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[h3][color=1E90FF] ☢ [/color] V A L E R I A  R I C H A R D S [color=1E90FF] ☢ [/color] [/h3]
[h3] Four Yancy Street [/h3]
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"Miss Richards, you have now received 52 unanswered requests for comment."

It was not the first of such warnings that had chimed through to her this morning, what little remained of the morning, the pleasant tones of F.R.I.D.A.Y beginning to sound a little more earnest. She'd been aware of a few more mundane prompts to wake as well, the typical polite-but-judgemental mutterings of her father's staff not enough to rouse her, at least in so far as they believed. While she outwardly dozed well into the later evening, no doubt nursing a hangover on top of her predisposition to not waking early, the young woman was far from static. Even before she had convinced Victor to begin his secretive magical tutoring of her, she would use this time to be lost in her own thoughts, the challenges of reality laid bare to her as lying still allowed her to focus entirely on the power of thought. Now? Now she could move reality from the confines of her bed, interacting with the magi-science systems which enabled her to weave into the web of communications that crossed the globe. Reed and Victor would never find the electronic trace of the Underground, for it existed only when she thought it to be. The implementation of her neuro-network have been the only real reason to reveal her true identity to her allies in Wakanda. It had taken considerable effort to convince T'chala and Ororo that their hidden ally among the United Empire was the daughter of Reed Richards, least of all by inference that meant she had barely been seven years old when the Railroad was first implemented. In the end, she didn't convince them, she convinced Shuri and that had been the end of the discussion.

With a languid yawn, and equally feline stretch, Valeria began to rise from her bed, cascading blonde hair catching the cool New York Sun streaming through the windows between hastily shut blinds like spun gold. Four Yancy Street offered plenty of opportunity to escape into its impossibly large interior, the reality bending capacity of the townhouse giving it more functional space than even the current Baxter Building. The room she had claimed as her own whenever she remained in the city proper was part of the original structure, however, the exposed red brick of the walls interrupted only by the various decorations she had selected for it and the trappings of furniture. With a second yawn and groan that wasn’t entirely play-acting, Valeria pulled herself from the bed, covers falling away from her as her bare feet met the softness of carpet.

“Any of them….important?” The blonde called out, seemingly to the room itself, her words interrupted only by another stretch, pushing herself up onto her tip toes and arching her back a little, rewarded by a satisfying click before she padded her way over to her dressing table, just as one of the staff finally picked up the courage to renter and see if Miss Richards had finally roused herself. They were almost pleasantly surprised to find the young woman up and about, if still in the pristinely white baggy top and pink pajama shorts she had slept in.

“Morning Elise.” Valeria smiled with full lips, her cheeks slightly dimpling in the manner which had gone from adorably cute to stunningly disarming over the course of her life. It still half worked on the staff, despite their general  belief she was more than a little on the pampered side of a New England Princess. She didn’t have to be a savant to know that.

“Morning Miss, would you care for breakfast?” Elise was a kind soul, a little older than Valeria and had been a part of the Richards staff ever since she was old enough to have a job, a heritage, if Valeria recalled correctly, and she always did. Her father didn’t do a particularly good job of trying to hide that they were the new royalty of a burgeoning empire with a staff of servants that now included second, and sometimes even third, generations of workers. Still, at least they were paid well and had access to good wifi, she didn’t suppose there were many historical examples outside of Wakanda which could boast that.

“Please, I’m sure Antony has something nice is mind.” That was Antony the house chef, not Tony Stark, billionaire genius. Only one of those had anything useful to contribute to her morning. “I’ll take it in the pantry, give me thirty minutes, I’ll have a chai latte please.” She didn’t check her stride or smile as she flumped down into the chair. The nod of the head Elise gave her stopped just short of what could possibly be considered a bow or curtsey, but it was enough that a flicker of unease passed through the seated woman.

[I]What are we becoming?[/I]

Such concerns were the thoughts of her greater mind however, and not the outward presentation she showed even those who had known her for as long as some of the staff had, and all Elise earned from her was another winning smile, that for all its warmth still dismissed her. With a huff that blew a golden curl from out of her eyes, Valeria looked to her mirror. “Carry on F.R.I.D.A.Y.” She hadn’t been quite truthful in her scathing narrative earlier, Stark had given her something useful, but as was the trend of the leadership of the United Empire, they had not done so willingly. When she had asked to have Yancy Street fitted for her purposes, Stark’s VI assistant had been installed alongside the already substantial technological wonders found within the dimension-folding home. She couldn’t fault the conveniences this borught, even if she was entirely sure the intention was for the VI to monitor her. To Stark’s credit, it had taken her a few weeks to unbind and reshackle the VI, and now she was the one with the spy in the code, To keep up appearances F.R.I.D.A.Y. still performed her assigned roles, all the more reason her permanent act was all the more important to keep up.

“Most unanswered updates pertain to ususal calls to comment on trival matters, I have instructed and redistributed these to the relevant press teams. You have three requests to meet today from your father and two from unrecorded numbers. I can, of course, provide identification for these if required.”

“That’s fine, Friday.” Valeria began to brush through her hair as she spoke, beginning to get the blonde mane under control. “How’s the footage from last night doing?” As She spoke, portions of the mirror not occupied by her reflection shifted, forming a multitude of windows from which various forms of media played, each running simultaeneously, the individual watcher able to take them in at once. Most consisted of broadcast footage but there were the typical personal media recordings thrown in. The world might have experienced a devestating cosmic genocide and a third world war, but some things were eternal, sports rivalries were among them. An NFC Championship between the Giants and the Cowboys had been predictably wild and well watched. It had been decided it would benefit matters if Valeria could be the one present to present the trophy to the winning captains, after a brief speech both praising the winners and upholding the tenents of the United Empire. Not that she would expect otherwise, but every broadcast seemed to be praising both her stunning appearance, business like as it had been, and both the emotional and, at times, jovially entertaining speech she had given. It had helped that the Giants had won, that had certainly helped her play to the New York crowd and her official residence in the city.

“I have currently blocked the following imagery from circulating.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice spoke, a hint of taunting reproval in the VI’s voice as several grainier images and recordings appeared on screen. Following her official engagement, Valeria had attended the winning team’s after party, a night that would no doubt live in popculture infamy once more details had reached the wider public. Valeria had been there, in the transition managing to acquire herself a New York Giants cheerleader outfit which was clearly rather too small for her curvaceous form in what most would consider the right places. The picture  F.R.I.D.A.Y had decided to place almost centre screen, no doubt a continuation of her playful teasing, was of Valeria, bottle of Dom Perignon in one hand, and her body titled towards and lips locked with an exceedinly tall, and exceedingly famous, man. “Might I remind you, Miss Richards, that Robert Brady II is currently engaged.” 

Valeria didn’t engage with the teasing as she often did, flare ups of her neuro-server informing her of the building crisis of the day even as the United Empire’s systems became aware themselves of the violence within New York. It didn’t halt her response for a moment, but it simply brought out the sharp mind of purpose. “Keep it out of the press, but let father, and anyone else digging, find it.” She didn’t think Reed had enough familiaral instinct left to feel anything but an inkling of possessive anger at the sight, but he’d no doub be disappointed in how flippantly she treated her privledge and that was exactly the state of affairs she intended to keep for as long as possible. Even as she instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y. her hand waved over the interactive display of the mirror, arranging a second illicit meeting with the strapping example of American sporting royalty. That would only add to the headache. “I presume Dad just wanted to scold me for missing morning appointments, any requests to head to Baxter or the Ultimates?” She called out to the VI as she rose from the chair, making her way into the marble ensuite bathroom attached to her bedroom. That ‘hadn’t’ been a feature the Thing had originally installed, no doubt the touch of her mother or uncle when they’d been able to play with the spacial anomalies Reed had unlocked.

“None, the situation is in flux, they will wish to be sure of the conclusion before putting out a statement.” She could already script the speech they would give her, something along the lines of unity and security for the betterment of all. As the golden darling of the Empire they never gave her the statements of retribution and force. That was more ‘Doom.’

“Good, I’ve got other matters to attend to. The words were the last thing to leave her lips before the heat of water embraced her, her clothes tossed aside and hair held protected by the most flippant of spellwork, the blast from the showerhead washing the funk of the night before from her tanned skin. Even as she was aware of enjoying the relaxing moment elements of her mind were elsewhere. Through her neural link with F.R.I.D.A.Y. she could fully appreciate the string of alerts currently passing through United Empire channels. The deals in New York were going about as planned, even if the smuggled arms were reclaimed, the amoung of collateral Venom and her father’s thugs were willing to tolerate to succeed contributrd in its own way to the turning of New York against the Empire. It was a war they could win by losing the battle, or take both all the same. This was not what concerned her, the streets of New York were progressing in a manner which needed no direct intervention,

“Intruder in power armour, size-morphing, heading towards Section 2-B in Warehouse 4-” The voice chimed as if direclty in her ear, both the message and the nature of the voice concerning. The specific warehouse was one she had earmarked for some time  for later use in the Underground’s struggle, and unknowns were not something she could accept. She’d also been directly involved, throrugh her various means, in the selection of staff at the facility after their recent change up, and that was not a voice she recognised. With a sigh, she stepped from the shower, looking forlornly to the comfortable robe she had planned to slip into to await her summons to aid her father, and instead paced from the room, drying herself with a drawn pattern in the air, hastily pulling on a pair of grey sweats from her wardrobe and a deep blue hoodie, her sneakers summoned to her with another wave of her hand. Once she had drawn close to being considered changed, her form flicked, phasing momentarily out of reality to arrive as if she had just been rushing at the pantry, her lovingly prepared breakfast prepared for her.

“Uh….Can I take this to go?” She asked with a slightly sheepish version of her winning smile, large eyes set on the form of Antony, daring him to refuse her with the full force of her charm.

If she was going to steal hyper advanced technology before it could be stolen in turn, she was hardly going to do it on an empty stomach.