Participants:
| Scene Title | Door to Door |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A few feet away from where Daphne stole from her family, Daphne also keeps Wendy from being run over and provide door to door service with a smile. |
| Date | January 16, 2009 |
"You know I charge more for this sort of turnaround," a certain white-blonde thief says into her cell phone. "Business hours? I'm good and all, but I still try to keep a low profile. You're sure you need this by five o'clock? If I do it after hours, it's easier. Not to mention cheaper, pal."
He's a good contact, someone who has given her quite a bit of work in the past, and pays well and on time, but still. Ever since the bomb, it's easier for people to figure out that the rush of wind and here-today, gone-tomorrow blur is a speedster. She's unregistered and it's unlikely they'd trace a theft back to her, but still. There are people in the criminal crowds she circulates in that might drop a dime on her for the reward that a place like Hunter Communications might pay.
"I'm sure. Boss is heading back to England on a 6:25 plane, and that R and D file better be on it with him. I know your rates, and I wouldn't be asking if it weren't necessary" the voice on the other side of the phone insists.
Well, this is a new challenge. Daphne will need a little time once in the filing cabinets of the R and D office, to find the proper folder — and a dash in, dash out approach won't cut it in that case. The speedster heads home for a quick (really, really quick) change of clothes, dawning her typical "business woman" gear — a feminine pinstriped suit, black boots beneath, a hat to hide her less-than-professional hair, and of course a coat because it's fucking cold out. And then it's to the Manhattan branch of Hunter Communications.
Wendy may be an artist, nere-do-well child, working in a bookstore member of the Hunter Family, but that doesn't make her obligations to her family, it's business and all that any less important. She's sure as hell not dressed like an employee of this building, though she toned down a few things for the sake of her parents. No ripped tights and a more upscale blouse that wasn't purposefully and strategically ripped by a designers hand. Large leather bag, warm lined faux fur coat and boots, she's jsut someone who might be mistaken for going into the wrong building if you didn't know any better or didn't see the badge that hung around her neck.
She still gets greeted, run through the security and towards the elevator to wait to get up to the umpteenth floor. It's meeting day and after the success with Kendall, hey, it's turning out to be a pretty good day.
The speedster doesn't enter the building just yet. In fact, she's across the street, leaning against a trash can in front of a Starbucks. She checks her watch, and then lifts the phone to her ear. It's a throwaway to-go phone — bought with cash so that there is no connection to her name, her address, or Daphne in general. Dialing the front desk, she tells the chipper sounding receptionist, "There is a bomb in the building. Evacuate now. Have the Hunters or whoever's in charge there today to call this number in ten minutes from the payphone in front of the bodega on the corner, or I'm blowing the building." She lists a number — not one to her own cell, however. Her voice is lower than normal, though she doesn't try to sound like a man. Just enough to disguise the voice. The phone goes back into the pocket and she waits for the building to evacuate, hoping no one gets stampeded in the process. She doesn't want anyone to get hurt, but she needs the diversion to get to R and D and find the right file.
It's even more amusing to see what the turn around time is for this sort of deal. Security gets the call, a glance around and the number taken down. Cops called, Fire department notified, 911 dialed. Daphnes request is fulfilled since Wendy's within visual distance of the desk when the call comes in and is called over. Sure she's not her father but she's a Hunter and one of them. Klaxon's go off in the building and little by little people start to trickle out of the building and gather across the street as per the emergency evacuation standards in place. Wendy remains inside with the security personelle though.
Time to go. Daphne's a blur of black and white and red as she speeds across the street, and around the back, away from the front desk. Some men are evacuating from a back door, so she slips through there, finding herself in a corridor. Stairs are faster than elevators, at least for her, and up she goes, glancing at a directory to find the R and D floor.
Seventh floor. That's the one she's looking for. All sorts of further security procedures that one has to go through but there's people coming out, securing things that they can reasonably secure. They head for the stairs and elevators as well, hightailing it as fast as they can out of the building. This could be a very real thing. Lights flash, emergency lights on even in the afternoon hours though dusk will settle sooon thanks to it being winter.
Wendy downstairs is waiting for her parents and brothers to come down, oblivious to the inevitable drama upstairs as one suited individual holds a door open for another woman to come out, papers,f olders and all that left on desks. "Hurry up Mary, fuck, all we know could be another midtown thing or some kook looking for attention" Wide open for daphne to head on in.
The chaos helps mask her rushing — everyone else is running like a herd of elephants, they don't notice the rush of air heading in the opposite direction. She heads into the offices in question, skimming the files on desks, picking up anything that looks like it might be what she needs, before she heads to the file cabinet. There, her hands blur as she sorts through papers and files, looking for the particular project her client seeks. Halfway through the second drawer, she finds it. "Bingo!" she murmurs to herself, stowing it and the other couple of files into her courier bag. Time to blow this taco stand.
The rush of air perhaps mistaken for an A/C vents last gasp as it's shut down, or who knows what. Speedster certainly not. But people still head out, it's a big building and will take time to empty out in light of the stairs. Outside cops start to filter in, black and white vehicles with lights flashing, various procedures being put into place.
Higher up people than Wendy filter down to the Lobby and instead of hanging around, Wendy heads out, out past the barricades and the people who are gathering both employee and bystander to stare at the building in wonder. Off to safety at the insistence of her family. Head back home, somewhere other than here, obviously the meeting is canceled as they deal with what could very well be a bomb. You never know this day in age.
So she heads away, a promise extracted from her family as they too head off to the secure area's not in the building to start co-ordinating things. To call the number as Wendy ducks down an alley intent on calling a taxi.
The files in her courier bag, Daphne glances out the window. The cops got here fast as it's only been a couple of minutes. She heads down as many floors as she dares before she can hear some in the stairwell below her. She could zoom past them, but who knows what they might be equipped with? She veers out of the stairwell to the third floor meeting room, out the window to a fire escape. A quick kick of her boot sends the ladder down with an unfortunate clatter — thankfully there's no cops on this side of the building, focusing on the doors. Down the ladder she moves, feet and hands swift, if not quite as fast as she is when she's running, and then it's a short drop down to the ground and off to the races.
The speed is thanks to the location of the building. PP1 isn't that far away and when there's a bomb threat, it's taken seriously. Woe be to the person who called it in if they ever find them. Highly unlikely.
Out into the alley goes Daphne, down fire escapes, with no interruption, no stopping, cops only just arriving and cordoning off the area means they haven't made it to that side of the building yet. SHe's free and clear to take off, with only the birds so far, right here, to witness her exit from the building and the emergency doors.
The streak of color and wind tears down the alley, planning to make it far far away, her immoral internal compass aiming at La Guardia to make her delivery and pick up the promised $50k. Meanwhile, the phone ticks closer to the time to call the number given. Those outside huddle together for warmth, drawing a crowd at the front of the building.
Two blocks over, Wendy's easing out of the alley and stepping onto the street, raising a hand to flag down a taxi when something hits her radius behind her. Even as she turns though, to look and see what's behind her and moving fast. It's this thing that's got her attention and combined with the distraction of a taxi that's zooming by, jabbering on a cellphone that makes people gasp, or at least one little old lady as she see's the imminent collision of human and vehicle.
Just about to cut through the traffic like a game of Frogger set to high speed, Daphne sees the impending accident. For a split second she continues to the other side of the street, where she can dart in and out of alleys and be well out of the area of scrutiny, but she can't do it. The blur changes direction, flipping a bitch in the middle of the street, to rush back. Her hand whips out to grab Wendy's, and soon the near-car-crash victim is a blur too, until they get to the sidewalk and safety. There Daphne has to slow — she reveals herself for a split second, the image burning on the retinas of watchers before she gives a shake of her head. Once more a blur, she speeds toward the cab, still in motion. The man glances back at the blur, mouth hanging open, before a dent appears in the passenger door.
Most people will not be sure they saw the girl, but for Wendy, the face would be a familiar one, one she met just days before.
The blur comes speeding back, grabbing Wendy again, a muttered, "Come on," in expasperation before she's pulled into another speed trip, down several blocks to an area that's much less busy. Daphne stops there. "Sorry. I'm not kidnapping you! I just … don't want people to know who saved you, because then they'd know I was an Evo, you know? I'm not Registered, and that would be bad." To put it lightly. The speedster has no idea she's talking to someone she just stole from, of course!
Holy shit, god on a pogo stiiiiick. That sensation is past her then right beside her again, all before Wendy can really make heads or tails of it all. QUickly followed by the world going at a far different pace than she's used to, than she'll ever be used to. She has a moment, two, on the sidewalk where she wasn't before and her stomach flip-flopping from the change in geography thanks to daphne and no time at all to get used to it before she's off again. Daphne's hand around her arms and the wind on face sensation that comes physicially, instead of just in that sixth sense of her. "Fuuuuuck" She mutters when they're still again, a little disheveled from the trip and reeling. Kidnapping? Not kidnapping. Wendy looks down at Daphne with a confused look.
"Speedy gonzales" And then she's doubling over to throw up.
"Well, that doesn't usually happen," Daphne says with a wrinkled nose. "I mean, most people don't like it, they're not used to looking in high speed, but … throwing up, that's a first." She moves her shoes out of the way. "Yeah. So you knew what I do, the other day. But I don't want it to be on the 7 o'clock news, right? I'm sorry. I'll pay for your cab to wherever you were going!"
Meanwhile, the phone number to the imaginary bomber is made, a few blocks away. The phone rings. And then a voice message answers in a cheerful monotone, "At the tone the time will be 4:45. BEEP."
Wendy looks up, one hand on her knee, the other using her sleeve to wipe at her mouth and now look up instead of down at the tiny woman. "Could feel you before you went in the store. Fuck, that must have been you on the street. I look back and you were already past me. How fucking fast can you go, what did you do back there? Take me for a joy ride?" She doesn't make a comment about the seven o'clock news. She doens't know that technically, Daphne's actions with the theft will make tomorrow's news.
"I don't know. Never had a radar test," Daphne quips. "And if you threw up from two blocks, I don't think you would find a joy ride very … well, joyful, would you?" The speedster looks amused. "Are you okay, though? I know it's disconcerting and all, but it's better than having your brains splattered on the hood of a cab, right? Forgive me?" She offers her hand willingly this time to the woman.
"Oh" That's why. "Right. I guess.. I guess I owe you a thanks then" Wendy takes the hand, shaking it and yes, Speedy. "Wendy Hunter. I guess, I owe you a great deal then, for uhh, for kepeing my brains from being splattered" There's a furrowing of her brow and a node. "Yeah, i'll be fine. Like you said, most folks who you take for a ride don't have their eyes open when you do"
The speedster glances at her watch. "All right. I have an appointment in a bit, but I can bring you wherever you were going to go. And yeah, I guess you hadn't noticed, but the cab was bearing down on you and not paying attention. Nothing to thank I guess, if I was the one causing the problem by being there distracting you." She frowns at that. She doesn't like this woman's ability at all. "Where to?"
"Must be a pressing appointment if you go running at that speed to get there. DOn't let me keep you. I need to catch my wind" Wendy straightens, glancing around the street with squinty eyes. She's more than a few blocks away, needs to get all the way across town. "I'll call a service or head back to uhhh my parents building. Thanks for… for saving my life. Listen if there's anything, you know, that I can do.. just… drop by the bookstore? I owe you, big time" Wendy looks like she seriously means it as she glances at the platinum blonde woman.
"I have time, if it's just around town," Daphne says with a backwards shrug, head twitching sideways to meet her shoulder rather than the other way around. "Thanks. I don't know what I could ask… but I'll keep it in mind." Because Daphne could always use more tricks up her sleeve. "And, I use that kind of speed more often than not, because… well, because I can." She grins at that, and offers her hand. "Where to?"
"Uhh, don't suppose that you could take me to uhh" She rattles off her address way on the other side of town. It'll be interesting enough if the woman can do it. "No biggie I can still get a taxi. the safe way and all that"
"Safe! What, are you new or something? Taxis are not safe. Did you not see the one that about killed you?" Daphne says with a laugh. Of course the woman didn't see it! That's why Daphne had to rescue her. "No problem. Get you there in… three minutes. Hold on to your panties." She grabs Wendy's hand, glances around to make sure no one is watching, and bursts into sudden, dizzying, impossibly fast speed. The world goes whooshing by, a blur of the black of asphalt, the white of concrete and snow, the yellow of cabs, and the gray of buildings, until a few moments later, she slows to a stop in front of the address Wendy requested. "Door to door service. Or something."
She was kidnapped in one too, Daphne might have a point and Wendy has more warning this time around as she closes her eyes, unsure of how exactly this is gonna work. She's never been carted along behind a speedster before like a sack of potatoes. Touched a few, yeah, but never went along for a ride.
So there comes the speed, the quickness that sends her hair flying out behind her and the lurch in her stomach though with eyes closed it's a lot easier. Doesn't make the trip any the less interesting when they stop and they're on her front stoop in front of an expensive residential building.
"Woow" That's it plain and simple. "Fuck me, door to door service indeed. What do I call you instead of speedy?" Wendy's checking to make sure all body parts are where theys hould be"
"Gonzalez," quips Daphne, with a wink, and then becomes a blur of black, white, and red once more, intent on making it to La Guardia to cash in the files in her courier bag for some fat stacks of cash.