Participants:
| Scene Title | Enmity Between Thee and the Woman |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | An unfortunately timed text message ends in blood being spilled within the walls of the Thornton Estate. |
| Date | September 11, 2009 |
The Thornton Estate
Thirty minutes to shower, shave and swap out fatigues damp with stale sweat for a three piece suit and aftershave. Something like an hour to drive — twenty more minutes to park and catch a cab the rest of the way. It's nearly two hours later on the dot when Danko tracks his way out onto the balcony at Phoebe's back, moonlight playing blue-white off bristled burr and hollow skull to touch brilliant at the ridge of his brow and the shell of one ear. Shadow cloaks the rest, lending him an unintentionally sinister air when he draws up at her side with his hands in his pockets and his dress shoes freshly shined. "Nice night."
From the balcony, the view of the evening skyline is breath taking. Not to mention the tiny white lights twinkling amidst the trees of the Widow Thornton's garden. The view, alone, makes it more then abundantly clear why this location is Phoebe's favorite on the entirety of the estate. Phoebe, herself, is seated on a chair at a delicate white table, a small stack of pamphlets resting alongside a half filled glass of red wine. And, while Mosha is not currently evident, his presence might be hinted by the empty shot glass resting casually on the Italian marble railing surrounding the balcony at waist height.
While Jakob's sudden appearance takes her marginally by surprise, the disconcertment is met with a quiet laugh born of the fact that it reminds her Mosha's announced appearances. Even so, her tone has a hint of breathlessness in it as she glances up and offers a warm smile. "It is," she admits as she gestures to empty chair. "And I like to think I have the best spot in the city to enjoy it." While waiting for him to be seated, she cants her head, her expression remaining warm as she asks, "Your business went to your satisfaction I hope?"
"Probably could've gone a smoother than it did, to be honest. You know how it is. Late afternoon on a Friday — even nice guys have other things on their minds." Danko half-smiles there, subtle as a snake while he looses the buttons of his jacket and sinks down to take up the indicated seat.
The view is nice, no doubt. The moon's bright between swaths of feathered cloud cover and the humidity is low despite the promise of hazy rain looming up over the silver and gold muffle of city lights stretching on into the distance. There's a cool breeze to tug at his collar, and for a good twenty or thirty seconds he's content to look and search and study across the sweep of New York City. If his eyes catch on the empty glass glistening clear on the railing, it's only for the briefest of beats on their way to flickering lax over onto Phoebe across the table.
"Can't fault you for wanting to spend time out here."
"No doubt it is very self-indulgent of me," Phoebe murmurs with a hint of laughter in tone. Blue eyes crinkled with a quiet smile, she rests one hand atop the small stack of pamphlets atop the table and slides them over before Jakob. "Every year the Oak Hill Country Club does something to promote the arts with local youths. This year we are hosting a weekend at the club for aspiring musicians." Drawing her hand away from the pamphlets, she cups the goblet of her wine glass in her palm and dips her chin toward the brochures while raising it to her lips. "Classical musicians from all over the world will be flying in to conduct workshops and get to know the children." And, of course, since Jakob's daughter is a budding musician, Phoebe had thought of him.
"Mind if I…?" Emile doesn't quite wait for an answer on his way to reaching for one of the brochures indicated, brows lifted and touch light when he flips glossy paper open and tilts it towards the nearest light to get a better look. He's quiet for an Intent Moment, lost in reading and looking at pretty pictures and all those kinds of things, as he should be.
"Sounds like it could be a good experience for her," concluded after another minute or so spent searching through the small print, he flips it over to the backside to review the dates once more. "Her mom has her on the weekends, but I can't think of a reason for her to say no."
"Both you and your ex-wife would be welcome to attend," Phoebe assures. "And of course, the children would be watched over quite closely." Considering Phoebe's own loss, that is probably to be expected. She cannot, however, help flashing a warmer smile, the expression reaching blue eyes clearly, evening in the darkness. "I was hoping you find it to both your tastes. I took the liberty of reserving a spot for her, just in case. Mind you, it takes place during thier October break, so there would be conflict with school work."
Danko's eyes have an odd energy to them in the dark, irises ringed silver bright as a flash of fish scales sleek 'round the too-wide aperture of pupils pulsed black against ambient moonlight. He smiles again too — almost hesitant, as if he's less sure of his ex's amenability to things like fun and education, but there's no argument in the end. "I'll work on her, if she decides to drag her heels. I appreciate you taking the time. Rachelle's pretty into the classical scene — it'll probably mean a lot to her." D'AWWW.
Meanwhile, it's Phoebe's turn for her phone to ring, or trill, or buzz, as the case may be.
"Wonderful," Phoebe replies as she finishes the last of her wine. Rolling to her feet, she takes a step toward the bar as her phone sounds it's melodic little hum. "It never fails," is her sigh as she flips it open on her way to the bar. "Would care for wine? Or something stronger?" The question is asked as she sets the glass on the counter and turns her attention toward the phone for the moment.
It's a photo message! The kind where the little yellow envelope pops up with the generic little icon of a picture flying out with the exaggerated kind of glee generally reserved for things like winning the lottery or getting a promotion. Clicking past it yields the actual picture, and probably a sort've sinking feeling to go with it.
Jakob Donner stares empty-eyed up at her from the flat glow of the screen (Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.) in blurry black and white, all absence of life and cadaverous hollows shadowed dark into his sunken face over the trim black of a worn out leather jacket. Beneath him, a curt message informs: Mrs. Thnton, prev shift found dead at post. Signs of struggle. Clsd circuit surv. shows this man last in and out of adjacent alley. Dave wants to call 911. Its prty bad. Please advise.
"Wine sounds great, actually."
That'd be Mr. Last In And Out Of Adjacent Alley, who's since taken to busying himself standing the brochure up vertical against the wind for as long as it'll stay there.
Reading the message, one brow ticks upward on Phoebe's brow, her lips pressing in a faint frown before she tsks, shakes her head and sets the phone atop the bar. Without missing a beat, a second wine glass is settled alongside her own and she asks in deceptively pleasant tones. "Have I ever mentioned that I am Republican, Jakob?" Canting her head faintly, her lips turn up in a smile that definitely does not reach her eyes as she reaches beneath the bar, presumably for a bottle of wine. "I only ask because I am an avid supporter of the NRA and I can't help but wonder if that shows." The statement is coupled with the appearance of your typical mossberg & sons shotgun atop the bar, Phoebe's expression taking on a very flat expression. "I am highly unamused and disappointed in you," both obvious in her tone. "Even so, I have no desire to demonstrate my skeet shooting skills. It is terribly droll." And, of course, the tip of one shoe is already pressing the little button to signal Mosha she needs assistance ASAP. "So, I do hope you intend to be reasonable and allow us to come to an equally agreeable resolution."
Flop. The brochure tips over with a sense of sad, slouchy surrender when Danko's right hand stills out've its efforts to keep it upright in a triangular prism…sort of. Arrangement.
It takes him about a second to do the relevant math, grey eyes searching from her face to the gun to the abandoned phone with the slanted start of an unhappy frown for the fact that he didn't actually anticipate the evening would end with him staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Hm. Right fingers drummed once slow across the table while the left twitch in his lap, he makes a minute adjustment of weight against chair to free up the space at the small of his back. To the untrained eye it looks more like an uneasy squirm than the earliest stage of reciprocation.
"If you're partial to the wine, I wouldn't say no to rum and coke."
"I suspect that we would both better served by staying as lucid as possible." Not budging from behind the bar, fully aware of the fact that Mosha is out there and likely to be inbound at sprint, Phoebe manages to maintain a surprising measure of calm. Really, what is the worst that can happen? She's already lost her entire family. The woman has nothing more to lose. "I do not want to shoot you, Jakob." She states plainly. "I am certain that you have reasons for believing the things you believe. Fortunately for you, I am not so foolish as to think that I can talk you out of them. Really, I only want one thing and then you can go on about your business as you please." Shockingly reasonable, really.
That is remarkably reasonable, even if she is being stingy with her booze. Danko's brows show tired approval of as much while he lifts the brochure again and taps it twice — tack tack — hard edge to hard table like a magician's wand while his left hand slithers around to loose the handgun holstered snug at his back.
"And what's that?"
"Pastor Sumter at my front gates alive and in non-critical condition and we walk away from this." Watching him closely, Phoebe frowns faintly at the tapping of the brochures, a sigh spilling past her lips. "I saw what you did. I realize you can probably kill me with very little effort. But I am also fairly certain that I will have time to pull this trigger and make your evening a good deal less pleasant then it might otherwise be." She's good with God, death really doesn't scare her anymore.
"…Are you sure he's missing?" Danko's hard to read at a distance beyond the fact that he's remarkably relaxed about this entire situation. The gun and the accusations and the names being thrown around. Blue light shifts slow across his face, winding and unwinding shadows when he tips his skull carefully in the direction of the abandoned phone. "Maybe you should call him before you paint me across your balcony in a fine paste."
"I have seen the security detail, Jakob. I highly doubt that you would have gone through all that for no good reason." Frowning faintly, Phoebe slants a glance at her phone but does not set down the shotgun in order to dial it. No, she'll wait for Mosha to get on the scene before even considering loosening her grip on the gun.
All it takes is a glance. One glance and Danko's on his feet (all 5'7" of him) in a movement more fluid than he looks like he should be capable of, safety off and semiautomatic pointed right back in the face of the firearm that's already pointed at him. It's sort've surreal, what with him so neat and tidy in the sable suit and vest and tie, but there's nothing of Jakob's low-key humor or lazy modesty in the look he has leveled down the sights on her now.
"You may not care what happens here, to me or to you, but I know of at least one pastor who's gonna get a little snuffly if he hears you left the premises in a bag tonight."
"I have every confidence that Mosha will make certain that you join me in short order, Jakob." Oh, Phoebe is most assuredly taken aback by the quickness of the movement. She stands her ground, however. "All I want is Sumter. I am certain that there are hundreds of other evolved you can take out you aggressions on." Having learned her lesson, she makes a point to keep her gaze on his face. And she /will/ pull the trigger without a second thought if she has to. "I will also point out that if I didn't care what happened to you, Mosha would have put a bullet in already." For all he knows, Mosha could be behind him, right now.
It would be sad if he was, 'cause it will probably make his next move that much more painful than it's going to be anyway. He's already steeling himself for it, chin tipped down and breathing forced into slow, reptilian regularity, gun held slab solid in its unwavering level. Mention of Mosha earns a twitch at his brows at recollection of the shot glass, but with the situation what it is, there's no going back now.
"You fire and a thousand more'll rise up in my place. All we're missing is something to bring us together." His first sidestep towards the balcony edge is slow — nearly testing in its indolent poise. "If you want to make that something a martyr here and now, you better take your shot."
Quick, because the warning's hardly off the fork of his tongue before he's pumped into a sprint straight for the railing — and over it.
"I've seen what is coming, Jakob," Phoebe sighs. "And it isn't a thousand more of you." The second he breaks into a run for a balcony, she is squeezing the trigger, the mossberg sounding a loud report as it empties it's load in Danko's direction.
Course, it is about that time that Mosha skids onto the balcony. Or rather, just in time to see Danko go over the edge. "FIND HIM!" Phoebe bellows in a very unlady-like fashion. "Find Sumter." And for the love of /GOD/ someone pour her a drink. "Dammit."
Danko tucks down like a winged buck against stinging, guttural impact, blood spattered in a fine mist before a heavier flow of the stuff can arc black after his swing over marble railing.
His free hand catches at the floor level for half a beat, breaking the fall in two on his way to hitting the ground at a hard roll. The gun slacks bloodily out of his clawed grasp as he comes back over onto his feet — locked in tendons finally failing enough that he's forced to retrace his last step to whip the weapon up in his good hand on his way to taking off in earnest, making a bloody, turned-earth mess of the garden every step of the way.
Well then, at least he's easier to tract and one can rest assured that Mosha and the rest of the estates security are in hot pursuit. Mind you, Phoebe is wise enough to back away from the balcony, her lips pursed in a thin line as she gathers up her cellphone and calls her team back. "Get any survivors to the hospital, inform the police of what happened." Snagging the bottle of wine as she heads back in side, she adds in tones that are almost icey. "And get word out, there is a .25 million reward for Jakob's head." Oh yes, she is /mad/. After all, she did try to be reasonable about the whole affair.