multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Irene Adler and Charles Xavier
What: Two cheats play a guessing game.
Where: Queequeg's, Mog Hill.
When: Misdi evening.
Warnings: TBA. Irene's existence, maybe?

Irene Adler loves to play games. It's a fact of her existence. Without games, things get boring and people get lax; she likes to keep herself sharp at all times.

Of course, that doesn't mean she can't cheat. Not that she views searching out information on the mystery man (not such a mystery anymore) she's promised to meet as cheating, because that would imply there are actually any rules. He seemed confident, anyway, which to Irene suggests that he knows something she doesn't. In a way, looking him up is only leveling the playing field.

His name is Charles Xavier and he has been known to wear a fetching (read: eyebrow-raising) Kevlar get-up. He spends a lot of time chatting to one particular friend, can give first aid advice and is apparently active in the xenian community- curious, because he looks human. (This isn't something she's ever had to take into account before, she has to admit). Perhaps it's to do with his job and his interests, or perhaps he's one of their number. Right now, it's impossible to tell. She knows that he's clever and wants to challenge her, and that she's taken a shine to him. It's enough.

She arrives at Queequeg's reasonably early, all in black- black pencil dress with capped sleeves, black coat that conceals all but an inch of the dress in question, spiky black heels, sheer black seamed stockings (it is cold outside), black leather gloves- she looks, as ever, predatory. Her make up is precise and dramatic and her hair is twisted into an elegant updo, and she's apparently checking her lipstick in a compact- while actually using it to search the faces for the one that she wants without anybody wondering what she's staring out. Without, in short, giving herself away.

It's packed enough to slow her down; she doesn't see him just yet. Still, that's fine. She's confident. Heaven knows what he's got up his sleeve- but it's not enough to beat the fact that she has, essentially, already tied him to his face. Already won, really.

In her opinion, at least.

Threaded | Flat

Irene loves games; Charles likes anything (and anyone) that challenges him. That means he's willing to take a gamble on an anonymous phone call in a strange city, so long as it promises someone interesting and intellectual on the other side.

Of course, the actual finding isn't a challenge for him. Walking up to Queequeg's, he already has two fingers pressed to his temple in search for a particular mind: English woman, intelligent, preoccupied with looking out for someone. What he wasn't expecting was to find a mind, previously unknown, with knowledge of his name and actions already sitting at a table. Sneaky. In an admirable way (and it's not as though he can chide anyone for cheating in this instance). It's enough to make him stop in his tracks, right as he crosses the threshold.

But, for the sake of appearances, he takes a moment or so to make it look as though he's scanning the cafe. Hopefully, at the exact time when Irene spots Charles in her compact mirror (looking smart in pressed trousers, light blue shirt, charcoal sweater and a dark navy peacoat), he'll be looking right back at her.