Nobody's As Good As Me, Sugar


coren2_icon.gif lola_icon.gif

Scene Title Nobody's As Good As Me, Sugar
Synopsis Mortimer sends a gift Coren's way, in the form of a rather hyper sure-shot.
Date September 8, 2009

Casa de Shelby - Lower East Side

Heaven she said baybay…it's 3 a.m. I must be lonely….

Coren won't be lonely much longer, that's for sure. He's got a very unique person coming to visit him. Lola Mayeux can be seen walking down the street to Coren's home. It's dark, with hardly a soul to be seen her entire trip - that magical time when the late night people have finally crashed and the early morning people haven't yet risen. It's a delicate time, hardly lasting long. But it is there. And it's still dark outside.

Lola passes mostly unnoticed, with her tight black pants and her baggy sweatshirt and her hair pulled back. In her hand, between her index and middle fingers, is a slip of paper with his name and information. She pauses, glancing at it again to make sure she has the right address.

She finds his name on the buzzer and presses the little white circilar button beside it. There's no one around on the street right now. And, knowing the man is probably asleep, she presses it four or five times hard, in quick, loud succession. Wakey!

And most people aren't crazy enough to walk around after curfew. Naturally, being awake, Coren heard the first one loud and clear, and can only assume it's Mortimer, again. He heads straight for his door and buzzes his middle-of-the-night visitor in, waits a bit, and then unlocks and opens his door, inviting whomever it is inside, while he goes back to his chair. The place is still in quite a state, what with the broken coffee table with parts littered across the floor, couch overturned. He'll be rather surprised when Mortimer doesn't walk through the door.

And indeed, it's far from Mortimer. Mortimer wishes he were this shapely. Of course, besides for her ass, Coren will have a hard time discerning who exactly this woman is, as she has her hood up. "Uhhh," she intones, articulately, as she steps in and has a look around. She lifts the paper up in front of her face, reading what was written in Mortimer's handwritten. "Ar'ya Soren?" She asks, mispronouncing the first letter of the name. Her accent drips of the Bayou.

And when an unfamiliar voice comes from his doorway, he gets to his feet in a mighty hurry. But it's just this lithe little thing. And then she mispronounces his name. "Coren, actually," he corrects, his eye examining every detail he can. There are a few abrasions on his face and knuckles that are clearly visible — from his battle with Mortimer the previous afternoon. "Who are you?"

"My name's…uhm…feck," she grumbles, digging around in her pockets Sophie somethin'. No that ain' it, feck it. Name a Lola." She digs out her wallet at long last, flipping it open. "Marie Sophia Clemens, dammit I keep forgettin. See, that's my picture an everythin," She leans over to show him her ID. "Nice picture, don' I look purdy?" She moves to tuck the wallet away. "Who dun beat up on you?" She bluntly asks, just now noticing the man's abrasions.

Coren quirks a brow. "Are you in the habit of forgetting your own name, or is this merely an alias?" He rubs at his head, which has been throbbing ever since one of Mortimer's punches hit him there. Well, it was hurting before that from the minor concussion and all, but Mortimer added to his already sore head. He scrutinizes the ID. He's a cop, ex-FBI profiler. He knows how to check for fake IDs, but her question distracts him, "That would be a houseguest I had the other day. Wouldn't keep his feet off the coffee table." Which is now quite broken.

"It's a new name, sugar, go easy. I'm still learnin' it." She shakes her head, whistling a low sound as she proceeds to walk, shoes on, deeper into the apartment, looking around to survey the damage. No explanation of why she's here or what she wants. Instead? She just meanders. "Looks like yer pretty serious bout yer coffee table, aincha?"

Aside from the dent in the wall from Mortimer punching it, the overturned coffee table, and the broken coffee table, it's just a fairly worn-looking apartment. The nice flat-panel television seems rather crowded in between two bookshelves, though, as if it hadn't been there until recently. "Old bloody thing anyway. I've got another in storage." Cassidy had one, he means. No, has. In storage. "Is there a point to this visit, or do you just wander around to people's apartments and … whatever this is you're doing?"

Oh, right, the thing. The reason she's here. For the moment, Lola has her back to Coren as she examines the remains of the coffee table. But slowly she turns, pulling back her hood and revealing her face and hair. "Aw, sorry sugar. Just heard ya needed some fellah kilt. Welp, I'm yer girl." Say what?

No see, that makes absolutely no sense to him — at all. Coren's brow lifts and he, for a moment, stares gawking at this woman, confusion written all over his face. "I'm sorry, what?" he asks. And then he remembers Mortimer said he was going to try and get help. Call in favours, get in touch with the Company. "Oh no…. Mortimer sent you, didn't he?"

Lola lets down her hair, ruffling it freely with a playful smirk. "Sure did. I guess he did, anyway. He told me to tell you Mr. Jack sent me. It was funny, there I was just breakin' into a bar and…." she trails off, remembering he's a cop. "Well, taht ain' important. Anyways he said ya had some serial killer what had kidnapped…I dunno, somethin' about kidnap, yadda yadda yadda, needed a fellah dead. Sounded interestin."

"And what makes you think you're qualified to hunt this bastard? I assure you, he's not an easy target," Coren says. Hell, he doesn't even know if the bastard can die. "And it's not yadda-yadda-yadda, either. You really need to get all of your details before you go making offers, and yeah, watch yourself around me, my job is on the line badly enough already, I don't need to be associated with criminals. Which means you're going to have to think before you go talking. It's bad enough I didn't arrest Mister Jack when he was in my apartment the other day, especially since there's a warrant out on 'im."

Lola shrugs. "Accordin' to him, ya got bigger problems. An I can' track 'em. Just from what I heard from Mistah Jack, well, he says that even if ya find this fellah, anyone who gets close ta him is dead without much of a thought." She shrugs a bit, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "I'm just sayin, get me a good rifle an just barely within range an a single shot, just one? He won' be gettin up, I promise ya that."

"Bigger problems is a bit of a understatement, yeah." Coren massages a shoulder where he was struck. It's more sore and tense than bruised, though. "How exactly can you promise he won't be getting up? We're not even sure this guy can be killed, though our best guess would be a headshot. Too many unknowns on this one, I'm afraid."

"Cause everyone needs a brain, sugar." Lola explains, walking over to Coren and reaching forward to tap him on the skull with her index finger. "Even if he's alive after it, he won' be thinkin," Another small smirk. "What I'm sayin' is that if the rifle kin reach him, an I kin see him? Ye'll get yer head shot."

"I pray this bastard's no exception," Coren says quietly, more to himself than Lola. "I suppose you can prove what you say? And I don't mean by shooting someone in the head. A shooting range, or somewhere outside the city. A quiet place. Because I'm not dragging a civilian into things unless I have to. SWAT does have sharpshooters, afterall."

Lola grins. "Nobody's as good as me, sugar. Sure, we kin go wherever ya like. Deal is you gotta provide the rifle, though. That's all I need, I ain' even askin money. Kin ya get a better deal than that?" She asks, winking to him. "Come on, we kin go right now. Every one a yer sharp shooters couldn' never top me."

"Later today," Coren corrects, "This isn't official police business and I can't go dragging you around outside while curfew's still on. Gonna have to wait until five at least, which means you're stuck here, because I'm not about to let you go back outside. I've turned a blind eye to enough crimes in the past twenty-four hours, I'm not keeping it up."

Lola doesn't seem too pleased about this. "Fine," she grumps, moving to find a chair and sinking quickly into it crossing her legs and pouting almost child-like. "But you gotta feed me, then. I don' mean like with a spoon or nothin but…durn…I could eat a whole gator." People eat gators. "Sides, not like curfew is this big important thing no how. It's not like I'm…killin' nobody or anything. Not when I'm out there, anyway. Say, who is this fellah ya'll need shot?"

"We know him by the name Azrael," Coren says, walking past the overturned couch and dining table to the counters, where he pulls out a box of cereal. He tosses the box into Lola's lap. "In the past two days, he's mutiliated and murdered ten civilians, two paramedics, and abducted one police detective. My partner." The last bit is said with a very grim tone, and he remains silent for a moment, back turned to Lola as he goes about emptying leftover from the fridge onto the counter. "I've got pot roast, spaghetti, lasagna. Take your pick." Then he gets back to business. "When I first started chasing him ten years ago as part of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, he killed eighteen young women. Since he reappeared, he has killed the nineteenth victim he abducted back in two thousand, he's killed another college student, her roommate's boyfriend, brother, and mother, and we're still unsure of where that roommate went, but I'm pretty sure she's dead too. We'd actually managed to keep this out of the press until the recent incident you may have read about in the papers. Mass Murder In Brooklyn. That was a bad day." He lets out a huff of air. "He possesses people. Rumour has it he hasn't a body left, so we're praying very hard that if you kill the body he's in, he'll go along with it."

"Yummy!" She tosses the box of cereal over her shoulder - literally - and bounds up, hurrying after him to pop her tush up on his table, reaching for the left over lasagna. Yes, she'll eat it right out of the pan like this if he doesn't stop her. "How's he jump? That's my only concern. Is it line of sight, is it touch, is it name….what is it?" She asks, looking around for a fork. "Yeah, I heard about it, s'why I'm interested."

"If we knew, we'd be more prepared. I'd assume the worst. Don't bloody let him know you're going to shoot him and pull the fucking trigger," Coren says. All he does is toss a fork onto the pan from one of the drawers before he goes and takes his chair back. He's not hungry. "We still don't know where he is, which is our biggest problem right now."

Lola lifts the fork, licking it clean of the red sauce it landed in before she turns it around and begins to use it for her own purposes - eating. "Well, way I see it, there's no way he'll know where I am until it's too late. Even if he does, I'll hopefully be far 'nuff away so that he won' be able to see me. But even if I'm close…" she shrugs, sticking some of the food into her mouth. "Ya ain' got no way to find him?"

"Cassidy — my partner… I love her. Probably in a way a partner shouldn't, but I do. If I knew where that sadistic fucker was with her, I wouldn't be here," Coren says. He gets off his chair and goes to the hall closet. From a small safe, he retrieves a gun, then grabs his jacket. "Haul ass. You're just going to have to prove you're as good as you say you are with this. I don't have a rifle, not at this hour, and I'm not breaking and entering to get one. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit on my ass."

Lola pushes off her feet, tossing the lasagna onto the counter. "Alright!" She coos happily, pulling up her hood to follow after him. Of course, she'll have to get him to help her with the weapon. She knows where the safety is on one, but not how to reload.

Then again, she shouldn't have to. "I kin get one. We just gotta pass by a place." Apparently breaking and entering is not something she's afraid to do - even with a cop.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License