2007-05-07: Claws In


Elle_icon.gif Bob_icon.gif Jessica_icon.gif

Summary: Bob has some things to say to some certain blondes.

Date It Happened: May 7th, 2007

Claws In

Kirby Plaza, Midtown, NYC

Kirby Plaza. Elle's been having a rotten last-couple-days. Getting the call to report in isn't exactly making it a better one. But she arrives, parks her car, and heads into the Company offices, heading for her father's office.

"Elle, I'm glad you're here." Bob closes the lid on his lap top. "Someone is coming today who I want you to meet. As you know, sometimes when a person gives orders there's an element of unexpected consequences. Wires get crossed. So today I need to clear one of those up. Sit down."

Orion Granger is in the background, doing epic battle with a rebellious photo-copier as Elle strides into headquarters.

Elle frowns a bit, not entirely certain what's going on, but she takes a seat, waiting to see what's going on. She's quiet so far, taking the back seat, as she does around her father.

In an empty office adjacent to Mr. Bishop's, a woman stands facing the window, her arms crossed. She's all trim angles due to the black suit she wears; blonde hair spills in waves over the shoulders of her jacket and down her back. Clock check. About time. She's on the move, and so, Jessica Sanders appears in the doorway to Bob's office a moment after Elle has sat down. She leans against the frame casually, her arms still folded underneath her chest. "/Boo/."

Elle pops up, office or no. Someone isn't happy. Her hands clasp up into semi-claws at her side, balls of electric death crackling into view in both of her palms.

"Elle, this is Jessica. Jessica, this is Elle. You've already met," Bob says in brisk, professional fashion. "You're not allowed to kill her. You, Jessica, are ESPECIALLY not allowed to kill /her/." Claws in, ladies.

An eyebrow flickers ever-so-slightly when Elle starts a-cracklin', but Jessica doesn't move an inch. She stays right where she is, cool and casual. "Would I do that?" she asks with feigned innocence. "Come on. Your boytoy is fine. You heard your daddy: /leave me alone/."

Elle snaps "And what about you -completely- screwing up what I was working on there by deciding you wanted to go all slasher flick in the bookstore? What was -that- all about?" Oh, she's pissed. But she closes her hands into fists, the electric cracklings dying as she does. But she's still on her feet, looking angry.

"Don't worry, Elle. Jessica's going to be leaving the state soon," Bob soothes. "However, she's got a few more errands to run for me before that happens, and it would be vexing to me to have you fighting one another while they are taking place." Especially given both women's…homicidal…tendencies.

The taller blonde's brows lift incredulously; she gives a soft, unimpressed scoff. "I was looking for something. I got interrupted," she says, cavalier. "The Petrelli kid was just in the way." Jessica glances past Elle at Bob, but most of her attention is on his pissed off daughter.

Elle's words are full of venom. "What, the -painting-? We could take pictures of that at any time. That's not the real prize there. I was -after- the real prize, and I almost -had- it, and now you've got them on the defensive and paranoid again, you stupid bitch."

Bob sits back at his desk and watches the ping pong match of angry feminine rage going on. He settles back and puts his hands behind his head and just…watches…one of those I'm-in-control smiles on his face.

Jessica just smirks, pushing easily away from the doorway to stride ever-so-slightly closer to Elle - in the danger zone, so to speak. "Did I step on your toes?" She coos, eyeing Elle up and down. "The painting just happened to be there," she says nonchalantly with a grimace to her smirk. So no, then. She had other plans.

Elle is at a serious height deficiency next to Jessica, but she isn't about to back down. Her right hand opens back up, and her eyes narrow. No zappy death. Yet. But Bob should recognize, even if Jessica doesn't, that it's not long in coming at the moment.

"Enough," Bob says. "You've both made your point. We all know you can hurt each other. You will both stop, because it is your jobs. Step back, stand down. Enough." He stands up and leans over the desk, hands flat upon it. "Am I making myself clear?"

Jessica's arms swing down to her sides and she cocks her head back, looking down at Elle over her nose. She's very aware what the look in the younger woman's eyes means; it's one she knows well. It's that very glare that is shot at Bob now, lingering for several seconds with distinct aversion to /orders/. "I have places to be." She moves to the door - strolling backward - but pauses before leaving to wink at Elle. "Say hi to Peter for me."

Psychoblonde #2 looks back at Jessica, but as usual, Bob's orders get her to stop. She takes a step back herself, and looks back to Bob. "All right, fine. I'm not supposed to kill her. Is there something else?"

"No," Bob says. "Think of it as one of life's little compromises. I put up with your ventures, like your radioactive boyfriend, and you put up with mine, like the normal business of the company you work for." He lets the sarcasm enter to dance on the edge of his tone.

Elle looks upset. "Daddy, I was -trying- to handle the business of the Company there. They have something we'd want, and I'd -almost- gotten them to turn it over to me. No fuss, no muss, no bad blood. And then she goes and screws it all up!"

"I told you, wires sometimes get crossed," Bob says, rubbing at his temple. "Just take a picture of the painting and let them keep it. The information is what's important, and they've got it already."

Elle explains, or tries to, since this whole stunt was something to get her in good with Daddy. "The painting isn't the real find there. They have…or had…a list. A list of evolved people, and their abilities, and contact information. Peter's working there now, and he's going to get it for me." See?! This whole thing is to the Company's benefit. Really!

"Who else knows about this list?" Bob asks, half standing. "Are they all morons? Don't they think Sylar might have a want for that?" He scrubs his hands over his face, drywashing it. "Alright, Elle. I'm sorry that got messed up." He looks ready to go knock his head against the wall, but he regains his composure quickly.

Elle replies "Only a handful of people. And fortunately or unfortunately, the actual physical list, the original, is damaged or destroyed at this point." From the chaos -she- caused at EB, but hey. "But again, they trust Peter, and he's getting with the person who made the list originally, to get the information and give it to me, and then I'm going to bring it in." Her explanation is almost desperate, looking for some kind of approval from Bob. Good job, Daddy, right? Story of Elle's life.

Bob looks at Elle for a long moment. He stares at her. "Come here," he says. He offers a sort of a hug, his arms held slightly apart in a very awkward sort of a way. He doesn't smile, he looks, in fact, uncomfortable, like he's being asked to speak Japanese in Greece.

Elle's eyes widen, and the expression there is almost pure happiness. This is her goal; always has been. She wraps her arms around Bob, and hugs tightly.
He folds his arms around her and squeezes. "Look, Elle. I love you too. Okay?" He still sounds like he's speaking a foreign language. "You do fine. I'm a critical person by nature. I've got a lot on my plate here. Just —" He grimaces and shuts up.

Elle nods. "It's okay, Daddy. I'll get the list." The one hug just made her whole last few days worthwhile. Even getting short-circuited. "And I'll leave Jessica alone."

"Thank you," Bob says. And then the moment is over. He says, "I'll need a report on my desk by morning," rather briskly, sits down, and gets back to work.

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