2014.06.12 - Telepaths Are a Bit Above

Monet St. Croix sits at a small table in the coffeeshop set inside MOMA, a small table near the railing allowing one to overlook the gorgeous art without actually getting close enough to risk touching any of it with coffee. Security guards stand near the exits to make sure no one takes food or beverage out into the museum proper. She's just finishing a text, although you couldn't tell, the perfect heiress selecting keys on her phone telekinetically while looking artfully bored, her expression growing withering only long enough to ward off a scruffy looking graduate student who started to walk her way. She isn't in the mood to tolerate faux-intellectuals trying to get in her panties. She wears an artsy McQueen dress and shoes, both appropriate for the setting and, of course, gorgeous on Monet. Isn't everything? (Dress: http://www.savoirflair.com/sites/default/files/Alexander-Mc-Queen-Resort-2014-34.jpg and Shoes: http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT55WG78D4Dm8FGpuJhBvOl66ke2N6gM7Y1Riyt6CVK-oGO8_ap3w ).

Emma's always on the hunt for talent, specifically for her esteemed school. When she got word that Monst St. Croix was in her part of town, she couldn't be more delighted. With a bit of help, she was able to pin down her exact location that afternoon. Delightful.

Emma made her way into the area with a small smirk spread across her face. She was dressed in a dark bue dress with a very plunging neckline, along with silver chandelier earrings and with silver pumps. Not her trademark white today, but one doesn't want to be /too/predictable.

Her eyes looked over to Monet and made her approach, "Pardon the interruption, but do you have a moment to talk? I'm Emma Frost."

Monet St. Croix glances up slowly, her unmatched face breaking into a perfect smile, "I know who you are, Miss Frost. Please," she says, gesturing to the chair opposite her. "That's a lovely dress. Can I have Antonio bring you anything?" she says, gesturing towards a rather lean Latino man currently buffing the cappuccino machine, "He's quite an artist with the steam. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this encounter? I'm not so naive as to think you ran across me merely by chance."

Emma's eyes glanced over the lean Latino man, but very quickly and casually. "A cappuccino sounds delightful, thank you."

She crossed her legs as she made herself comfortable in the chair. Emma did quirk her brow, the woman was sharp. Sharper than most of these celebrity socialites, she should know. "You are not nave, that's good. Very good. I've wanted to meet you for some time. I'm always delighted to..."

Inside Monet's head she can hear Emma's voice like a whisper, |"To meet someone with unique talents."|

Monet St. Croix shows nothing on the surface, her eyes meeting Antonio's and snapping her fingers, sending the man to work making a cappuccino to her specifications. She didn't ask for Emma's order. She knows that her own taste is exquisite. |

Monet St. Croix shows nothing on the surface, her eyes meeting Antonio's and snapping her fingers, sending the man to work making a cappuccino to her specifications. She didn't ask for Emma's order. She knows that her own taste is exquisite. |"Mmmmmm, I wondered. Those few glimpses of you with the mysterious redhead on your arm...that redhead's no mystery to me. How is Jean? I haven't spoken to her since I finished school at Xavier's last year."| she sends nonchalantly.

A wicked smirk spread across Emma's lips. This was a taboo topic, especially amongst the X-crowd, as often referred to by Emma. She ran her long painted nail along the edge of the table, 

She leaned forward as she continued, "Tell me darling, what are your plans at the moment? Since you're a recent graduate, any plans for college?"

Monet shrugs softly, |"Jean has a habit of stressing herself. The nature of being the teacher's pet, I suspect. She takes too much responsibility on herself for the feelings of others. Of course, I'm often called a callous bitch. And I'm certainly no one's pet."| She takes a sip of her coffee before she answers aloud, "I was considering it, although I've made no commitments as of yet. One of the privileges of wealth is taking one's time."

One of the many benefits of being a telepath, of which there are many, is the ability to have multiple conversations at the same time. Sometimes you just have a lot of information to cover, |"When I do get to see her, it's something I try to remind her. And there is nothing wrong with being a callous bitch."|

Her drink was prepared, and she set it aside to cool properly. She took a moment to enjoy his backside as he walked away, "Quite. However, I've interrupted your quiet visit to the museum to extend an invitation to the Academy of Tomorrow, I'm sure you've at least heard of it. I assure you, it's completely unlike the Xavier Institute."

Monet taps a glossy black nail against her bottom lip thoughtflly, |"I wasn't meaning to suggest there was. If anything, I wear the designation proudly. Bitches get shit done,"|she psionically murmurs. She bounces her lusciously formed leg idly, one knee crossed over the other, "And just what do you think you could offer me that Xavier's couldn't?" she asks coolly, treating it as much like a business negotiation as anything.

Emma reached for her clutch and placed various literature across the table. Emma kept the sly smile across her face as she spoke, "Quite a bit. While we may not be so...avid in drama. But the tech is superb, as it was partially designed by Tony Stark and myself. We offer education to doctorate levels, so it's a very large institute. The Academy is for the best of the best in /all/ things, so there are a wide variety in students."

She looked to Monet and met her gaze, "And we quite value a capable bitch, just look at the headmistress."

Monet St. Croix can't help but smile slightly at that, taking the literature, although she's unlikely to peruse anything so tawdry as a glossy advertisement. She'll make her own assessments without the glowing words of alumni to sway her. "Stark, hmmmmmm? He is quite inventive, if repugnant in other aspects," she says. "Dr. St. Croix does have a nice ring to it, though, now that you mention it. I'd quite enjoy the look on my father's face if he had to address me as such," she says. "And oh, yes, Miss Frost, your reputation precedes you. I'm certain you're more than capable."

Her eyebrow quirked just slightly, her own mind did wander a bit considering what her own father would think of her these days. Likely disappointed in his impossible to impress ways. This wasn't a shielded thought, if Monet was casually scanning Emma's thoughts. "Quite, but he's a brilliant mind. And I assure you I am."

She took a sip of her beverage, and of course it was fantastic. "Beyond that, if you desire training based on your unique skills, I also in capable in that regard. I also have a highly advanced training room, and I teach it directly. I also have guests lecturers for that class as well."

Her eyes looked to the ceiling as she thought, "But the real question is what makes this school different from Xaviers, as much as I respect what Charles is trying to do. However he and I disagree on the world. We're not training superheroes, I'm not asking you to go out there to create a Utopia. I'm preparing you to be a leader of this world. Change comes from the top after all."

Monet St. Croix smiles lightly, trailing her fingertip along the rim of her glass, "I had an interesting discussion with Magneto last week," she says, name-dropping as casually as possible, although it's done not to impress but because she's just been having a lot of of these discussions of philosophy lately, "In regard to things like leadership, Utopias...responsibility."

"I'll state this outright, as I did to him: while I would be pleased to make the world a better place, my first and foremost goals are for myself. My life, my enjoyment, my happiness. While I may someday wish to take the burdens of the world on my ever-capable shoulders, I remain a young woman. I am more than content to allow the seasoning of years set in, gracefully and undetectably as they will on myself. I am nobody's savior or martyr. And I am already at the top," she smiles. "But, as you say...you might help me to refine my abilities. I'll review your facilities and take it under consideration," she smiles. "I do hope I can get a personal tour."

Emma couldn't help but laugh softly. Oh Magneto, the old fart certainly got around, and somehow with young beautiful women. Including herself, the man had a certain charm. "He is an interesting one to have a philosophical discussion with, as much as he and I may disagree at times. We normally agree."

She waved her hand as if to dismiss her thought of Magneto, "I'm not asking you to be a martyr, in fact I quite despise the term. Nothing good seems to come of it. You and I are of similar thoughts, I assure you. However I'd be more than glad to give you a personal tour of my facilities."

Monet St. Croix smiles, "Good. I do tire of dealing with servants, their thoughts can be so dreary," she smiles, taking another long drink of her coffee. She picks up her phone, flicking through her calendar with a manicured thumb, "I'm sure I can find somewhere to squeeze you in, as you could find me. Who knows, perhaps I might even has some things to offer some of your students in return? I know I taught as much as I learned at Xavier's."

Emma smiled genuinely, "We have many who have offered their services as a teachers aid, and find it quite rewarding. Someone as seasoned as yourself could be quite enlightening. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two."

Her eyebrow quirked as she finished off her drink and rose, "I won't take any more of your time, you'll find my personal number along with the literature you took. Feel free to call or text anytime. I look forward to speaking with you."