-2-
Two days later, the alarm went off at 5:00 am. Even Paige Guthrie was not awake yet.
Emma Frost was dressed to intimidate. The cloak was lined in silver fox, its hood bordered with the same. Her winter suit was impeccable -- white suede jacket and skirt over a white silk blouse; the entire ensemble was tailored to play up her figure. She looked every bit the White Queen, and found herself wondering why she had begun dressing in such a sedate manner, when these clothes felt so *right* on her.
She dismissed the thought and made herself a promise to visit Neiman-Marcus, Bloomingdale's and Saks after her -- appointment -- was concluded. ~At least the migraine seems to have lessened in the night.~
The flight from Massachusetts to North Carolina was only two hours long. Sam's briefing on these new Hellions had been quite thorough. She knew where to look for them, and what each of the self-proclaimed King Bedlam's compatriots was capable of. She listened to her own voice dictate the specifics to her from the digital recorder on the passenger seat beside her.
~Sean would have apoplexy if he knew I was going alone,~ Emma thought, driving the white BMW to the airport. ~Especially considering Feral is the one who injured his daughter Theresa.~ Sean had been trying to get her to agree to see him for the holidays, to no avail. ~But this is a personal matter to me. Those children died while on *my* watch, and I won't have some -- upstart -- disgracing their memory, or leading any more children to their deaths.~
Strangely, the niggling remnants of her migraine seemed to dissipate as Emma psionically cloaked her approach from the farmhouse as she approached. She passed Feral, leaving the woman confused at having scented something unfamiliar but being unable to eye-locate it.
As a result of her telepathic intervention, Emma strode uncontested, despite the crisp new footprints in the fresh snow, to the door. Amara was the one who opened the door -- and her reaction brought a faint smile to Emma's lips. "Amara. How nice to see you again."
"Miss Frost?" Amara frowned. "What are you doing here?" The girl's posture and tone indicated she was not entirely surprised, but neither especially pleased to see Emma. She twirled one blonde curl uneasily.
"I came to see ... Mr. Aaronson." Emma made a point of widening her eyes and pausing dramatically to remove her hood. Amara would think Emma wanted an allegiance with the man, or that she was afraid of him. Either impression was to Emma's advantage. "May I come in?"
~Just force her to let you in,~ a niggling voice in the back of Frost's head urged. She frowned thoughtfully, but Amara stepped back and permitted Emma to enter, rendering the point academic. "Thank you."
Amara watched Frost dubiously, but showed her into a small study. "Wait here. I'll tell him you're here." With that, she turned on her heel and left Emma alone in the room. Observation indicated the room was nothing more than one of many rooms in the house -- which was, incidentally, decorated for the holidays. Candles and holly and pine were strewn artistically around the room -- and similar were hung in the entry hall. ~Everything looks normal,~ she mused. ~But appearances, as I well know, are deceiving.~
"Terrence." Amara knocked once and entered without waiting for a response. "You have a visitor."
Terrence raised a brow and set down his copy of "The Art of War," by Sun-Tzu. "Indeed?"
"Emma Frost of Massachusetts." Amara looked distinctly uneasy.
"Your old teacher?" Terrence inclined his head and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The White Queen, wasn't it?"
"That's right. I don't know how she caught wind of us, but this can't bode well." Amara shot a glance past King Bedlam, pinning the slight woman behind him with it. "If she's here, you may have a fight on your hands."
"You overestimate her, dear," Terrence chuckled. "Mine is the power to unravel thought itself. If she cannot think, how can she do *anything* to me, when bedlam runs rampant in her head?" He shrugged into his jacket, and breezed past Amara. "However, if it will make you feel better -- gather the others to back me up. Wait for me to call for you."
~We will see exactly how a duel between us goes, if it comes to that,~ Terrence thought, striding purposefully down the hall. ~Or perhaps I'll merely thaw the Frost. My little French mouse is becoming quite the bore of late.~
Terrence Aaronson, the man who called himself King Bedlam, was not as garishly dressed or manic as Emma had expected. Sam had said the man was poised and self-possessed, but Emma found herself impressed. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal grey suit, and moved in it like he knew precisely how well the suit hung on him.
"Miss Frost. I am honored. I've heard a great deal about you." He bent at the waist and took her extended hand, brushing his lips across the back of her hand. "To what do I owe the honor of a visit?" His smile was subdued; neither condescending nor entirely arrogant. Apparently his defeat at the hands of X-Force had taught him something. Whether it was caution or humility, Emma had yet to determine; she guarded her own thoughts behind her shields and made no overtures toward probing Bedlam -- yet.
"Concern, Mr. Aaronson. I'm certain you're aware that there was a previous -- group of mutants who went by the name 'The Hellions,' yes?"
Terrence's brow arched, and Emma could feel his eyes climbing her, from the tips of her boots to the top of her elegant coif. ~He finds you attractive,~ suggested that tiny voice in her head. ~Use that.~ "Yes. Amara and Marie informed me of that. I didn't think you'd object. I thought, frankly, that you'd be flattered."
"I take it, then, that you're not aware of what became of the first group of Hellions?" Emma succeeded in keeping her voice low and unperturbed with an effort. She didn't give Terrence an opportunity to answer. "They were murdered, except for Empath, by a madman called Fitzroy." The pang of guilt, even after all this time, still danced like an ember in the back of her psyche. And just beneath it, a -- desire to avenge them? "It is ... much akin to tempting fate to name another band of mutants 'The Hellions.' "
Terrence chuckled under his breath. "So you've come to warn me, then, that this 'Fitzroy' person may come seeking my Hellions? I assure you, Ms. Frost, that we are more than capable of defending ourselves."
Emma stood, shaking her head. ~If he thinks that, he's a bigger fool than I imagined.~ "No, Mr. Aaronson. I came to suggest you leave off with the entire 'Hellions' project, and let the dead rest in peace."
"Am I to understand, Ms. Frost, that you mean this as a warning? That you intend to 'rescue' my Hellions from me, then?" His laughter grew louder. "Am I to believe you think them here against their will? I assure you, they are not. You think I've coerced them? No, not that either. I'm sorry to disappoint you. They are all at my side because it was their choice to stand at my side."
Emma tossed her fall of gold-white hair over one shoulder and regarded Terrence thoughtfully. "Then they, like you, are misguided." ~Misguided?!~ the tiny voice in her head laughed derisively. ~You're going to leave it at talking sternly to him? You expect *that* to get him to do as you ask?~
Marie-Ange chose this moment to enter with tea. She nearly let the tray fall in her shock at seeing Emma. "Madamoiselle Frost!"
"Marie." Emma smiled thinly. "And here I've all this time thought you were dead. Not even a word to ease your old teacher's mind?"
"Je suis trFs dTsolT," Marie-Ange whispered, and set the tea service down. "I..." she stammered, then shook her head. "Terrance, mon amour, has brought me back from the dead. I was, indeed, dead."
"Fascinating," Emma said honestly, hands folded in her lap. "Such a gift for resurrection will also make you a man whose services are in demand," she gazed evenly at Bedlam.
Terrence chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not concerned, Ms. Frost. In the slightest." He clapped his hands twice, and the study doors burst open. A dark figure glided into the room, followed closely by an unassuming skinny blond boy. "Unfortunately, however, I can't very well permit you to run along home and go crying to your compatriots so they can come attempt to shut us down. I have no desire to sully my hands on mindless brawling. I have other irons in the fire. A shame you didn't consider that before you came here alone."
Bedlam drew Tarot to him with an arm around her waist. She stared at the floor, wordless. "Switch? See that the lady is ... gently subdued."
"Right away, King Be--" the little blond teen began, and stepped forward. His words ended in a choked gasp, as he blinked twice in astonishment, then toppled over like a bowling pin.
Emma's gaze tracked the boy's fall to the ground. "It seems your young man has suddenly developed narcolepsy." She lazily swung her gaze back to Terrence. "I'm sorry, what was that you were saying about detaining me?" Her smile was a challenge, a dare.
The black figure moved forward, but Bedlam held up an arm to restrain him. "No, Paradigm. If it's to be a contest of wills -- she's mine." He stepped forward. "You're supposed to be a formidable telepath, isn't that right?"
Emma shrugged, and swept off her cloak. "It is undignified to brag of one's prowess," she responded coolly. "But if you're really willing to find out, I invite you to give it your best shot, little man."
"You have come sadly unprepared." King Bedlam grinned toothily, eyes beginning to glow as he summoned his power.
"Hardly," Emma replied. "Your charges, save for Tarot here, are all woefully unskilled in psychic shielding. I knew your abilities the moment I set foot in your home."
"And your overconfidence will cost you," Bedlam sneered, letting fly with a burst of his particular psionic talent.
"I somehow fail to be shaking in ... in..." Emma stammered and stiffened, as Bedlam's power skittered across her psyche, scrambling synapses and jumbling her thoughts. Her beautifully elocuted English degenerated into Boston-accented gibberish.
"...icetray...licorice...musician...undercarriage..." ~FiGhThIm...!~ Emma's internal struggle was fierce and desperate, but externally, she continued to regard Bedlam calmly, although strings of colorful nonsense words still tumbled from her lips like Mardi Gras beads. ~Y000000u faAaAced Phoe-Foe-Fee-Phee-nick-nicks-niqs-niqs....! ThIs 1-wun-won-one is nothing...!~ "Emblem...loquacious...mutton...dianetics..."
"Yield, Emma, it will only be more painful for you if you don't," King Bedlam whispered to her, as she stared off into space.
"Turkey...ramrod...improbable...ancestry..." Emma responded in an even voice. She had been caught somewhat off-guard. There was no astral plane on which to meet Bedlam. His power was not true psi -- he was more a neuropathic disruptor than anything else, and Emma had to work quickly to protect herself; her shields were unravelling despite her best efforts -- torn to threads by Bedlam's attack.
Bedlam's brow arched. ~That almost sounded like she was speaking lucidly. That can't be.~ He noticed one shining bead of sweat on Emma's brow, and smiled.
"I can reduce you to a simpleton," Bedlam growled. She was still resisting. "While that would reduce your usefulness to me, dear Emma, I am certain I could find ... some service you could provide me." He lifted his fingers and traced the line of her jaw.
~I...cho0s3 hoo-hu-who touches my body...!~ Rage, mingled with a terror she would not acknowledge surged up inside her. Emma ceased concentrating on her failing shields, and instead went all-out, focusing the totality of her telepathic powers on a single mind-spike and loosed it, like a burning arrow, into Terrence's mind. There was a singularly satisfying resistance her spike met -- that gave after a scant few picoseconds of her attack. It felt like driving one of her high heels through a thin sheaf of ice.
Terrence had not, as she'd guessed, expected her to go from defensive stance to offensive. He had been prepared only to continue to pour on his own brand of bedlam, carelessly leaving himself entirely -- foolishly -- unguarded. He gave a strangled cry, and dropped to his knees, eyes wide. He fell over a second later, and lay twitching on the floor. From his mouth, saliva and blood trickled in a pinkish froth.
Emma took a moment to regain her equilibrium. Once she was certain of her footing, she glanced down at the fallen King Bedlam, and nudged him with the toe of her boot. Then, she stepped forward to balance one foot on his chest. She opened her compact and calmly began to check her makeup and hair, aware of the Hellions staring in horror from the doorway.
"The king is dead, children. Long live the Queen."