The Moral Authority

March 25, 2017:

Shadowcat and the White Queen end up in the same location, entirely by accident. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Taproom - Silveroak Inn & Tavern

The Silveroak Tavern sits nestled off one of those side streets no one
ever quite thinks about until they happen to be there. It's like a hidden
gem in the city, really. Red brick façade accented by green painted wood in
an old English pub style. There's no writing over it to proclaim its name.
There's just a wooden sign that hangs on a copper bracket over the street,
painted with a silver tree, a tankard inscribed on its trunk.

Pushing inside the red-painted door leads one to the warm, golden tap room.
A long bar sits against the far wall, the shelves behind it laden with
popularly recognizable through to entirely obscure bottles of alcohol from
all around the world. A full sized keg, the sort one might expect to see in
a period movie, sits at the far end, an oak tree like the one on the hanging
sign burnt into its face. It houses the local house mead, widely rumoured by
those in the know to be the best in the city… if not the world. The smell
of rich and homey foods can be detected wafting from the kitchen, though
getting through to that kitchen is a challenge to anyone not part of the

There's a large stone fireplace at the far end, a handful of overstuffed
leather armchairs clustered around it. A deer skin rug sits before it and,
when Dana Hunt's at home, it's not unusual to find an oversized, white
german shepherd dog lounging before the fire.

The place is owned and operated by a small, silver-haired woman, apparently
in her 60s, with merry eyes and a tacit demeanour. She is at once everyone's
kindly mother and fierce landlady, a genuine force of nature. Her name is
Wassea and she is not lightly crossed in this place. The main bartender is a
slender, red-haired Irishman known simply as Paddy. Generally friendly, full
of mischief, and a bit of a flirt, like Wassea, he's more than he seems.

This is a neutral meeting ground. Dark, light, or wild, it matters not. All
that matters is that the peace is kept and food and respite are enjoyed to
their fullest.


NPCs: Unspecified Bar Rabble



Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Kitty has been spending quite a bit of time in Gotham lately. Staying close to Shadowcrest and its protective auras have been important and she's loathe to leave them, especially knowing that she can't be separated too far from the gem without some weird results. She has, though, taken initiative to investigate more of the city. It's not a place she generally knew before now and it's been an interesting opportunity to learn a new city, even if she doesn't like the circumstances.

This is most likely how it came to be that she finds a strange red door to a bar she's never heard of or seen before and decides to try it. The place is old and certainly interesting. Huh, who would have guessed there was a place like this in Gotham? She doesn't sit just yet, clearly interested in her surroundings and wanting to take it all in.


Emma Frost, by contrast, does not spend much time in Gotham.

However, now is one of those rare days where the woman has darkened its streets with her shadow for a day of corporate meetings. This place came quietly recommended.

And as she crosses the threshold, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow pricks upwards suspiciously. At first glance, the place is not at all the sort of place she would ever make a regular haunt, and she can't at all figure out why on earth the place came recommended.

And maybe that's why the woman in a beautifully tailored white business suit does a ginger light scan of the minds inside… to figure out the 'why' of here."


Kitty is eagerly moving toward the fireplace with the deer skin rug and the leather chairs. This place is awesome! She's used to living in a school that was renovated from an old Mansion, so she can certainly appreciate older things. This reminds her of the fantasy stories she used to love reading as a kid. "Oh man, I hope there's a wardrobe somewhere in here. I bet I can totally find Narnia in here!"

In fact, she doesn't even hear or see the door open and close behind her to admit one Emma Frost into Kitty's newfound favorite place. It's not until she can feel something brush at her mind that she starts and swings around. Instinctively, she moves into her phasing form. It looks no different from when she's solid, but it protects her mind from telepaths.

That's when she starts to feel the gem slowly start to slide out of her pocket because of her phased form. Muttering a curse under her breath, she pulls it into the palm of her hand and then leaves that solid. There, mind covered, gem not phasing through her body. That taken care of, she glances about in an attempt to figure out who is the telepath. Her eyes quickly land on the white clad Emma. Her eyes narrow. "What are you doing here?" Her voice is derisive, though surprised. "I thought snobs like you melted if they stepped off of 5th Avenue."


A sudden panic catches Emma's thoughts as she sweeps by. A familiar mental landscape. A familiar voice.

The mind witch frowns and there's a subtle shift in her expression and posture.

"Melted?" comes the bland echo, Emma feigning some half-hearted amusement. "Hardly. I have not entirely dismissed the possibility that I might catch some sort of terminal disease, however. Particularly with the kind of… well."

A perfectly manicured hand unfurls in Kitty's direction, and the White Queen's lips reverse direction to smile unkindly. "I rest my case."


"I guess it's because we haven't gotten to the tried and true method of dealing with witches: water. Maybe I should ask for a glass." Kitty crosses her arms as she studies the White Queen in front of her. Her own expression is not of amusement, but of anger. While she would like to control her temper, it's hard when it comes to the topic of Emma Frost. She also would love to throw a glass of water in Emma's face. Not to melt her, but just for fun.

"Would that terminal disease be a conscience?" With a retort, Kitty rolls her eyes. "I'd be glad to help you out in that case, but I have a feeling you're incapable of anything approaching one."


Emma offers an airy start to a chuckle, but it dies before it is ever really realized. "Tut, tut, dear," she continues, her head tilting to the side as she lifts a hand to brush long, curling tresses of immaculately blonde behind her shoulder on one side. It is with a quiet awareness that she feels a room's attention shifting in their direction.

Her frown is more than up to the task of chilling the soul of whatever on-looker looks too long.

Leveling her own ice-blue gaze back to Kitty, her features train to a glassy neutrality. "I suppose you - as the moral authority - would be the best to judge such things."


Kitty doesn't need to glance about to get the same impression that Emma is: people are starting to pay attention to their conversation. Of course, she can't really blame them. She never attempted to be quiet when she called out to Emma and she definitely didn't lower her voice as they continued to talk. "Don't call me dear," is what she immediately hisses at Emma instead of anything else at the scolding.

As Emma looks around at those gathered, Kitty does, too. Instead of giving a piercing gaze, she gives a bit of an apologetic look. She didn't come here to ruin anyone's peace and quiet. Of course, she can't help herself when Emma Frost is involved.

"Compared to you? This deer skinned rug is a better judge of morals than you are, Frost." And Kitty certainly likes it better. "I know what you're capable of doing."


"No, you don't," Emma counters, although her reply is softer than one might anticipate considering the accusation leveled at her. She certainly seems to be less than bothered about it. For a long moment, the blonde considers the practically feral brunette.

And then?

Then, an inscrutable upward curve of Emma's painted lips looks to restore a smile that never reaches her eyes. "But, clearly, this is more your venue than mine. I'll leave you to it. Do have a good night, hm?" There. Just like that, the woman in white turns back towards the door from which she never really ventured and, unless given reason, through which she will depart as her stiletto heels lightly clip against the floor.


Despite the softer reply, Kitty is unmoved. Unlike Emma, she is bothered. "Yes I do." He own reply is of a similar tone as before: accusatory.

When Emma smiles and turns to leave, Kitty makes no move to stop the woman. Her hands clench, even as they are crossed and she watches the woman depart through the door she so recently came from. There's a long moment as she watches the door swing shut before she lets her arms drop and returns to a solid form. It's clear she's upset. Shaking her head, she drops into one of the leather chairs and looks down at the deer skin there. "Can you believe her?" she asks the skinned creature.

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