This Man's Home Is A Castle [OPEN]

[imperious_lex]

When he first saw it weeks ago, shortly after the crew had finally caught up him, he thought for certain that he was hallucinating. But there it was, nestled among several other castles. The Luthor Mansion, in all it's glory.

Lex was never a superstitious man, but even he believed that there was more to heaven and earth than what could be proven on paper. The appearance of his home, a reward no other crew member had received (to his knowledge), certainly made him think. He wondered if this was some sort of sign that his decisions so far had indeed been right, or that he was on the right path. Perhaps it was put there as a distraction of sorts, as well, as there were many unpleasant memories that haunted those walls. For the time being, he decided to take it as a reward, however relocating there initially proved to be problematic.

The Mansion wasn't in disarray, but it was clear that no one had walked its halls in quite some time. Not only that, but the last people who had clearly had little regard for the property. There was a layer of dirt and dust everywhere, expensive and priceless paintings had been torn off the walls and trashed, priceless artifacts were just broken pieces of clay or stone, pieces of antique furniture had been smashed, and every vault was empty. Not a single green meteor rock to be found. He counted himself lucky that his pool table, piano, and a handful of family photos managed to survive.

Rather than be dejected, Lex looked at it as project to occupy his time. Since he only worked in Neuropathy whenever he felt like it, and manned the bar in the lounge at his discretion, he did have plenty of time to devote to this project. Which was good, because cleaning up and fixing up a 40 room mansion-- replete with its own library (with real books), well supplied medieval armory and modern armory, pool, wine cellar, gym, and grand ballroom-- took a lot of work.

Work which still hadn't been completed, but he had progressed far enough to not only make it livable, but also presentable. The master bedroom, Lex's office, and most of the common areas had been cleaned up. All the rest was blocked off for the moment, but were in locations that were fairly out of the way.

So, he put out a message on the omnicomms, and invited a few people to check the place out. The ones who weren't already spying on him, at any rate. He laid out a few drinks, and a sampling of some of the fresh fruit and food he picked up while during their last mission to earth. He didn't expect many guests, after all, he had never been the most well liked person, even back when he was a relatively kindhearted kid. Most parties he hosted as an adult, he was usually surrounded by obsequious employees desperate to move up the food chain, business partners who wanted a more favorable deal, business rivals who were trying to find out something about the competition, charity representatives who wanted money, and sycophants who wanted the notoriety of being in the same room as Lex Luthor and access to the connections that alone can bring. Friends were simply a foreign concept, if he ever truly had any to begin with, and he certainly hadn't gone out of his way to make any on the ship. He was curious as to what category his guests, if he had any, would fit in.

((ooc: This is something of a party style post, so feel free to talk to Lex, Lois, or talk to each other while your character looks around.))

Comments

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

Come for the espionage, stay for the booze? Motoko had been nursing her martini for far too long— it had gotten cold. Not that she cared, she wasn't capable of tasting it. Oh, her tongue could sense the chemical properties, spit out an analysis of sugar content and flavinoid percentages. She could assign a specific dose of endorphins to each ingredient and experience it as tasting 'good' or 'bad'. It had a low alcohol content, it would take more than a handful of them to more than buzz a normal human. For a brain in a jar...

Well, she wasn't actually pickled per sé, but the micromachines that scrubbed alcohol out of her short-loop bloodstream were working overtime.

Maybe she'd switch to harder drinks, just to mess with them. Yes, that sounded fun. She swished past the bar and exchanged the faintly pink, long-stemmed affair for a deeper, less elegant, high-proof whiskey. The dress was what made it all work, a slim, swishing white affair, like something a bond villainess might wear to a state dinner, slit up the side to a dangerous height. Opera gloves and high heels— bless the woman who'd designed the control program to handle those, and the one who'd invented heels strong enough to bear cyborg weights. It was enough to make you wonder where she'd holstered the gun.

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

Sheeana was instantly reminded of historical holos of the Lady Fenring as she slid in on the stool next to hers. She wore a dark green and black wrap that complimented her much slighter figure, all the better to piss off Alia by wearing her brother's colors.

"It's difficult isn't it...turning them off." She referred to the voluntary mechanisms they had to control the intake of intoxicants and the accompanying self consciousness.

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

"Not especially," She replied, choosing with spite to take Sheeana's words literally. The movement of her lips around the words was smooth and she smiled with perfect humanity— Motoko was good and drunk and she'd only had a sip. Pleased, she had another indicating her drink to Sheeana, "Ninety-eight percent ethanol. I'm told it burns."

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

"Does it?" Sheeana held her shot glass out. Somewhere she knew getting into a bit of bodily one upmanship with a cyborg was a bad idea but damned if she was going to slink away meekly, BG precept or no.

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

For an eternal moment it was in Motoko to withold her drink. Mine! somewhere underneath all her inhibitions lay the emotional range of a seven year old child. Three milliseconds later she smoothly extended the arm and delicately poured a sample into Sheeana's glass. There was no wobble in her hand.

"You tell me," she offered mildly, "I wouldn't know, personally."

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

Sheeana smoothly downed what tasted like groundcar fuel. Internal alarms screamed at her.

"I suppose I do feel a tickling sensation." She forced her voicebox to respond.

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

"Is that so?" Cruel little smile, as she downs the rest of it, a near-full glass of the fiery stuff, in a few evidently pleasurable swallows. Ah, the glories of technology, "Refill?"

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

"Well, I wouldn't want to impose..." Gods below, noooooo!

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

"On Luthor? He can afford it," finding an appropriate surface for her empty glass to sit on wasn't hard, but she liked it as a prop, "No one's forcing you."

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

"On Luthor, eh..." Well that changed things. She refilled and downed another shot in a smooth motion. She let loose with the universal hiss of one who had just downed strong drink. "Do you know the concept of hydraulic despotism?"

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

"A system of government which maintains power through exclusive control over access to water," She replied with careful familiarity, "Systems of control based in scarcity are pretty par for the course, in most cases."

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

"I don't think Lex Luthor is uneducated in these things either." She said, swirling the last little bit of booze/hospital grade disinfectant in her glass for emphasis.

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

"He's a politician," As if that explained everything about Lex's actions to date, "What can we do? It's human nature to seek some measure dominance and control."