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Who: Emma & Rogue
When: January 14, 2025
Where: A sitting room
What: Very professional introductions
Warnings: they're going to only be able to be civil when they can get drunk together til further notice
It's Emma's second evening back, and she's found a nice quiet spot in one of the sitting rooms to situate herself. Passing out the night before had been annoying, leaving her a bit on edge and a little more interested in solitude than company.
She's happy here, stockinged feet on an ottoman as she attempts to take up as much room as possible in the oversized armchair she's in. Her arms are flung out, a stoppered bottle of wine and three books nestled next to her. A table has been pulled up to hold her already poured glass and a few more books, a notebook, and a fountain pen. A small speaker plays Ella Fitzgerald with no real concern for the fact that this is a shared space, particularly one with the door wide open. Emma's been away, but this is her house still.
But it’s not only Emma’s house, anymore. People can pop up anytime. Rogue does, in fact, from the sitting room across the hallway, as soon as the music blasts out. She’s deep into squad plans, having recently learned she’d be co-leading. This means she’s sitting in silence, in one of the rattiest sweaters she and Remy co-own. She knows that the original 8 are back on grounds. But that does not mean they get to come on in and boss everyone about.
“‘Scuse me.” She walks all the way over to the opposite sitting room and presses stop on Emma’s speaker, “Some of us got work to do.”
Though Emma can understand Rogue's irritation, she still doesn't think she's in the wrong. It's not that late. It's not that loud. Children are plenty louder than her generally, even if they're not right now. She hums, watching as her speaker is turned off. Though not terribly fussed, she's still in enough of a mood that she's not going to immediately play nice.
"There are volume buttons, you know. Unless you can't work with any ambient sound, which seems like a very difficult situation."
She takes a long sip of wine, looking over the other X-man with a discerning eye. The outfit is certainly something.
"Shouldn't your co-leader be helping you out, darling?"
“Turnin’ it down wouldn’t have caught your attention, though, now would it. This for free?”
Rogue doesn’t actually wait to see, and unstops the wine to pour herself some. Which is incredibly bad manners, but she doesn’t love the tone Emma’s using, especially about her co-leader.
“He knows what I’m doing, and he’s helping.” She stands firm on that. “Y’all have enough troubles to swim through, don’t you?” She quirks an eyebrow, but she’s curious.
As Rogue helps herself to the wine Emma barely bats an eyelash. Even if it were an overly expensive bottle she wouldn't care that much - it's just wine, and they're on the same team. The other woman's rudeness is more amusing than anything else. She appreciates that they're both posturing a bit.
"In that outfit anything you did would have caught my attention. And I just want to make sure you're not doing all the work and getting half the credit." Another sip of wine as she considers her next words. Of course, she's compelled to keep this all close to the chest, given how vulnerable it makes her feel. But there's really no benefit to it. Ever so slightly, Emma wrinkles her nose.
"I wouldn't put it quite so charmingly, but yes. You'll all be up to the task of managing everything while we're otherwise distracted?" Her tone is as genuine and not condescending as she can manage, which takes some effort on her part. Being away for so long means she only has a passing knowledge of the capabilities of the newly formed Gold Team, and she wants to be sure they're not being put in a tough position. Though, she supposes, she should probably just trust everyone else's faith in them.
“What, you wanna borrow it sometime?” She isn’t ashamed of her clothes, and does a little turn to get a look at what shorts she’s actually wearing today. Well. Emma can’t borrow these, she supposes. More importantly, she takes a sip of her wine and meets Emma face to face so she can get it clear. “Gambit and I have been working together for a decade. My work’s his, same the other way. We’ll make sure the fort’s held down.”
For some reason, it becomes important to Rogue to meet the other woman’s eyes, drop her more playful tone of a serious one. It’s a new responsibility, and she knows that to a lot of these old-timers, they’re wildcards. But it’s ultimately Emma’s business if she can’t trust them. “You worry about getting that professor back. Any luck there?” Probably not. It’s been a whole day.
"I don't want to distress anyone by showing up in your clothes. I can only imagine what they'd think." This could, of course, mean a million different things, but Emma doesn't elaborate. She watches Rogue curiously, expression otherwise impassive, as she leans down and meets her gaze. She offers the other woman a one shouldered shrug.
"You two are certainly something." Non-judgemental, but just as cryptic as her earlier comment. After this she sighs. "While I know I'm terribly impressive I am, unfortunately, no miracle worker." As she says this her eyes flick to the exposed mark on her shoulder, and for a moment her brows draw in. She hates this. Emma's gaze returns to Rogue's, and her expression evens out again.
"I'll find him, though."
Rogue has dealt with snobs like Emma, before. Folks who talk in vague riddles like can only imagine what people would think and certainly something. Sets her teeth on edge. She doesn’t have time, personally, for all that nonsense, and just rolls her eyes about it now.
“Well. When y’all need someone to take care of things, you know where to find us.” She says, daring Emma to think otherwise. But there really is a mutual mystery, and she hasn’t seen one of the marks up close. It’s weird, now that she is. “That thing hurt?” She gestures to it.
Though she's tempted to argue that her vagueness isn't her being a snob but simply being difficult on purpose, Emma leaves it alone. No point in arguing something so silly. The eye roll makes her smile.
"A little backup is always appreciated." They are heavier hitters than most of Blue Team, and she should probably put more stock in that. She needs to trust that this will all be fine without them here - Rogue was right in saying they have other things to worry about. It's not like she or Manny have been around much for a few years anyways, and Scott had up until relatively recently been on Genosha. This reassures her more than anything else.
Looking back to her mark, Emma shifts the slightest amount to give the other woman a better look at it.
"Generally it doesn't feel like anything. Terribly unpleasant knowing it's there, though. I'm just thankful mine isn't in the same spot at Charles'."
Rogue scoots closer to look at Emma’s mark, but of course does not touch her. Bad manners to steal your coworkers’ thoughts and powers on the first day you meet them proper. She narrows her eyes, and studies it. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen. “Don’t know. You could probably pull off a forehead tat better’n he could. He’s all forehead. Hey, wonder if I’d absorb that thing from touchin’ one of you.”
But she puts her hand up, to God. “Not that I’m gonna.”
As Rogue examines her she lifts her glass of wine in her other hand. Emma laughs before she takes another drink. "While I can pull anything off, it would clash with my aesthetic, don't you think? I have an image to uphold, particularly since I've been away for so long."
She hums. "There are others who are probably dumb enough to let you try but I'd recommend not. For your own sake as well. Can't be spreading this thing around like a plague."
“Don’t rightly want to catch your weird mark disease.”
Rogue agrees. She pulls back and leans against the wall, studying Emma. Yes. Certainly there’s an aesthetic. But she plays dumb because that’s the most fun thing to do right now, which is how she makes several too many important decisions.
“What image? What am I sposed to see?”
Emma smiles, cat-like. It's hard to be annoyed when she can read minds and knows when she's being needled for amusement.
"Oh you're right, darling. My apologies. It's too much to expect you to have enough taste to see the vision. Maybe you'll get there someday, hm? I don't believe anyone is a lost cause."
This is such an obvious attempt at getting a rise that Rogue lets out a laugh, short and sparkling. “My goodness. You always this nice or is this some kind of welcome-back-to-yourself party?”
"I tend to be especially kind to people who turn off my music and steal my wine," Emma replies easily and without an ounce of animosity. This is enjoyable, even if she's not about to play fully nice with the other woman. It doesn't seem to matter all that much, anyways.
"And it's good to reestablish one's self after an absence, don't you think?"
“Like you don’t got wine to spare.” Rogue takes another healthy sip of it to really communicate how sorry she is for the intrusion. But she does have some understanding for the next part. Everyone has some sort of reputation. Makes sense to just own it. She tilts her head, clearly still prodding.
“What happens if no one’s as scared of you as you’d like, though?”
"I wanted the whole bottle to myself." She didn't. She was going to reseal it with an idiotically expensive device. Emma holds her glass out so Rogue can top her up.
"People make mistakes sometimes. I try to be understanding." In general she finds it doesn't matter, and her tone communicates this - few people can stop her doing what she wants, and few people can do things that really affect her. She likes the sense of control, but she doesn't need it.
"I'm not in charge of anything here, anyways. The authority of fear is just for fun. Speaking of, are you nervous about your increased responsibility?"
“My. You’re awfully welcome for saving you from your drinking problem, then.” Rogue immediately contributes to Emma’s drinking problem by pouring a generous amount into her glass. After half a thought, she takes another splash for herself.
“Not officially in charge, but you seem pretty used to folks listening to you. Don’t know if my team’s gonna.” This is a proud little grin and warning on Rogue’s part, “And I’m not scared.”
"My hero," Emma flatly replies to Rogue's initial comment, taking a sip from her now well-filled glass. She does actually find the other woman charming.
"I am rather used to it, yes, from intimidation or sheer force of will. But there's more than one way to get people to listen to you." This is a bit of advice, even if her tone doesn't suggest that's what it is. And, actually, this conversation is giving her more faith in Gold Team's abilities than she'd had before.
"I have the feeling you're scared of very few things."
Rogue hasn’t lived with a telepath for long enough to train her thoughts away from being read. If anything, she’s a constant flow of them; it’s probably very easy for Emma to read how she lightly appreciates the advice and looks to its giver with some begrudging admiration. Emma knows how to be heard. She can give her that.
Rogue flashes a devilish little grin of agreement, swallowing the little wine left in her glass. “Good feeling. Ain’t scared of anything.”
True, but easy enough to pick up on her first and immediate thought. The only thing she’s ever been scared of is herself.
Emma notes this thought, tucks it away but does not acknowledge it. It's sad. It makes sense. But she doesn't know the other woman well enough to have any compulsion to comfort her or push her to examine her feelings. Instead, she lifts the bottle of wine in offering of another pour.
"Being scared is generally more trouble than it's worth, anyways. But, congratulations on your promotion."
The fancy wine just might be the thing leading Rogue’s thoughts down a path more morose than normal, but she’s willing to risk it. She raises her glass to both accept the refill and leaves it up to toast. “Thanks. Looking forward to working with y’all.” She even mostly means it.
Rogue's glass is given a healthy pour to match Emma's - if she's going to be feeling a bit down, she might as well feel a little tipsy, too. After setting aside the bottle she clinks her glass against the other woman's.
"Of course you are, darling. We're very fun." She, too, mostly means this.
When: January 14, 2025
Where: A sitting room
What: Very professional introductions
Warnings: they're going to only be able to be civil when they can get drunk together til further notice
It's Emma's second evening back, and she's found a nice quiet spot in one of the sitting rooms to situate herself. Passing out the night before had been annoying, leaving her a bit on edge and a little more interested in solitude than company.
She's happy here, stockinged feet on an ottoman as she attempts to take up as much room as possible in the oversized armchair she's in. Her arms are flung out, a stoppered bottle of wine and three books nestled next to her. A table has been pulled up to hold her already poured glass and a few more books, a notebook, and a fountain pen. A small speaker plays Ella Fitzgerald with no real concern for the fact that this is a shared space, particularly one with the door wide open. Emma's been away, but this is her house still.
But it’s not only Emma’s house, anymore. People can pop up anytime. Rogue does, in fact, from the sitting room across the hallway, as soon as the music blasts out. She’s deep into squad plans, having recently learned she’d be co-leading. This means she’s sitting in silence, in one of the rattiest sweaters she and Remy co-own. She knows that the original 8 are back on grounds. But that does not mean they get to come on in and boss everyone about.
“‘Scuse me.” She walks all the way over to the opposite sitting room and presses stop on Emma’s speaker, “Some of us got work to do.”
Though Emma can understand Rogue's irritation, she still doesn't think she's in the wrong. It's not that late. It's not that loud. Children are plenty louder than her generally, even if they're not right now. She hums, watching as her speaker is turned off. Though not terribly fussed, she's still in enough of a mood that she's not going to immediately play nice.
"There are volume buttons, you know. Unless you can't work with any ambient sound, which seems like a very difficult situation."
She takes a long sip of wine, looking over the other X-man with a discerning eye. The outfit is certainly something.
"Shouldn't your co-leader be helping you out, darling?"
“Turnin’ it down wouldn’t have caught your attention, though, now would it. This for free?”
Rogue doesn’t actually wait to see, and unstops the wine to pour herself some. Which is incredibly bad manners, but she doesn’t love the tone Emma’s using, especially about her co-leader.
“He knows what I’m doing, and he’s helping.” She stands firm on that. “Y’all have enough troubles to swim through, don’t you?” She quirks an eyebrow, but she’s curious.
As Rogue helps herself to the wine Emma barely bats an eyelash. Even if it were an overly expensive bottle she wouldn't care that much - it's just wine, and they're on the same team. The other woman's rudeness is more amusing than anything else. She appreciates that they're both posturing a bit.
"In that outfit anything you did would have caught my attention. And I just want to make sure you're not doing all the work and getting half the credit." Another sip of wine as she considers her next words. Of course, she's compelled to keep this all close to the chest, given how vulnerable it makes her feel. But there's really no benefit to it. Ever so slightly, Emma wrinkles her nose.
"I wouldn't put it quite so charmingly, but yes. You'll all be up to the task of managing everything while we're otherwise distracted?" Her tone is as genuine and not condescending as she can manage, which takes some effort on her part. Being away for so long means she only has a passing knowledge of the capabilities of the newly formed Gold Team, and she wants to be sure they're not being put in a tough position. Though, she supposes, she should probably just trust everyone else's faith in them.
“What, you wanna borrow it sometime?” She isn’t ashamed of her clothes, and does a little turn to get a look at what shorts she’s actually wearing today. Well. Emma can’t borrow these, she supposes. More importantly, she takes a sip of her wine and meets Emma face to face so she can get it clear. “Gambit and I have been working together for a decade. My work’s his, same the other way. We’ll make sure the fort’s held down.”
For some reason, it becomes important to Rogue to meet the other woman’s eyes, drop her more playful tone of a serious one. It’s a new responsibility, and she knows that to a lot of these old-timers, they’re wildcards. But it’s ultimately Emma’s business if she can’t trust them. “You worry about getting that professor back. Any luck there?” Probably not. It’s been a whole day.
"I don't want to distress anyone by showing up in your clothes. I can only imagine what they'd think." This could, of course, mean a million different things, but Emma doesn't elaborate. She watches Rogue curiously, expression otherwise impassive, as she leans down and meets her gaze. She offers the other woman a one shouldered shrug.
"You two are certainly something." Non-judgemental, but just as cryptic as her earlier comment. After this she sighs. "While I know I'm terribly impressive I am, unfortunately, no miracle worker." As she says this her eyes flick to the exposed mark on her shoulder, and for a moment her brows draw in. She hates this. Emma's gaze returns to Rogue's, and her expression evens out again.
"I'll find him, though."
Rogue has dealt with snobs like Emma, before. Folks who talk in vague riddles like can only imagine what people would think and certainly something. Sets her teeth on edge. She doesn’t have time, personally, for all that nonsense, and just rolls her eyes about it now.
“Well. When y’all need someone to take care of things, you know where to find us.” She says, daring Emma to think otherwise. But there really is a mutual mystery, and she hasn’t seen one of the marks up close. It’s weird, now that she is. “That thing hurt?” She gestures to it.
Though she's tempted to argue that her vagueness isn't her being a snob but simply being difficult on purpose, Emma leaves it alone. No point in arguing something so silly. The eye roll makes her smile.
"A little backup is always appreciated." They are heavier hitters than most of Blue Team, and she should probably put more stock in that. She needs to trust that this will all be fine without them here - Rogue was right in saying they have other things to worry about. It's not like she or Manny have been around much for a few years anyways, and Scott had up until relatively recently been on Genosha. This reassures her more than anything else.
Looking back to her mark, Emma shifts the slightest amount to give the other woman a better look at it.
"Generally it doesn't feel like anything. Terribly unpleasant knowing it's there, though. I'm just thankful mine isn't in the same spot at Charles'."
Rogue scoots closer to look at Emma’s mark, but of course does not touch her. Bad manners to steal your coworkers’ thoughts and powers on the first day you meet them proper. She narrows her eyes, and studies it. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen. “Don’t know. You could probably pull off a forehead tat better’n he could. He’s all forehead. Hey, wonder if I’d absorb that thing from touchin’ one of you.”
But she puts her hand up, to God. “Not that I’m gonna.”
As Rogue examines her she lifts her glass of wine in her other hand. Emma laughs before she takes another drink. "While I can pull anything off, it would clash with my aesthetic, don't you think? I have an image to uphold, particularly since I've been away for so long."
She hums. "There are others who are probably dumb enough to let you try but I'd recommend not. For your own sake as well. Can't be spreading this thing around like a plague."
“Don’t rightly want to catch your weird mark disease.”
Rogue agrees. She pulls back and leans against the wall, studying Emma. Yes. Certainly there’s an aesthetic. But she plays dumb because that’s the most fun thing to do right now, which is how she makes several too many important decisions.
“What image? What am I sposed to see?”
Emma smiles, cat-like. It's hard to be annoyed when she can read minds and knows when she's being needled for amusement.
"Oh you're right, darling. My apologies. It's too much to expect you to have enough taste to see the vision. Maybe you'll get there someday, hm? I don't believe anyone is a lost cause."
This is such an obvious attempt at getting a rise that Rogue lets out a laugh, short and sparkling. “My goodness. You always this nice or is this some kind of welcome-back-to-yourself party?”
"I tend to be especially kind to people who turn off my music and steal my wine," Emma replies easily and without an ounce of animosity. This is enjoyable, even if she's not about to play fully nice with the other woman. It doesn't seem to matter all that much, anyways.
"And it's good to reestablish one's self after an absence, don't you think?"
“Like you don’t got wine to spare.” Rogue takes another healthy sip of it to really communicate how sorry she is for the intrusion. But she does have some understanding for the next part. Everyone has some sort of reputation. Makes sense to just own it. She tilts her head, clearly still prodding.
“What happens if no one’s as scared of you as you’d like, though?”
"I wanted the whole bottle to myself." She didn't. She was going to reseal it with an idiotically expensive device. Emma holds her glass out so Rogue can top her up.
"People make mistakes sometimes. I try to be understanding." In general she finds it doesn't matter, and her tone communicates this - few people can stop her doing what she wants, and few people can do things that really affect her. She likes the sense of control, but she doesn't need it.
"I'm not in charge of anything here, anyways. The authority of fear is just for fun. Speaking of, are you nervous about your increased responsibility?"
“My. You’re awfully welcome for saving you from your drinking problem, then.” Rogue immediately contributes to Emma’s drinking problem by pouring a generous amount into her glass. After half a thought, she takes another splash for herself.
“Not officially in charge, but you seem pretty used to folks listening to you. Don’t know if my team’s gonna.” This is a proud little grin and warning on Rogue’s part, “And I’m not scared.”
"My hero," Emma flatly replies to Rogue's initial comment, taking a sip from her now well-filled glass. She does actually find the other woman charming.
"I am rather used to it, yes, from intimidation or sheer force of will. But there's more than one way to get people to listen to you." This is a bit of advice, even if her tone doesn't suggest that's what it is. And, actually, this conversation is giving her more faith in Gold Team's abilities than she'd had before.
"I have the feeling you're scared of very few things."
Rogue hasn’t lived with a telepath for long enough to train her thoughts away from being read. If anything, she’s a constant flow of them; it’s probably very easy for Emma to read how she lightly appreciates the advice and looks to its giver with some begrudging admiration. Emma knows how to be heard. She can give her that.
Rogue flashes a devilish little grin of agreement, swallowing the little wine left in her glass. “Good feeling. Ain’t scared of anything.”
True, but easy enough to pick up on her first and immediate thought. The only thing she’s ever been scared of is herself.
Emma notes this thought, tucks it away but does not acknowledge it. It's sad. It makes sense. But she doesn't know the other woman well enough to have any compulsion to comfort her or push her to examine her feelings. Instead, she lifts the bottle of wine in offering of another pour.
"Being scared is generally more trouble than it's worth, anyways. But, congratulations on your promotion."
The fancy wine just might be the thing leading Rogue’s thoughts down a path more morose than normal, but she’s willing to risk it. She raises her glass to both accept the refill and leaves it up to toast. “Thanks. Looking forward to working with y’all.” She even mostly means it.
Rogue's glass is given a healthy pour to match Emma's - if she's going to be feeling a bit down, she might as well feel a little tipsy, too. After setting aside the bottle she clinks her glass against the other woman's.
"Of course you are, darling. We're very fun." She, too, mostly means this.