Talking About the Weather (RP)

Typical. The woman who had completely ignored Emma and refused to utter a single word in her direction was the one running the show. Emma didn't regret how she conducted herself in their prior 'conversation'. Shelyna did treat her like she was beneath contempt, and Emma was too proud to prostrate herself before her, even if she was 'mighty and powerful'

The one thing she did regret was not paying closer attention to David’s stories. He had gone on and on these last few weeks about the areas hardest hit by the storm and which parts of the city were now flooded. While it hadn’t pointed her directly to the culprits, it could have offered valuable clues. Perhaps she would ask him about it later—unless, of course, the mystery was resolved that very evening.

Without any valuable input of her own to offer, she glanced around the room instead, scrutinizing everyone’s reactions. Who seemed defensive? Did their responses feel rehearsed or genuine? It was likely that some of them held more information than they were letting on. By simply observing, she might uncover a secret or two.

Jacob simply listens to the uproar that ensued following Shelyna's declaration, attempting to gauge the audience's reactions through their body language rather than their spoken words. It's evident that the one responsible for tampering with the weather will remain silent (if they are present in the room at all), leaving him puzzled as to why Shelyna has chosen to be so straightforward.

Emma didn’t come to the party to serve as Eliot’s eye candy. She didn’t want to be treated as little more than an accessory or a pretty face, nor was she content with merely observing the creatures of the night from a distance. She wanted to be a part of the world. To be taken seriously, rather than dismissed with the patronizing concern over the possibility of needing to scrape her off the floor.

The blonde’s eyes darted around the room, scanning the strange figures of the crowd. There had to be someone here who possessed knowledge about the calamitous weather. Maybe that person was deliberately keeping quiet, or maybe they were trying to redirect the blame onto someone else entirely. But there had to be someone. If she could but identify the right individual, she could leverage that information to her own advantage. The thought of turning their secrets into a form of power thrilled her more than the mystery itself. She didn’t need to solve the riddle of the tempest; she wanted to manipulate it.

Minutes slipped by as the people suggested one option after another, and Emma felt no closer to her goal. She wasn’t a behavioral psychologist or a detective; even if she were, the strange nuances of the eccentric guests made it nearly impossible to draw any meaningful conclusions. Just as she was about to resign herself to defeat, she caught sight of Lady Halifax standing nearby.

Hadn’t ‘Hali’ mentioned being more interested in what others had to say about the unfolding situation? She recalled Hali suggested finding something more entertaining to occupy their time too. She seemed oddly disinterested in the proceedings, maybe because she had some deeper knowledge of what was going on?

She couldn’t confront her directly—not yet. But maybe she could probe her later. Carefully.

Jacob nods at Crowley, but is otherwise silent. Emma is still there, and he doesn't want to give himself away. And suddenly this soiree has become a very dangerous place for two demons like them. Jacob has seen this a thousand times before. If these were ordinary people instead of supernatural beings, they'd be already gathering pitchforks and torches.

Of course, Crowley is not worried, because he trusts his disguise. And probably few people know Jacob's true nature now, so he should be relatively safe if he keeps a low profile. Which would mean forgetting about Crowley's treasure hunt. Yes, that would be the wisest thing to do. Then why does Jacob feel the urge to follow his adversary on this silly adventure?

Emma heard countless names in her profession, so many that she struggled to keep track of them all. She vaguely recalled Thompson pitching writing a piece on some 'Lady Halifax', as a fashion icon and an 'aristocratic socialite'. Her boss had a brash suggestion about ambushing her and trying to interview her while she was staying at the Ritz. And she said 'no', because she still had a shred of self-respect.

She wasn’t a paparazzi, or celebrity sleuth who had nothing better to do than write about the lives and scandals of public figures. There wasn’t really a story there. It’s not like writing about home décor, relationships or the newest nightclubs, was that much more glamorous, but at least it wasn’t tabloid gossip.

But that was before Emma knew Halifax was connected somehow to the supernatural world. Maybe getting to know her better wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At the very least, she would make Thompson happy.

Smiling faintly at Halifax in return, she went back to listening to the ongoing conversation. Someone else might still volunteer some interesting tidbit of information, and she didn’t want to miss it.

"Wait... Isn't that Benji?", Jacob raises an eyebrow, surprised that his friend is taking the floor.