New York's Elite (Psylocke)

Manhattan, a place that never slept. On the 61st floor of the Empire State Building was a party, a party that only the most elite got invitations to. Celebrities, models, old money, you named it and they showed, each mingling and discussing just how much money they had and why they were better than the billionaire two feet away from them. Classy group of people, assuredly.

Through the lobby, the triplets were stopped by a clipboard, blocking the path to the elevator doors. Suspicious eyes fell on the blondes as they sashayed their way to the man, smiling as sweet as they could. "Names?"

"We're the Cuckoos. We're right at the top of the list." Phoebe spoke with such certainty, a regular person might not even question, though this man's entire job was centered on him asking questions.

"Right at the top of the list..." The man repeated back, as though the words had been planted in his mind. Without a second glance to the list of names, his hand swung out in a motion to allow the girls to pass by the security, watching ever so closely.

Stepping into the elevator, the girls watched as the numbers lit up, one by one as the metal box rose higher inside the building. When the doors opened, the music was the first to hit them. Provided by a man in a tuxedo as a grand piano, with violins and cellos surrounding him, classical notes wafted through the perfume-filled air. A cool air rose from the white marble, polished to a shining level, beckoning the girls to step forward.

Walking out of the elevator, the girls seemed to both fit in with the others, and stand out so much. Of course eyes instantly turned to them, people pushing and prodding to try and get their own view of the scene that captivated so many. Identical blonde triplets were not a sight one saw every day.

The white fabric of their gowns hung off their shoulders, dipping at the chest in a 'V'. The fabric fell all the way to the ground in light ripples, with a slit at the side of their leg, making it's way up to mid-thigh. Blonde hair was pulled upwards, an intricate up-do from which thin strands fell in curls to frame their face. From their ears hung diamond drop-earrings, with a matching necklace that sparkled like early-morning dew. Walking forth in their 'V' formation, Phoebe led the way as Celeste and Mindee flanked her sides.

Emma’s prodigal daughters were not the only telepaths to decide to attend the party in question, nor were they the only ones from the school or even the first to be there.

No, the privilege of arriving first rested with Miss Elizabeth Braddock, who currently stood among the gathered guests sipping at a glass of champagne nonchalantly. She had been there for almost fifteen minutes at this point, mingling with the others and acting as though she had never left these elevated social circles. To some degree, she had not ever left them. While it was true that she had long since stopped being invited to such events on her own merits, she and Warren had gone to more than one during their time together. Even if the requisite manners and grace were so deeply engrained in her by this point that it was nigh impossible for her to forget them, Betsy had certainly kept in practice well enough.

Not that she had relied upon impeccable manners, sure confidence or even her beauty to gain access to this particular party. No, Betsy too had taken full advantage of her telepathy though she had gone about it in a somewhat different fashion. Not for her the route of convincing the guards that her name was really on the list, no. She had felt somewhat more mischievous and her method had consisted of ‘persuading’ the men at the door that they were going to let her in anyway. It was a simpler and more direct path, workable only because of her powerful telepathic abilities. Taking a man, convincing him that his instructions did not apply to her, that was harder than simply editing what he thought he saw.

Of course, Betsy was perfectly capable of making him bow and then announce her to the assembled room as if she were visiting royalty. But while she had always been somewhat… less overly moralistic with her telepathy than others of the X-Men and more willing to use it to her own advantage, she still had her limits. Using it to get into a party was one thing. Rewriting a mind to that extent, that was something else entirely. And she had laughingly dismissed the idea from her mind. While she would hardly object to be treated like royalty, Betsy wanted it to be earned and not simply because she had decided to act like Emma Frost and wrap her audience’s minds around her little finger.

Besides, she hardly needed telepathy for that. It was simply less fuss when it came to getting in. And she had been quite intent on getting in. Betsy had no intention of spending all her time at the school and, from her Manhattan apartment, it had been easy to decide that it was time for a party. And in New York, there was always a party to attend while for a telepath no door was locked. Hence the purple-haired telepath’s brazen presence among the great and the good of New York, despite her lack of an invitation.

And she looked up curiously as her senses caught the familiar minds entering range. When the lift opened and the trio of blondes stepped out, Betsy let them have their moment of glory before she emerged from the crowd in front of them, an ironic little smirk twisting at her lips as she regarded the younger telepaths.

It was a study in contrasts, because where the Stepford girls wore white and diamonds, Betsy was resplendent in a black dress that bared the olive skin of her shoulders – though it too was slit boldly up one side, revealing a long expanse of perfectly toned leg as she walked.

”Hello girls,” As ever, her accent was precise and British, a pole apart from her Asian features. ”Fancy meeting you here.”

Throughout the room, thoughts rushed at the triplets with lightning speed, humans unknowingly projecting themselves. Who were the triplets that caught so many eyes? Were they models or daughters of someone? Were they available after the party? That was a popular thought among some of the men, and even a few women. In truth, no thought was new or original to the Cuckoos. They got this everywhere they went.

Three different perspectives, all triangulating and coming together to their shared link, the minds of the Cuckoos was nearly impossible for anyone else to understand. As a group, the girls walked past the wait-staff as they each plucked a glass of the amber-tinted champagne. Raising the rim of the glasses to their mouths, the girls hardly gave anyone in the room a glance of their time.

Betsy is coming. She would be here, wouldn't she? Shame Emma couldn't attend with us, that would have made for fun.

Thoughts shared between the sisters ran through their minds as they sipped the bubbly liquid in their glasses. When they lowered the glasses, Betsy had made her way through the crowd, confronting the teenage girls. "Hello Ms. Braddock." In unison, the three girls spoke to the woman that wasn't quite their mentor, but not their peer either. She was merely a physical body within the school, one the Cuckoos passed in the halls over and over, but never stopped to talk to.

"Where else do you find parties in the middle of the week? Surely you wouldn't expect us to attend some grungy fraternity party. Besides, look at the view."

One by one, the girls spoke, their sentences so close together that you would hardly guess it was three people. Sharing one mind, paragraphs and even sentences were often completed by one another. Stepping closer to the large windows that exposed the skyline, darkness had engulfed the horizon, leaving electric lights that glittered against the inky sky. From where they stood, one could see almost the whole of Manhattan.