[ Last time they had met, Emma was certain she could read this brick shithouse's mind.
Then, as she stared for a few minutes at his sleeping face in the floral bedding on the bed in this room. Idly curling the belt of her pink and hideous housecoat in her still manicured fingers, Emma posits that it is just as likely that she could not have. Or that she had been wise and blocked all memory out of her - memory - after reading Scott's fake son from his fake future. It would not have been worth the mental illness to keep that knocking about.
Unmercifully, this is not her only task at hand.
That when he wakes, it will be to encounter Emma Frost in the kitchen. It's cabinets ransacked, and coffee made in a percolator that would have been cute had it been found at a thrift store and not forced upon her through a kidnapping. A bottle of brandy has been procured from a tray in the - searched, scoured - parlor, and added liberally till cheap beans were to her taste. ]
Welcome to 1961.
[ When lumbering feet break the quiet, she taps atop a newspaper, left lying on the doormat just beyond their picket fence. ]
Wildcard~
Then, as she stared for a few minutes at his sleeping face in the floral bedding on the bed in this room. Idly curling the belt of her pink and hideous housecoat in her still manicured fingers, Emma posits that it is just as likely that she could not have. Or that she had been wise and blocked all memory out of her - memory - after reading Scott's fake son from his fake future. It would not have been worth the mental illness to keep that knocking about.
Unmercifully, this is not her only task at hand.
That when he wakes, it will be to encounter Emma Frost in the kitchen. It's cabinets ransacked, and coffee made in a percolator that would have been cute had it been found at a thrift store and not forced upon her through a kidnapping. A bottle of brandy has been procured from a tray in the - searched, scoured - parlor, and added liberally till cheap beans were to her taste. ]
Welcome to 1961.
[ When lumbering feet break the quiet, she taps atop a newspaper, left lying on the doormat just beyond their picket fence. ]