2013.07.18 - And here's to you, Ms. Braddock

Avalon Fort Greene -
Here in downtown Brooklyn, New York, surrounded on all sides by a massive plaza filled with greenery and scenic decor stands a forty-two story building of shining glass and steel. Inside the plaza people are either sitting about and enjoying the scenery, going to and fro other places in the city, or heading indoors.
And once you get inside, past the revolving glass doors, and set foot upon the polished marble floors of the lobby it becomes apparent - rent here has to be unbelievably expensive. The whole of the interior decor is opulent, excessively so, and numerous busy staff mill about everywhere - either tending to the needs of the establishment itself or its tenants. Signs shaped like arrows, plated in gold, are upon the wall nearest the revolving door and they point in every direction. Some read 'Fitness Center', 'Courtyards', 'Game Center', 'Gardens', and more.
To the left of the entryway, a semi-balding man wearing a casual dress suit sits behind a polished mahogany and marble desk bearing a gold nameplate that reads 'Assistance and Registration', and not far from him are a pair of sliding steel doors which lead into a rather compact, neat, and opulently decorated elevator that allows one to move between the various building floors. A wise decision for most, considering the sheer size of the building. The elevator opens to red velvet flooring and polished steel and glass interiors with a subtle, ambient, backdrop of classy piano music played at just the perfect volume so as to be minimally invasie to the lobby itself.
Every floor excepting the lobby is carpeted with the same lavish red velvet carpeting, and one would notice... several floors have terraces dedicated to them complete with leisurely equipment and obligatory greenery. Some of the rooms belonging to the wealthiest, on the highest floors, even have their own.
It's on the 40th floor of this building, that a violet-maned young woman is waiting for an invited guest to arrive. Sitting out on one such terrace, stretched out across a lawn chair nearest a healthy green alberta spruce, and dressed in loose-fitting casual cotton clothes - she quietly reads an old, worn, book to herself.
The place was -intimidating-, Doug had to admit. 
He'd run into Betsy Braddock a few more times, and it'd been not -quite- as bad, and truth be told, she -was- a very nice woman, and it was fun to talk to her, an easy communication for the most part. So when she'd invited him to come on up, and communicated that in a very casual manner with her body language, it was easy enough to say yes. Especially since she hinted at taking advantage of his particular expertise.
 
And so when Doug shows up at the building, he's doing so in relatively casual dress. A simple blue polo shirt and jeans, with a backpack full of computer tech tools to use and a laptop. 
The building, however, made him think twice. So -fancy-. So ... rich. What -could- she need him for? Maybe he should've told Kitty this was more likely her job... 
On the other hand, how -do- you say no to someone like Betsy Braddock? 
And so, armed with a smile, Doug knocks on the door. "It's Doug," he says, adjusting the backpack. "May I come in?" 
The subtle knocking from inside her apartment catches her attention, and her emerald green eyes lift from the pages of the book to stare at the oaken door across the way. She waits until he knocks again, just to be sure she heard it, before placing the book she was reading on a side table and standing up. From there she makes her way across the warm, concrete, floor of her private terrace to the cold, polished, oaken floor of her living room. She winds her way past two white leather sofas and a cofee table, with a cup of coffee still set thereupon, and toward the overly large oaken doorway that guards the entrance to her abode. It takes her roughly fifteen to twenty seconds, given the size of her living room, to make it there and begin fumbling with the door latches. Perhaps time enough for him to wonder if she's even home...
...But then, the door opens...and there she stands. Her green eyes peek past the crack she'd made in the doorway, as she studies the person on the other side of it for a moment, and then she opens it wide with an amused smile, "...You may, dear. ... Didn't get any commentary on your dress from the lobby dwellers, did you?", she asks... well aware she lived amongst many snobs. "...Come in, and have a seat if you like...", she motions toward one of the aforementioned white leather sofas in the living room, "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Juice perhaps...? ... Something harder...?" This last bit comes with a bit of a teasing tone...
"Uh, no," Doug replies, glancing about. If possible, the interior of the place was even more -lavish- than the rest of the room. Clearly Betsy had no issues treating herself to the glamorous trappings of the rich and the famous, which seemed rather at odds with the rather relaxed and easy grace of her persona, at least when -he- saw her. "I just told them I was here to fix something of yours. Though the... uh, I think it was the doorman downstairs? He gave me a funny look." 
Actually, the doorman seemed to have been laughing over something, judging by his quivering shoulders, but Doug wasn't -going- to mention that. 
"Um, I'll have tea, thank you," the young blonde smiles. That -teasing- tone, though, coupled with those last two words... well, -now- he knows she's teasing, and Doug flushes a bit. "N-no, I don't, but you can help yourself..." he says. 
Half a second later, he flushes harder. "I mean, if you want a drink." 
Being a relaxed, graceful, person who got along well with others was an acquired skill - as Doug was finding out. It certainly did /not/ mean she didn't enjoy extravagant comforts though. Perhaps the only simplicity one could rightly find in this place was in the color schemes, much of it whites and greys; or earthen colors where more natural materials came into play. But everything in this place eas certainly lavish and well-maintained, probably far better maintained than someone with such a busy life could afford. Which also likely meant she had staff, or the building staff maintained it...
A soft chuckle escapes the British woman as she meanders off across the hardwood floor away from him, passing the kitchen bar in the distance and opening up a cabinet to fetch something inside. "...I don't drink... very often." Usually only during very hard times. "..But I do enjoy the occasional glass of wine. My beverage of preference, however, is tea." Like a proper lass from the great land of the Queen of course. "...So I suppose you're here to fix my computer then...?", she adds momentarily after turning on the tap to fill a kettle, "...judging by the equipment you seem to have brought." She emphasizes the word equipment, with a touch of amusement in her tone. Well, it wasn't a casual visit after all... or was it...?
From the looks of the place, maid staff probably came in and cleaned up the place at least every week. Or so Doug presumed, having seen all the numerous maid flyers being tossed around the suburbs where he'd grown up. Seating himself on the white leather sofa, Doug nods. "Well, uh... that's what you wanted, wasn't it?" And here, he thought the language... both spoken and body... had been straightforward enough. What -else- could she have been wanting? Taking a deep breath, Doug glances around, looking for something to... ah! 
"That's a nice collection of music you have there, Ms. Brad--- er, Betsy," Doug comments as he gets up to get a closer look at the CD rack. Although most of the music CDs seemed like they'd come out a few years ago... logically, then, she must've had an iPod somewhere with newer music. Or that -was- her taste... whatever it was, Doug had to admit, her tastes were similar enough to his... 
And if Betsy was watching, his pleasure at the music selection would be pretty apparent. Not much for dissembling when relaxed, Douglas Ramsey wasn't. 
"...Yes.", comes a simple reply to his question about whether that is what she wanted. There's a touch of... amusement... to her tone that lends itself to different interpretations. If only just a touch. With as much of a game player as this woman was, however, it might be hard even for Doug to guess at what might be on her mind. He wasn't psychic, after all... but he might wish he were perhaps... dealing with this tricky female.
By the time he's moved from sofa to the CD rack, she's already got the tea kettle on the stove and is leaning against the marble counter top nearest the sink. She's staring quietly into his back side, the entire time, emerald green eyes taking in his self-expressions with passive interest. And she remains quiet, for a solid ten to twenty seconds... content to simply allow him to peruse the CD rack as a churning of ideas bubble to the surface of her mind. ... And, toward the end of this silent period, she lifts her left hand to run her fingers gingerly through her hair... as a smile winds its way into her - presently - unpainted lips. "...Do you like my collection? ... If so, you have very good taste for someone your age." She wasn't /that/ far ahead of him years, of course, but her tastes in music were... decades older than she more often than not. At least. "...You could take some of it, if you like. I could make some reccomendations..."
...And after a few minutes of leaving him mostly to himself, she's made the tea and has begun to make her way over toward the coffee table to place the tray bearing kettle and cups. "Do you take sugar in yours, luv?"
Glancing up quickly, Doug turns quickly. "Oh, Betsy! Yeah. I... well, I like a lot of different things. I mean, pop culture, especially. Looking at how people express themselves in different ways..." He motions at the music rack. "Music is like another language... not just the way words are put together, but the way sound conveys mood and feelings. Anger, happiness... a lot of languages aren't based just on conveying ideas, but feelings too." 
Pausing as he's aware he's rambling, the young mutant lowers his hands and folds them behind his back. "Oh, absolutely." Taking cues from Betsy's body language, he moves over quickly, pausing to pull out a chair for the woman who seems to be behaving quite like a proper lady, and helping her seat, before he takes a seat himself. "I wouldn't mind some of your collection," Doug comments as he glances back at Betsy's CD rack, considering. 
There's a small smile as he wordlessly pulls out a chair for her after she's set the tray, the British lass taking the seat nearby the sofa and crossing her legs gingerly before leaning in to pour the tea. It would be fairly easy, from his vantage point, to notice... he has a rather good view of her rack from where he is. One can almost... read the covers from where he's sitting. Never mind the 'other' rack she has on display nearby, what with the looseness of her cotton pullover, and the lowness of its neck, providing perhaps too good of a view...
"...I have some very good selections, ...", she adds, and then reiterates because he didn't respond clearly, "...do you want sugar? If so, how many...?", before attempting to fix his tea. The scent of the tea might - if he were familiar with teas - give it away as some type of Earl Grey. But of what kind...? It has a rather mild, sweet, taste of its own... so perhaps Our Lady...
"...Truth be told, ...", she admits, as she reclines in her chair... pulling her legs close upon the seat cushions before sipping the tea. "...There's nothing wrong with my computer. ... I suppose you might have suspected as much, before now, but...", and she trails off there for a moment, simply passive inhaling the tea's aroma... "...The truth is, I simply wanted the company." ... And figured it'd be hard to coax you out of your shell, elsewise...
Well, it -was- a loaded rack, at least. Plenty of options there, what with the classical music, British music groups... he was pretty sure that was Phil Collins in there. Toni Braxton... and she even had, it looked like, several different mixes, judging by the way the cover were handwritten in what looked like elegant writing. Although there -were- a couple of types of handwriting in there... probably Betsy and Brian's, if he had to guess. 
"Oh, um, sorry. Yes, sugar. a couple of... lumps." Doug swallows, as his attention shifts back to Betsy, eyes shifting low, before going back to meeting the perhaps too-knowing gaze. 
Lowering his eyes briefly, as Betsy explains why she'd invited him over, Doug feels his cheeks heaten. "Ah." Looking back at where he'd left the backpack, Doug shrugs, smiling a bit sheepishly. "I find it hard to believe you're lacking for company," he says, although the smile warms a bit. Certainly Doug wasn't immune to the flattery implied in her wanting -his- company... 
"...And you'd certainly not be mistaken...", she replies to the last bit before taking a bit more of the tea, "...however, it's questionable how many of /those/ people are worth my private time." She was referring, of course, to the faceless crowds that followed the fashion trends... the celebrities and the wealthy she often rubbed elbows with... and then there were the hangers-ons. People like her manager, who were really just there to feed off of her. "..I prefer more substantial company." And, besides Shift and perhaps Meggan and Brian, Doug was the only acquaintance she had any real semblance of a relationship with.
In its beginnings still, yes it was... but it was nonetheless more substantial than those she had with the other people she saw day in and day out.
Placing her cup down gently upon the nearby table with a *klink*, and lowering her bare feet to the floor, Betsy finally stands up and begins to make her way over to the CD rack. She spends a few moments looking it over, with her back to him, considering which ones to give him... and then she spots something of interest. Pulling the unmarked case from the rack, she turns it around slowly and studies the spine... and a devious little smile touches her lips.
...It then disappears as quickly as it came, and she turns to face him again. "...I'll give you a few of these, but this one is... probably the best. I'll need to... ", and she opens a drawer down below it, "...replace its cover however. It has a crack in it." ...And some rather damning writing too...
Canting his head to the side, one can almost see how Doug was -thinking- about the leeches and moochers based off Betsy's unconscious body language. "The downside of the glamorous life, isn't it? I always thought an adventurer's life would be the best thing, and then life slapped me across the head." A bullet through the heart had a way of doing that. "Still wouldn't give it up for anything, but... yeah, a bit more aware of the downside of it now." 
A melancholic half-smile crosses Doug's face as he sips his tea, before he glances up. Missing the devious smile as he's regarding her back side, the young blond quirks his lips. "I'd love to, but really, I'm not worried about a crack in the case." 
Truth be told, a person's mix tape... or cd in this case... could tell a fair bit about him or her. And he -was- rather curious about Betsy Braddock by now. 
Despite has insistence, Betsy continues to crack the case open and extract the CD from it audibly. "...Better to be safe than sorry.", she replies to his lack of concern about the case. "Either way, it's just a simple replacement." And she takes tha simple replacement up off of the shelf, popping the CD in with an audible clicking, and then closes it shut.
She then shuffles it togther with two other perfectly innocuous CD choices, before turning back toward him and extending them in a very effortless... unequivocally reserved manner. It might seem to him to lack the vibrant color and enthusiasm of her prior expressions, but it lasts only until he takes the cases from her. And the color of her energy begins to return to her almost immediately, as she makes her way back toward her chair, "I do hope you enjoy it. It has some rather... thought provoking musical pieces. Particularly the third song on the mixed disc..."
And... before reaching her chair, she stops... as another idea crosses her mind. "...Do you dance, luv?" Her emerald eyes turn toward the CDs she just handed him moments prior, and she offers another teasing smile, "...I could show you what's on one of those things now... if you like."
Taking the case, Doug smiles in thanks. He starts to stand, pausing as Betsy's teasing smile catches his gaze. "Oh...? Uh, Yes, I dance," Doug replies. Perhaps it's the teasing smile, or the way she seems to be promising mischief. 
But her body language seems to be set for a simple dance, and so he offers the CD back. 
As Sonny & Cher's I Got You Babe plays, Doug hesitates, being uncertain about the tune and the lyrics playing out, but Betsy's challenging, knowing look, causes a rather typical, peevish reaction to having his courage challenged. "All right!" And Doug offers his hand. "One dance, then...?" 
"One.", she replies in the affirmative before taking the offered hand. But, from there, she simply allows him to take the lead... as a proper lady should. Just this once...
Category:Log