Flirty Threats


tracy_icon.gif mortimer_icon.gif

Scene Title Flirty Threats
Synopsis Mortimer drops by with clues but doesn't really say anything, and Tracy pisses him off.
Date June 17 2009

Tracy's Apartment

Tracy's swanky apartment!

It's rather early for Tracy to be in, but truth be told she hasn't even gone to the office today. Meetings, meetings, meetings. That's all she's known from sunup to now. And now? She's at home. Home sweet bloody home. Her feet are sore from hauling ass from one building to the next. Her throat is sore from talking al day long. Even her steps, approaching her apartment, sound weary. She pushes her door open, stepping in, her high heels hitting hard wood. Her bag is dropped easily by the door, and then? She lifts her head and opens her eyes after a long sigh.

Click, the door suddenly locks on its own when it closes, and Mortimer is just sitting there, on her couch, with her coffee table pulled up close. There's various odd looking gadgets he appears to be working on with small delicate tools, his prosthetic arm an actual prosthetic and not a hook or anything. The current gadget is some sort of metallic cube, about the size of a Rubix cube with small circular slots on all three sides. "Sensory overload bomb, I think this is a pretty good idea." says the biker with silvery eyes, soldering tiny wires together inside.

Tracy heaves a sigh as she hears the voice and recognizes the man, even without his hook. Walking over, quite promply, she reaches for her coffee table to yank it away from him. "This is mahogany and you're not even using a coaster for your little friends." Friends appears to mean the gadgets all around him. "And unless there's a bomb about to go off someplace? I advise you to leave."

"Relax, and be careful with that table, all these things are still very unstable, I'm trying to finish them tonight." Mortimer carefully pulls the table back, returning to his work. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing, and your table will be good as new when I'm done. I only came here to get a break from my men, and since my girlfriend is busy, I came to the next best thing."

Tracy crosses her arms, keeping the table between herself and him after it's been scooted a safe distance away from the man. One eyebrow perks. "A business arrangement is the next best thing to a girlfriend? I don't know if anyone's ever told you this but the phrase 'getting into bed with' does not mean literally getting into bed with. Don't you have a friend, or a hooker, or someplace else?"

"Relax, I'm a faithful boyfriend, I just needed something nice to look at while I work." Mortimer puts the cube down, then reaches over and grabs what appears to be a grenade, but is clearly something far more advanced as he pops it open and starts poking at internals. "Just go with it, alright? I'm not here to hurt you or anything, keep me company and I'll leave soon."

Tracy just remains standing there, arms crossed beneath her bust. She doesn't take her eyes off of him. "This is the very last time you get to do this, I hope you understand that. Just because we're working together in some weird, twisted way, that doesn't mean you et the right to do whatever you want to do." She sets her hands on the coffeetable, leaning toward him to glare with her icy gaze. "When you leave this apartment, if I see you again and it's not to give me information about these plans of yours? I will personally see to it that you never see your little squeeze or the sky again."

"Oh come on, you're smarter than that." Mortimer laughs, then suddenly the grenade starts blowing his hair up, but there's no obvious fan. "Low frequency sound, don't know what I'll use it for, but, I'm sure it'll come up." he shrugs, peering at Tracy with a casually amused smile. "Even if there was a jail that could hold me, and there isn't, who do you think I'll suspect backstabbed me? You'd be the first my men came for, unless of course you were willing to give this life up for witness protection."

Tracy shakes her head, her own smirk widening. "No matter what happens to me? You'll still be in a hole someplace, even if I have to dig it myself." She pushes off the table, turning for the kitchen. Truth be told, she knows that she'd never give up her happy life for another. But she also knows that there is a place to hold him. "Besides, cultists always move on sooner or later after their leader is dead or gone." There's the distinct chink of ice in glass, and then a soft gurgle and the light smell of very good whiskey through the area.

"I don't think you know what you're messing with." Mortimer sits his grenade and tools down on the table, walking to the kitchen to lean on the wall with his prosthetic and watch her. "Maybe you're a bit too risky? It's one thing when someone is afraid of you, but it's something else entirely when they're stupid and self-destructive."

"Stupid and self-destructive. Maybe you should go and leap in front of a moving vehicle. That would have some sort of poetic irony, wouldn't it? Mechanical aptitive-Evolved killed by mechanics." She turns to face him, leaning her very nice tush against the counter as she sips the whiskey. "At least make this worth my time and tell me where, when, and why concerning this explosion."

"Where are my guns?" Mortimer asks, walking back to the couch to lounge back. "If you don't have my guns yet, the only way I'm telling you anything is, hm, that's a good question." He looks to the kitchen again, asking, "What can you give me that I'll care about at all enough to tell you anything, if you don't have my guns?"

"I know where your guns are. These things don't happen overnight." She sets her glass down to take off each of her shoes, kicking them aside for later. "And, I know you probably don't know how things in the real world work, but I need it a little bit of faith on your end before i go any further with it."

"The correct answer was 'I could strip for you', but I'll compromise and tell you why the explosion is happening." Mortimer decides, his eyes turning their natural blue as he simply stares down at the table. "I'm doing it because someone told me to. It's mostly a favor because it sounds fun, it's nothing personal. That's all I'm telling you for now."

"Nowhere near good enough. And the only way you'll ever see me strip…" she pauses, faking a moment of thought as she walks into the living room to watch him, sipping her drink once more. "Oh, well I'd say in your dreams. But even your dreams will never compare to me. Now, I need to know more."

"Sorry, too early, can't compromise the mission." Mortimer shrugs helplessly, then nods to the table. "And you missed the first clue anyway, so you're obviously not that smart. Why do you think I'd bring these things here and actually explain what they are? Sensory overload bomb, tranq grenades, and a component to my ultimate baby which I'm still enhancing." He lifts a small cylinder with little gears meticulously placed all over it. "Polyurethane EMP bomb. These are your clues, do whatever you want with them. Of course stripping might get you more, but I don't think you're that desperate."

Tracy throws back her drink, setting the empty glass on a coaster. "What's to say I did miss them? For all you know I'm planning something evil myself and demanding answers in a way to make you feel more comfortable. If I weren't demanding answers, that's when you'd probably start to worry." She leans back against the wall, crossing her arms once more. "For all you know, big brother's on his way over here right now. And then you'd never get to see your crazy girlfriend, ever again."

Mortimer's tone noticably darkens, not looking up at her anymore. "What did you call my girlfriend?" he asks, reaching behind him and drawing his sword, this apparently being more of a concern for him than 'big brother'.

Tracy remains where she is, tapping her nails on her arm. "Something which was enough to get the rise out of you that I wanted. Though I'm surprised my tone didn't give away how very much I don't care. My acting skills must be better than I thought. You're more than welcome to leave if you don't like my company." She doesn't seem terribly afraid, actually crosses her legs at the ankle and continues with her well-manicured nails. Taptaptap.

Mortimer takes deep breaths, even counting to ten, then slides his gun back behind him. "I've had enough of your shit." He stands up and walks over to her, moving to grab her arm with his prosthetic. It's not the toughest grip, but it's enough to hurt. "Where's the bathroom?" he asks, pulling a grenade out. "You're gonna learn a lesson tonight."

"You break into my house, my car, kidnap me, and now you're giving orders? Let go of me." She reaches over to wrench his arm off of her. "We're doing business together, but you need to learn what that means. I agreed to help you but that's wearing very thin very quickly." She'll try and take a step back, too, away from him.

Mortimer squeezes her arm tighter. "I'm sick of you mouthing off, like you're in control, it pisses me off!" he exclaims, releasing her and clipping his grenade back on to his side. "I'd have cut one of your arms off by now if it wasn't for her…"

"Well if I gave the impression that I cared how you felt, I'm very sorry." With a stone-faced look, Tracy yanks her arm to try and pull it free once more. "Dry up. If we're going to do business, lets do business. Leave the emotions to be something we both pretend about in the bedroom. Seperate bedrooms, obviously. But bedrooms none the less."

"You're a bitch." Mortimer says as she yanks her arm free, reaching behind the couch to get a small sack to start stuffing his gadgets back into again. "Deal's off, you're not fun anymore, and I don't do anything unless it's fun. I'll get my guns back some other way." Yes, she's pushed him too far.

Tracy crosses ehr arms, following him a bit into the room. "The deal's still on. You know you cna get what you want through me, both the list and the guns. I'm sure by now you know that I've got a tail on me. And you're mad at me. You know quite well that I've got more trips up my sleeve than a Staten Island hooker has STDs. You know that dealing with me will never quite be what it seems. So the only reason I can really see you calling off this deal is because you're afraid of what I might do. Maybe that I can't be trusted, maybe that I'll just make you angry." While she speaks, she slowly walks toward the door. "You know that playing with me is a very dangerous game, and you like it."

"You're a bitch." Mortimer graciously repeats, walking over to her with the sack in his prosthetic hand, then moves to slap her ass with his good one. "And if I didn't have a girlfriend, it wouldn't be my guns I'm interested in. I'm going home now, you piss me off but you're too hot to punch, and that just pisses me off even more."

Tracy turns to face him, smirking, even a somewhat forced one after he slaps her ass. So gross, so common. "Yeah, but as much as I piss you off, you like me." She lets him pass, glancing over her shoulder. "When you call me with the first stages of your plan, I'll have one of your two presents all wrapped and ready for delivery, Mister Jack."

"I don't like you, you're manipulating me, I just don't care that you are. I'm a chess player." Mortimer opens the door, knocking on the locks a few times as some gears and other little parts fall out, then he just walks away. He's definitely not leaving through the front door.

Tracy sticks her head after him, lifting her thumb to her ear and her pinkie to her mouth. "Call me!" She yells after him, fakely chipper and upbeat before she vanishes inside her apartment again, groanign and rolling her eyes. That was too close - she really has to learn to behave.

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