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A Diamond in the Rough	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General Views: 3688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 15: Deflection

Not until she began her approach did Emma realize just how imposing this Mr. Shaw was. With his squat, broad frame, he brought to her mind the image of a bowling ball (a game she’d never much cared for – too easy to break a nail). The narrow, angular sunglasses that hid his eyes brought a different image to mind: a serpent’s unblinking, almost hypnotic gaze.
Emma plastered on a tight-lipped smile. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Mr. Shaw.”
Shaw shrugged fractionally. “I’m a patient man, Miss Frost. And some things are worth waiting for.”
Emma couldn’t help bristling a little. “Things?”
“And even fewer people,” Shaw added without missing a beat. “For instance, a charming young woman such as yourself, sophisticated beyond your years.”
Nice recovery, she admitted to herself, even as she wished she could read this man – one of the few times she’d wanted to use her ability. “Sophisticated, Mr. Shaw? How do you mean?”
“You know to hold your wine glass by the stem, so that the head of your hand doesn’t warm the wine,” he replied with a gesture to her hand, “especially a white that tastes better chilled.”
Emma sipped, suddenly and inexplicably a bit self-conscious. “Father taught me that,” she deflected.
Shaw shrugged fractionally again. “Still, impressive for a young woman who just began her time at college. Business and Marketing, right?”
Emma nodded. “That’s right, sir. Of course, I’m only taking introductory courses and general education at this point.”
“Of course. Tell me, Miss Frost – why Bernhardt? No doubt as valedictorian of your class at a prestigious school like Snow Valley, with such a distinguished pedigree besides” – here he turned as though surveying all of Frost Manor – “you had your pick of the finest universities, including some abroad.”
“Bernhardt is one of the finest,” Emma retorted, picturing the photo in the administrative building of Bernhardt’s first graduating class – seven young women in their bonnets and hoop skirts, with keen intellects shining from their eyes. “It stands alongside Bryn Mawr and Wellesley in terms of illustrious alumnae. I wish to add my name to that list.”
Shaw smiled, again seeming almost serpentine. “There’s that ambition again. I admire that, Miss Frost.”
Emma raised her glass. “Why, thank you Mr. Shaw. It’s nice to have someone notice,” she told him, intending it as a pleasantry; but she discovered as she spoke that she meant it.
“One of the keys to my success is to notice things that others miss,” he replied smoothly. “For instance, your distaste for the callow young men of your set.”
“Useless idiots, the lot of them,” Emma snorted.
Shaw chuckled, a deep, dark sound that raised the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck. “Unafraid to speak your mind – I admire that as well. Your charms are wasted on those boys.” He took a step closer, seeming to loom over her even though she stood a head taller. “A man, on the other hand, knows how to appreciate an intelligent, ambitious, sophisticated, outspoken woman.”
Emma swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “A man like you, Mr. Shaw?” she asked, as demurely as she could manage.
Shaw’s smile shifted into something a bit more… wolfish. “Something like that.”
Emma cocked her head to one side, striking a pose she’d seen Mother use when trying to look coquettish. I wish I’d had more practice with actual flirtation before attempting it on a man Father wants me to impress.
Aloud, she said, “You’re certainly a much more engaging conversation partner, by the mere fact of allowing me to participate.”
“Conversation is much more enjoyable when both sides contribute to the experience,” replied Shaw, taking a half-step closer.
Emma struggled to control her breathing. She decidedly did not like where this was going. Every nerve and sinew in her body was screaming at her to run.
But I can’t, not without risking Mr. Shaw’s displeasure and, by extension, Father’s.
An idea formed to get her out of this dilemma. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the name of your company, Mr. Shaw – is there any particular significance to ‘E8’?”
Shaw paused, his smile frozen on his face for a moment. Finally, he replied, “If you’re as clever as I think you are, you should be able to deduce the answer.”
Emma let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The deflection seems to have worked – at least partially. Nevertheless, his reply seems like bait for a trap of some sort.
Emma smiled; thinking of this encounter as akin to a game of chess shifted the feeling of floundering she’d been experiencing into her usual unflappable poise. She hummed faux-thoughtfully. “All I can think of is the starting square for the black king in chess. Do you play, Mr. Shaw?”
Shaw bowed in an archaic manner that reminded Emma once more of illustrations of men from the eighteenth century. “At your service, Miss Frost. Your father has spoken highly of your skills, and I should like to test them against my own.”
Emma’s skin crawled at the tone. He made chess into an innuendo? she groused internally. Aloud, she replied, “Another time, perhaps. It wouldn’t do for one of the party’s hosts to disappear inside for a long period of time, especially you and me. Other people might get the wrong idea.”
Shaw inclined his head and withdrew a metal case from one pocket. From within the case, he produced a business card, which Emma took. “I intend to collect on this rain-check, Miss Frost. I always collect on my debts.”
As Shaw strode away to socialize with other guests, Emma finished her wine and fought the feeling of dread that his words had left her with.

XXXXX

Later that evening, Emma faced one more trial: dinner with her family, including her uncle, aunt, and cousins.
“I think today was quite the success,” Mother enthused as they awaited the amuse-bouche.
Cordelia scoffed. “Nobody got in the pool at your pool party. You call that a success?”
Aunt Alessandra called the youngest Frost’s name chidingly, but Uncle Clarence interjected, “She has a point, dear.”
“A garden party, then,” Adrienne chimed in.
Mother just laughed and waved it off. “A ‘garden party’ sounds so quaint! This isn’t Victorian England.”
“Yeah, like something out of those boring-ass Jane Austen books we read in high school,” retorted Cordelia, rolling her eyes. “’Oh, whatever should we Frost girls do if we don’t marry well? What will become of our storied lineage?’” she continued in a terrible upper-class-British accent.
Father glared. “If not for those considerations, Cordelia, you wouldn’t be sitting where you are today, the descendant of a noble lineage, with all the wealth and luxury you could ever desire.”
Cordelia glared back. “It’s still bullshit, if you ask me.”
“No one did, I note,” Father riposted.
“Cordelia! Show some manners and respect in your uncle’s home!” Aunt Alessandra snapped.
“Whatever. Stupid party anyway,” Cordelia muttered under her breath.
Mother set down her already-empty wineglass, and Emma could only guess how much she’d already had today. “Oh, Alessandra dear, it’s just sour grapes. Poor Cordelia’s jealous of all the attention lavished on my Emma.”
Cordelia snorted derisively. “Not even close.”
Here we go, Emma sighed internally, contemplating her own half-empty wineglass.
Aunt Alessandra smiled thinly. “Or perhaps upon my Adrienne, by far the most charming of the three. She had those boys falling over each other for her.”
Adrienne smiled with an air of haughty superiority.
Mother frowned at Emma. “She’s right, darling. Would it kill you to smile more? You always look so sour. You’ll lure more hummingbirds with nectar than with vinegar.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “I thought that aphorism was about luring flies.”
Mother made a face. “Why would anyone want to lure flies?”
“Precisely how I feel about luring boys,” Emma replied.
Adrienne leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “No, you set your sights much higher, didn’t you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you batting your eyes at that fellow all in black.”
“Who wears all that black in summer?” asked Aunt Alessandra, leveling a pointed glare at Cordelia, who curled her black lip in disdain.
“Who was that dashing gentleman, dear cousin?” Adrienne pressed.
“That was Sebastian Shaw, founder and CEO of E8 Shipping,” Father answered for Emma. “One of my most important business partners, handling all Frost Enterprises exports to Europe.”
Adrinne added a sharp smirk to her narrowed eyes. “My, my, cousin. None of the fellows our age made much of an impression?”
Emma set her jaw and shot her cousin a glare, taking care to avoid eye contact by looking just off-line. “Not remotely. I’m much harder to impress than –” here she paused deliberately and donned an acid smile – “some people.”
“Yet I note you’re here with us tonight, rather than out with this Sebastian Shaw, being wined and dined,” Adrienne shot back.
“As I said, I’m not easy,” Emma retorted, deliberately pausing again before adding, “unlike some people.”
To Emma’s surprise, Adrienne merely laughed. “That sounds to me like you simply didn’t know how to close the deal, dear cousin.”
Emma maintained her smile, unwilling to concede how deftly Adrienne had riposted.
“What’s wrong, dear cousin?” Adrienne continued, trying to twist the knife. “Too innocent?” She leaned forward and shifted her shoulders to accentuate the cleavage (probably surgically enhanced) displayed by the low-cut mauve dress she’d changed into for dinner. “Or simply lacking the feminine charm to hold a man’s attention?”
“Adrienne! Don’t be crass!” hissed Aunt Alessandra.
“No, I’d like to hear this,” Mother interjected. “Why aren’t you out with Mr. Shaw tonight, Emma darling?”
“He didn’t invite me out,” Emma answered, as if that should have been the obvious conclusion.
“Whyever not?” Mother pressed.
“Oh, do tell, dear cousin,” Adrienne piled on.
Emma turned towards Mother, her fingers digging into the wooden arms of her chair. “He did challenge me to a chess game, but I thought it would be rude to abandon a party we were hosting,” she bit out. “Mr. Shaw promised he’d call on me again.”
At that point, the help brought salads, setting one porcelain bowl full of greens and other plant matter in front of each member of the family. The advent of dinner ceased the conversation (interrogation), though Emma couldn’t miss the icy glares from Adrienne across the table.
What’s wrong, dear cousin? she taunted Adrienne silently. Jealous that I caught the eye of a powerful businessman, and all you managed was the attentions of the most mediocre collection of nincompoops I’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering?
Emma picked at her salad, reflecting on her encounter with Mr. Shaw. I’m not quite sure what to make of him. On the one hand, he was by far the most intriguing person I met today. Not that that’s a high bar to clear.
Would I say he’s handsome? Perhaps. Certainly “striking.”
On the other hand, something about him felt… off. I’d estimate him to be around the same age as Father, yet he was certainly flirting with me, despite the age difference.
Perhaps I seem mature for my age? Wise beyond my years?
Emma allowed herself a small smile. I can’t say I hate that idea.

XXXXX

After dinner, Adrienne turned to Father. “Uncle Winston, I’ve been wondering all day – where is dear cousin Christian? I’ve missed him terribly.”
“Everything you do is terrible,” Cordelia muttered, and Emma had to bite back an unladylike guffaw.
Father’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “Christian elected to remain at school for the weekend,” he answered in a cool tone.
“At UCLA,” Mother added, much more airily than usual. Emma hadn’t kept count of how much she’d had to drink, but the help typically brought her two glasses with each course. “Sun, surf, beautiful people everywhere.”
Aunt Alessandra frowned. “He’s not behind on his studies already, surely?”
Uncle Clarence harrumphed. “Distracted, no doubt.”
Father’s eyes hardened. “He didn’t say why.”
Emma’s eyes flicked to the empty chair beside her. He’s been gone for two years, and I haven’t heard from my brother, she wanted to say, not once. It has to be more than just being behind academically. Goodness knows that was always a fact of life for him, as sure as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
Has something happened to him? Does he hate us all? I deserve to know.
She wanted to say all that, but she knew better than to challenge Father in front of everyone. Especially Adrienne – I think she’s fishing for something, but I can’t tell what.
Right on cue, her cousin smiled, all sweetness on the surface; but Emma knew Adrienne well enough to know that’s where her cousin hid her sharpest, most poisonous knives. “His absence is keenly felt, especially by you, isn’t that right?”
Emma mirrored Adrienne’s smile as best she could, even if she knew she couldn’t quite match the disparity between kind veneer and cruel intentions. “Of course, Adrienne. What a silly question.”
“Have you heard from Christian? You two used to be so close.”
“No, I haven’t,” Emma answered. She’d have preferred chewing on nails than continue this conversation, but she didn’t want to let Adrienne provoke her. Even if Christian’s prolonged absence and silence does hurt me terribly.
“I was just thinking, that must be why you acted so aloof with all the boys, and then turned down Mr. Shaw – you’re upset that your dear brother hasn’t called or written in…” She paused to tap her chin theatrically. “Two years?”
A year and a half, she corrected, but she knew saying so would likely play into whatever twisted game Adrienne was playing. “That’s not it at all. It’s none of your business anyway.”
Adrienne deployed a fake pout, another of her favorite tricks. “That’s just mean, Emma. Why isn’t it my business to figure out why my dear cousin is upset?”
“I’m not upset,” she lied, hopefully not as transparently as it felt coming out of her mouth. Not in the way you mean; nor at anyone other than you. And Mother.
“I’m just as concerned about Christian’s welfare as you are,” Adrienne added.
“Nobody suggested otherwise, dumbass,” snarled Cordelia.
“Both of you, stop bickering!” Aunt Alessandra commanded.
“I’ve barely said anything!” Cordelia shouted back.
“For once,” snarked Adrienne.
“You are such a bitch!” Cordelia snapped at her sister.
Uncle Clarence stood. “My apologies, Winston. We’ll be going.” He glared at his daughters. “Now.”
Cordelia growled and stormed out. Her parents followed in short order. Adrienne paused long enough to say, doe-eyed, “I do hope nothing’s happened to poor Christian. I know he hasn’t always lived up to his potential, but I believe he can live up to the Frost name.”
Liar, Emma thought, glaring daggers at her cousin’s back as she exited the dining room.
Once they’d departed, Emma pushed her chair away from the table. “I don’t have any more appetite. May I be excused?”
“You ssssure you’re not ups-set?” Mother slurred.
Emma pursed her lips and turned towards Father, whose face remained impassive and unreadable. “If something had happened to Christian, you’d tell me, right?”
Father bowed his head once, approximating a nod. “Of course, dear daughter. If Adrienne thinks I would pass Frost Enterprises to her in Christian’s absence, she’s fooling herself.”
Adrienne’s no fool, Emma replied to herself. But what’s she playing at?
Unfortunately, unlike in chess, I can’t see the whole board or the position of each piece, with each square they threaten.
The question of Adrienne’s motives plagued Emma all night, through her bath and homework and an hour studying her chess manuals. By the time she fell asleep, she hadn’t gotten any closer to an answer.

________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: One of Sun Tzu's principles in The Art of War goes a little like, "If you want to attack in the east, make a lot of noise in the west." Similarly, in chess, deflection is the act of attacking an area of the board that requires your opponent to devote material to defending it, but in a way that weakens the area that you truly want to focus on. In both cases, of course, the difficulty lies in discerning your opponent's true motives: Do they really want to attack in the east; or is it merely a feint to draw your attention and resources away from the west? Which one is the true goal?
Such is the problem of playing defense, Sun Tzu writes - you must defend all areas equally, or leave an opening for the opponent to strike; whereas the aggressor can choose where to devote their resources, which the opponent must match, lest the defense be broken.
This, essentially, is why most chess players prefer playing White. Including Emma.
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A Diamond in the Rough