August 05, 2016:

Elektra holds a charity event hostage, Elizabeth was there to intervene. Lucky them.


NPCs: Party goers and the Hand.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Everything with the Hand always happens in the dark of night. Though bold moves were made in the daylight when there was a need to, but the night works best. While Elektra would usually take to the rooftops then, now she was out in the open at a Charity Auction that hosted an infamous gem. A gem that holds mystical properties that is coveted and required by the Hand's magi. Something that would help bring their plans to conquer New York into fruition.

Her mission: Sneak into the auction itself and steal the jewel. And if need be? Slaughter everyone within. It just may help power it.

The classical music that plays from the man who draws his keys upon the piano was lovely, even though it's been close to a few years, Elektra's skill was still possibly top notch and even a close match if she were to brag. Though the dress that she wears, a simple one, long enough to kiss her ankles with diamond heels, strapless and held up by an unseen corset built into the middle. Naturally she had hair for days, and a jeweled necklace to crown her properly, and the flute of champagne that she drinks from this charity auction possibly puts this bottle in the thousands.

"So I told him.." Elektra converses with the schmoozy guy, ".. you better not!" He laughs.. she laughs.. but that laughter doesn't dare reach her eyes. It was nearly frightening..

"Oh, you did not!" declares a merry titter, from behind Elektra. "At least, not right away, I hope?" A woman drifts around behind Elektra, the only sound heralding her the clicking of stiletto heels. Tall, leggy, lovely, purple hair done up in a spectaular sprig atop a neatly piled bun, Betsy looks every inch the regal socialite she is. Her dress is a halter top, plunging neckline, low back, the skirt a diaphanous material that is almost gauzy at certain angles and lights, but never revealing. Her shoes are to match, strappy, pointed, the precise color of her dress, something deep near aubergine.

"Elektra, it's so nice to see you again," Betsy says, eyes flashing. Jewelry adorns her fingers and ears, but nothing interrupts the smooth expanse of her collarbone. "I didn't know you'd be here. How are you, dear?" she says, a plastic smile stuck to her purple-painted lips. She steps into Elektra, exchanging airy cheek kisses.

Playing the role. Playing the part.

That sound.. the cheery sound.. it draws a memory from long past. Elektra stiffens then smiles once more, taking a little step aside to allow Elizabeth the room to steal the conversation as it were. It was a science to the other womans fashion. Where as Elektra looked richly like she belonged, Elizabeth owned the place which could only be possible with an adorned bangle or half an earring. Not that Elektra was lacking.. she just needed something in which she could move.

"Not right away, my dear!" Elektra leans in to the kiss upon both cheeks, muah'ing rather deliberately as her hand reaches out to lightly rest upon Betsy's shoulder. As she draws away, a look was cast towards the man as he's carried off by a few other men to engage him into conversation as well.

"You are not the only one who likes to frequent these parties." Elektra murmurs, the smile still there, slowly fading by the moment as she draws an arm about her waist and tips her wine up to sip. Her lips purse afterwards, taking in the pale flavors and Elizabeth's overall demeanor with a squinted eye. "I'm very well. Very, very well." She leads then, turning her hips to begin to slowly pace through the galleria.. "I suspect you are as well? You're looking as lovely as ever."

"You too, you skinny bitch," Betsy murmurs enviously, from behind her wineglass. It's not a cheap shot— Elektra has those long lines of a dancer, not the carefuly cultivated muscle of a fitness fanatic.

Not many people can make Betsy self-conscious, but Elektra's definitely one of the few. She looks at Elektra, then exhales, shifting her weight over one foot and folding her arm over her belly and propping her elbow on one fine wristbone. "Please tell me you're not here to do something horrendously violent," Betsy admonishes Elektra, keeping that plastic smile in place. "This is a friend's charity party, and I'd be terribly vexed if her night ends in disaster."

If there was one way to lift the tension from Elektra's shoulders this would be it. She laughs whole heartedly, this time showing as much emotion as possible. It was a genuine laugh, one that causes her to miss her old friend and the witty banter that they shared, so much that she even reaches out to lightly touch her fingers against Elizabeth's elbow as if she were leading the woman like royalty.

Even though she really was.

"I cannot promise you that I will or will not do something horrendously violent, as you put it. But the hor d'oeuvres are a saving grace for tonights festivities. Well.. one of them." She remarks, looking along the throng of people that make up the Charity Gala, her lips persed ever so slightly. "Would it be so cross of me to apologize to you now? Or after.."

Betsy exhales, almost a groan through those plush plum lips. "No, darling, please don't," she begs, allowing herself to be led along by the gentlest of touches to her bare elbows.

"I'll make you a bargain, my dear," she offers, slipping her wineglass to her other hand. She gives Elektra's fingers a squeeze, lowering their hands, and turns to face the woman in red. "If you'll /promise/ me you won't do something outrageous in front of all these people, I'll guarantee that the Princess Star is left accidentally unsecured tonight, mm?" she offers, stepping close to the dark-haired woman, dress swishing around her toned calves. "I presume that's why you're here— it's worth at least a hundred thousand pounds."

Elektra's head tosses a little to the side at the offer, her eyes darting upright, finding the entire thing insufferable. She had checks and balances in place that night, though if she even bothered with the guest list.. she could have been prepared.

"You know I do not make promises I cannot keep." Elektra says sternly, her eyes darting left and right, her hand carefully drawing out to place the wine glass upon a passing waiters tray. "Though who's to say that your guarantee will come with a stipulation, hmm?" The music changes, the man who works the piano performs works of wonders as Elektra takes that step forward to close the distance, her hand reaching for Elizabeth's to grasp if she'd allow, pulling her into a slow sway of a dance that completes the designs a square itself would make..

"I could see it now. The Princess Star would be there for the taking. And then.. as soon as I reach for it you'd draw down with your 'magic' to put me out of my misery, as you so threatened not too long ago." Elektra teases. "I'm highly inclined to stick with my original plan. Take out everyone inside and make away with the Star. No witnesses. No survivors." An arm slips around Elizabeth's waist to tug her into a self imposed twirl..

"..unless you can promise -me-, no involvement after you've made the proper arrangements."

Betsy allows herself to be led into the dance, setting her wineglass aside and sweeping out onto the dancefloor. Whether or not Elektra meant it to be a dance— she carries herself with a grand air of such certainty that she carries Elektra along by dint of that royal presence. Her right hand catches the hem of that diaphonaous skirt and flicks it to the side, putting her knees and toned calves on display. It's a bit licentious for the formal affair, but Betsy seems not to care that she's dancing with a woman— or that anyone's watching them.

And she makes Elektra lead, and her poised dancer's form suggests that anything but perfection will be met with harsh disdain.

"You could suffer a spectacular coronary episode right here on the dance floor if I felt like it, darling," Betsy reminds Elektra, her eyes cast demurely to the side. "So why don't we go forward on the assumption that I'm true to my word?"

This day and age, a mutant can walk around webbed and scaled. The emergence of Savage Dragon fighting alongside Elizabeth in her alter ego gave courage to some, so it's a matter when seeing two women dance together at a charitable function, no one really bats an eye. The dance in itself was elegant and respectful, though with an added taste of a sway of hips, which makes both gowns of the women flare beautifully just like the art pieces that were presented. Elektra lifts both hands and snaps her back, clapping her hands twice, one placed at the small of it as she coerces Elizabeth into movement.

"We could.." She considers, shoulder to shoulder with the taller woman as she pulls her into a stalked circle, her legs lifting, a half prance with a delectable sway, which suddenly changes direction. ".. But as you know, The Hand always gets what it wants." For the sake of humor, she smiles. "Almost." Her eyes nudge towards the ceiling, then towards the room.. there were shadows present. Many minds with the same focus.. there but not. The Hand ninjas were shifting through the throng in various degrees of dress.

She essentially had the entire gala hostage. "But sure. I'll take you at your word. For now."

Betsy follows like a petal on the breeze. Weightless. The epitome of grace, and despite her strength and corded muscles she visibly could have participated as a ballerina with little effort. Head flung back, body in a fine, honed arc, she presses her arm properly to Elektra's tricep and whirls about in the turns and steps of the waltz.

The music slows and peters, and the orchestra strikes up a new tune— a tango. A bassy cello starts up, and a thin, lone viola starts playing a saucy, sensual countermeasure. The dance floor vacates as the less adventurous dances elect to take a breather, and in the space between songs, Betsy calmly rearranges herself so she takes the lead in the dance. Her thighs nestle around Elektra's upper legs, close enough that red and violet blend, and pushing off her toes she drives Elektra through the sensual tango with the motion of her hips.

Now, her eyes are intense on Elektra's face, staring at her directly instead of her earlier demure deferral. "One, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight," Betsy whispers, counting each beat in the measure— her steps smooth and gliding across the floor with the hollow scrape of leather on hardwood. Slow. Slow. Quick quick hold.

The music takes on a sharper pitch, the cello overtaking the viola. "One," Betsy says, twitching her hips sharply and moving Elektra back and to the left. In the corner, a man yawns and abruptly falls asleep, slumping in his chair.

"Two," Betsy says, fingers tightly presses into Elektra's back. A woman at the bar suddenly faints, to some cries of consternation.

Most are focused on the whirl of colors on the dance floor.

"Shall I keep counting, or are you going to tell your friends that perhaps this mission is best abandoned?" she inquires, one brow hiking up pointedly.


It brings memory to a dance of blades long ago hidden within the mountains. Where the two women were the truest selves in the sense of the word; their katanas in hand striking back at their instructors with step forward and a thrust, again and again until muscle memory takes hold. There were many of them. But they were the best and brightest..

Elektra snaps back to as Elizabeth begins to count, her head twisting one way, and then the other. It was like she was pointing them out for Elizabeth to capture, to snap into her minds eye and connect where the brain is most active to draw them into a sleep. Elektra frowns, her shoulders bristling as she pushes herself upright against the woman, righting herself from that bend with a twirl away, extending her hand to capture Betsy's with a dangerous grip.

"No. I will not." Another saucy sway of her hips as she disengages completely, Elektra ends with a poise and a leg struck out, her eyes glancing towards the ceiling as the little applause draws the womens way. She smiles then, clapping her hands, soon reaching out with a congradulatory gesture towards her partner in dance.

"I said I'd take you at your word. Show off."

"Brat," Betsy says, fondly, even as they close into the ending of a long, low dip. She helps Elektra rise up, kissing the woman's cheek, and flashes a winning smile at the more than polite applause coming from the crowd. She interlaces elbows with Elektra and walks off the dance floor side by side, touching Elektra's tricep gently with her fingertips.

"I don't want to have any misunderstandings from your friends in the shadows," Betsy tells Elektra, her voice pitched soft enough that her words won't carry. "Don't think that I've neglected to notice Donjin hiding in those ferns. I know he's never quite forgiven me for that scar on his neck. He'd be more than happy to slip a knife through my ribs just to make a point."

"So, darling, I'll ask again. Will you call them off, or do I need to make a scene and do it for you?" Betsy gives Elektra a bluntly pointed look, clearly reaching her tolerance for coy banter as the Hand's agents swirl in silent reaction to the presence of one of their mortal enemies so close to the Hand's primary assassin.

"You love me still." Elektra comments, her fingers grasping Elizabeth as she leans in with their stride, her free hand drawing up to brush along the crook of her arm during their walk. They look close to lovers, something a little bit more friendly than normal, yet there was a dangerous undertone to those two women which causes the onlookers to carefully keep their distance. It may have been Elizabeth's wiles, or the fact that there's a glint in Elektra's eyes that no one could quite put their finger on..

"And among other things that Donjin has been spreading towards the others.. I assure you." Elektra agrees. "But I will call them off.." It was like a hivemind effect. Those that were counted and pointed out leave the area. The waitor grasps a few empty drinks, a woman keeps a man close by her side with her lips pressed to his ear.. Donjin, the fern sneaker rolls his eyes and fades into the backdrop..

"But do trust that if we've actually done our research, we would have been prepared for you, dear Kwannon.." She pauses, then turns to stand in front of Elizabeth with a swift movement, both hands within hers as she holds them tight like a long, long lost friend. Which she was.

"Come home, Elizabeth. We are doing great things here in this city. And with the exception of Donjin, you are truly missed."

Betsy sighs, shaking her head, but Elektra's insistence elicits a fond smile. She cups the woman's cheek in her hand, looking into her dangerous eyes. "Matsu'o will not be the last Master of the Hand to seek unlimited power," she reminds Elektra. "Others will crave my power. They'll hone me into a weapon for their own aims. I'll be asked to kill, to steal, to serve the will of men who have forgotten what humanity means. And someday, someone will decide to see if they can kill the goose that lays the golden eggs and find out if I know the secrets of immortality."

She leans in and kisses Elektra softly, right on the corner of her pouty lips. "You know where I'll be when you see what I've seen, Elektra," she whisper to the black-haired assassin. "And when you're ready to turn all that anger towards more productive purposes."

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