[Warren, take the stage…]

This message was deleted by the player at 16:49, Sat 24 June 2023.

Monet entered the nondescript store something of an oddity. A woman with skin as dark as the Ace of Spades dressed in the richest of fabrics clearly tailored to fit her perfectly. She oozed wealth and style.

"Robert" she greeted the shopkeeper before sweeping her way to the back door with the 'secret knock'. In her view probably unneeded as she suspected 'Robert' vetted people anyway.

The transition from 'boring shop' to 'smoke filled Jazz bar' brought an enigmatic smile to her lips. The cigarette burning in its holder adding only a little to the faint haze. As was her norm she opened her coat to show the bouncers she wasn't carrying. Getting stopped by the police while carrying could cause lots of hassle even with her PI license. Monet didn't like hassle "Vinnie, Frankie" she greeted them.

The last time she had seen Vinnie 'The Hammer' and Frankie 'the Rock', only a week before, they'd been nearly on the floor courtesy of some  punk. A punk that she had quietly immobilised and escorted outside to the back alley before explaining in a language that he had understand such behavior was not acceptable in Club Heaven. And that she didn't expect to see him there again.

Carefully she moved through the crowd to the bar. "Hit me with the usual, Joe". In her case 'the usual' was a tonic water with lime and a little umbrella and cherry that looked like an expensive cocktail. Monet didn't come here for the alchohol. She came for the music and because important people met here. And because sometimes she didn't want to be alone in her room....

Today though, she was here for a purpose. She was meeting someone. An interesting meeting. Perhaps the most interesting she'd had for some years. "I'll be over there, if someone comes looking for me" there was a jab with the cigarette holder to the seats where she occasionally met clients, and a tip with the payment for the drink. "Send them over"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:55, Wed 28 June 2023.

Jean was at the bar (in full costume) drinking a fizzy soda.  It was a pre-show thing... amp herself up on sugar, which in turn gave her that energetic Pazaz.  She'd still yet to properly meet the owner and if he decided to look in on her show, Jean did not want to disappoint.  Joe however was looking after her, especially since attractive dames encouraged more drink purchasing.

"I dunno Joe... blueberry might discolor my tongue.  Tell you what, can you mix it with lemonade and then I'll be your guinea pig."

Joe went to mixing the drink... and then right onto Monet's tonic cocktail.  Jean barely looked in the dark woman's direction, but it was all misdirection.  The two of them had arranged to meet tonight.  Jean just didn't want to advertise how important a meeting it really was.  Besides, Monet was doing just fine on her own.  Jean turned to her new drink and sipped it with a thoughtful expression.

"It's certainly got a hit, Joe.  I think the full strength stuff would've put me on the floor."

Jean took out a compact and used its interior mirror to check her appearance (and tongue).  She'd make her approach to Monet soon, but wanted to see what the other clientele was up to first...

Joe watches the lemonade fizz a bright yellow when it hits the blueberry like a darkened sky. After he passes the drink to Jean he makes one for himself and samples it.

“Whoa! This makes me feel like I’m rising from the ashes! I think I’ll call it…The Phoenix!”

The room was dim, lit by several small lamps built into the walls surrounding the boss's office. A five-bladed fan spun lazily in the middle of the ceiling, the off-craftsmanship causing it to rock slightly out of balance. Cigar smoke wafted upwards from an ivory ash tray that sat on the top of the largest piece of furniture in the room, an enormous redwood, seemingly carved from a single piece of wood. The lazily drifting smoke mingles with the updraft caused by the ceiling fan and disperses across the ceiling above.

Warren sat in his office high above the floor of the jazz club portion of his establishment. Various books and ledgers were arrayed before him, and he seemed to be staring intently at long lists of numbers as he rolled an exquisitely designed fountain pen between his index finger and thumb. A knock at the door to his office distracted him from his books and he looked up to the heavy oak door, a smoked glass window in the middle with the words office listed on the outside. "Come in," he said. Warren reached out and placed his pen into the art piece he'd procured as a base for it and took up his cigar.

Through the door came one of the Angel's men. "She's here, boss." Most of them had been procured more for their brawn than for their brains. You needed meatheads in a place like this, muscle that could keep people in line, that could take people out back and make an example of someone. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Tommy," Warren said with a sigh. She could be referring to literally half the population. The problem with hiring people for their brawn over their brain meant that sometimes you had to drag basic information out of them in order to learn anything useful from even basic conversation. "The girl that strong armed Alonzo the Tombstone."

Warren rolled the cigar between his fingers, mimicking the same gesture he'd been doing with his fountain pen just moments before. "Go get her and bring her up here, please."

---

"Sure thing, boss," Tommy said, quietly closing the door behind him. Leaving behind the bosses office, he walked down a long hallway. Each side had doors that would lead to other rooms that served various purposes. He had no interest in them now, though. He passed by the guard watching over the hallway and then down the stairs, through another door, and then out into the club.

Tommy looked around and didn't spot the woman right away. Slightly frustrated, he made his way over towards the bar. He leaned up against the bar, intent on getting Joe's attention when he was distracted by the red headed dame. "Babe, wow, you are looking too good tonight," he says, reaching up and digging a finger under his collar, letting out a little bit of steam (not literally). Momentarily distracted, he stares at her lecherously for a few seconds before remembering that he was on a mission for the boss. He looked away and slapped onto the bartop to get Joe's attention. "Where the girl go? That dame what took out the Tombstone last week," he asked, and then specified when Joe reminds him that girl could refer to any number of women in the club tonight. Once Joe provided him with directions, he turned and gave one last grin towards Jean and made his way to Monet.

"The boss wants to see you."

---

When the door was closed again behind Tommy, he set the cigar back down into the ashtray without relighting it and retrieved his fountain pen. While he waited, he would return to his ledgers. He knew that he could hire someone to do this sort of work or him, but Warren had a mind for business and for numbers, and he was a stickler for details.

Monet had been watching. She didn't understand why Jean Grey had decided not to talk to her, but that was fair enough. Perhaps the telepath had grown cold feet or something? Not too surprising Monet was thinking quite hard about whether to proceed or not as well.

She was mildly amused when she saw Two Toed Tommy try and chat up Jean. Unless Monet was misreading the situation, Jean could do a lot better. Mind you Tommy was noted for his loyalty if not his intellect, and that was valuable. And often far more valuable. Warren could do a lot worse!

"Tommy" she said with a nod. It didn't take a genius to work out what this about. Just plain awkward. There was a reason she'd not been here for a week, but it was where Jean worked and an obvious place. And anyway at some point she was going to have to have this chat. It wasn't as though she'd had a choice. She liked Vinnie and Frankie. Bouncers came in all sorts and these weren't the 'looking for trouble'type, instead 'keep the place quiet' type. When they went down she had choices: to let the Tombstone live up to his name and add two more tomestone's to his collection or interfere. Vinnie had a long time girlfriend, Frankie had a wife and a tiny daughter. So there was no real choice. Even though she'd known there would be consequences. Hopefully manageable consequences

Standing Monet brushed some imaginary dust off her Trenchcoat "Sure let's go" she made a little light chat as she went "So what do you think of the broad you were ogling, Tommy? Some show huh."

Steven Grant sauntered into the club. It was a hotbed of interesting activities, and a huge source of information to him many times over. He strolled up to the bar and ordered his usual, with a wink. Ginger ale served in a cocktail glass looked very much like a scotch and soda to observers, but let him keep his head clear and on business.

The redhead made that last bit more difficult, but Steven didn't want to get into another fight with Marc.

Jean sipped more of her drink.  She could see it becoming her 'usual'.

"The Phoenix huh?  Feels about right, Joe.  Don't get me wrong... I like it, but will it set the world on fire?  Remains to be seen."

As for Tommy the goon, Jean nodded back to him... but did little else to encourage his attention.  It paid to be nice to the establishment muscle, because sooner or later they'd be needed.  However Jean didn't like to get involved with rough gangsters AND 'work colleagues'.  That sort of mix was just all kinds of trouble.

"Thanks Tommy."

Jean reached out with her mind and mentally knocked on Monet's mental door... seeking to send a telepathic message.

 "It's Jean.  Can't tell you much about the boss but good luck... and drop my name if need be.  We'll have that chat afterwards." ]

"Oh come on," he protests as he leads Monet towards the door that would lead them upstairs. "I wasn't oogling her. I was just looking at her. She's pleasing to the eyes." It was obvious that Tommy didn't know what oogling meant. He led her past the guards that watched over a door at the back of the club. Once they were past the door, he took her upstairs, past another guard, and then down the long dimly lit hallway to the manager's office. He reached out and knocked on the glass.

---

"Come in," called out the voice of the Angel. The large door swung inward, allowing Ms St. Croix entrance to the office of Warren Worthington the third. The person whom Tommy had called the boss sat behind his desk, still pouring over the ledgers that he had laid out in front of him. When she came into the room, he held up the index finger of his left hand, begging her forgiveness for not setting aside his work just yet. The door closed behind her, Tommy remaining outside in the hall to give them their privacy. That hand that beggared her pardon, gestured to one of the chairs that was arrayed before his impressively large desk.

Whether she sat or not wasn't his concern. He took several more minutes before he finally finished what he was working on. Once the black ink had dried upon the crisp white pages of his leather-bound books, he eased them closed, stacked them up carefully, and set them to the side of his desk top. The man in the dominating desk chair leaned forward on his elbows and finally made eye contact with the woman that he'd invited into his personal sanctum. "It's good to see you again, Miss Saint Croix."

Monet's comment to Tommy hadn't been random. This whole trip was a high risk venture for her. Tommy's response was part of her early warning system. If he'd been 'shut up <expletive> the boss wants to see you now' then she'd have know it was a problem she wasn't expecting and could have done something about it. That though was in line with what she expected

"To you and every other red blooded male in there" she said with an amused sound. And to quite a few of the girls as well she suspected.

The little power play of Warren was amusing as well. This was a classic trick to 'establish dominance'. To say 'my time is more valuable than yours'. Monet had strategies for people she respected, and others for those she didn't: her father had taught her well. On the whole she had a lot of respect for 'the boss'. He ran a clean shop. Kept down the crime in the area. There was very little 'hassle' in his speakeasy. So because of that respect she didn't use the 'unpleasant' counters.

Monet sat and pulled out a tiny book in a silver case with tiny words in arabic on onionskin from an inner pocket and began to read it. She didn't need to 'study the room' as a single sweep of her eyes had taken in all the things she needed to know from the titles of the books on the bookshelves to the upside down writing on Warren's current work to the location of all the exits and the exits that she could make if she needed to. She also didn't really need to read this, as she had memorised it years ago, but the act of reading this was an act of worship which brought her a little joy and tranquility and the random selection of a passage allowed her to ponder complex ethical and religious issues in a particular context. Like this one.

When Warren had finished, Monet didn't need to consider her response. It would have been possible to 'play a game'. Like her response to the power play, there were formal strategies her father had taught her for this kind of situation. There was no difference between the powers of the world and mob bosses, so the lessons he had given her for dealing with Prime Ministers, Emperors, Kings and Queens worked just the same here. She didn't particularly want to use those strategies as she had no particular agenda here so used the simplest.

"Mr Worthington the third" she said with a little nod of acknowledgement, shutting the silver case with a snap and returning it to her inner pocket "I'm doing well thank you" her wealth was not based on 'business in the Western World' "'The Great Depression giveth and the Great Depression taketh away'. Like yourself I appear to be on the 'happy' side of that equation. And my business is ticking over quite nicely and keeping me entertained."

"I trust your own business is doing well?"

The Angel nodded and waved dismissively at the question of fortune. "Business is fine. That's not what I called you here for, though." He got up from his chair and leaned forward, opening a box set near the edge of his desk. "Might I offer you a cigarette?" he asked her, leaning over to light it for her should she accept one. Angel retrieved his own cigar again and sat back down, rolling the cigar between his fingers.

"I want to thank you for what you did last week, and you have my apologies for not having done so already. Mister Lincoln was out of line and has been permanently banned from Heaven. Had you not stepped in though... I don't care to think about what might have happened to Vinnie had you not stepped in."

"Mister Lincoln has promised retribution," he continued, studying Monet as he explained to her what had transpired over the last week since he'd been man handled by the young woman that sat now before him. He'd known Tombstone for a while now, knew of his substantial strength, not first hand but by tale. But how had she been able to do to him what she had done? That's what he wanted to find out.

"I'm not worried for myself. He wouldn't dare make a move against Heaven, and I have no one important to me that he could go after. You on the other hand... How much do you know about Alonzo Lincoln, the one they call Tombstone?"

"Most kind" Monet took the cigarette in her holder.

"I was most fortunate in that incident, Mr Worthington. One advantage of being a member of the fairer sex is that people underestimate you. The martial arts of Africa are not well known here in the Big Apple. A strong blow to the right place overstimulates the ... hmm... what is the English term. Ah yes 'the Vagus nerve'. This over stimulation causes a medical condition known as ... how do you say? ... vasovagal syncope is the formal name. Heart rate drops to perhaps thirty a minute, blood pressure drops resulting in weakness and sometimes fainting. I find that compensates most satisfactorily for the usual masculine strength advantage" All of which was both true and irrelevant.

"Following that I did explain to Mr Tomestone in a language that I felt he would understand, that of contusions and bruises, that it would be unwise to return to Club Heaven."

She nodded at the 'what would have happened', then replied to the 'what do you know'

"Alonzo the Tomestone. Born September 1901 to a Puerto Rican whore in East Harlem. A long history of violence and trouble with the police during childhood. In October 1917 was given the choice of becoming a long stay member of the Ossining Correctional Facility, more colloquially known as Sing Sing, or joining the Puerto Rican Second Battallion to fight the Kaiser. It is there that I suspect he discovered his love of killing. He left the rebranded 65th Infantry in 1922 without a job. Without any valuable skills he returned to crime. His signature is kicking people to death with steel boots and then breaking their tomestone with the same boots. Hence the name. And hence the reason I had to take the risk of interfering."

"In 1923 to 27 he did in fact end up in Sing Sing, followed by another stint from 27 until .. well ... 8 days ago. Both stays were for murderous theft, but as he didn't kill anyone important" i.e. only black people and hispanics criminals "they were not long sentences. I suspect within another week or so he will be back in there again. And as a third time offender he won't be coming out any time soon." she followed this up with an explaination "As a PI I find it helpful to read the 'released from prison' reports"

A little furrow of worry appeared on Monet's face. Perhaps not for the obvious reason of being worried about getting hurt. She had no desire to get into a position where she had to use her abilities. Word of that would get out. Look what had happened here! Once or twice she could talk her way around but a girl could use the 'I was lucky' excuse only so many times. If she got a reputation for it, she'd have to leave.

"Vowed revenge you say? Most awkward. I was lucky and he underestimated me. He won't do that again and perhaps he will bring some friends to help.Let me consider" there was a pause as she did just that "The simplest option is of course to leave town for a couple of weeks, waiting for his inevitable re-arrest. I hear that Boston is lovely this time of year. But I am in the middle of an interesting case and I don't want to disappoint my client" and she also had the meeting with Jean Gray to attend which she hoped would keep her busy for some time. "Reporting this to the police will, I fear, have little effect. Do you have a recommendation Mr Worthington?"

"Waiting for someone, mister?"

Her question was posed to Steven, the man who was just watching and listening.  Jean knew she was opening herself up for potential trouble, especially if he turned out to be a mobster or government spy.  But since Monet hadn't been shown the door yet, that meant her meeting was going well... and there was little else for Jean to do.  And maybe this man was going to buy a ticket to her show.

"If you're staying a while, there's a magic show later on.  Joe here might even give you a discounted ticket..."

Jean watched to see how the man acted, if he had a cloak & dagger vibe, and whatever other traits she could garner.

Steven seemed bemused. He was a man of slim to average build. Black hair slicked back and a goatee with temples just starting to gray.

”A magic show, you say?”

He smiled gently as he removed his trenchcoat and passed it to the coat check. He wore a fancy suit underneath and sported a gold ring with what appeared to be an eye in it.

”I’ve always enjoyed magic…studied it a bit myself…”

"Steven Grant," Steven said to the redhead as the other Steven retreated to the coat-check. "Very pleased to meet you, miss... ah, Grey, is it?"

He nodded in the direction of the sign outside the showroom, touting her magic show. It was complete with her picture, making the identification a simple one.

"I've always been fascinated by magic. People coming and going in a puff of smoke, making objects appear and disappear... the profession has come a long way since the days of card tricks and rabbits hidden in hats."

"Do we really have time for this?" asked Marc, who would have rolled his eyes if he'd had control of them. He was taking the back seat for the moment, but was a bit of a backseat driver.

"The lady is here every night, and sees things we don't," Steven replied inside his head. "Let me work."

Marc snorted at the word 'work' but fell silent after that.

Jean leaned over to look at the poster in an exaggerated pose while mocking up a look of surprise.

“She certainly looks like me… so either I am Miss Grey or I have a doppelgänger.  But I always have time for a fan of magic.  Did you want to see a trick, Mr Grant?  No Rabbits or cards, I promise.”

She borrowed a pencil from Joe and wrote something on the back of a cardboard coaster.  It turned out to be a series of letters: E, O, B, L, M, N, Y, V.  Jean slid it over to Steven, along with the pencil.

“Make a word out of those letters Steven, something important to you.  Don’t tell me what it is.  When you’re done, pass over your glass and I will attempt to divine your word.”

The seemingly random letters that Jean supplied were only good for a few words… love, money, me, and a few others.  Therefore it wasn’t impossible to guess which one he’d choose.  Of course Jean was slipping inside Steven’s surface thoughts while he concentrated on deciding which word to choose.  And the choice would give her insight into Steven’s motivation.  But what she found was most interesting…

Hmm, this is an unusual man… or should I say men.  But what does he/them want from me?  mused Jean.

Steven looked over the letters, and a memory came to him: waking up in Khonshu's necropolis, buried in skulls. Struggling to the surface to be confronted by the skull-faced God of the Moon. Skeletons as far as the eye could see.

B-O-N-E, he picked out, unconsciously, before anything else could leap out at him. He'd lived with death his entire life, making it the most obvious choice.

He slid his glass over to the redhead with a sly smile. With the words LOVE and MONEY possible from that mix of letters, it would take a mind-reader to pick out his word.

Jean sipped her Phoenix drink while Steven made his decision… one that surprised the hell out of her.  She was also treated to Glimpses of skulls, a shadowy figure, and bones everywhere.  Jean fumbled her glass but kept it from spilling.  Fear crept up her spine and now she looked uneasy, especially when Steven smiled at her.

Who IS this person!?

Slowly picking up his glass, Jean went through with her intended theatre.  She inhaled the drink, turned it around, and treated it like an impromptu crystal ball.  The more she talked, the more calm she became.

“Right… the word.  Well, you don’t seem the type to seek wealth above all else… ruling out money.  But neither do you seem married or committed to a lady, so love too is ruled out.  Hmm, this is trickier than my usual volunteers.  I sense a charitable nature within, so that culls the word me.  There really isn’t much left.  You probably haven’t frequented the mysterious East enough to care about Yen.  But your interest in the occult is very pronounced.   Perhaps you just testing me, but I shall hazard a guess at… Bone.  It’s most unusual, but then again so are you, Mr Grant.”

The urge to guess incorrectly or cancel the trick had been tempting.  But doing so might have looked really suspicious and Jean hoped that her fortune telling gimmick would mask how she did it.  She had a few other excuses (related to cheating techniques) and the proverbial ace up her sleeve… that a magician doesn’t reveal their tricks.  However if Steven had actual occult abilities… he might not buy it.

Have I just played into his hand?  Surely he/they wouldn’t do anything in this club…. She inwardly worried.

"Oh, my. You are talented, Miss Grey." Steven was impressed, but he could feel Marc growing suspicious. You got it on the first try.

"I spent much of my... formative years... in Egypt, on a series of archaeological digs, surrounded by bones."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was a very selective version of the truth.

"Fascinating country. It became a cornerstone of my life."

It was the place where he died (the first time), and was reborn. It tended to dominate his thoughts at times, even when he wasn't dressed in the sacred robes of the Moon Knight.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 19:17, Wed 28 June 2023.