I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Emma Frost. They belong to Joss Whedon and Marvel Comics respectively.
~~The White Queen’s Knight
“It’s after Labor Day, sweetheart.”
Emma Frost, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club, shot a glare at the ignorant peasant that had offered his unwanted fashion advice.
The man who had spoken was no fashion plate himself, that was for certain. Between the plaid shirt, the weather-beaten jeans, his generally scruffy appearance and a worn leather eye-patch, he look like any other hobo to her. He was probably out of work because of the apparent loss of his eye.
After a long moment’s pause, Emma decided to acknowledge him. “When I want your opinion on the latest fashions, I’ll be sure to consult you. Until then you can keep your mouth shut.
The filthy-looking man chuckled softly. “You would’t happen to be related to Cordelia Chase, would you?”
Frost merely offered a quizzical look at the seeming non-sequitur.
The man seemed to ignore her lack of reaction. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not here to offer you fashion tips, darling. I’m here to do a job. Heckling the fashion of my betters, as Cordy would put it, is just a fun way to pass the time.”
Emma smirked slightly. “This Cordy sounds like an intelligent woman. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could meet her?”
A dark look crossed the formerly happy man’s face. “I’m afraid you’re a few years too late for that, Miss. Cordy was laid to rest in ‘04.”
It was ironic how much that statement disappointed Emma. She’d never met this Cordelia, but she had a feeling she would have enjoyed such a meeting from the way this man talked about her. “A pity. So you’re here to do a job? Don’t let me hold you up.”
The man shrugged eloquently. “This is where I’m supposed to meet my contact.”
Emma repressed the uncouth urge to snort. “I’d suggest you relocate whatever criminal activity you’re engaged in to an alleyway, before the police pick you up.”
The one-eyed man didn’t even flinch. “I’m not here for criminal activity, sweet pea. I’m here to meet a contact. And given your rather unsubtle colour scheme, I rather suspect I’ve found her.”
For the first time since the conversation started, Emma locked eyes with the seeming drifter. There was a certain hardness in his eye that your average hobo lacked. “You are not the White King. I’ve met him and he is a good deal older than you are.”
The dark-haired man smirked and pulled out a cloth sack which he casually tossed over to her.
Emma caught the sack easily, pulling it open to reveal a chess piece. A white knight to be precise. She locked eyes with her apparent contact once more before raising the piece up in the palm of her hand. “This is you, I take it?”
The White Knight nodded benignly. “The White King sends his regards.”
A playful smile crossed Emma’s lips. “How is dear old Rupert doing? I haven’t seen him since I was just a toddler, myself.”
A smile spread across the face of her verbal sparring partner. “He’s fine, these days. With the former Black King dead, he’s currently in charge of the board.”
Emma nodded sagely. Quentin’s death was being quietly celebrated across the country by various other members of the Hellfire Club. The succession of the club was simple. At any one time only the Black King or the White King had control of the board. When the one in charge died or was otherwise removed from play, the other king would take over whilst a new black (or white) king was put into play.
The Hellfire Club was an ancient organisation with some rather intricate traditions. “Am I to assume that Rupert has assigned you as my bodyguard?” The knight she had been given had been the Queen’s Knight.
The man smirked. “I’m all yours, boss lady.”
Emma fought the urgent desire to pinch her nose in irritation. The Knight was only a year or two her junior. She couldn’t believe he could be so immature. Slowly she reached out with her gift and found… nothing. A blank slate. “How?”
The one-eyed man leaned back into the park bench he was sitting on and grinned irritatingly at her. “Sorry, hon, but nobody gets into my mind without permission anymore. Between primals, gods and gypsy vamps, my mind has developed some really funky shields in response. My mind is a no parking zone.”
Intriguing indeed. Perhaps this Knight was better then the dunce Quentin had sent her. “I am Emma Frost.”
The man grinned. “Xander Harris, at your service.”
White King: Rupert Giles
White Queen: Emma Frost
White Knight: Xander Harris
Just another little one-shot to tide you guys over.