Emma Grace Frost // The White Queen (insidethepalm) wrote in thisisarea42,
Emma Grace Frost // The White Queen
insidethepalm
thisisarea42

who; emma frost & anakin skywalker
where; emma's apartment, the office~
what; therapy...and discussion of the "o.g."

Emma held the piece of paper she had found in her foyer by the corner. The least bloody corner. Seriously, that was gross. Her nose wrinkled at several things. A) The blood. B) Was she really administrator again? 'Cause that's not cool. C) Uhhh Francs? Really? France is on Euros now. D) "Madame Frost"? Insulting! She's not married. OR OLD. and E) O.G.? Who the hell?

Of course, when Emma read the postscript, she realized just who it was. Madamoiselle Daae...Phantom of the Opera. O.G. Opera Ghost. Emma groaned and puts her hand to her head, leaving a bloody fingerprint. "Eugh."

There was a knock at the door. Sort of. More like a bodily slapfest at the door. Emma, scrubbing at the fingerprint on her forehead, glared at the door. "Anakin, stop that."

[ooc: went out for emergency mood-boosting drinks; will be back for tags later ]
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Anakin pulled the door a few times before remembering to push when he turned the knob.

"You should have these replaced," he advised once he actually managed to get inside, "Anything short of automatic doors are simply...primitive."
"I like my archaic doors." Emma says as she peers into a mirror on the wall, making sure the blood is gone. "How are you today, Mr. Skywalker?"
Anakin appeared thoughtful.

"I am doing...well," he said, as though he was surprised by the fact. "Things have been so quiet as of late. It is very...calming."
"Yes, indeed. I'm glad to see you have recovered well from your trip into a hole. How is Allana?" Emma sounded rather absent minded as she idly rubbed at her forehead still.
"She is doing exceptionally," Anakin said, smiling. "She seems to have recovered from her illness, and seems prepared to live with a diet totally devoid of insect life--- is some thing the matter?"
"No." Emma says automatically. She presses her lips together before thrusting the bloody note at Anakin. "What do you make of this?"
Anakin took the letter gingerly, struggling the with the non-Basic script. He sniffed it, drawing away and looking ill.

"That's blood," he said, looking queasy. "No doubt this came from the hands of a madman."
"If you vomit in my room, I will make you regret it." Emma says, offhandedly. "And yes, no doubt. He wants money. Money I cannot give him. I am not in charge. But I'd hate to have the peace disturbed in his way."
"You know this...man?" Anakin asked, wrinkling his nose. "He seems harmless enough-- what will he do, gibber and write more letters on flimsi?"
"I've read the book he was in." Emma glances down at her nails. "He's capable of murder, that's for sure."
"As am I," Anakin said, darkly. His offer was unspoken.
"Yes but you're--" She breaks off and stares at him, her finger raised. "No."
Anakin shrugged. "Very well. He does not have your type of Force-sensitivity, does he? I cannot say I am impressed by his...calling card."
Emma facepalms.

"Anyway, let's ignore that. We'll just continue with therapy since this is pointless."
"You cannot!" Anakin protested. "You mean to tell me that there is a deranged individual making threats against your person and then expect me to ignore it?"
"Are...you trying to protect me, Mr. Skywalker?" Emma raises her eyebrows and smirks softly.
"But of course," Anakin said, puzzled. "I do not intend to find you murdered in your bed one morning when I arrive for my next appointment. My great-granddaughters would never forgive me."
Emma shakes her head, scoffing. "My apologies. But I will not have you killing anyone. It'll look bad and it'd be so much paperwork. We'll just see what happens, for now. Maybe I can request some francs."
"Those are...Earth-credits?" Anakin asked, feeling proud of his deduction. "Surely you can print a few thousand. It is not as though this 'O.G.' is in the state of mind to know the difference."
"They're France's monetary unit. From years ago. They use Euros now." Emma says absently.
"Each planet with their own system of credits? How...overly complicated," he said, frowning.
"Each country, Anakin." Emma sighs. "We have only the one planet."