2009-09-22: A Job For The World's Best Thief



Date: September 22, 2009


A modern day Superman needs a modern day Robin Hood.

"A Job For The World's Best Thief"

Battery Park

It's a touch cloudy, but just enough warm that people can enjoy the greenery the way it's supposed to be enjoyed. There's the odd tourist, the speed-walking locals, some joggers, and a few token couples all hand-in-hand like they should be. Harmony in the universe. And, if not, then there's at least harmony between Daphne and a park bench looking out over the waterfront. Scooting all the way against the back, she brings her feet up in front of her then lifts a very full and chunky looking plastic bag up into her lap. A couple of eager and overly anticipatory birds flock to the railing nearby and the speedster wrinkles her nose and mutters, "Shoo, shoo!"

"I'm surprised to find you sitting down," a voice suddenly says from behind her. There'd been no one there a second ago. The park is never devoid of people, but definitely no one was that close. People just keep on walking. A double take or two is all that usually happens when he teleports in. Most think it just a trick of the light, or lack of attention. People don't just appear out of nothing. Often. This one does, though. Dressed as a paramedic, dark blue with sewn on badge and job title scrawled across it, Peter has his hands in his pockets, looking over at her quietly. At least his sudden appearance scares some of the birds off! "You missed the last meeting."

Not even a courtesy 'bamf' as warning. Daphne is used to this kind of appearance - in that she knows it's possible - and she'll still contest that it's a form of cheating. No matter, mister sudden appearance is given the sideways look that he deserves and a purposefully put-out expression. "… Shoo." But the birds are, after all, gone. At his admonition, she wiggles a bit in her seat and produces from the bag a container. It's the oh-so-familiar symbol for take-out everywhere. "Oh. You caught me," she drawls, "Busted with Chinese. Come to see if I've got diamonds in my kung pao?" She doesn't sound particularly annoyed. She doesn't have kung pao either. The lid she pops up lets out a waft of something distinctly more sweet n'sour.

"Nope, I don't plan to check your Chinese. Is it actually from China?" Peter asks, even smiling faintly, cause this is one of the few people who could actually get Chinese food from China and eat it in New York. Besides him and a handful of others. As he says this, he moves around the bench so that he can join her, dropping down on the seat. "I was just making sure that you were doing all right." His shoulders shrug a bit, as he looks out at the water, intent to let her eat for a while. "Has everything been going all right?"

"Even the server was white," is Daphne's vaguely disappointed answer. She watches him circle the bench, all the while fishing out a pair of chopsticks. Her pinkie also hooks onto another one of those containers. She lifts it up and drops it by the man in paramedic blue. "It's been really peachy, boss. Right up until the Stepfords came home from their vacation a day early. So, if you've got any other names on that list of those…" She eyes him expectantly, but not for long. There's chicken to trap between two pieces of thin wood. She does so with practiced deftness.

With Chinese food (from a white guy) dropped nearby, Peter takes it and sets it in his lap, carefully opening it while trying to avoid spilling any of the various sauses on his clothes. Very likely he has to go back to work after the impromptu meeting. Or at least he'll have to wash the uniform. Not that he can't explain a staine or two away as blood, rather than sweet and sour sauce. It wouldn't be the first time someone bled all over him. "You could always get yourself a legitimate job. I have some friends who are good at getting people new identities." There's a pause, before reaches up, and suddenly there's a piece of paper in his hands. "But here. Being a telepath in a hospital means you hear about all the scams people do when they're supposed to be helping people. I think he could live without some of the thousands of dollars he's robbed from people just the last few months."

"This isn't legitimate?" Daphne inquires faux-innocently, plucking the paper away from him to the sound effect of 'cha-ching!'. There's a subtle change in her expression as she stares at the paper, something tumultuous, before it gets stuffed away in her pants' pocket. "The people have spoken. No more thousands for scam artists. That's good, right? And isn't that the aim?" Not to say that she hasn't tried to… skew that aim once in a while. Or get him to, too. Hey, can't blame a girl for making some effort. But mostly she plays the good thief, plucking away at Chinese and only once leaning over to very exaggeratedly steal something from out of his selection instead.

"Especially not when their job is to help people," Peter says with a frown, obviously disappointed with this person in particular. "I also included a charity where you should donate most of it." Always part of the deal. She can keep a percentage (a rather small one, really), but the rest goes to a charity of choice, or the victims themselves. "I don't know most of the victims, just the scam, so at least this way the money will go to help people who need it." Specifically a children's charity. He doesn't mind her stealing his food, because technically she bought it. He does start to look for a thing of chopsticks so he can dig in himself.

Yeah, right, the charity. The charity that's getting all her well-earned cash. Daphne only makes a small noise of acknowledgment towards all this, preferring to eat at her meal instead. "You're always helping other people," she comments, injecting no judgment into the sentence, only a soft inquiry of indeterminate purpose. When he begins to go digging, she lets him a second before also poking into the bag. "I don't know if there's…" another pair? Perhaps not. But the speedster is distracted by something else. Eyebrows drawing down, she pulls out an item most absurdly lime green and purple. Some sort of print on it is possibly inviting someone somewhere. "Uhh. Is that supposed to be the receipt?"

"I try," Peter says, giving up on the search for a chopstick, and instead touching the absurd lime green and purple ribbon thing. He laughs, "That's— an invitation to a wedding. You can get free food, at least, cake and ice cream and champaign." As long as she doesn't rob them. They're not only good people (in his eyes) but they're Company Agents. It is a funny coincidence she stumbled upon one of the thousands of invites that Meryl put out. "I'm going as the Best Man, actually— you'll get to see me in a tux." A suit happens often, the paramedic outfit. He leaves out the fact he'll have pink on as well, though. The bride is crazy. Instead of fishing for another pair, and fork suddenly appears in his hand. If he ever tried to be a thief, he'd be a helpful one, probably.

"Well, it looks like something mythical puked it up," Daphne decides, pressing her lips together disdainfully and dumping the invite back into the bag. Funny, indeed. She wouldn't like it anymore if she knew the type it came from. As things are, she squints aggressively at him, "Oh, a tux, that sounds precious annnnnd almost worth it. I'm not really the… wedding kind of gal. Cheers for being the Best, though." And there comes the fork. The eyebrows pull again, but this time more humorously as she jabs at his shoulder with one of her totally legit chopsticks. "There you go cheating again."

"That would actually be a very good description of the bride's imagination. Something mythical," Peter says with a smile, stabbing his fork into some of the veggies and taking a bite. Yes, he's cheating, but he just happens to be a cheater at times. Once his piece is swallowed, he does defend himself, "I don't know where any chopsticks are for sure, but I know where I keep my own forks." There's a pause, before he lowers the fork and looks at her, "So why aren't weddings your thing? You don't like wearing dresses or you just… don't like crowds?"

Daphne's face aptly describes what her impression of the bride must be now. Which sort of suggests what the whole affair will look like, if this is just the bride's idea of an invitation. She picks away at her sweet n'sour, bobbing her head from side to side and looking out over the water. There's some transports or the like floating by amiably at a speed that would kill one such as this girl here. Conveniently, she isn't looking at him when he is her. "I don't know," she says quickly, head shaking more fiercely, "Not like there's been a lot of them in my life or anything. Sort of a big waste of time. Don't think I… own a dress anyway… gosh darn, can't steal one…" And she trails off, mumbling as if bitterly.

"You don't own a dress?" Peter says, raising eyebrows at her and fails to take another bite in his surprise. "Well you know you could buy one. You keep a thousand or so from each job I give you, which is more than most people make a week. You could afford a dress if you walk into a store and get one. I bet you'd look pretty cute in one." While his words could be taken as flirting, his tone is friendly instead. "And it's not like you don't save time on travel with your own feet every day."

"Why should I?" Daphne shoots back, raising her own eyebrows to match his defensively. "Just because I can afford one doesn't mean I should waste it there when there's totally other things to spend on, instead. I'd have no reason, and don't get me on the free food because if it's free then that kinda defeats the point, doesn't it?" Maybe, maybe not. She shrugs for full indecisive emphasis, gnaws on her cheek, and then poses, "How you know these guys and their imaginations anyway?"

While she talks, with good arguments he can't talk against really, Peter takes a few more fork fulls of the Chinese food that'd been offered to him. At her question, he quickly swallows, and asks, "How do I know the bride and groom? They're— friends of the family, really. I've known the groom for a couple years now, and the bride… I met a little over a year ago." When she brought him a set of crayons in Level Five and witnessed the return of one of his abilities. But— There's another connection he can't reveal. More than a few, really. "I've known her a little longer than I've known you." But not as long as she's known him, maybe?

Daphne nods absently to what he's saying, revealing, at least, that she's listening even though other things seem to have her attention. "Pretty crazy, huh," she comments after he finishes, "Deciding to spend your whole life with somebody else like that. They know everything about you…" She stutters slightly, both in words and in the way her face clouds over with several troubled emotions she is forced to dismiss. Quickly enough, she's shaking her head again, hair bouncing and lips pushed out pointedly, "Or not. It's not like anybody stays together anymore." Pause. Think. "I mean, best of luck to your friends, of course, but." Shrug.

"Marriage works for some people. And sometimes it's better when one breaks up, too," Peter says, thinking back on something as he stares off for a moment. His parents marriage hadn't been the most stable, no matter how long it lasted. "They're good for each other, I think. So they could make it quite some time." Before one of them gets killed in their line of work. It's not as if what they do isn't dangerous. "Think you'll make it to the next meeting? You never did give a reason for missing our last one." Not that it stopped him from finding her.

A small smile is Peter's reward for believing in the bride and groom's togetherness. Daphne drops her legs off the bench in front of her, pausing in eating to also brace her hands on either side. She stretches forward. "Maybe I will. It just seemed so much more exciting to leave it all mysterious." It used to be exciting to show up. Be challenged. To think… well, things change. But when she glances over at him, her eyes are twinkling something devilish. "Beat you to Frankfurt this weekend?"

"We haven't had a good race in a while, have we?" Peter muses outloud, suddenly making the fork disappear from his hand, persumably to his own sink, and putting the food package back together so he can set it back down where she can take it. And he stands up from the bench, and faces her, "All right. We'll meet up this Saturday, usual place and time, and if you beat me to Frankfurt, you can keep all of what you get next job I give you. Deal?" There are a bunch of ways he could cheat to win, but while he bends the rules in some things, he's never cheated at a race. The ones they've had. Course he never put stakes on it like that, either. Maybe he's noticed she needs stakes sometimes.

"No, we haven't." She glances at the container he leaves behind but is soon looking up at him with a smirk. In fact, Daphne pushes up to sit straighter at the sound of some stakes being made. "Deal, boss. So you better makes the next job a good one." And it sounds like a good one, too. He may have up and gotten speed, but she's been around with it longer, knows all the routes. Frankfurt is a special favorite. She swings her feet and leans back, though, to ask, "Off to save somebody again, good guy?"

"Only if you consider going to a bachelor party saving someone," Peter says, though there's a hint in his voice that he might prefer being out saving someone to a party. It is the duty of the Best Man to make sure the Bachelor Party happens, and that the groom enjoys it. He also has to give a speech. "Since the bachelor party is in Vegas, I'll keep my mind open to pick up some really big scam. It might even take you out of country, with how many people are flying in and out of that city every day." Depends on what he 'hears'. But a job that comes from a trip to Vegas has the possibility of being quite bit, that's for sure.

Daphne gives a little snort at the comparison, beginning to cross her arms over her chest and then reconsidering to first pack away the food Peter left behind. She glances over her shoulder at him about scams, and that smirk hasn't gone far. "I feel so spoiled." It'll take more than an out of country visit to truly spoil her, however. Been there… you know it all. "Good to know you'll be thinking of me." She head-tilts and does that whole lip-pursing pose again.

"Of course I'm thinking of you. I'm giving jobs to the world's best thief," Peter says, sparing her another spoiling in the form of an ego boost. Probably not one far off, either. At least he knows his jobs are going to a good cause. Most of the time. And stealing from people who deserve it, cause they keep stealing it from others, scamming people out of their money, hurting them… There's always a price to pay, but… it helps people. In little ways, in big ways, and that's what matters to him. "See you around, Daphne," he says, before eyes close, and he vanishes as if he were never there. Except for the distinct imprint of shoes left for a moment.

Everybody's gotta be good at something, and thievery is Daphne's. She clings to it gloriously, along with that praise he's giving out because, when stealing is the thing, well… there aren't usually a lot of witnesses. Sure, she gives the money away but… wiggling in her seat, the speedster's mood drops a bit. Yeah. She gives the money away. There's some jabbing of the chopsticks into her food some more but the charm of the waterfront seems to have vanished. As has her excitement. As has that imprint on the ground, much like the matching one in her mind. And the piece of paper is burning a hole in her pocket.

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