London Rendezvous

May 12, 2017:

Tony Stark and Emma Frost arrive in London to discuss a few things, but more importantly to turn heads.



NPCs: Numerous spectators.

Mentions: Obadiah Stane, Pepper Potts


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

The London evening air is decidedly different than that of Manhattan, or so British tourism marketers would have you believe. There are some differences, perhaps. The smell of the streets. The sounds of the the accents as they bounce off cobblestone and brick far older than those found in the Americas.

Afternoon has marched towards evening, and that finds one Emma Frost in her favored city hotel, a lesser known presence tucked away from the main thoroughfares that prides itself on being a very private and luxury affair. Wrapped in a slinky white gown mostly hidden beneath a snowy fur mantle, the woman waits in the lobby with a prevailing sense of patience and nary a glance at the gold and diamond bracelet watch that adorns her wrist.

She's waiting, lounged comfortably in a chair by the narrow front doors. Her escort will, undoubtedly, be here at some point. If he desires to live, anyway.

She did, after all, have the courtesy to send him the address of her hotel, a date, and a time.

He does like living. It makes enjoying the pleasures life has to offer so much easier. I mean he is Tony Stark, if he was dead he would have some way to come back but it would take a lot of effort and who has the time for that. Really.

Not him. That’s for sure.

When he walks through the door, he’s dressed…well to the nines. Custom fitted suit in black, trimmed in just enough white accents to compliment her outfit. Since. He knew she was wearing white. It’s just common sense.

Sunglasses that likely cost more than some cars, a gleaming silver watch that definitely costs more than most cars. A smile that is worth more than a million dollars. Tony Stark might not exactly be the tallest of largest of people but he makes up for it in sheer personality.

“Emma! I hope I’m not late, traffic was terrible at the airport. Good thing my car can fly.”

As the indomitable Tony Stark makes his entrance in that exquisitely tailored ensemble, Emma’s features light up. She smoothly uncrossed her legs beneath the satin of her floor-length gown and rises to her feet, tucking her tiny beaded clutch beneath one mink-wrapped elbow.

Her empty and gloved hand reflexively stretches out towards him as she takes a few steps towards him, and her smile offers absolution in its curve. “You look sharp enough to cut, darling! I think I can forgive fifteen minutes,” she praises. “Did you really come straight from the airport?” Her chin tucks as her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Honestly, I’m just glad you could make it. It means there will be something to redeem an otherwise altogether disappointing trip.”

“Of course I did, the benefit of owning your own plane is that you can put a full wardrobe in it and no one tries to charge you for extra bags.” The inventor replies as he takes her hand, mischievously bringing it up to lightly kiss a gloved knuckle before covering it with both his for a moment.

He sees the man behind the greeting desk with his jaw slack. Might as well give them all a show right? Right. That's always what he does. People love a spectacle. And Tony Stark is that.

“Oh no, don’t tell me someone could actually resist your considerable charm? Let me guess. Was it Superman?” He teases as he offers her his arm.

“Ah,” Emma replies, playing along with effortless ease as she dramatically places a hand over her fur-wrapped heart. “The acquisition I told you about? To acquire would have been more charity than I was prepared to give. They weren’t precisely upfront about it all. But that’s business. And boring. I’ve had my fill of boring for the day. For the past few days, really.”

The hand wrapped in Tony’s is all she needs to excuse her closing the distance and whispering in his ear. “And really, I can think of nothing more entertaining than turning a few heads with how remarkably wonderful and glamorous we are.”

She pulls back and shrugs, although the gesture is far from helpless. It teases with thin eyebrows arching. “Especially since I hear that I had a rather large debt of gratitude to pay back even before you touched down at Heathrow.”

There is a smirk at the whisper. “Try for every head in the place, that's always my angle.” He replies easily. “But I’ll do my best to at least liven up your boring week. Not /too/ lively though, wouldn’t want anything to explode. Would we?” A pause for a moment. “Unless it was exploding in a good way, which is difficult to manage but not impossible.”

The grin on his face is positively impish.

However he pauses a moment, eyebrow quirking in question. “I do so many good deeds in one day, Emma. You’ll have to be more specific about just what one you’re referring too.” He teases back towards her. “Not that I’m denying responsibility though, I love it when something I do actually ends up working well.”

“I can be very specific, my dear,” Emma promises, although there is no immediate illumination. Rather, she pulls back a degree and tilts her head appraisingly. “Shall we to the car and to dinner then? I’ve got reservations for French. That doesn’t break the spell for you, right? Classic French in London? If it does, I can try to scramble for a new destination.” Well, less scrambling and more silent convincing of the seating deities of the City. But that doesn’t really need to be said.

“I would commit a great many atrocities for a glass of wine right now. That could be exploding things in a good way, right?” Her features turn theatrically questioning as she offers justification: “I mean, there would be wine.”

“French works for me,” Tony is curious now. It’s obvious he’s curious. He’s trying to make it not obvious that he’s curious, but he’s not that great at it. Wracking his brain for just what he might have done right in the past week. It's a strangely short list. He’s not known for doing things right all the time. He is usually better at breaking things.

Regardless on how fast his mind is going his body at least knows what to do as he starts to escort her towards the door. The car in question? Just a little something he picked up somewhere. 1954 Ferrari Testarossa. Bright red and fully restored to its original beauty.

There may be people gawking at it.

“Just a little something that I have lying around.” He says about the car as he moves around to open the door for her. “But lets keep the explosions to a minimum, not because I don’t like explosions but because I don’t like the paperwork that goes with them.” A flashing grin appears. “…now, you navigate, I drive?”

As Tony offers that escort, Emma is quick to take his arm. If one is going to aim for a show, it would never do to abandon the accepted conventions. In fact, she is even brazen enough to—for just the span of a breath—rest her golden head upon the stark contrast (haha) of his black jacket outside of the hotel where the gawkers are at liberty to draw their own conclusions.

The selection of automobile doesn't go unnoticed, even before the businessman/hero highlights its presence. The woman on his arm clucks her approval, masquerading as its opposite. “You shouldn't have, darling,” she purrs with a pleased smile. The smile doesn't fade as she slips past the vehicle door he opens for her and daintily lifts the edge of her gown, folding herself into the passenger seat. “Do you think I’ll be able to navigate as quickly as it goes?”

And, when Tony rounds to get to the driver’s seat, Emma offers a brief, acknowledging glance to the onlookers. I see you, it says, before coquettishly turning towards her lap and the hands that buckle herself in.

And then she waits for her companion to find his seat. Once he does, she rests her head against the glorious restored upholstery and closes her eyes. “Le Clou is over in SoHo. It’s a little on the small side, but the food is excellent and it’s one of my favorite places to go when I’m in town. And, it’s a good enough place to be seen going in and left alone once you’re inside.”

Her eyes are alight with mischief when they reopen and turn in his direction. “Assuming, of course, that you’re still alright with setting some tabloids to speculation?”

So many YouTube videos are going up. So many. Tony just knows it. And really? Tony doesn’t care. Or at least he doesn’t care that much. He doesn’t care enough to stop doing it at least. That's the important part. There is a smirk as he slips into the driver's seat and tugs on a pair of fitted gloves.

Because gloves are awesome.

“They did tell you that I used to drive Formula One racers, right?” He asks oh so casually as he slams the car into gear and roars out of the parking lot. Much to the delight of many of the people watching. Who doesn’t love fast cars. Really.

“Emma, me breathing sets the tabloids to speculation. Might as well have fun with it!” Calls the Iron Man as he roars out into traffic.

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