Participants:
| Scene Title | The Fast and the Furious |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | What happens when a jaded pirate meets a spunky thief? Find out. |
| Date | March 11, 2009 |
It's been quite a day for Miguel LaGuarda. It's a long series of flights from Nicaragua to NYC and he's still only halfway to his final destination. The next flight out to Stockholm doesn't leave for several hours, a fact he was aware of, so he's opted to fill the time by catching a few hours of rest in a pre-booked hotel room.
TV on, lights dimmed, microwaved burrito in hand and he's still keeping his briefcase close at hand. The armored titanium case is the sole purpose of his extended trip, which is why it's sitting just a few inches away from him as he stretches out on the hotel bed and enjoys his "dinner."
Jack is watching him. The pirate has been tailing Miguel since he left the airport an hour or so ago. He's close. Far, far closer than Miguel would like.
If Miguel knew he was there.
Dressed in a close-fitting brown shirt, dark pants, leather gloves, and soft-soled boots, he's waiting in the crapper and hoping against hope that his prey will come in to shave or take a shit before he leaves the room. That's the plan. He's sticking to the plan. Things went to shit the last time he tried to improvise.
There's some jobs where it's all a matter of in and out. Often, Daphne can get away with never even being seen fully, but something is different about this job. In a stolen hotel uniform, she walks down the hall. Rather than a maid uniform, she's dressed like one of the bellhops, in pants and a silly little hat that covers her hair. Traditionally they are men, but today… there is a female dressed in the clothes. Good thing they had a really short bellhop.
While someone lurks in the bathroom waiting for the man to come in to take a dump or shave, there's a knock on the front door. Time for paranoia to click in, no doubt.
After a moment, there's a chipper voice calling into the hotel, obviously female. "Mr. LaGuardia, you have a delivery, from Mr. Valenti." She knows the client, she knows who paid for the hotel. It's funny how when someone asks around they can find out just about anything.
While not her normal approach, it isn't her usual job, either. This one is for kicks.
"Shit…" Jack mutters under his breath. This is a complication he doesn't need. He's working on a tight schedule and his options are limited.
1) Try and take Miguel down on the way to the door.
2) Wait and see what happens.
Unfortunately, waiting isn't Jack's strong suit. He's got two holes in his torso and both of them are sore. He's tired, he's cranky, and he wants that damn briefcase so he can go home and get drunk.
Jack mistimes his pounce. Miguel already has the door cracked when the syringe loaded with tranquilizers sinks into the side of his neck. This leaves Jack in a rather awkward position, as he's holding an unconscious man with a needle poking out of his jugular when he spots the female bellhop. Despite the circumstances, one can't help but notice that she's very pretty. As such, Jack opts for a smooth, eloquent approach.
"Uh. Hi," he greets her with a lopsided smile.
The door is opening. Daphne's ready to pounce herself, or at least use a silver tongue to talk her way through anything and everything. Then a needle pokes into the man's neck and a much taller man is standing over him looking down at her. Eyebrows raise high up, shifting the red hat enough that bleached hair is more and more visible. "Hey— hey!" That was not part of the plan. Not that she had much of a plan, but…
Reaching forward, she pushes against the door a little more to get a better look at him, and the man. "You're not supposed to be in here." State the obvious.
There's a perturbed look on her face as she glances at the needle, incapaciating needle. "Guess I wasn't the only one who knew about it, huh?" Normally when she gets caught, she zooms off immediately, but instead she quickly glances down the hall and suddenly exclaims, "Crap!" and darts through the small opening in the door and slams it shut behind her. And by dart… it's more like the equivilent of a blur. A gust of wind rips through the doorway as well, sending loose things flying. The hat falls of her head as she comes to a stop, a few feet away from the door. "Hi."
Needless to say, this is unexpected. Jack glances down at Miguel's inert form and then shrugs and drops him to the floor. The next glance is for the newcomer. It's a long, appraising, faux-innocent one. "Neat trick," he comments blandly, his gaze lingering briefly on her curves. He spends far more time on details like lips and eyes, though. "Bet you're a whiz with turn-down service."
As opposed to his calm exterior, his mind is racing a mile a minute. Which is to say that it's going a fraction of the speed that the pretty blonde seems capable of. His options have been limited even further. His leather gloves creak as he laces his fingers together and glances at her again consideringly. "Seems we find ourselves in a bit of a predicament," he says. "Two of us. One briefcase."
"I had a very limited window," Daphne says, shifting where she's come to a hault and tilting her head in the direction of the door. It's a long moment to reguard the door, the situation in the room, but only to her. She snaps back to look at him rather quickly and says, "You know, I'm really not used to people beating me." The hair no longer covered by the silly red hat sticks out in multiple directions, small braids or twists visible in the short white locks. Even in the few moments of relative stillness, she isn't still, shifting her weight around from one foot to the other.
After a moment she takes a step in the direction of the briefcase, it's a slow step, normal speed really, but in theory… "Not my normal job. Wanted to see if I could do it." But she still glances at the case as if trying to decide if she should still go for it or not.
Her unease is almost palpable. Jack shifts his weight slightly, bringing himself to the balls of his feet and holding both hands out in a disarming gesture. "If beating you means spending five hours in the shitter waiting for this bastard to show up, then yeah, I beat you." He pauses to nudge Miguel with one booted toe. "Commotion here won't do either of us any good. Why don't we go somewhere quiet and split the prize? There's a place a few blocks from here that has great coffee and key lime pie."
Jack drops his hands and tips his head to the side slightly. There's no lecherous wink. No superior smirk. He's geuninely intrigued for once in his life.
Five hours!? Daphne's eyebrows shoot up when he says how long he'd waited, glancing toward the bathroom, wondering just how cramped that must have been, how much it must have smelled. Part of the job always was the waiting, but there's… "I couldn't pull that one off," she admits. There are always options that involve a great deal of sitting around and waiting for something to happen, but she usually chooses the way to do a job that requires a lot less wait time. "You have way more patience than me."
She's still in motion, taking small steps as if to decide, but his offer is remembered, processed, and after a moment she glances back at him. "You said pie, right?" Key lime! "You got an escape plan?" She does, but she wants to see what this guy came up with first.
Jack inclines his head, both accepting the compliment and acknowledging her query. The device he pulls from the back of his belt is black, somewhat bulky, and resembles a grapple gun. "MacNeil descender," he explains. "Already dialed in to the right height. Beats the hell our of a parachute and it's way more stylish."
There's a small, conspirital smile on the pirate's lips as he opens the doors to the balcony and hooks the grapple to the railing. A quick swing of one long leg leaves him straddling the rail and holding one arm out to his new partner in crime. "You comin'? I've only got one."
The implication is obvious. It'll be a cozy ride, as he'll have to hold the descender with one hand and Daphne with his other arm.
"Is that a— " Daphne can't help but stare a little at the grappling hook. Such instruments were never her forte as a thief, but… "What are you, Batman?" She had to ask as he moves to the window, straddling the rail. He gets ready to go, and she reaches to grab onto the case. They've sort of agreed to split for the sake of pie. It's not a slow walk, but she doesn't zip around like she did when she entered the room. The way she moves she looks very light on her feet, though.
She is light on her feet. Not much above five foot, very lightly built, she's not going to be much of a burden. "Not my usual escape route, but I'll take it," she says with a smile. as she moves in to get close, wrapping arms around him. The suitcase presses against his back.
It'll definitely be cozy.
To Jack's credit, his hold on the girl is gentlemanly to the point of being chaste. He curls his arm around her lower back and holds her against his torso as gently as circumstances permit.
That might have something to do with the healing wounds in his chest and side. Maybe.
With her held lightly in his arms, Jack swings his other leg over the balcony and steps casually off the edge. True to his word, the descent to the street is smooth and fluid. Their own personal elevator. A digital counter on the side of the handle reads off the feet as wire reels off at a sedate pace. He's not looking at it, though. He's looking into Daphne's eyes for signs of fear… Intrigue… Anything fun, really.
Fear? Not really. Daphne looks around in surprise, watching the slow descent with intrigue. It's a new way to travel for her. Down instead of other directions! It's new for her. The whole time she's smiling, despite the newness. Heights don't scare her, and it seems like she trusts the cord and the very tall strong man's arms to keep her from dropping to her certain death. She always figured she'd die of a sudden stop, but she figured it would be running, but falling.
When her feet are solid on the ground, she dances away from him, twirling her arms out— including the suitcase. "That was so cool!" It's in a 'can we do it again?' voice, with a genuine smile.
They could probably do it again. But not now. She taps the case. Now would be her chance to run off with it, right? She doesn't, in fact she even holds it out to him instead of taking off with it. "Pie, right?"
Jack lets out a a soft grunt as he releases the girl and laughs approvingly at her bold, adventurous attitude. "Pie," he agrees. "Best key lime in the city, wicked blueberry cheesecake, and they make fresh ice cream every day."
Thumbing a catch on the descender unclamps the hooks from around the balcony. To keep it from hitting them, he whips the wire out in a wide arc as it retracts. It's obviously not the first time he's done this.
After he clips the descender on the back of his belt, he steps to the street side of the walkway and offers the crook of his arm in a gesture that can only be called old-fashioned. Despite the palm-sized spot of blood high on the right side of his shirt (kept conveniently concealed by his palm) he's smiling as well. Lopsided and roguishly, as usual. There's a genuine edge to the expression that those "closest" to him might not recognize at all. "Glad you enjoyed the ride," he murmurs playfully. "Cafe's this way. C'mon, I always buy on the first date. Moniker's Jack, by the way."
Watching the wire zip all the way down makes Daphne smile and even laugh a little. It's this point where she realizes that she left her hat upstairs, and she's in a bellhop outfit, minus the hat. Well… there's people who dress weirder. The hat isn't even hers, so she's not too worried about to. "You know I never use gadgets for my jobs! Maybe I should. It'd help with the whole… up and down thing." She makes motions with her hands. She's better at the horizontal? Pretty much.
Jack. "Nice to meet you, Jack. I was half hoping your name was Bruce so the whole Batman thing was true. You're tall and quiet and pretty good looking, but I guess you're a little rugged and more like a Jack." The arm is accepted, and she keeps a hold on the case for now.
First date… There's a quiet expression in her eyes for a moment as she looks off into the distance. It doesn't last long before she looks back up at him. "I'm a Daphne. This happen to you often? Pick up girls after the same thing?"
Is there a hint of blush in Jack's cheeks? Nah, must be a trick of the light.
He recovers quickly, casting a sidelong glance at Daphne and grinning even wider. "You'd be surprised how often people are after the same thing I am. Never offered to share over dessert, though. You're too pretty for my own good, even in that silly little suit."
Gentle pressure from Jack steers them both around a slick patch on the sidewalk. When they hit the corner he jerks his head in the direction of the first door they come across. It's a combination cafe-bar-deli decorated in a loose 50s motif. At this hour the lights are comfortably dim and the place is nearly empty.
"Welcome to Laroma," Jack says. He extracts his arm from Daphne reluctantly and points her toward a booth at the rear. "Go ahead, sit. Have a look in the case. I'll bring over some treats."
If there's a blush, it's ignored or unnoticed. The poor lighting helps with that. And— Daphne might actually have a little color on her own cheeks, but it seems more like her to have that in the end. Sprite-like as she is, a blush to her cheeks might have everything to do with the cold, as well as the whole situation. The hand holding the case doesn't swing, but it almost seems like she wants to be swinging it by the way she moves. Light on her feet.
An empty cafe. "Now this is more like it," she says with a smile, moving over to the table that she's pointed to, putting the case down. The combination is already known, those who wanted to steal it already had things set up ahead of time, right? It's bullet proof, and would be hard to open without it. A few flicks of her hand, flicks that happen in a blur, and she opens it.
There's a grin on her face and she closes it again. "You did good, Jack-man." He voice seems humored. Like Batman, only for Jacks.
Jack isn't gone for long. He scoots up to the counter and starts pointing out items to the employees. Double-wide slices of the previously mentioned key lime pie and blueberry cheesecake, plus five small scoops of ice cream heaped into a single large, metal bowl. All of it is balanced a little precariously on the tray. Carrying it requires both hands, which means that he can't really cover the spot of blood on his shirt. It's a trivial matter. Right now he has both business and pleasure to attend to.
He slides into the booth beside Daphne instead of across from her, his hip bumping companionably against hers as he settles in. "Excellent," he replies, boyishly pleased by her progress report.
"Green tea, ginger, french vanilla, strawberry, and peach," he explains, pointing to each of the ice cream scoops in turn. They're bypassed in favor of the key lime pie, though. A forkful is dug up, but rather than taking it himself, he cups his hand under it and holds it out to Daphne. "Go ahead," he urges, unable to keep a small smile from his face.
A short time is a lot longer to her than it might be to anyone else, but Daphne still isn't left to wait too long. The fact she hasn't taken her half and jetted off might just mean she has nowhere to be, but she's still firmly in her chair when he comes back, grinning like a cat who just pounced on something. Sure, he did a lot of the work, she provided a distraction… And now she's getting pie and ice cream for her trouble!
"And I thought I move fast," she teases, grinning as she leans forward and takes a bite of the key lime pie straight from his fork. A hand goes up to catch some of the cream that sticks to her lip, helping it the rest of the way in. Though she's teasing back, that blush is definitely more visible.
Eyes flicker to the spot of blood he'd done attempts to cover, but no more. "What happened with that?" she nods to it, looking around at the ice creams as if trying to pick which one. Ginger gets pulled over first.
"I fell down some stairs?" Jack replies faux-innocently, his eyes fixed on Daphne's face. After a moment he realizes that he dropped the conversational ball and continues with a dismissive wave of his fork. "Popped some stitches on the way down from the hotel room, I think. Nothin' you can do unless you know how to sew."
Jack's cheeks go a little pink again, too. For him it's the thought of shucking his shirt for Daphne. And so on. It seems he's able to match her blush for blush tonight. The ice cream serves as a momentary distraction. He digs up an over-large bite and takes half for himself, murmuring appreciatively at the slightly spicy taste. The rest is offered to Daphne in the same manner as the pie was, though this time he's leaning quite a bit closer.
"I don't really sew much, especially not people. But maybe you should keep taking the Jack-elator," Daphne says as a joke, likely in response to the falling down the stairs. That smile remains, fuller on one side than the other, moving toward a smirk. No such luck getting shirt off right now, but she does glance toward the wound for a few seconds. She could probably get him a bandaid or something at least, or that crazy ER tape that they have.
This may be something he's done to girls in the past, but for her… this entire experience is new to her! She rarely stays still long enough to be treated like this anymore. And it isn't like he's feeding her for negative reasons.
Leaning forward a bit in her bellhop uniform, she takes in the mouthful of ginger ice cream and savors it for a moment before she can speak again. "Do you do tall building jobs often? That why you got the whole… grappling hook thing?"
"Nah," Jack replies, shaking his head. He forks out a bite of the blueberry cheesecake and takes his time enjoying it. "Mmmmmgood. No, that was a first for me, too. Got the descender from a friend. Honestly, I was clenched up so tight on the way down that you couldn't have fit a jellybean in me with a jackhammer. I mostly work on the water, truth be told."
He grins ruefully and shakes his head. Honesty. This is… different. And sort of nice. His blush is fading but it's not gone yet.
Suddenly shy, Jack ducks his head slightly and slides the tray a little closer to Daphne. "Try the cheesecake," he urges. "It's divine."
"Water, really?" Daphne exclaims, continuing to lean forward as if on the edge of her seat with interest in how this man happens to do his job. "I've robbed barges in Paris, but that's about as close as I've ever been to a water-job." She's not sure river barges count, though. It's one of those things. "I'm actually used to tall buildings, and museam jobs. Never used one of those hook things, but I usually jump to the next building and jet down the stairs if I have to do an emergency escape."
The cheesecake is pulled over at his words, grabbing for her own utencil now. She smiles around it as she tastes the mouthful. "Mm, not bad!" is added as she pulls the empty fork. "Okay. I'll let you in on a little secret… This job was for fun. I don't even have a buyer lined up for this one yet. I usually get a buyer first, unless I plan to keep it."
She looks at the suitcase, as if it might be accusing her of something, "No offense. You're beautiful, but not my type."
Jack's eyes go progressively wider and his jaw even drops a little as Daphne describes a few of her more unique talents. After what he's seen, he doesn't have any reason to doubt her. Though they're both experts at what they do, being from different walks of criminal life lends a certain fascination. "Wow," he says, laughing quietly. "That's just cool. I'm a a little more low-tech. People call me a pirate, but I prefer the term 'aquatic entrepreneur.' Payroll jobs, small cargo, valuables. Stuff like that."
The casual dismissal of the case and contents doesn't go unnoticed. He quirks an eyebrow briefly and reaches across his date to pull their prize closer. The latches are flipped and the lid opened just far enough to glimpse what lies inside before he shuts and seals it again. "By the power of Greyskull…" he murmurs under his breath.
"I don't think even Greyskull had that," Daphne grins behind another spoon full of the ice cream. This time a french vanilla. They do have different styles, completely so, but that doesn't mean she's not just as intrigued with him. Boat jobs… that sounds like a fun thing to try out, even if it's just for some loose cash. Or for fun.
"I'm tempted to let you keep it," she finally says, glancing back at the case. It's valuable, but she hadn't chosen the job for the money this time. It had been an excuse to dress up, to try something that wasn't all just zipping around. Timing was everything, but she wasn't the one… "I'm not the one who sat in a guy's toilet for hours just waiting for the right moment."
She pulls another container over, testing out the strawberry. "Just not something I can do. World moves at enough of a crawl already."
The lid of the case is lifted and dropped one more time. Jack lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "That's quite the offer," he says, meeting her eyes squarely. "Especially since we both know you could've taken this and bolted anytime you wanted. You'd be hell on the water, I bet." The last bit is a complimentary murmur and comes with a smile.
Now thoroughly distracted from the food, he drums his fingers against the case and hmmmmms thoughtfully under his breath. "Who knows how long I would've had to wait if you hadn't showed up?" he asks, shrugging and looking back up at Daphne. "You provided the distraction, I took him down. Team effort. I say I take this to a buyer and we split the profits down the middle. Besides— " he pauses for a wink. "Sharin' dessert with you was worth givin' up half."
Hell on water? Indeed. Daphne grins widely at the words, but doesn't give a full response. She may not have to. The smile may be more than enough. It has that mischevious secretive style to it. The white haired woman's smile settles a bit when he makes his counter-offer, taking it to the buyer and everything. It's true, she could have run off with it at any time had she had her heart set on it or needed the money really bad, but right now…
"Deal," she says, putting down the used spoon and holding her still gloved hand out. The little white gloves probably did not belong to the bellhop she stole the outfit from. They fit too well.
"I'll give you my phone number. I sometimes don't answer it when I'm on the move, but I'll check the voice messages, and all you'll have to do is give me a time and place and I'll be there." Even if she cuts it close, she's usually right on time. Helps being able to move as fast as she does. Helps a lot. "We can meet up and you can give me my share. Maybe we can even work together again."
Jack's gaze lingers on Daphne's face for long time. It roams over lips, eyebrows, the haircut that wouldn't look good on anybody else — but looks great on her. He's suddenly very aware of the way his hip and thigh are pressed against hers. It's a pleasant sensation. This casual, boyish flirtation is a welcome departure from his jaded day-to-day existence.
"I'd like that," he replies honestly as he takes her hand in his. His black leather gloves and her white ones make quite the contrast as he brushes a kiss against the backs of her fingers rather than shaking. "I'd like that a lot. You can meet me on my boat and I'll give you a tour. She's not as fast as you, but she's almost as pretty."
A long look is even longer to a speedster. As it continues, there's a healthy flush that rises on her face, and Daphne's dark eyes dart around a little as if wanting to look away. They keep going back, though, as if to see if he's still looking at her. Maybe she's not used to this kind of attention either! It's not that she's jaded or doomed to be alone, she's just often prefered to live alone, work alone most the time. It's rare she slows down long enough to meet someone like this.
"I'd like that." Her voice shakes a little, hints of nervousness, then she starts to move, so she can stand up. It doesn't look like she's moving away cause she's uncomfortable, though, because she pulls at the uniform until she can get to a wallet. A very fashionable wallet that probably comes from some European country. There's almost nothing in it, except a set of cards. Numbers to people. She flicks through them and pulls one out of a small stack. "Here you go."
Daphne Millbrook. Full name, with phone number following below. No address. No actual indication of what she does for a living. But he already knows the answer.
Uh oh. Staring. He's been caught staring. Jack shakes his head, both to collect himself and to break his gaze away as he accepts the card. He barely glances at it before tucking it up inside his glove for safekeeping. Unlike her, he doesn't have anything quite so classy. He produces a pen and scribbles a cell phone number down on a napkin for her. No last name, but there's the address to a harbor and a docking number for the Casino Royale.
"Leaving?" he asks, his tone understanding with an underlying hint of wistful. For a person moving at regular speed it seems like their little date just started. Still, dessert has either been devoured or melted away. He shrugs and grins ruefully and then leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I guess sittin' still probably isn't one of your hobbies. You could probably make it to Paris before I found my way back to my boat."
"Casino Royale, huh?" Daphne repeats as she looks over the napkin, which gets folded up and placed in a pocket on her uniform. Somewhere where it won't easily fly out when she inevitably zooms off. "I've seen that movie— both of them, actually. Maybe you're kind of a … Jack Bond," she jokes, still blushing as she shifts on her feet. Sitting still is definitely not one of her hobbies. "It takes a little time to get to Paris from here, but I do have a few places to be."
She usually does. There'd been no intention to stay in the area as long as she has, honestly, but pie and ice cream… and tall nice man. "We'll see each other again, though." Even if he doesn't call her, she knows where his boat is parked now. Course he could move, but that's where the cellphone number comes in handy.
There's a pause, a short break to give him a hair's chance to respond, but then she's zipping out of the cafe and into the night. Sorry about those napkins that got kicked up in her wake…
 March 11th: Singing in the Rain |
 March 11th: Nobody Expects... |