2019-12-23 - Very Frank Talk in the Park


Chance meeting in Washington Square Park in which Emma, Pris and Saoirse meet. Warning: Conversation gets quite explicit in parts

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Mon Dec 23 02:18:16 2019
Location: Washington Square Park

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Theme Song



Just before evening, late in the afternoon, sunny and about 46 degrees Fahrenheit. Emma was feeling a tad cooped up, and had slept late thanks to some help from one of her daughters. Rather than hit the gym as is her usual habit, the billionaire dressed in all white sweats, and white running shoes, and is out jogging at a lively clip.

She's a lot more fit that most executives, it would seem. And definitely turns a few heads as she runs along, the woman is both beautiful, built, and famous in some circles, more INfamous in others.

A light sheen of sweat at her brow, cheeks a bit flushed, she looks very much alive, eyes of sapphire habitually scanning the area even as her mind seeks hostile thoughts around her.

« Still cannot believe you actually run out in public, letting others see you perspire. » comes a lightly teasing comment of adoration delivered telepathically to the white-clad blonde's mind as she jogs around the Park. Not at all trying to stay with Emma, the raven-haired and incredibly curvaceous mocha-skinned dancer is jogging at her own pace. The benefit of the use of telepathy is almost as good as if they were using Bluetooth and phones, but moreso. Much less likely for eavesdropping. « I was thinking we should go skating later. Or at least, go for a walk down by the outdoor rink and the christmas trees. I know it's probably passe. But it's the sort of thing families do at this time of year, right? » Having never quite had one of those, Priscilla actually has to ask.

Saoirse is wearing a pair of black leggings that hug her every curve, a pair of neon pink and green sneakers, and a white and brown striped long-sleeves sweater with a light jacket worn openly. She is rather attention-drawing as she's the kind of curvy not quite covered by the other women, certainly she has the same curves but some of those curves are a bit 'curvier'.

The second thing drawing eyes might be that she is floating about 4 feet from the ground vertically. She's set a gravity anchor on the hard-working Emma and set herself to be simply pulled along after her about 10-20 feet behind her. Holding up a cellphone with one hand she conversates "See? I'm working out!" She pops a marshmallow in her mouth, and the other person on the phone yells "Are you eating Marshmallows while working out? What kind of…" The curvy blonde yelps "There..there are different ways of working out Michelle! Op, gotta go, I'll work on my walking a little bit, promise! Pinky-promise!" She cuts off the phone with a audible 'end of call' beep. For those of telepathic nature very little brainwave activity from her, it's there but not much, and it's intensely difficult to listen-in to her, painful if one tries. That being said she's not exactly clandestine.

«Oh, sweaty girls are very sexy to some.» Emma quips right back, utterly unworried about the sight she presents - she KNOWS she's a knockout, she banks on and has very much weaponized her looks. Eyes shift to whatever location Pris is sending from, and she sends a mental hug to her daughter. «I have to envy your physicality, Pris. You make it look so easy too.»

She ponders the ice-skating suggestion, and then sheer delight flows through the link. «I haven't gone ice skating in /years/, we must!»

Turning a bend, Emma notes that there's a person above her in the reflection from a shop window, and then is surprised at the strange tenor of the mind, the faint presence, the difficult attunement. And she stops dead, to look up with hands on hips at the girl munching on marshmallows. "Marshmallows are not suitable for a work out, young lady."

Her tone is firm, her gaze direct, and her mien stern.

All of which Pris can sense through their link. Which yes, is way WAY better than phones would be!

As for curves, few can hold a candle to Priscilla's curves; the woman lives by her curves, and leads the pack as it were. Foundation garments have to be custom ordered to try to contain those curves for activities like jogging, and physics be damned. « You know how gorgeous you are, Emma. You have nothing to envy me for. Hells, mine is half a cheat, even if I never planned it that way. »

But before Pris can continue that conversation she catches the change in Emma's demeanor, and suddenly Pris goes from a hundred yards back and loping along to sprinting almost - if not quite - impossibly fast to catch up. Her own mind shifts from playful and adoring to the kind of deadly serious intent Emma has - thankfully - not felt from her often, except in Priscilla's memories of the Guardians. Pris doesn't ask what is going on; she simply assumes a potential threat and reacts accordingly, especially when - despite her prodigious telepathic and empathic talents - she can barely perceive the woman floating along behind Emma.

This would be where the 'ninja assassin' part of the 'alien-hunting stripper ninja assassin' label comes into play.

Saoirse is caught, and when Emma stops, she stops perfectly in synch due to her manipulation of gravity on herself. She stops chewing and looks totally guilty. Coming to a vertical stance she floats about 2 feet above the ground. "It…It could be?" she offers like a child caught doing something she ought not be. "It makes me feel good." she retorts. "Though..it does make me butt kind of pudgey sometims..but it's okay. I used to sit on it a lot, so having a big butt is kind of comfortable, because the muscle and the fat there make it feel more comfy when you sit down. And it's nice when your in the cold. My butt's pretty big so it's pretty comfortable."

Saoirse..obviously has no idea whom she is talking with. "I'm Saoirse Flynn, I'm supposed to be exercising, technically I'm exercising my gravity manipulation, but that's not really what my sister had probably intended. But she was not specific, she just said I should work out. She didn't say what or how. Besides, I think people are beautiful the way they are, they should be happy with the who and what they are. If your pretty inside, then the outside will shine too!"

«I do, but I have to envy your metabolism.» Emma sends wryly. «It is well, though.» She's only teasing, though it might be nice to be able to eat more sweets, alas, approaching mid-thirties, Emma /has/ to watch what she eats.

She is very glad not to have felt the alertness and focus, to chill and deadly. She much prefers her daughter to be happy. That said - there's not a thing wrong with having her as back up, knowing she was close was reassuring.

Not that Emma lacks for confidence.


Seeing the shift to guilt, Emma is about to say something and move on when an almost stream of consciousness spate of words flows forth from the floating girl. "I…see." Emma replies after the butt talk.

And then with the introduction, she inclines her head. "I'm Emma Frost, and the dark skinned girl coming closer is my daughter, Priscilla."

A mind capable of literally rewiring a brain reaches out and tries to understand why the girl's psyche is so /off/, and a bit of a reaction headache forms from Emma's efforts. «Remarkable.» She comments to Pris. To Saoirse, she nods. "Beauty comes in many forms." She agrees. "What I find fetching you might not, but others surely will."

Priscilla is indeed coming closer, and at a prodigious pace; she may not be blurring, but it's a near thing. If anyone was taking video right now, it could have been problematic. The purple-clad, mocha-skinned curvaceous woman comes skidding to a halt within a couple of feet of Emma, stopping just shy of launching herself into the air at the other blond with what Emma knows crisply and clearly is potentially lethal intent.

As protective as Emma is of her adopted daughters? Her daughters are of her.

« Are you sure you're OK? She's … she's not all there. » Priscilla sends to Emma as she holds herself in place, ready to spring but not springing. She lifts a hand, waving. "Hi. I'm Pris. You are … ?" Sure. Pris heard the introduction; but she shouldn't have been able to, so she plays like she didn't. Isn't this all a fascinating game?

Saoirse hmmns looking expressively thoughtful. "Well that's true. Some people are very attracted to things like the size of someone's genitals, like when a man's penis is larger than the average of six inches, or when a woman has a larger than average cup size breasts, typically most breasts are C cup, so it would be D cup or larger. Some people are attracted to different skin types, or are heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, or one of the various new sexualities that did not typcially exist. I like the catagorizing of people, but I do not really see people as fitting into one category myself, I think all people can be beautiful and shine internally. In a brilliant and glowy way, not an actual physical way."

She looks to Priscilla as she's addressed, train of thought totally interupted as she smiles brightly "Oh! Hello Priscilla Frost! I'm Saoirse Flynn! I'm working…." she looks 'slyly' (it's not actually sly) at Emma as she changes course rather obviously for where her words were going to go "On..working out..my gravity manipulation…it's how I'm floating." She digs into her pocket and a plastic bag rustling can be heard, then plucks a jumbo-sized marshmallow and holds it out towards Priscilla "Want a marshmallow? They're super yummy, here try one!" She tries to plop the marshmallow between Priscilla's lips.

Well…larger than usual would certainly describe both Emma and Pris's endowments, there can be no question of that. "People enjoy and find appealing what they find appealing, of course. And tastes will vary." She is really fascinated by the stream of consciousness way this girl is talking, it is like she has no filters, no boundaries, and just blurts out whatever she things of that some randomly firing neurons trigger. The workings of the mind are sort of Emma's thing. "Sexuality is a whole different topic, though it also has to do with one's tastes." A half smirk. "And taste, in some cases….and you're right not to pigeon hole people into one 'box' or another, people are infinitely more complex than that."

She watches the interaction with Pris and the girl, curious to see what happens next. «This girl…might not -be- a girl.» She sends. «And I do not -think- we're in danger…»

Pris … does not correct her name. Hey, being identified as Emma's daughter is new to her, and kinda special. So she's going with it. Sharon kept her assumed 'last name', and Pris does for her ID. But being called with Emma's last name? That … that's special for her. Special enough that for at least a few moments she's more busy feeling that than getting ready to gut a potential threat.


"Actually, average breast size with worldwide population inclusion would be closer to an American 'B' classification, not 'C'." Pris corrects. Definitely she does not seem like the sort of person who would spout those factoids, but she does and she means it. Knows it, too. Cold. "And I don't think it is at all accurate or fair," Pris continues, "to classify anything as a 'new' sexuality. Only newly recognized in the mainstream. Pretty sure there is 'nothing new under the sun' where sex is concerned for the human animal." Just ask the professional sex worker.

Pris glances at Emma for a few moments, curiously, and then shrugs, some of the tension visibly melting out of her frame. It's all still weird. But as long as they're not in danger, she can let weird go just fine.

Saoirse hmmns. "Oh! I had a girlfriend once, we made it to the fiancee phase. I think I know what you mean about taste - like the taste of someone performed in sexual situations usually stimulated by sex, or sexual contact. We didn't make it past the fiancee phase though. My arm melted off and the ring melted with it. And my head and stuff too." A long pause. "But I got better! Well mostly, it's been a couple years learning how to speak english again. And how to walk and move. I kinda mostly died sort of. So things didn't work out."

She looks thoughtful at Priscilla's explanatoin. "I do see a lot of large breasts, but also a lot of smaller ones. So I suppose that B could be the correct cup, I had not looked into that statistic before." She rests her hands behind her rear "I don't know any sex workers to ask. And I just like classifications, it makes it easier to know where to catagorize things. I really like labeling things. Michelle always hides the labeler. That's my sister. But sometimes, just sometimes, I still find it." A soft giggle and a big bubbly smile.

And both Pris and Emma are not within that 'average' range, beyond but not absurd by any means.

Emma IS a little surprised by Pris's quoting such accurate statistics, and not at all by her defense of sexuality being ever variable, and always having been so. She sends reassurance to her daughter, and she also sends her appreciation for how much Pris reveled in the use of her name. «We should make it official.» She bespeaks.

"Friends of any gender can be good things to have, sometimes not so much, but they can." She then falls silent to listen to the listing of her fate, of her nearly dying, and her recovery. "Cloned, regeneration, or cybernetic?" She asks without a trace of judgement.

She smiles very faintly at the giggle, and the labeling comment. "Be careful with that, Saoirse, labels can be dangerous things."

"Labels can be powerful things, for good and for ill." Priscilla offers honestly, if cautiously. "I'm not a lot in favor of them. Had them used against me all too often." Not hard to imagine, given she's a mixed-race woman, an orphan from the 'wrong side of the tracks', poor, and ostensibly 'stupid' for most of her life. It's not hard to guess why Pris would have major issues with the application of labels.

"Now you know a sex worker. If you have questions, ask." Knowing is half the battle, or something. Pris smirks and relaxes her shoulders.

« I'd like that. » Pris shares in return.

Saoirse tilts her head to the right side as she is thoughtfully confused. "Um..I was injected with nanotechnology which was programmed to be closed-off, make it's own decisions to how my body evolved, and to transform my body into something that functioned and overcame my disabilities. I'm a little human, some nanomachine, and sort of a hybrid. I've been cloned before once, it was very scary and the clone is deactivated and in confinement. As for Labeling..can't things just be relabeled? You can peel the label off and make a new one?"

Oh, how Priscilla will probably regret that one, as Saoirse doesn't hesitate. "I would label you Priscilla. Well technically it's probably best to do Frost, Priscilla, but it depends on the scheme you want to use." A beat "Okay! Does being a sex worker make you feel dirty? I've heard people say that. Money has a lot of germs on it, do you find when people put money into places you get sick more because of the exposed viability of sensitive areas to this money? What do you do if your doing one of the sex things you do and you have to fart? Do you hold it in and be uncomfortable, or do you let it out? Are you given fair benefits, insurance, and breaks to eat, smoke, or build the model kits of your choice? I've only ever sampled one person, because I was effectively a lesbian because we were monogamous, so I've only have one sampling. Do people like men, or women taste differently from one man to man, or woman to woman? I've been curious on that. Is it true that if people rub your breasts a lot they get bigger? I saw that said on a anime. Do you like hugs? I like to give hugs, I can give you a hug if you would like one, but I don't want to pay for it. Do you find that the sex trade gives you a personal insight into financial matters since you see things people invest in that others simply dont? Have you ever fallen in love with someone that has been a client for sexual activities? Have you ever been tickled during a sex act? I hate that. Have you ever made a pillowfort with a client or lover? Those are totally fun, I love pillowforts, they are very comfy. How much energy does having frequent sexual activity take up? Do you find you need more energy, or carbs? Can you write off clothes, sexy or otherwise, since sexual wear is very expensive? What kind of vaginal deoderant do you prefer, if you use any? I've used Summer's Eve before. Though I use it year round, not just in Summer. Hmm, I also use it usually in the morning not in the evening. Maybe some people just have really stinky vages that just need that little extra sprucing up sometimes? Do you like your job? Does Gundam Modeling come up a lot around the sex trade? I like those because they are so intricate, and I identify with some of the characters."

"One can indeed re-label, but labels set expectations and can be hurtful, hateful and cruel." Emma has first hand knowledge of this, and has seen how badly hurt her daughter was by them, definitely not fond of labels is the Emma. Both of her daughters have in fact been labeled and treated hurtfully, again, not something Emma tolerates and enjoys. She does ponder the nano-tech, and eyes of blue narrow in concentration. "How much of you is flesh and blood, and how much nanotech?" Because that would explain a lot.

And then Saoirse launches into her barrage of very personal, very off color and inappropriate questions. To the extent that she creates a bubble around them all that masks what they're saying, passer's by will not see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Pris will definitely feel the wash of Emma's powers, and the speed and precision with which a 'clear zone' is created is astonishing.

"Saoirse…STOP." She has the urge to grip her by the ear, but…not her daughter, the command in her voice though, it is the sort of thing a drill instructor practices and Emma has that air of incontrovertible authority down /pat/. Should she be obeyed, she looks to the girl. "Your questions, though genuine and earnest, are not appropriate when in public. This is public. The discussion is better held in private."

Pris shakes her head. "'Frost, Priscilla' is not a hurtful label. 'Whore' is a hurtful label. 'Mongrel bitch' and 'slut' are hurtful labels. 'Rock-stupid waste' is a hurtful label." she answers, and with the kind of flat affect that makes it really clear: she didn't make these up. She's pulling these from memory. These are things she has heard said. To her. More than once. Hence why she loathes them so much.

"As for the rest?" Pris offers, with a shrug. "I could answer. I don't even mind. But Emma is right: these are not questions we should be discussing in a public park. There are children here. And while I do not care, their parents might. And they have the right to protect their children as they see fit." Even if no one was around to protect Priscilla. Not until she was already grown-up enough to do it herself if needed.

Saoirse does stop when Emma asserts her authority. "Those are not labels, those are opinions and therefore not fit to be used as labels. Whore potentially is the only one however because of it's common use as a derogatory term Prostitute would be a better fit for occupation, so really none of those words are labels upon you. They are all incorrect, false statements and are made in error, so I think you can safely disreguard them."

Saoirse slips down to her feet, unsteady and wobbling a bit. She holds out her arms "You look like you need a hug! Come on now, bring it in, hugtime always makes me feel better, try it out!" She approaches slowly, taking the time to make sure one foot is planted firmly, then the next. Ugh. Gravity. "Do you want to come to my place? Technically it's my sister's but I can have people over if I want. We could take the blankets and all the pillows, and make a pillowfort. They are so comfy! We could have some hot cocoa and some marshmallows, and talk about girl things then."

Well, Pris now has a mom, sure, not her biological mom, but a mom nonetheless. A very protective, influential and powerful mom at that. Anyone stupid enough to call her a whore, or the like, where Emma can notice is asking for a world of hurt because the woman also has an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, much like Inigo Montoya — with less swordplay. «I'll start the paperwork when we get home.» Emma states through their link, a legal name change is not really all that hard - especially considering the person being changed had a fabricated set of identity papers already.

She watches Saoirse land, and is glad she respected her authority. "Unfortunately, Saoirse, we have an appointment we're due for shortly. Perhaps another time." She does smile a bit. "Actually, I rather enjoyed pillow forts when I was a child." She admits, and then the smile fades. "Ah well, those days are long past." And her relationship with her sibs — not so great, nope.

Pris shrugs. "Never did the pillow fort thing. Never had enough pillows to try." she admits. But she does step forward and wrap her arms around Saoirse, giving her a long, warm embrace. "I happen to like hugs. But I admit, I like them better when I can feel the other person more clearly." The other woman's mostly non-presence empathically is not pleasant for Pris at all. Pris glances at Emma and nods, releasing the embrace with another shrug. "Sorry. But Emma's right, we have to go. Take care of yourself."

Saoirse gives Pris a firm embrace. She looks to Emma "Well, it doesn't mean you don't have to do it again and that you still can't enjoy them. I have plenty of pillows, come on over. Just ask for Saoirse Flynn's residence at the National Robotics building, my sister and I live there. It's free! Oh, and I'm about 20 percent or less human cells. It was higher, however I made a decision that cost me much of those cells. I chose to beleive in people, and that made me sacrifice a large part of being a person. Is that ironic? I'm not really sure if that meets the defintion."

"No, I suppose it doesn't. Perhaps my daughters will want to play." Emma files away the information about the location where she can be found, and adds National Robotics to her list of companies to look into. Previously off her radar, they're very much on it now. A firm nod. "Oh, that qualifies as ironic, yes. Ironic and/or it could be called 'Dark Humour'." And then Emma looks to Pris. "Race you home, but…I need a handicap, you have to close your eyes."

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