The Trap Is Set
The White Queen was ripped from her daydream at the sound of her name. She didn't mean to wander off, per say. The exterior wall of her office was all window with the most gorgeous view of the city. The sky was so blue and it was quite a beautiful day. The more she gazed outward, the further her mind drifted. Perhaps she should gather the Cuckoos and take her daughters shopping. There was an adorable sundress by Neiman Marcus she was just itching to take off the hanger. Oh! Maybe she could have lunch on the pier, wear a wide brim sun hat. What a lovely idea! And that was how her mind wandered off.
"What were you saying, darling?"
Scott Summers clenched his jaw with a disapproving grimace. The fearless leader of the X-Men had come to seek her help. Things were a bit…chilly…between herself and the X-People. While she was more than happy to lend her services, she really wasn't all that thrilled about brandishing an X-logo across her chest these days. Still, they were all about helping mutant kind. So long as their goals were the same, Emma would gladly volunteer as an ally, even wear the dinky X. But no spandex.
"I need your help." Summers bristled.
"Aw, was it really that hard to say?" Emma quirked an eyebrow, a smug smile gracing her flawless features.
It was. It really was.
Scott Summers was clenching his jaw again.
Emma sat forward in her chair, the new posture setting her ample bosom on the surface of her desk and presenting a delectable view. Fully committed in toying with the man, now, she laced her fingers together and propped her head atop the woven bridge, ostensibly framing the view of her chest. But the boy scout wasn't having any of it--or as far as she could tell. His eyes were concealed, after all. But there was no fluster, uncomfortable shift in his posture. Damn.
Instead, he kept talking.
"There have been a string of high profile burglaries, all involving enhanced individuals. Seeing as how we don't want this sort of national attention, these people need to be found." He let out a low breath, dropping into one of the two chairs situated on the side of the desk. "The problem is they don't seem to exhibit the same powers each time they strike! One heist they'll use telekinesis, the next time they might shapeshift! Barring a whole gang of power mimics, something is very funny about this entire thing."
Dropping the smirk, Emma looked quite puzzled. "And you need me for…?"
Sunlight ran along the frame of his visor when he tilted his head and dare she say he almost looked down right sinister for a moment? It was quite comical in an ominous foreshadowing sort of way.
The White Queen leaned back in her chair, tenting her fingers as she waited for Cyclops to continue.
"You need to throw a party, something that will get a lot of attention, draw in certain crowd. Make yourself an irresistible target. I'll have some more…discrete…people among the crowd. We need to catch these people in the act. With your telepathy…"
"I can sense them, their thoughts." It didn't take a psychic to know that's where he was heading.
Considering his proposal, Emma pursed her lips in silent reflection. Throw a little soiree, X-Men among the flock, catch the thieves. It did seem rather straight forward. But Emma was a known associate of the X-Men and a publicly known mutant. No thief with an ounce of sense would dare pick her pockets, especially in her own home. No, they needed a decoy.
"Darling," Emma gave a vulpine smile. "I know just the stooge."
A couple years ago, Emma was on vacation. She liked to play with the blue bloods, twist them around her little finger; let them buy her stuff, shower her with attention, late night dalliances. No, she didn't use her telepathy on them (usually). All girlish charm, darlings. It was a game for her. And it was on such a vacation she met a charming fellow named Bruce. Enigmatic, handsome, and very rich, Bruce was a delightful companion to fill her evenings. And no doubt he would prove to be just as useful now.
Giving Bruce a call, now there was an awkward conversation. 'I remember you.' 'You're a telepath, huh?' 'No, I swear I never used telepathy on you.' You get the general idea. He was, understandably, leery of her proposal. How could he not? They shared a couple of delightful days together and parted ways, only to find out she was a telepath? No doubt he felt downright violated. But aside from turning his mind from her existential crisis of conscience regarding the murder of her sister, Emma never delved into his mind. But had she done so, well, the well practiced veneer of rich playboy might have gotten considerably more interesting the deeper she delved. Such things as his very unique nocturnal habits and fixation with bats and robins.