Participants:
| Scene Title | Priceless and Significant |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Five special paintings are stolen by the Speedster, setting off a wild chain of events. |
| Date | February 8, 2009 |
Despite the increased airline security, courtesy first of the bomb and now of potential local terrorists and the Evolved in general, JFK International still sees a great deal of traffic. A massive number of planes move in and out of its airspace, and even more passengers arrive and depart by them. The buildings are immense structures of steel and glass, although more horizontally stretched than most in New York, which tend to the vertical mode. It is full of shops, restaurants, and people — always the people, from security guards to travelers, thronging the halls in search of food, souveniers, and whichever place it is they're supposed to be.
One of the largest airports in New York, the JFK Airport has a large number of airline terminals. Accessible from the subway, the paths from the Jamaica and Howard Beach stations inevitably converge by the Federal Circle past Lefferts Boulevard. At the Federal Circle, located just past the parking areas, one can check in to rent cars, or get access to the Airport Hotel and Cargo Area, as well as the shuttles that run the loop from Terminals 1 to 8.
Naturally security is a lot tighter (though not infallible), so it is suggested that patrons of the airlines arrive two to three hours before their flight. In the waiting area, there are multiple rows of uncomfortable interconnected seats and several monitors that are turned onto the news stations.
Some people are just born to get themselves into trouble; be it through their own actions or the actions of others.
Daphne Milbrook could have been anyone, she could have done anything once she discovered her gift. But instead, she became one of those people, one of the people who are born to find themselves in others crosshairs, born to cause trouble and infamy.
But it sure beats having a day job.
One unseasonably warm Sunday finds this trouble-maker with her fingers hooped through a chain-link fence, staring down from a field of melting snow towards the tarmac of JFK International Airport. Platinum blonde hair is caught by the warm breeze blowing from inland, it's like Mother Nature is giving her that extra nudge to keep on "working" today.
The inquisitive Milbrook's eyes are focused not on the serenity of clear skies and the spring-like breeze, but rather the white box-truck parked on the tarmac near a private cargo jet. Nondescript personnel in blue-gray jumpsuits work on opening the back of the truck, most of them lazily enjoying the warm weather while the truck is opened up.
Seeing those doors swing open, it's like watching a toy-chest being opened, a thousand possibilities all tucked away in wooden crates. What was it she heard about these paintings, "the most significant and pricess works Mister Linderman has."
Yes, that was it wasn't it? They're some of Daphne's favorite words: Priceless and significant. Those typically translate to expensive, and expensive means dollar-signs.
What could be the harm in pilfering a few paintings from some rich mobster?
They're just paintings, after all.
If only she already had a buyer lined up. That would make this all the more perfect.
Oh well, priceless is priceless. Someone will pay big money to get their hands on these, and she'll find them if she has to run around the city for a few days. If Paris taught her nothing else, it taught her that there's always someone willing to fork over exorbinant amounts of cash for something they think is priceless.
Crates are a little too heavy for her pixie-like build, so Daphne waits. Time ticks by. Time always ticks by. A second an eternity to her. But eventually that eternity will lead to an opening—
Come on big boys, get to work.
Walking into the truck, two of the workers climb up folding ramps and begin manhandling the wooden crates, moving them towards the back of the truck. Each crate looks designed to carefully hold a pair of paintings, while one only contains a single piece of artwork. From this distance it's hard to make out how large they are, but the crates themselves aren't particularly tall. Workers outside of the truck on the tarmac reach up to pick up the individual open-top crates, beginning to haul them towards the particularly large transport plane. Judging from the size of it, it's designed for trans-oceanic travel, which means these priceless and significant little goodies are bound for somewhere outside of the country.
Too bad for them they aren't going to ever get there.
With the crates in sight, and the cloth-wrapped contents clearly accessable, these five agonizingly slow minutes have finally paid off. Time for action, time for motion, time for something!
Clear as day, slight wind. Slight wind is about to get a lot less slight.
Stupid fence. Instead of attempting to scale it, Daphne releases the chain links and runs away from the tarmac. Very fast. So fast a burst of air can be heard. And then she runs back, allowing her to leap over it with the additional momentum. Leap, run. She doesn't stop. What seems like minutes for her is not even seconds. Each movement saves time, each one gets her closer to the prize. Each one also explodes the air around her, changes in air pressure sending hair flying every which way, ruffling clothes and disturbing an otherwise nice day.
The cloth-wrapped contents even shift and move as she reaches in and grabs. Oh lovely priceless things.
There were three escape routes that she spotted on the way here. All of them easily accessable to her as a speedster and difficult for them. Prizes are carefully, tucked under her arms. Though no one would think they were careful with how fast it happens.
Escape route B is the first one she tries.
Which is so not the way she just came. Still over a fence, but she's going for the place least likely to allow for people to follow…
Towards Jamaica.
The Bay, not the island.
It's just a blue and red blur that takes Daphne away from the tarmac, up and over another fence, and then across Jamaica bay with a rooster-tail of water spraying up behind her as feet tread across the surface of what feels like soft earth under the speedster's feet, but is nothing but water. The Bible says Jesus could do this, and that just makes it that much cooler to Daphne.
By the time she's crossed the bay to the opposite shore, the young woman leaves trailing skid-marks in the dirt with the heels of her shoes when she stops, a haze of colored light catching up to her when she does, along with a rush of air. Her hair flows with the momentum, a few dreadlocked braids batting her cheeks.
Her shoes are a little wet, but the five paintings — two under one arm and three under another — are perfectly intact and dry. There's a small wonder in the back of the mind of the world's fastest thief, to whether or not the people at the plane have even figured out what happened yet.
Suckers.
Jesus could do that— Jesus couldn't do it anywhere near that fast, though.
The paintings are safely intact, the protection she gains from her own ability extended to them. "You know, I probably could've rolled you all up and stuffed you in tubes and they wouldn't have noticed." She had enough time. She always has enough time. They look better this way.
The speed kicks in again, taking her quite a distance in what everyone else would consider a short time.
Door slams behind her, stray papers go flying, but she's inside. Her stash is small at the moment, a few stray objects, and one very important one. A medal. Worthless, but priceless at the same time.
Okay… let's see what's so priceless about this mobster's…
The paintings are sat down. Three, then two more, leaned against a wall. Her head tilts to the side. "This is priceless?"
They're not the Mona Lisa, that's for sure.
Wrinkling her nose as she looks at them, Daphne tilts her head to the side and blows a stray lock of braided hair out of her face. Two people and a lot of flowers, something on fire, some weird impressionist thing, a bunch of people on some broken rocks, and a dark silhouette, all of them signed on the back, "Thomas Brill - 03/22/99".
With a roll of her eyes, Daphne looks around the room to the small collection so far, and her lips quirk up into a smile only when her cell phone begins vibrating in her pocket.
Tugging it out with two fingers, she flips it open and looks at the incoming name on the faceplate, Chinaman. You can always count on the Chinese to have a criminal circus in any major city you go to — this is something Daphne learned quick in her line of work, so dropping a few names with the Flying Dragons was the first step to getting a few valuable connections in New York.
Chinaman couldn't have any better timing.
"Hello," she says cheerfully, looking over to the windows and pacing away from the paintings. Thomas Brill. Whoever he was, he must be big somewhere— somehow. "I've always wondered, why flying dragons? Why not… swimming dragons?" Perhaps not the best way to bust into a conversation, but they've got her number, and they must be calling her for something. Daphne steps around on her tip-toes, leaving the paintings unattended for the moment. "Guessing this isn't a pleasure call."
She's not even waiting for a response right now, really.
"Business?" She likes business. "Cause you know, you have amazing timing."
 February 8th: Before You Know It |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 8th: The New Kid |