2011 01 19 Just Another Social Club

Log Title:
Just Another Social Club

Tessa and Captain Britian

IC Date:

Londong Hellfire Club

Brief log summary::
Tessa and Brian encounter one another in the London HFC


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Sitting in a comfortable high backed leather chair, Brian Braddock sits with his right ankle atop his left knee. Holding the London Times in his left hand, folded, he is able to read while not enveloped by the paper itself. Reading glasses adorn the bridge of his nose. He wears a business suit of blue with silver pinstripes. His blue shirt beneath bears a white collar and matching cuffs with golden cuff-links beneath. Shoes spectacularly polished and deep blue in hue. To his right is a small round table where a glass of brandy sits, moderately touched.

Tessa stands at the threshold and surveys the room's general splendor with a flickering blue eyes that take nothing for granted. She is no stranger to the London scene, not even to this branch of the Club. Yet her manner is distant, her regard of those occupying it as cold as the ice glazed world beyond its warmed walls.

With the click-clack of a high heel she steps into the lounge and finds an attendant ready to serve. "A glass of red, please," she says even before the question is asked. The server steals a moment to appreciate the figure dressed in that black sheath, the micro-fishnet stockings that embrace her lissome legs and the glossy heels she on which she is perched. As he leaves the subtle rise of a single brow signs that something or someone in the room has managed to grab her attention.

"Mr. Braddock," Tessa says his name with the formality of a greeting, rather than a warm reunion. She smiles, but just barely so. The gesture is more the movement of crimson lips than cordial greeting.

Looking up from his paper. Brian peers over the reading glasses to the one that addresses him. Reaching with his right hand to take the glasses from his face while placing the paper aside with his left - upon another side table, he greets her while standing, "Tessa." is returned in greeting. "To what do I owe the pleasure?". His tone is projected with a familiarity to it. Not as if they've met, but that he knows of her and her associations of the other club.

Clad in a black corset and crimson gloss, her ivory complexion is made dramatic by contrast. The room's wan light reflects off her a hundred times, creating luminosity that is nigh otherworldly.

"Business," she replies in her usual manner, though an unusual sparkle puts a light in her blue eyes. A vague accent plays around the edges of her words; one that conjures ephemeral smells of rare and exotic spices. "Some things never change. And you? What brings you to the city proper tonight?" Her gaze does not miss that copy of the Times nor the repast resting on a nearby table.

Realizing that the 'business' isn't with him, Brian's demeanor takes on a more casual projection (as casual as a British gentleman can become - which is nearly indistinguishable from formal). He indicates an adjacent high backed leather chair and motioning to it, offering the seat, he answers her query, "I've house guests." he says with a slightly annoyed tone. "And it's all that I can do to avoid them."

Amusement plays on her face, gently tugging at a corner of her curvy mouth and flashing around her eyes. She moves to take the offered seat and then crosses her legs as she angles towards the other. "Sounds like a rather precarious predicament. I hope, for your sake, that they aren't staying too long? Few things are as painful as a guest who doesn't know they have outstayed their welcome."

Taking a seat half a second after she does. Brian takes a relaxed position. Both feet flat on the floor, however his left elbow upon the arm of the chair with the thumb of the same hand nearly touching his chin; while his right index finger touching that elbow as his right arm rests against his stomach. There's an annoyed sigh and a skyward roll of his eyes as he implies visually what he relays, "That end is nowhere in sight. Sadly. But it is a necessary evil which I can escape periodically." then he segues to query, "Is everything well in Manhattan?" - asking about the branch and knowing of recent changes or events that have unfolded.

The look she returns is straightforward, but lined with subtle emotion. "Oh come now, Mr. Braddock, let's not play coy. I'm certain that news of recent events reached your ears just as they unfolded, if not sooner."

The server arrives with Tessa's glass, but she hardly pays him any mind, even as slender hands take possession of it. She pauses just long enough to wet her lips with a sip.

"Sebastian is no longer welcome in the Club's halls while Magnus tightens his hold on the Inner Circle. I'm not yet sure what this means for me. These interesting times grow more so every day."

Being caught on the carpet, so to speak, Brian offers a knowing smile with her revealation that he knew of the events that he tiptoes around. He then offers, "From what I am to understand, your position in any capacity is guaranteed due to your incredible skills." And by skills, he does not mean powers, he's referring to the organizational and administrative skills that she's revealed beyond the Manhattan club's walls. The HFC is a social club, and socialize is what they do - even if it is translated to gossip in some circles (as the Brits love to gossip).

If the dapper Braddock reassures Tessa at all, then it fails to register in the serene expression on her face. As he speaks she cants her head and an errant lock of black silk falls across her brow.

"So long as I have something to offer, you mean," she replies, her tone soft and low. The drink lifts to her lips once again and leaves them glittering from its contents. "There are few guarantees in the halls of power and even fewer inside the club.

"But I digress! It isn't my intention to intrude upon your evening and bore you with petty politics that are nothing but old news to you. How is your dear wife?"

"My wife?" Brian asks and continues, "Has page 4 taken hold of my reputation once again and paired me with someone outlandish? Or is Beckinsale trying to get back in the spotlight after her B movie fall from grace?" is projected in an amused tone relating to the question at hand.

An uncharacteristic smile blooms on Tessa's face, a ripple of warmth follows in its wake, "You Braddocks are an amusing lot. How is it that you and that sister of yours manage to balance the act, to walk the razor thin line between fame and infamy with such aplomb?" The wan light in the room reflect the blue of her eyes tenfold, which only heightens the catlike curiosity inherent in her gaze.

With an inside reference, Brian comments on his sister's status, "My sister is the one with the balance. While I'm the buffoon that lucks into things. Which brings me to my next query. Are you in London for long? Because I know this tiny little restaurant off the beaten path." and his statement passes into silence allowing her to respond.

An errant lock of black silk falls across Tessa's face, crossing the arch of a brow and nearly obscuring the subtle mischief that lights one eye. Behind the pair burns a fire inside a hearth. Its soft crackling is punctuated by random pops, but its smoky aroma does not overwhelm the vast lounge at all.

"I didn't think it possible for a Braddock to roam with any degree of anonymity. Isn't that pack of paparazzi leashed to the gates with you?" she teases, her swirling drink held aloft.

"I'm no where near that famous." Brian retorts with a shallow shake of his head and a slight grin, "I'll admit that from time to time I fall onto page 4 just because I'm seen out with some celebrity. But they're not looking at me, they're looking at her."

A few other bodies fill the lounge, seeming caught in the pair's orbit as they speak. The sounds of idle chatter and soft music play just beyond their conversation.

"Mmm," the sound that plays on her lips is more cynical than sublime, and the look on her face is its perfect match. "You are many things, Mr. Braddock, but naïve is not one of them. Those celebrity's seek you out to improve their stakes and the socialites have your marked as a means to build their status. Still," she says seeming at once intimate and yet far away, "I appreciate that you would be so willing to play at humble for my sake."

Brian, in a lighter tone states, "Then I'll pick you up at say, eight?" offering a more direct approach to his earlier query while his posture shifts slightly within the chair to draw nearer (if only by a few inches) to her.

That lock jostles against Tessa's face as she cants her head at the dashing lord and her eyes just slightly narrow with what looks like amusement. "Indeed," she replies, the grin from before is fading from her crimson lips, but the echo of its mirth remains.

The glass is set aside, placed on some expensive and antique side table as its mistress rises out of her seat. "Eight o'clock sounds just fine. I've taken a room here at the Club, so I won't be hard to find."

As she stands, so shall Brian - it's the gentlemanly thing to do. "Until then." is the only thing offered and he will allow her to depart unhindered. He will then return to his paper and the comfortable chair.

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