2011 09 29 Let S Make A Deal

Log Title:
Lets Make A Deal

Monet, Phantasm

IC Date:

Ellington Club, New York

Brief log summary::
Mike is there to get rid of his newest shadow, Duncan. Monet is there for entertainment. Can they possibly help each other out?


There is no TS in this log::

Post your log::
Log Title: Lets Make A Deal
Characters: Mike and Monet
IC Date: 9/29/11
Location: Ellington Club, New York
Brief Log Summary: Mike is there to get rid of his newest shadow, Duncan. Monet is there for entertainment. Can they possibly help each other out?
Rating: PG
There is no TS in the log: Yes

-==[ Ellington Club - New York ]==--------

The sound of jazz and the big bands is the first impression one gets the moment they pass within the doors of this elegant club. Three tiers of booths in progressively smaller semicircles lead down inevitably to a stage where a graceful young woman croons out ballads six decades old. Staff glide professionally among the tables, bearing silver trays and clad in white tuxedo jackets with black ties.
An art deco theme manifests itself with twin statues of mythological figures behind the stage, each one stretching out a single wing to the far wall. The walls are marked with blue-veined marble pillars and silk wall-paper in an off-white that does not distract. Sconces bearing sleek, bold designs are mounted on the walls, complementing the light given off by a series of small chandeliers, while each table is marked with a glass vase bearing flowers in blue, violet and white.

+view & places used here.

Although not a Friday evening, Thursday night in the Ellington Club is not wanting for business. On the contrary, despite the dress requirements put upon the clientelle, there are not many tables left open this evening. A member of the wait staff steps around a rather large man lurking near one of the walls. It is quite amazing that the club even had a jacket in the man's size but alas they did.

Off next to a table being swiftly cleaned up by another tuxedoed staffer, Mike is seated, long hair pulled back into a neat ponytail as he too is sporting the appropriate dress attire. A deep red dress shirt peeks from the jacket that he leaves open allowing him a bit of personal style within the confines of the dress code but he does not seem quite happy with this compromise. Instead he is glancing towards the man near the wall and then back to the other older, but well dressed man seated across from him. Unlike Mike, this man is not ignoring the dish in front of him either.

It's Thursday, and Monet was feeling like some jazz as a change of pace. She headed down to the Ellington Club, without a reservation - but when you're Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese St. Croix, you don't need reservations. Even without the telepathic powers, even without the undeniable beauty and being on the covers of Vanity Fair and Vogue as "one of the world's most beautiful women"), even without her scathing wit and intelligence, the name itself carries more than enough influence to open any door for her. Normal people need reservations. The elite don't. Monet's of the latter, definitely.

She heads into the club, wearing an original Louis Vuitton sequin gown - silver, skin-tight, customized with an assortment of diamonds hand sewn throughout the bodice of the dress, and probably costing more than most people make in 5 years. Looking around, she holds her hand up dismissively at the person who asks for reservations. A few words and she's escorted to one of the few tables available - after the people who were there are asked to move. She leans over to listen to the music appreciatively. No bodyguards for her - no need - Monet's abilities are not particularly unknown, nor has she ever felt the need to hide them.

By the time Monet reaches the table, the employee who was so frantically cleaning it up earlier has retreated, allowing for the newly assigned waiter to hand her over the list of foods offered for the day. With the shimmer of the approaching Monet, Mike's attention shifts towards her for a small moment. A small smile of appreciation is given before the monstrosity in the background distracts once more. Killing the smile.

During a moment of getting a sip of his drink, the elder man of the two glances up, eyes settling on the barely touched plate in front of the musician holding a striking contrast with his own dish. "If I had known you were not hungry," he considers, tilting his head to look towards Mike, "We could have discussed things in my office."

Mike's glance shifts towards the elder man, "I had more of an appetite before you decided to bring him along." His head gives a slight indication towards the larger man hanging out near the wall, "I would have guessed ditching him the first few times would have been a blatant enough hint that I don't want a damn shadow."

Monet peers over at Mike and the larger man nearby briefly, but it doesn't hold her interest. She looks back at the band playing the jazz, pausing only to look over at the waiter to order a light chablis.

The elder man frowns, "All it told me was that the last one wasn't good enough." He signals over a waiter before leaning forward, reaching to his back pocket, "Which is why this one is new."

"A shadow is still a shadow no matter what name you give it." Mike mutters, shaking his head, "Boris, Bruno, whatever the hell they're named."

The elder man smiles patiently, handing his card towards the waiter who shows up, and patiently watches as the man leaves, "Actually this one is named Duncan."

Monet gets her chablis and takes a sip. Her phone rings and she removes it from her purse. "Yes? No, father. I'm fine. I know it's been 9 months. I'll use the car soon, I promise. Yes, Il est tres joli. Thank you…. father… invulnerable remember? Yes… kiss kiss, je t'aime, pere." She presses a button to disconnect, putting the phone back in her purse.

The service here is quick indeed. As the Monet's waiter returns with the Chablis, the waiter for Mike's table returns as well with card and slip.

As the conversation gets put on hold, Mike ends up ovehearing parts of Monet's side of the conversation. A brow lifts in curiousity as he starts to look her way.

Quiet, the elder man signs the slip and pockets the card before he gets up. "I will save you and me some time, Mick and basically lay it out for you."

Mike's head shifts back to the elder man, eyes opening, "Hmm?"

"People are concerned and it is my job to take care of that concern. Until we're certain things won't repeat itself, you're stuck with him." His eyes set upon the still full plate in front of Mike. "I will be heading off. The meal is paid for. DO eat it."

Mike's eyes narrow as he watches the man walk off, pausing long enough to talk to the wall named Duncan. "Asshole." He mutters, glancing back to his plate. He shakes his head, poking at his filet with his fork before he blinks again. Setting the fork down, he turns his head, glancing towards Monet. "Excuse me, Couldn't help overhearing but, invulnerable?"

Monet looks over idly. "Hm? Yes. Excellent nosy eavesdropping skills." She sips her chablis. "You know, mutant. Like yourself. Well… not like yourself. That would be sort of like comparing Dogs Playing Poker with the Mona Lisa, but they're both well known paintings."

Mike gives a bit of a smile as Monet makes mention of eavesdropping skills and likely was about to make some Drago-brand witty response in kind but as she IDs him as a mutant, the smile fades and his brows lift. The comparison of the paintings slips his attention as the eiree blue of his eyes set upon Monet's features. Monet's last words hang in the air for a few minutes before Mike responds, voice not all that audible beyond Monet's positioning. "How did you know?"

Monet stops listening to the jazz music again to look over at Mike. "It's one of my many, many, oh so many abilities. Is there a problem, Mike?" she asks. Okay. And she knows your name too. She watches you idly as she takes another sip of her drink.

If her glance is meant to shame Mike from looking at Monet, it's not working as he continues looking at her. "Uh, no. Just was wanting to make sure I didn't get 'Mutant' tattooed on my head during some forgotten, rarely achieved drunken stupor last night." His hand taps the arm of his chair, considering the woman before him a bit longer, "So, you're a telepath?"

Monet smiles a bit. "You might as well have it tattooed there. And yes, among other things. Would you like to join or would you like to continue to talk across tables like we're at a 70's mixer?" she asks. "Not that I'd need to be a telepath to know who you are. Some of my less ably minded friends do read the trash tabloids, after all."

To the invitation, Mike nods, "Sure. I'll join."

Perhaps there is a super hearing enabled waiter in the area or perhaps it's from the act of Mike getting up to shift over to Monet's table, but the table he vacates is soon descended upon, his food and drink shifted over to Monet's table soon after he sits. Perhaps, someone had a reservation and their table was still occupied. WHO KNOWS. Mike watches the display, mildly amused before he glances to watch them depart. "That, was different." Catching another glimpse of the man near the wall, he frowns, turning back to face Monet. "Tell your friends not to believe everything they read in those. Not more than modern day dime novels."

Monet shrugs a bit. "Do you mean the part-boy musician thing? I'm honestly not interested enough to educate them about it. It doesn't exactly pertain to me anyway. Besides i'm assuming you're not here to party it up. It's a bit high class for that. Oh.. Monet St. Croix." she says.

"Well, sometimes you need a keyed back evening where you can hear the person you're talking to." Mike straightens, offering over his hand. "Mike Hannigan." He replies, making the introduction a bit more official, "Pleasure to meet you."

Monet shakes your hand a bit curiously. "Okay, so we've already established that I'm a telepath, and yet you're lying to me about your name. That's interesting at least. And … keyed back evening. Haven't heard that term before."

Mike smiles, allowing for the shake to complete before he takes back his hand, "Or we've established that you're actually respectful enough with the telepathy not to dig for every detail and you're one of the few that I'm actually truthful about with the name." He leans back in his seat, smiling, "Keyed back. You really haven't heard that before?"

Monet thinks for a moment. "Actually we havent established that. I havent bothered to dig through your mind mainly because I'm bored, and conversation takes substantially more time that I can use to on the evening. And if I'd heard the term before, I wouldnt have said I wasnt familiar with the term. Sounds about right, right?" Another sip. "So why are you here tonight, and who are the escorts?"

Mike considers the response for a bit before he shrugs, smile fading as he's reminded about his company. "I was hoping to talk the one who left into getting rid of tall dark and ugly over there. Seems someone the label likes is insisting I have security."

Monet nods a bit. "My father's the same way about worrying about me, much as he doesn't need to be. It's endearing." She pauses. "I could get him out of your hair if you'd like, if it's worth my while."

"It's aggravating." Mike corrects, "The last one tried to follow me into the bathroom." To the quasi offer to having another way to get away from the shadow, Mike's attention perks up a bit. "What, did you have in mind?"

Monet shrugs. "It's laughably simple for me. But what's in it for me to do you a favor, Mike? Make an offer."

"I am assuming 'my gratitude' may be missing the mark." Mike hurms for a moment, "What about, a guided tour of some of the best night life that New York has to offer?"

Monet thinks. "Nah. I already know about the best night life New York has to offer. Something better?"

Monet thinks about that. "Okay. That works." She puts her hands on the table and stands up, then walks over to your 'shadow.' "Hi, you need to leave him alone. You should go home, in fact." she says, matter-of-factly to the large man.

Mike gives a bit of a smile as the deal is struck. As she gets up, he turns to watch, curious to how this is going to turn out.

Tall, dark, and ugly, otherwise known as Duncan glances down, looking to the comparitively smaller woman. There's a bit of disbelief to his expression before he shakes his head, chuckling. "Good one. For a minute I thought you were serious."

Monet looks up at him. "I'm extremely serious. The number of ways I can force you to go along with what I'm saying is extreme to the point of ridiculousness, so I'm giving you the option of taking your oversized muscles and undersized brain, leaving here, going home and… I don't know… cadoodling yourself or whatever neanderthals do on their own at home when not picking fleas our of their hair. Leave now."

The hired muscle looks at Monet blankly for a moment. "Cadoodling?" His stance straightens, "Ma'am. I'm not leaving. I have a job to do and I'd suggest you'd stop joking." Despite his suggestion that she's still joking, his posture seems ready to back up his statement if she does indeed decide to try and force her viewpoints on him.

Monet rolls her eyes. "Fine." She looks up at him again. "Go home." and then sets a strong mental imperative in his subconscious that he really, really needs to go home. RIGHT THIS INSTANT. And stay there for the next two days. She watches him idly.

Duncan's stance is a strong one, unintimidated, unmo-well ok, maybe just this once… His posture adjusts, arms unfolding as he starts making his way towards the coat check area to turn in the loaner jacket before leaving.

Mike's brows lift as he watches the thorn in his side all evening simply walk away. "Well, damn."

Monet fixes her hair a bit, then heads back to her table and sits down. "So, when do I get the backstage passes?" Which begs the question, if she can do that, why would she even need backstage passes.

It begs the question, but the question does not get asked. The watch over Monet's return to the table is quiet, words with held until she speaks to him. "Well, that depends on which show you're wanting them to." He pauses, glancing towards Monet, "Do you have your cellphone on you? I can give you my number to call when you know which one."

Monet pauses. "Since you were eavesdropping on my phonecall earlier, you know I do have my cellphone on me." She takes the iphone out from her purse. "I don't plan on using it for myself you realize. I don't actually listen to your music. It's for a friend." She waits for you to give her the number.

The number is given, it's probably got a lot of 5s in it. Funny how the New York phone number system works in fictional universes. Mike gives a nod after the number's given. "I would assume with an ability like yours, you wouldn't need to bargain for backstage passes if it were for you." Then again, she could have mind whammied him probably, but WHY mention that to her?

Monet shrugs, putting the number in her phone. "Of course I wouldnt need to. Then again the sheer amount of ways I have at my disposal to get what I want would stagger your mind anyway. It's not so much a question of whether I can or can't, but rather if I should or shouldnt. What I did was just the simplest thing to do to get with the least fallout. Then again I doubt I'd personally go to your concert. It's not exactly my type of music, but I know a few people who have more pedantic tastes and I'm sure they'd like a backstage pass." She smiles. "And yes, what you're thinking is correct, I could have 'mind whammied' you."

With her response to a general thought of his, Mike's brows lift partly, "Well, and I thank you for not doing that." Is she still poking around in his head?

Monet takes another sip of her drink. "Well think of it like this. I'm probably about…." she looks you over… "Judging on your level of athleticism, at least 500 times stronger than you without trying, so I could also beat you up for no reason and it's not like you could stop me. I don't, obviously, because it wouldnt be right." She peers at your food curiously. "How's the food here? I know the music is good but I have a rather refined palate and I'd rather not sully it." She then pauses. "And yes, it's not like you guard your thoughts particularly well anyway."

Mike glances down to his barely touched steak. "What I had of it was good. First course of the smoked Salmon was alright as well. Not sure if all of this is $63.00 worth of good. But," He shrugs, "Someone else paid for it." He glances back over to Monet, "Would you like to try a piece?" Yes, ever the elegant musician.

Monet motions with her hand. "Well.. yeah, that's pretty accurate, you're striking me as rather boring so far. Anyway, be a little more investigative in your approach of asking about me. There's so much more about me. Heavens, they could write a book about all that I'm able to do and all my skills and abilities."

"Then perhaps when they write it, you could be so kind as to let me know what it is titled so I may check it out at the library." Mike replies, head tilting, "Very well, Let's narrow it down a bit. What other powers do you have?"

Monet says, "Well I have already been featured on the covers of Vogue and Vanity Fair and I believe they had quite a bit to say about my abilities. "Oh lets see.. all my senses are enhanced to incredible degrees, I have this suped-up healing factor against anything, though since I'm invulnerable, it rarely comes up. Flying, of course, superspeed, intuition, stamina… actually all my physical abilities are rated as top superior excellent. How can I say this succinctly. I can take blows from the Hulk, and beat The Thing in a fight." She leans back a b it. "Oh… what else, what else. Telepathy, both offensively and defensively, class 8 actually. I could go on but it might be considered bragging, even if it's the truth. Then of course there's my non-mutant qualities - my intelligence, my looks obviously, my skills, both fighting and academic. Rich, obviously. Incredible taste…. Virtuoso. I'm an expert in more martial arts techniques than I care to list… need I go on?""

Mike's smile remains as he gives a small nod. "Beat The Thing in a fight eh?" There's a hint of amusement to this as he takes a sip of his drink. As the waiter comes up he looks over to him, "Let's be honest, I'm not eating this right now. Might as well box it up." There is a nod and the plate is removed, leaving Mike with his drink and a Monet to chat with. "And you have reached all of this and the ripe age of what? 18?"

Monet smiles. "Most of that was actually by… oh.. 15 or 16 actually. Although the Thing was when I was in an alternate earth, admittedly. But considering he was tougher than this Earth's Thing, I suspect I'd have an even easier time if I was so inclined."

Mike chuckles. "I'll have to bring this up with Ben next time I run into him. That's sure to get him grumbling." Mike picks up his glass to take another sip, "So with all of that by 16, I assume your family is quite proud."

Monet shrugs. "Of course. Wouldnt you be if you had someone perfect to continue your lineage? Oh… yes I did forget to mention, I'm also royalty."

Oh it just gets better and better. Mike's brows raise. "Royalty?" He repeats, "Oh you'll just have to expand on that."

Monet waves her hand dismissively. "Oh it's nothing. I'm a descendant of Algerian royalty on my mother's side." She smiles. "Oh I havent bothered to tell Ben about the embarassing beating he was given on that other Earth. Sensitive male ego and all that."

With the quick movements that are the Ellington Club wait staff, there is a paper wrapped package brought to the table with a sticker holding the paper shut. If there's a box in there, this may take some unwrapping to find out but Mike is willing to take their implied indication there is one as he looks it over and gives a nod to the waiter. "Thanks." Mike's hand reaches for the leftovers for a few moments before he glances towards Monet. With him comes a general desire to just go out to a club with Wade, free of bodyguards, patroling, and nutjobs in the subway carrying knives. God, how long has it been since they've just hung out? "It was nice talking with you, Monet. Give me a call when your friends figure out which concert they want the passes for."

Monet holds her glass up to you and tips it a bit, giving a nod. "Not a problem, I'll do that. Enjoy the next two days of freedom." Then she finishes off her glass so she can listen to the rest of the jazz uninterrupted.

Leftovers in hand, Mike gives a final wave goodbye before he heads off, likely to drop off his leftovers and to continue with his nights of freedom. Yaaaaay.


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