Settling Up


daphne_icon.gif silver_icon.gif

Scene Title Settling Up
Synopsis Daphne comes back to settle her debt with James Silver. He offers more than he intended.
Date June 9, 2010

The Office of James Silver

Just getting in from having lunch with a colleague, James Silver drapes his coat over the hook on the wall reserved for such things as coats and shakes off the chill that threatens to reach his innermost core. He tugs off his gloves and sets them aside then rubs his hands together for some warmth. He doesn't have anything scheduled for at least an hour so that'll give him time to type up this response. He'll be damned if the prosecution is going to surprise him with a witness at the last possible minute. In fact, he's fairly certain they knew about this witness all along.

He sits down and begins to type, then pauses, reaching over and turns on his radio and grins a bit when KISS is heard and he starts to bop his head along to the beat of 'Rock n Roll All Nite" and resumes his typing.

As much as she'd like to just zoom in, drop off money and zoom out, Daphne Millbrook knows that doing that in a law office is probably not the wisest move — plus she doesn't know how much she actually owes James Silver for the damage she inflicted on his car. So instead she walks into the office at what for her amounts to a snail's pace. Makeup is worn in an effort to cover up bruising beneath her eyes, caused by the draining of the large bump on her forehead that is at least no longer the size of a golf ball. A newsie cap is pulled low over that bump, her bangs carefully arranged to hide the evidence of the injury to her head.

She peeks into his office, having somehow bypassed secretaries and the like. Standing quietly in the doorframe for a moment, she clears her throat to get Silver's attention.

In an office such as this, bypassing secretaries isn't really too difficult as they are constantly pulled in all directions. There are, however, enough of them that it would be difficult not to be stopped by at least one. As the music plays in the office, it's the clearing of the throat that catches Silver's attention and he glances up and spots the speeding girl standing there.

He reaches over and turns down the music a little and stands. "Hey. I wasn't sure you were going to make it." Not that he would have blamed her, considering he didn't even know her name. She could have just disappeared into the city never to be seen again. He motions to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit? Coffee?"

Dark eyes dart to the seat skeptically, but she moves forward to slip into the chair. "If I say I'm going to do something, I do it," she says simply enough — not that he really has any reason to trust her, since he just met her. "Sorry it took a couple of days. I was sort of recovering from a head injury," she adds wryly, narrowing her eyes as she glances around the office at such things as certificates and diplomas that such offices are wont to have.

"No thanks," she adds, in regards to the coffee, pulling her courier bag up onto her lap. There is no clanking sound today — whatever was broken inside of the bag has been removed. "So. How's the car?" she asks, not one to beat around the bush. Beating around the bush wastes time, and Daphne hates wasting time.

He watches her sit, then sits down behind his desk, lowering the top of his laptop and slides it to the side. "Oh, it'll survive. Should be good as new in a couple of days. Door had to be ordered from the manufacturer." James pulls out a drawer, looks inside then another. He stands and starts to pat his pockets and hrms. "One second." He finally goes over to his jacket and pulls a slip of paper from his jacket and slides it onto the desk. The estimate. It's kinda steep, considering his car is current year.

Daphne bounces on the balls of her feet as she waits for him to find the estimate — every second torturously slow as she's in a place she is uncomfortable to begin with, with a stranger, in a room with just one door that she keeps in her sights at all times. Once the estimate is set on the desk, she glances down at it, arching a brow. "What a racket. I'm so glad I don't drive," she mutters to herself.

She opens her courier bag, which is a bit bulky, the reason made clear when she pulls out a bike helmet and sets it on the desk to rummage for what lies beneath. Next, out comes a manila envelope and she pulls out a couple of stacks of unmarked bills, then breaks into a third to count off more. These are set on the desk before she lifts her eyes to him. "Square?"

Reaching up to scratch at the scruff around his jawline, Silver watches her with a bit of a bemused expression as she pulls out that helmet. Of course, then she start pulling out stacks of cash and tossing it out there and that expression turns to that of a more curious nature. "You aren't afraid to be mugged running around with all of that?"

As he waits for an answer, he's reaching for the cash, not bothering to count it and sets it on the inside of his top drawer and closes it. That'll have to go to the bank or the safe, he imagines. Can't just leave it in his desk. "And yeah, we're square. Is there anything I can do for you now?"

"Mugged?" Daphne says, her nervous expression exchanged for one more amused. "Someone would have to catch me first," she points out, closing the envelope and tucking it back into the bag, then putting the bike helmet on top of it before folding the flap back over and shouldering the strap once more.

"I know it's probably hard to believe, since you saw me at my worst, but I'm not usually a bumbling idiot, and I'm pretty much not-catchable on a good day. Not that I'm bragging mind you," she adds, lifting a finger to still any argument on his part. "On my worst days — well, on my worst days, mugging is hardly the worst thing I have to worry about." Her worst days, like the month and a half she spent with the Evolved flu. "And no, I don't need a lawyer at this moment." Her lips quirk at the insinuation that she might.

"Well, she is kinda cute," Silver thinks to himself as he stands finally and prepares to walk her back to the doorway of his office. "Well, you know where to find me if you do." He places his hand on the knob and opens it up. "I just came into a little bit of money, I don't supposed you'd be interested in having dinner or something?" The question just sort of falls out of his mouth without him even having to think about it. Honestly, he hasn't asked anyone out in a very long time and it takes a moment for his brain to actually process the action he has just taken. There might even be a momentary look of confusion on his face.

Brows darker than her blonde hair shoot up at the sudden request for a date. Her lips quirk into a smile. "Funny, the last time I got a concussion, I got a date out of it, too," she tells him, reaching up a little self-consciously at the word concussion to adjust her cap over her forehead before curling her hand around her courier bag — there's still a few thousand bucks in that bag.

"That's really nice of you to ask. I'm sorta seeing someone at the moment — sort of reconnected just recently, actually." Why she's telling this to a stranger, she isn't sure. Her cheeks grow pink and she steps into the hall. "Tell you what. If it doesn't work out, I'll give you a call. If you hear from me, you'll know I either need a date or a bail-out, right?"

James Silver might be having a blushing moment of his own here as he's still coming to grips with the fact that he actually asked someone out. The sting of rejection doesn't sting near as much as the sting of the betrayal he feels he's just inflicted on his dead girlfriend. He does smile and nods. "Sure. Either works for me. It at least ensures me something to do." He starts to move back inside and stops, "Hey. I.. didn't catch your name."

If she ever needs him as a lawyer, Daphne's going to have to trust him t a degree. She pauses on her way out the door — for her, it's a long, thoughtful pause, but to him it probably is nothing more than a second's hesitation. She turns and flashes a smirk over her shoulder. "Daphne. Thanks for not making me do paperwork. Sorry again for your car." And with that, there is a whoosh and a flutter of his paperwork on his desk as she zips out of the office.

He watches her go and shakes his head, nodding to an associate walking by. He disappears back into his office and back to his desk where he turns back up the radio, pulls open the lid to his laptop and begins to type. After finishing a sentence, he pauses and glances up towards the door again, then leans back in his chair.

He reaches for his smartphone and punches in a few keys, sending off a text: "Drinks are on me tonight." He plans to have plenty. He looks at the calendar on his desk and scribbles her name, "Daphne", before moving back to his laptop and continuing to work.

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