002 ♛ video

[superieure]

[ Monet is seated, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, lips curled into a smile, immaculately dressed as always, regarding the camera with a critical eye. In front of her is a chessboard, all set out for a game. She’s chosen black, so white faces the viewer. ]

I require an opponent.

Comments

[video]

[jirk]

[Wow, that hits old buttons he was pretty sure he'd filed the serial numbers off of. He grits his teeth and smiles pleasantly enough despite it. At least she can't throw his father's heroism in his face as a measuring yard.]

Why don't you play [deliberate retaliation? deliberate retaliation] me a match and find out?

[video]

[superieure]

[Oh, this one has fire. She doesn't smile, but there's a sharper look in her eye.]

Then it's settled.

[She gestures to the chair next to her, a silent invitation to come over.]

[video]

[jirk]

You're next to Spock, right? I'll be right over.

[Excuse you he is totally observant, thanks. He gives her a wave and disconnects slightly. And then he thinks, screw it, and brings a bottle of wine.]

action;

[superieure]

[She opens the door for him when he arrives, taking care to leave a few seconds when she hears him nearby. The apartment is meticulously kept - the furniture so far highly utilitarian, with various shoes arranged in the corner. There is a bottle of wine and two glasses set out beside the chessboard, and there's the faint smell of something cooking in the kitchen, as well. Monet looks at his gift.]

Thank you.

[She wasn't expecting it.]

Have a seat.

action;

[jirk]

[Sometimes the old fashioned manners are still the best ones. He doesn't quite smirk in response to her gratitude but it's a near thing, and he sits. His mind is still angry, unsettled. He's gone a long time here without having to listen to any of that galling judgement and he's grown out of the habit of enduring it. He focuses on his memories of the Commodore, drawing them up to the surface, listening to the man yell and shriek about how Jim's appointment was all nepotism and political fellatio, and his smile is keen-edged as he studies the board.]

Right to business, huh?

[superieure]

[Monet takes her time, as much as she can be said to dawdle. His thoughts are noisy, and intense; it takes a few moments before she feels she's composed enough to face him and sit.]

[She considers warning him, as she'd done with Damian, when he'd broadcast his anger. It'd been brought to her attention that telepaths were rare, powerful ones even rarer. (And Xavier was no longer here.)]

Unless you had another proposition.

[She sits as someone accustomed to having power; it radiates from every small gesture. She pours the wine meticulously - almost ritualistic in its precision. Everything she does is perfectly controlled, all put-together.]

[jirk]

Don't give me free rein on propositions, lady.

[It's a cheeky little innuendo, and his expression in its regard is perfectly genuine. But his mind drifts to Kyle, and he's looking there for serenity as he reaches for a glass of wine.]

This is a decent board. Where'd you find it?

[superieure]

Colour me curious.

[Her posture remains utterly disinterested, and she eyes him more sharply as the emotions he's projecting changes. If he's flirting or intending to rile her up, something in there isn't quite connecting.]

It's my own - your first officer was kind enough to buy it for me.

[jirk]

Nice guy, Spock. Did you get a chance to play him, yet?

[He can't imagine that Spock would buy it for her and not put forth an offer to play a match or two. Spock may not look it, but he's remarkably competitive when the mood strikes.]

[superieure]

I'll get my chance.

[She can be patient when she knows a good game is in store, and scrutinises his opening. He's either very good or a beginner, to move the pawn in front of a rook.]

[jirk]

[He doesn't exactly play to any one strategy. Instead, he learned as many variations on openings as he could and sort of played by instinct, sloppy and haphazard from that point. He's unpredictable. Spock cites it as being a reason he's come full circle to total predictability, there's a reason he's had to refine his methods. What works well against a new opponent doesn't work so hot against one that knows you, can read your every intention in the honest lines of your hands.]

Careful. Vulcans don't like to lose.

[Obviously untrue, he doesn't think Spock could muster up more than intrigue and maybe brief annoyance at taking a loss, but Jim likes to talk while he plays. He slides another pawn - g - to the 3rd position after she's made her move.]

[superieure]

I don't lose.

[Specifically, M. doesn't lose, but Monet's more interested in studying his technique than she is in making a statement. She finds it reckless in comparison to her more calculating, strategic choices, but within the parameters of the game, there's effectiveness. Sometimes he wins big from a costly sacrifice, and the only displeasure she shows is... none at all. She's enjoying the game; he's a lot smarter than she expected.]

[By the time they reach stalemate, Monet's gone from disinterest to intrigue, even to mild amusement.]

Hm.

[jirk]

[Not quite the outcome he was aiming for, but he'll take it. He leans back from the board, expression almost mirroring hers. He's not going to ask her if he passed muster, although the joke's on his lips, easy and casual. He doesn't need anyone's approval, damnit, he's grown past that. Starfleet Captain, remember?]

Huh.

[superieure]

[Whether he asks it or not, it's on the surface of his mind, and Monet silently curses the fact that nobody teaches them to block. No matter how strong her walls are, the sound is always there, in the background.]

[Instead, she looks at him.]

You weren't flirting seriously, were you.

[With her, or Layla, although Monet's far more protective of the latter.]

[jirk]

[He gives her a coy look and points at her with his index finger, his hand still wrapped around his wine glass.]

I'm always serious about my flirting. It's my best feature.

[superieure]

[She sighs. Time to cut to the chase.]

Do they still have loud, mobile speakers in the future, which blast music?

[jirk]

[Okay where's she going with this he'll play along, sure.]

Are you asking me to serenade you? Because for a girl who just kicked my butt at chess, that's kind of forward.

[Well, it was a draw. But Jim's secretly sometimes a gentleman, and thus defers.]

[superieure]

[She's about to continue the metaphor, but wait no he knows Spock, doesn't he?]

I'm a telepath. You're broadcasting.

[The deference softens her tone considerably.]

I've been told people here aren't used to that. Would you prefer to be taught to block?

[jirk]

[Jim doesn't react with violence, mentally, but he does slam up his wards with an apologetic sense of haste. He's got too many secrets in his head that aren't his. He doesn't care what she - what anyone - knows about him, he can handle the repercussions of people knowing what makes him tick. But he owes too many people their safety.

His wards are a little clumsy, though there's hints of refinement around the edges. He's been working on them for months, after all. They give a sense of clean, efficient lines, smooth edges. Nothing's cobbled together, it's built, as if from Rodinium.

Odds are, she could still shatter it with a touch. But he's not projecting any more.]

Better?

[superieure]

[She watches, stoic, as he puts up the mental wards. She didn't pry - it's no challenge for her if she reads her opponent's mind during chess, and all she got were mostly surface thoughts of him thinking about various other subjects while playing. ]

Much.

[A pause.]

Merci.

[Because other people's secrets aren't usually something she really wants to be drowned in, on a normal day.]

[jirk]

[He waves one hand in a little salute.]

Why tell me?

[superieure]

[Because, she thinks, I don't actually have an interest in another's secrets. She's perfected the art of hiding her true intentions, or so she likes to think of herself, but really, the sentiment is visible for somebody looking for it.]

It was ruining the game.

[Dismissive.]

[jirk]

[Hm. Jim arches an eyebrow, almost Spocklike, and then he lifts one hand in a little palm-up gesture.]

I wasn't thinking about the game.

[superieure]

No, it was the usual sentimental nonsense.

[But her attitude towards him is considerably less chilly than it was at the start of the game. She doesn't seem to notice this discrepancy, waving her hand.]

Extraneous.

[jirk]

[His mouth thins just a touch.]

There's nothing usual about my sentimental nonsense.

[He says it lightly, as a jest, but he is perfectly serious. He's learning to really not like the idea of people who can screw around with his mind.]