ready for you, and Emma? Don't fuck the place up again. Daddy was none to pleased the way you left it the last time.

She laughed, as if I care what Daddy thinks, hanging up the phone and turning to look at the open suitcase on the bed. On top of her neatly folded clothes was a small red box. She picked it up, opening it to pull out the silver link bracelet resting on the velvet. She twirled it in her fingers a moment, her palm throbbing with the memory of the metal cutting into her skin. She hastily puts it back into the box, knowing she won't have long before the rest of the mansion is awake and that leaving before dawn is always the best way to leave. Not that anyone would notice that she'd gone.

She walks past a door with post-it notes and doesn't even have to turn her head to know what they say...the conversation that had taken place within the room swirling into the forefront of her mind. She clenches her jaw, unwanted emotions clamoring to just beneath her skin. It wasn't my fault...

She shrugs it off. It doesn't matter. Nothing about this place matters anymore. She stops by the Professor's office, clearing her mind completely as she tells him that she's taking a brief trip to the city, returning before class on Monday.

Be careful, Ms. Frost.

She laughs to herself as she gets into the car. Careful...

((oocCollapse )

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an email [10 Sep 2003|10:48am]
[ mood | curious ]

To: st_john
From: frostyqueen
Subject: hindsight is 20/20Collapse )

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narrative: evil borne of latent tendencies [08 Sep 2003|11:59pm]
[ mood | devious ]

She sits in the classroom, vivid flashes dancing behind her eyes, brief visions of things she vaguely remembers, things she tried so hard to repress. This place is nothing like the Xavier's where they'd kept her, but it feels the same, has the same walls... the rumor was that Xavier had moved the entire mansion itself, relocated it to upper Canada when the war came, all to protect his students...Collapse )
Now, she looks out of the window, watching as he lands on the lawn, this boy different from the one who had agreed to follow her after six months in that cell, being cuffed together and taken to scope out abandoned enemy bases, searching for clues that would help the X-Men close in on the Brotherhood's latest activities. Nathan had helped her until the choices became too steep for him to make, and then he'd deserted her, content with anonymity and poverty, with hiding in the shadows and merely surviving.

She watches as Nate turns, his eyes glancing across the glare at the window and she knows that he sees her...but he doesn't see her. Not anymore. She'd pushed him from her mind, broken that link nearly two and a half years ago. She hadn't had any other choice. It would have driven her insane otherwise. She thinks maybe when she was here before, it already had.

Emma smiles as the door opens behind her and she feels a pair of dark eyes drink in her frame, a lusty glance, but one with purpose. You have a meeting? he asks, stepping forward as the door telekinetically closes behind him. Or can I have a few minutes of your time... Ms. Frost?

She purses her lips, the answer forming in her mind. [[Always.]]

Have you contacted him yet? he moves closer to her, a finger tracing over the curve of her forearm where it's crossed over her chest.

Emma sighs, shaking her head. These things take time, Jack...especially with John and myself. It's shaky ground that must be tread upon lightly.

Don't take too long.

Don't worry, She grins, pulling a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her shirt. An invitation in blue and silver, a disco ball shining on the front. I have a plan.

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i still believe [07 Sep 2003|11:42pm]
[ mood | peaceful ]

Just when you think things can't get any worse, they collapse at your feet.

And then the game is over, and you know exactly where you stand.

And exactly where to turn for the answers.

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[07 Sep 2003|03:05am]
[ mood | annoyed ]

Talk about lessons in futility.

[[ Why do I even bother.]]

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hall wandering is a hobby [06 Sep 2003|03:52pm]
[ mood | curious ]

Has anyone seen Jack?

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(1) time anew [03 Sep 2003|01:11am]
[ mood | exhausted ]

Piotr is getting better. Nate also. Nothing makes me happier than being able to see them again after so long.

I met with the Professor regarding...things. Like my age. My records. He says he doesn't expect me to take classes anymore and would instead like me to teach. Power Control. I wonder how many would sign up for a class with me?

The new girl, Rachel, that Hank found, is intriguing. Quiet and suspicious, but from what I can gather, she has a right to be. Poor girl.

I feel like I haven't slept in years.

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narrative: medlab part one: too much information [02 Sep 2003|09:41pm]
[ mood | optimistic ]

in the medlab, explanations are madeCollapse )

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narrative: pulled away. [02 Sep 2003|01:10am]
[ mood | gone ]

((this may be a bit confusing, but when Nate feels a blip in his mind, this is what is happening...))

And she thought she could get away...Collapse )

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narrative: sebastian's perspective [31 Aug 2003|08:02pm]
[ mood | stealthy ]

He paces outside the locked door, biting his thumbnail nervously. Behind this door holds the one thing he fought so long to gain, the one thing he desires. She is so close, he can feel her, barely out of his grasp.

He scrambles the key out of expensive tailored pants, and he fumbles with the lock, somehow ending with a sweet smile and poking his head in the room. Emma sits on the bed, and Sebastian carries on with polite conversation, asking how she is feeling, saying things to make her feel better, and soon, he's on the bed next to her, basking in her beauty and she lets him. And that, on it's own accord is magnificent.

He is cordial, polite, gentlemanly, suave, and above all else, he asks her. "Emma may I..?"

And she says yes.

Every subtle movement, subtle gesture, he asks. "Emma, may I..?"

And she says yes.

Until his fingers grace the lace under her nightgown, and it is the final time he asks her her if he may. Because she says, "No, you may not."

And as disappointed as he is, as close to her as he is, he hesitates, but he listens to her. He's come too far to fuck everything up now. He can wait.

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narrative: when the fog clears [31 Aug 2003|05:32pm]
[ mood | infuriated ]

She can tell before she opens her eyes that something’s different, her senses seem keener, she can feel the expensive silk threaded sheets as they cling to her body, the candles that had been burning in the room the night before had been a warm vanilla, and she could tell by the crisp musk of cologne that the arm draped over her waist was Sebastian’s.

She sucks in a breath, closing her eyes, trying to remember...but all that comes to her is flashes of Piotr, and suddenly her body is racked with sobs at the images in her mind. She can’t tell if they’re dreams or if they really happened, they’re so fuzzy and distorted, but he’s surrounded by five men, each one taking a turn at throwing the brunt of whatever mutant power they had at him and he’s defenseless. She slides out of the bed as quietly as she can, crawling towards the bathroom door and she curls up in the floor there, crying, shaking. All she can remember is pain. Not how she ended up in bed. Not how Sebastian got there, lying beside her.

Her telepathy is clearer though, and she realizes that Nate must be on his way back to the mansion, must be getting closer. She tries, but he’s still too far away to reach, and she feels sick when a branch of that search finds Piotr, stunned, beaten and lying floors beneath her in a concrete walled room. She beats her fists against the floor, shoving herself to her feet and moving with some hidden ounce of strength until she’s standing at the edge of the bed.

“Wake the fuck up, you son of a bitch.”

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narrative: no windows [30 Aug 2003|02:05am]
[ mood | confused ]

There is a room with no windows on the top floor of the Hellfire Club, the decorations inside are lavish, plush pillows and a bed, but Emma notices the not-there windows the most. She likes looking outside, likes looking down at the people, at the things happening outdoors and imagining what it would be like to be free. Truly free. With nothing tying her down, nothing keeping her in, no walls or cages or little tiny boxes that she had to try to keep everything inside of.

Sebastian had disappeared the moment they'd arrived this morning and she hadn't seen him since. One of the guards, a large man with completely black eyes, had brought her up here and he'd brought her some lunch at mid-afternoon (she knew because she'd brought a watch ) and then dinner a few hours ago. She sits on the bed and stares at one of the walls, the room dimly lit with small lamps on the nightstands and candle sconces near the door.

She should have known better. She shouldn't have come here. Everything was fuzzy and nothing felt right. Something was wrong.

When she tried the door handle, it didn't give. Locked.

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narrative: sometimes we don't know the things we do [29 Aug 2003|01:51am]
[ mood | scared ]

It's a nightmare that wakes her up and she rolls over, pressing her face into the pillow, her eyes opening, widening, then closing again as the past few hours come rushing back into the forefront of her mind and it all seems like a dream... hazy pictures of touches, kisses...

She pulls herself from the sheets, looking down at him, dark eyelashes closed over tanned cheeks and she has to look away, her eyes fixing on the bright flash of the clock at her bedside.


She's using the last wisps of her telepathy to search the mansion and Piotr is still downstairs, still in the art room. Something breaks, collapses inside her, the part of her that usually reaches out for Nate comes up with nothing but a black fog in her mind and she knows what she has to do, she's panicking and packing, tossing things into a bag. She doesn't take much. She won't need much of what she has where she's going.

She turns back as she leaves the room, leaving an unspoken I'm sorry in Jack's mind as she closes the door and she practically runs down the hallway, to the boys wing. The door she stops in front of opens before she can knock, dark brown eyes peering out of semi-darkness above a slow smile.

"I knew you'd come to your senses, pet."

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[28 Aug 2003|06:50pm]
[ mood | groggy ]

Nate is gone, which means my head is all fucked up. I woke up this morning and it took me a good ten minutes to see clear enough to stand up. I'm kinda glad Piotr was there or I might not have been able to get dressed. I think he's still in the art lab...doing what, I don't know. I'm grumpy, maybe I shouldn't go down there.

I feel like I'm being constantly watched and when I turn around, there are no eyes, nobody there...just silence. Maybe I'm paranoid. Or lonely. Maybe it's delirium. Maybe I should go see Piotr.

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[26 Aug 2003|09:56pm]
[ mood | melancholy ]

Last night I managed to study in my own room. I haven't ever done that, I don't think. It was odd, sitting there at the laptop, listening to the music from the girl's hallway... I think I actually stared out of the window more than I studied, but it doesn't matter, right? It's just going through the motions. Classes went by pretty quickly today, I think perhaps because I was looking forward to my session with Forge. We worked on some things that well, things for his top-secret job that I'm not supposed to know about. Laughable, eh. Trying to keep something from a telepath. Gotta love Forge, he tries.

There's homework again tonight but I don't think I'll do it. Or, I could do it in the morning and just go to sleep now. Something tells me wandering the halls at night isn't such a good idea anymore, even though I'll probably end up doing it anyway. At least Jean helped me get a new mattress for my bed, the old one being scorched and all.

There's nothing like fire to destroy memories.

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school session #1: computers [25 Aug 2003|02:57pm]
[ mood | blah ]

She sits in the computer lab, watching Raven’s graphical displays on the projection board but her mind just isn’t in it. Her mind isn’t into much of anything lately. She’d fought with Nate, fought with Piotr and just the memory of it made her sick. Things were better now, much better, but it seemed this place was good for nothing but stirring up problems in her mind. She misses freedom, the ability to make her own choices...the ability for them to be who they were without the constraints of this place.

She’s staring blankly at the screen, raising an eyebrow when a message pops up that she has new mail. She sighs, clicking the box.

and an email conversation began something like this...Collapse )

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