It's late in the evening and Leonardo isn't far from Purgatory. His breath smells like wine, and he's quickly drinking down a large bottle of water while sitting on a bench against a small building. He appears exhausted and calm, occasionally holding his head in pain.

Percy isn't far from Purgatory, either; in fact, he's on his way there. The sleek, dark BMW hums slowly through the dredge of Village traffic, sandwiched between two cabs. He gets bored about a block away and abandons car and driver both to their own devices, to walk the rest of the way in the dark sweep of his charcoal coat and the flutter of a silver-banded black scarf. (Maybe he took Emma's advice and is dressing to match his hair.) In either event, this time at least he is not flicking ash on random passersby, but instead walking up the broad sidewalk at a brisk clip. He catches sight a fast-growing familiar moonlit blond head, attached to a body upon a bench, and his step slows. Considerably.

"Fucking lawyers, what do they know? I'm not an idiot." Leonardo says, noticably with tons of contractions in his speech, unlike how he usually speaks. "I'm so sick of that Friends woman, what does she know?" Still complaining, he just downs more water in an attempt to sober up.

"They say one of the first signs of madness is talking to oneself." Percy speaks mildly, and yet from some distance away, although he comes to a halt as he says it, and stands weirdly shadowed in the spill of light from a shop peopled with chatchkes and knicknacks of the tourist trade, as well as "art". The kind of art that requires the quotation marks.

Leonardo raises an eyebrow at Percy, recognizing the face, but appears to be clearly displeased. "I thought the first sign of madness was that dream where your hair comes to life and hangs you above your bed." he retorts with a shrug. "I'm having a rough three days, excuse my tone and being unable to suppress my contractions."

"Suppress your /what/?" Percy's laugh is light, full of breath as it escapes his lips.

"I'm saying 'I'm' instead of 'I am', and other such barbarities." Leonardo explains simply, covering his mouth and letting out an alcohol filled belch. "Excuse me."

"Dear boy. Take it from me. You do yourself no favors expressing yourself in the manner of--" Percy's hesitation is only brief, contemptuous dismissal reflected in the sharp flick of his wrist. "--an android of some sort. We speak in the /vernacular/. It is possessed of all manner of shortenings and slurs. Including those that have apostrophes in them. That's hardly barbarism."

"I don't like talking like this, I just can't help it right now. Why is it so bad to remove contractions?" Leonardo wonders, staring up at Percy with sincere curiousity. "Doesn't it sound much more dignified and intelligent?"

Instructively, Percy replies, "No." He starts to walk on, and then pauses, rocking forward onto his foot, and glancing back down at the drunken mutant with a cool curiosity to the slant of his gaze. "I recommend," he enunciates, with the stark clarity and extreme precision of an Oxford accent, "that if you do not /have/ dignity and intelligence, you should not attempt a sham of them; it will merely look foolish. And if you /do/ have them, you need not think about infusing them into your speech. They will be yours to command."

"I suppose, I still feel more comfortable without contractions though." Leonardo says, looking over Percy's features with (not-so) careful drunken perception. "You know a lot of stuff, you're a handsome man, I can see why they talk about you in the papers."

Percy gives Leonardo a look of baffled incredulity. "Indeed," he says, his voice quite dry. He tests the air for telltale pheromones on an intake of breath, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Are you trying to flirt?" he asks blandly. "You're not very good at it, are you?"

"I don't flirt with men in public." Leonardo corrects with a sly grin. "I'm not the best at flirting, I had to apologize to a woman earlier for a not-so-subtle attempt at flirting with her a few days ago. I -think- she forgave me." As for his mood, he's genuinely relaxed and calm, as if some huge weight were lifted from his shoulders, but he's also unsure, slightly afraid, and the most intense feeling of all, he feels alone.

Percy rolls his eyes in immediate exasperation and retorts, "Oh, /please/." Uncertainty and loneliness are familiar enough dregs, but Percy leaves them be, in no particular mood for charity. "You wouldn't know how to talk to a woman if she came with an instruction manual. Or a man, for that matter," he says. "I've heard about you, Maxwell, and your pathetic attempts to hurl yourself at Emma's feet, among other things." He considers him from beneath lowered lashes, slivered annoyance reflected in whiskey-dark eyes. "Virgin? Or have you made good use of New York's widely available escort services?"

"I also don't discuss my sex life in public." is Leonardo's answer to the virgin question. "I like Ms. Frost, yes, I don't expect to have a woman like her, but I don't intend to give up unless she decides to shoot me down." He downs the rest of his water and tosses the bottle into a large trashcan, sighing. "I shouldn't worry about women, there are much bigger things I should be worrying about, but I don't know anymore."

"There's much you don't do in public, I'd imagine." Percy glances at finely manicured nails, silently and invisibly chucking a wrench through the poor, drunk young man's physical chemistry. "Your insistence on privacy is amusing, considering how very /much/ you lack in terms of discretion." There may be irony in taunting a man for being indiscreet while searing his judgment to cinders with raw, unfocused sexual heat. This not being the sort of thing he particulary desires to stick around and watch, he starts to walk on along the sidewalk instead, out of the light and into the dim instead as he crosses in front of him and on towards the nightclub. "The world's going to end, anyway, kid," he says with too-cheerful good nature. "Call a hooker. Or fuck your sister. Won't matter either way, we'll all be dead a year from now."

The roof of a nearby car caves in as if a large rock was dropped on it, as soon as Percy screws with Leonardo's pheromones. "Fuck." he says to himself, standing and pulling out a cellphone. Not longer than a few minutes after, an expensive looking white car pulls up and the back door opens. "Get me home, -now-." he yells to the driver, getting in the backseat and slamming the door. He doesn't pay Percy's last words much mind, he's focused on getting home, to hell with the homeless plans.

Percy clucks his tongue thoughtfully as he eyes the caved in roof of the nearby car. "Compensating," he muses to it idly, because talking to inanimate objects is totally less crazy than talking to yourself, and then he strolls on toward Purgatory. He whistles as he goes. Like a prick.

Percy considers playing Higgins to Leonardo's Dolittle, but then decides he doesn't have the time and acts like a prick instead.




Zenith is full of news today. Too much for an email, and when she searches out the Rook in his usual lair this afternoon, it shows in her face, a swirl of excitement and worry. She's covered up today, high neckline, jeans, and hair back in a long braid, but at least she's not hugging herself. Hands are tucked into pockets. "Percy? You busy?" She eyes whatever work might be spread out in front of him.

Percy is sprawled in his chair, watching a security tape pulled straight out of Purgatory, although it may be noted that the tape does not at any point contain Leonardo Maxwell. Because the Inner Circle, seriously, does things that in no way relate to Leonardo Maxwell. He leans forward to pause the tape and swivels the chair to face her, scrubbing a hand over his face as though to divest himself of the slightly glazed look. "Nah," he says. "What can I do for you?"

Zenith nods to the tape, recognizing the location and thinking of Leonardo Maxwell herself. "Ran into the weirdo again. Apologized drunkenly, bought me a drink I wasn't stupid enough to touch and asked to be friends." She frowns at the floor, stuck for words beyond the unimportant opening. "You want the good news, or the--uh, well, who knows. Possibly also good news first?"

"Hmph." Percy greets the news of Leonardo's reappearance with vague exasperation, and at the sound of 'good news', he arches his eyebrows at her. Shifting into a forward lean with elbows hooked against his knees and hands laced loosely together. "Good news?"

Zenith hooks her thumbs into her beltloops, hands curling up slightly to match her grin. "My agent says they want to make me a reality series."

Percy looks a little blank, the blank expression of a man whose cultural relevance is, we must admit, several years old. "What ... like, Survivor, that -- sort of thing?"

"God. Fuck no. It's one of those bachelorette or America's Next Top Model things. They get a bunch of dancers, and then they compete to be my partner in the next show." Zenith lets her palms rest against her legs, thumbs still hooked. "I eliminate one a week, or whatever."

"Oh." With this new information, he cants his head to one side, and then nods once with the flicker of a warming smile. "I see. Sounds like a good deal. That's a national exposure sort of thing, isn't it?"

Zenith nods, jerky in her excitement. "Yeah. And, I mean, they're playing the mutant thing for shock value, but that does mean that it's part of the whole thing. Like, apparently part of the spin is whether the guys are tough enough to deal with dancing in the air." She grins, getting carried away with the babble. "And there's going to be a little bit of sections of me around the city and stuff. My agent says they want to see 'mutant culture' whatever the fuck that is."

Percy frowns and does not immediately reply. Then he pushes himself to his feet and folds his hands behind his back instead, frown deepening. He paces out from behind the desk and away from the monitors, moving to no particular aim. "Hmm."

"But, I mean--" Zenith loses a little of the light to her expression. "Whatever party line you want me to try to give them about mutants, I'll stick to it. I mean, they'll twist it whatever way with the editing, but it's not Fox. I don't think they'll be trying to catch me hurting someone."

"That is not really the area of my concern. As I said a moment ago, we're talking about national exposure here." Percy tips his head down, frowning thoughtfully, and then lifting a hand to scrub at the back of his next. "While what you and Beckah are doing is important and admirable, Zenith, I don't think something like Purgatory is altogether ready for that ... ah. /Level/, of public attention. One of the chief problems with Sanctuary as a haven for mutants was the fact that everyone knew where to find it."

"Ah." Zenith puts her hands up to run her fingers through her hair, and then remembers she has it in a braid. "Well, I can just tell them that there's no real 'mutant' hangout after Sanctuary and leave it at that. I mean, they can film me doing whatever the fuck just around the city." She flicks a look up, hopeful for permission.

"Can you keep your side job off the radar?" Percy asks, arching his eyebrows at her as he turns back on his heel. "There are a conspicuous number of mutants on payroll for Harper Enterprises and I don't think Harper would thank us for the spotlight either."

Zenith nods emphatically. "As long as I don't have to explain why I'm slipping off to other duties and can't make filming. I mean, I want them to keep this just about the competition at the studio, not a camera in my fucking bedroom or something."

"All right. I think that we can arrange for this to work, but--" Percy lifts two fingers. "I'll want to run it by the monarchs. It's pretty big and I can foresee some difficulty. When do you need to let your agent know by for certain?"

"Well, mostly they're just spinning out ideas right now, I guess. She'll call me every few days with whatever retarded title or gimmick they've thought of, so I guess probably a while? I assume they're going to officially ask me once they know what the fuck they're doing." Zenith grimaces. "I'll ask her." She hesitates a second, and then risks the heavy persuasion. "I need a /project/, though. Even getting to--" She bites her lip. "Do that to him--" Her tone says which him. "It's kind of made it worse. I feel like I'm backsliding on control and stuff."

"We're just going to have to be very careful not to arouse suspicion." Percy lays fingertips thoughtfully against his lips and considers her from beneath lowered lashes. "I suspect that it is doable."

Zenith lets out a breath of relief, and waits silently for any more caveats before she messes anything up by celebrating prematurely.

"I just want to run it by the monarchs in case they think of something that I haven't." Percy trails his fingertips along the desk as he drifts back to his seat and resumes his prior position, ankles sliding together in a cross. "If you happen to accidentally trip over Maxwell again, and accidentally do something nasty to him, I wouldn't find it amiss. We're not taking concerted action yet, but he is a nuisance, isn't he?"

Zenith gives an awkward little laugh. "Don't tempt me." She reaches into her back pocket, and pulls out a business card. "Speaking of. I kind of slipped up again the other day." She flushes. "Like I said, backsliding. There was some drunk asshole getting handsy on me and some other chick outside the club, and I apparently took out a rib when I shoved and he fell instead of just stumbling back. Shitfaced. Anyway, she healed him, so he wouldn't have anything to accuse us of." Zenith proffers the card. "We talked, after. She seems like the type who'd heal really easy for enough money, if Triage ever burns out or something."

"Hmm." Percy gives her a look of sharpening interest, and captures the card within two fingers to study it. "Interesting," he says. "I imagine that healing is one of those abilities that is never not useful. I'll look into this." He scoots backwards and slips the card into the scanner beside the monitor, and starts scanning it. Technology hurrah! "You'll need to resume powers training, although it may be difficult to schedule around filming."

Zenith sets her shoulders like she's resisting the idea, but her expression is mostly relieved to be forced into it by someone else. "Well. Private practice time. Don't need to tell them what I'm practicing." She hesitates. "With Erik again, or he's still pretty busy--?"

"Mmm. Work with Llewellyn and Fever for now. If you wish to practice with Magneto, you may certainly ask him if he has the time, but I'm not in the habit of mandating that." Percy slices off the thinner edg\e of a smile to give to her, and then runs a hand through the dark, silver-speckled waves of his hair.

Zenith snorts. "Yeah, no. I'm not going to bother him." She looks happy enough with who she's working with otherwise. "Is there anything else I should be working on, or anything?"

"I think we're good for now," Percy answers, sliding the card back out of the scanner and holding it back out for her. "Keep an eye out for this woman, if you see her again. She could be useful."

"I told her I'd get her a drink, for helping me, next time she was at the club." Zenith tucks the card back into her back pocket again. "She's a little--I dunno. Bitchy for my tastes, but we can probably get along."

"She'll fit right in here, then," Percy says lightly, saving the scanned business card to a new file. "All right. Well. Did you have anything else?"

Zenith shakes her head. "Thanks," she says, some of her earlier excitement blooming again. "On /TV/," she murmurs. She ducks her head and turns for the door.

Zenith is going to be on TV!




Percy has not paid enough attention to learn the name of the artist whose work is being so happily patroned at this particular benefit; she is some artist in filmy seafoam-green, whose patron Percy knows, as he knows many other people, and that is the extent to which he has thus far absorbed. People are circulating and schmoozing over sparkling wines and expensive cheeses. He is suited in dark grey and accented in scarlet. Having paid his respects to the artist and her patron, he now prowls amidst the other guests.

Addie is equally ignorant of the artist's name. In fact, she seems uniquely oblivious to her going's on. Having claimed a glass obscenely filled with that wine, and huddled near the table hosting the cheeses. She stands out for the fact that she makes no particular attempt to schmooze or even appear interested. She'd be better behaved if her parents were actually there. As it is, they had sent her in hopes of her finding some attractive young bachelor, still blissfully unaware of her lack of interest in them. Her own dress is of dark blue, and sleeveless, showing off a certain slender but defined musculature that looks out of place among people not known to make their money at heavy lifting. Still, Percy does catch her attention for the way he prowls. It's the detective in her, putting her in mind of a 'predator'.

There is something predatory in the way Percy moves this evening: it reflects in the glittered edge of amusement that shows in amber eyes, reminiscent of a weasel among the chickens. It is boredom that brings it out. He exchanges cheerful jibes with a few of the elder gentleman circulating, flirts outrageously with a married woman twice his age, and then excuses himself again to filter on through the assembled, never staying terribly long in one conversation. He notes Addie with a slight uplift of his brow as his circuitous path draws nearer her small cloud of quiet isolation.

Addie watches all this with that quiet sort of reserve and coldness that comes from looking at dead bodies and running down murderers. In her mind, there's always some like Percy at these little society functions. Still, if he's a weasel in a henhouse, then she's the bull in the china-cabinet. She continues to feast on 'her' cheeses, commenting dryly, when the man drifts within hearing distance,"You /must/ be bored if you're coming to talk to me."

"Perhaps I'm simply very /friendly/," Percy suggests in reply, sipping from the champagne flute held delicately in one cleanly manicured hand. His voice is a tenor edged low with amusement and draped with the accent of an Oxford education. "Too hungry to network properly, I suppose?"

Addie is, herself, possessed of an accent a bit too proper for life on the streets, and a bit too low to really be here. She drains the rest of her own flute, then holds it up until a passing waiter brings her another. That done, she returns her gaze,"Ooooh, I don't think so. Noone here is. Anyway, there's no reason for me to network, anyway. I've only got one business, and in it, noone ever wants to talk."

"Is that so." Percy arches fine, dark eyebrows at her, and rocks back slightly onto one heel. "Just here to soak up the ambiance, then?" The fingers of his free hand flutter in an expansive gesture to indicate the people and the art. "Drinking it in? Though I can't say I've heard of a profession where social networking is actually a detriment."

Addie makes a snorting sound, drawing a distasteful look back towards her from a nearby woman. "Soak up the ambiance? Hah. My parents are getting a little annoyed that I don't have a horde of grandchildren for them by now. Anyway, networking isn't /detrimental/ to my profession. Just that noone wants to do it, is all. People don't like talking to detectives." Still, not wanting to be /entirely/ impolite, she thrusts a hand out to the man after dusting it off on her dress. "Ariadne Wu."

"A /detective/," Percy repeats, as though in delighted surprise, although the keen observer might note the flicker of something a little darker, a little cooler, that wakes behind his eyes. A thoughtful turn. Hmm. "Really. How unusual. Off-duty, I hope?" He meets her hand with his own, grasp firm and swift. "Percy Talhurst," he says. "Your parents live in hope that Dionysus will find you at one of these trite bacchanals, and have you bear a host of heroes, no doubt."

Addie is an officer of the law. And though she makes use of her powers shamelessly when she needs a new direction in a case, she's no slouch in figuring things out on her own, either. She is very much the keen observer. So she doescatch that flicker. She doesn't like it. So when the handshake is over, she is quick enough to reclaim it. "Yes. Off-duty at the moment. But we're always working if something comes up. Still, it's nice not to be flashing badges for once. Most of these people may be cold-blooded embezzlers, but shredding documents is the closest they'll likely ever come to comitting crimes. And since I'm homicide, I'm not interested." A little lift of her shoulder to show her disinterest,"I'm half-tempted to just bobble down to a donor's bank and get that out of the way so they'll stop bothering me." That's the only way they're getting grandchildren, anyway. "There's /no/ way I'm letting any of these people get a chance."

"That's certainly one way of going forward." Percy's smile flashes, slight and brief as he glances to her hand and then back to her face. Their heights are comparable, so that's easy enough; he'd gauge their ages similar too, for all the silver flecks that mar the dark waves of his hair and give the lie to the extremity of his youth. "I think most society types are far too insecure in their masculinity to make a concerted attempt to woo a homicide detective, however alluring and down-to-earth she may be."

Addie actually covers her mouth now, as if to stifle laughter, then merely shakes her head. Deep breath, and then she's at ease again without any expression as to what might have been so amusing. "Alluring. Down to earth. Right. That's flattering, but I know a player when I see one." She put much sting in her voice for labeling the man with all that. "But you know all about me, Mr. Talhurst. Tell me about yourself." Then she's snatching more cheese, because... Well... She must like cheese.

Dark lashes veiling the gleam of amber eyes in the slow sweep of a blink, Percy shakes his head slightly. "You may," he says, "or you may not. I assure you, Detective, it's only idle flattery, the product of a busy tongue and little else. The man /is/ a bachelor," and he lays the splay of prettily manicured fingers against his chest, "but he is most assuredly not seeking a remedy in that regard. What would you like to know? I'm here because dear Louis," who is the artist's patron, "intimated that he'd like me to put in an appearance. It has been awhile," he adds in a light, confiding tone, "since I bothered with the party circuit, beyond the principal events at Hellfire of course. I imagine that has been of some detriment to my reputation, and that they are all wondering quietly at the /source/ of the change."

Addie tilts her head ever so lightly as she tries to read the man's expression,"I wish my parents understood that. They don't seem to think batchelorettes have any reason to want to stay that way." Stifling a yawn this time, she intimates,"Let them wonder, as if it's truly any of their business. Most of my parent's friends will just be surprised to see me here and gossip for weeks. As for myself, though, I could care less about whatever little society one belongs to. I tend to judge people based on what they show. Still, that tells me little about /what/ you do, and what kind of person you are."

"I find that what a person does for a living tells very little about what sort of person they are, in this particular context." Percy dismisses vocation with a flick of his wrist, and drains the last of the champagne in his flute with the lift of his other hand. He is difficult to read; amusement is clear to be read in his face, at the least, and the sort of cheery garrulousness that comes naturally to an extrovert. "I own and run a business. Geotal Aeronautics, if you've heard of it. Or even if you haven't. But being a businessman is hardly representative."

Addie swirls her glass a bit now. By the color in her cheeks, she's apparently crossed the line into 'just a bit too much'. "No... You would think that. But it can give you all kinds of insight when you know how to look at it. What they do, how they do it, how they feel about what they do... The devil's in the details. Asfor Geotal Aeronautics? I've heard of it. Don't know too much about it, though. I'm sure my parents have. But since you or your company hasn't killed anyone, not really my place to know. So why do /you/ come to places like this?"

"Why, to bless them with the pleasure of my company, of course." Percy's glance flicks away to find a passing tray, and he abandons his solitary champagne flute to it as the server zooms onward. "Why else?"

Addie shakes her head thoughtfully, then asks,"But what do /you/ get out of it? Humanitarianism is all well and good, but just going to a party to be seen is the dullest thing in the world if I have anything to say about it. I guess I just don't get it."

"It passes the time," Percy replies lightly. His nostrils flare slightly with the slow intake of his breath, and he goes on to muse, "Perhaps I enjoy creating an impression and being known. Attention is a great motivator, is it not?"

Addie actually rolls her eyes a bit, though she finds herself fainly amused,"I don't know. It seems a bit of a shallow ambition for you. Not your type of thing. You're too secure. Anyway, I don't like attention too much. It's... uncomfortable." Indeed, she takes a look around, and suddenly looks a great deal less at ease.

"Is it?" Percy sweeps the room with an idle glance, and returns his attention to her with the cock of an eyebrow. "Yet you stand out here, stark as a blade. I should think that would be difficult, if you don't care for attention. So why not blend?"

Addie makes an actual scowl now,"Because I didn't want to be here in the first place. I'm not good at blending. I've always stuck out, no matter where I go."

"Embrace the difference, then," Percy suggests blithely, and he flashes her a swift grin. "But prepare for attention. I'm afraid there's no way to avoid it, unless you can avoid showing up."

Addie lifts one eyebrow,"I usually do just that... But every so often, my parents threaten to bring my grandparents in for a visit, so I have to cave to pressure and show up to one of these functions." Still, the grin does get a little chuckle.

"Well, short of scandalizing them with an elopement in Vegas, I suppose that is your best option." Percy inclines his head in a nod, and then slants his glance past her to a small knot of middle-aged women chattering earnestly, one of whom keeps /looking/ at them. Bother.

Addie doesn't even bother to try noticing the women looking at them, instead giggling a bit,"Oh, now that would stick in their craw..." Not that she has any bachelors in mind. She's more worried about bachelorettes. "I'm just not ready to settle, I guess."

"Mmm." Percy's expression flickers, a tiny crack in the armor of impish play, and he glances on. "Perhaps not," he says mildly, and then says, "I think I have some old birds to entertain. If you'll excuse me, Ms. Wu, I hope you contrive to enjoy some part of the evening -- if it is only your escape from it," he adds, with an inclination of his head and the soft breath of a laugh, "at its conclusion."

Addie tips her head politely to Percy, drains the rest of her flute, sets it down, and wiggles her fingers politely at the man,"It was... Pleasant meeting you Mr. Talhurst. Go take your pick. The way they flutter their plumage should be interesting when they realize they can't all have you at once. Have fun."

"Good evening to you, then," Percy replies lightly, tipping an imaginary hat, and then he drifts cheerfully onward into the flow of his next conversation.

Percy is a social butterfly. Hi Addie!