2007-08-04: Dead and Gone


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Summary: Stop me if you've heard this one. Two blondes walk into a bar…

Dark Future Date: August 4, 2009

Dead and Gone

S*Y*N Club

New York never sleeps, even when it's broken. And S*Y*N never closes. Ever. It's open 24/7. So, it should be no surprise that now, several hours before prime bar and club hour, it's still a hotspot. Mind you, it'll get more crowded the later it gets; now, most of the patrons hit up the bar and casino zone, more than the dancefloor. The electronica drifting over from the dancefloor is at a minimum; classic rock fills the air, and the performers on the catwalks make damn good use of it.

There's a buzz in the air this evening. Certain people, located here and there around S*Y*N — Syndicate members — are on edge. Their nervousness extends like a net, reeling everyone in. Rumour is, the boss is not happy. That's no surprise, but when a random Syndicate businessman winds up dead in his own office— okay, that shouldn't be surprising either. The point is, there's rumour of an intruder, but no one knows anything. They're just waiting for something to snap. It's probably going to be someone's neck.

It's not really falling off the wagon if you're actually using it as a platform from which to jump far beyond, is it? Kate certainly doesn't think so. The plan of attack for tonight is to act more of a scene queen than a socialite. That is, she plans to get liquored up and dance until she's forgotten why she decided to come to this club. She knows what this club is a front for, sure, but Kate's never been one to shy away from danger. And, really, where else is open at this hour?

Kate keeps her head held high as she makes her way through the club to the bar. It isn't crowded, but she still wants to look the part of someone who doesn't want to be messed with. Perhaps the fact that she isn't hiding her horrifically scarred left arm is proof that someone once trifled with her - and she's not afraid to show off her battle scars. At least, that's the effect she's hoping to achieve by leaving her arm bare. She hesitates at the bar. What does she even want to drink? "I need a Purple Rain over here." Long Island Iced Tea? Make way for your more alcoholic cousin. She leans against the bar and curiously turns her attention toward the women on stage.

Rampage. Rampage is a good word, isn't it? It's very expressive. Jessica is feeling that word acutely today. Shoving some poor slob aside and nearly sending him over the railing at the top of the stairs - black, winding and metal - she descends, in a hurry. Smart black boots hit the steps with a clanging cadence.

She's dressed entirely in black: trim pants and a shirt that mildly resembles a corset with straps, although there's a fitted suit jacket overtop. The woman's lengthy blonde hair is hauled back into a tight ponytail today, which only seems to increase the severity of her expression as she stalks through the club toward the bar. She all but slams into it a few empty seats down from Kate, her palms instantly flattening on its surface with a *smack*. "Have you seen the k— " Suddenly, her attention is caught by Kate. Her expression doesn't change. It's already a dark glare. "…kid." She finishes her demanding words to the bartender without averting her gaze from the other woman. I know you.

"Oh crap." Kate's eyes fix on Jessica - and she knows that's Jessica. She takes in a deep breath and then forces a smile. "Good evening, Miss Sanders." Oh, crap. "You look like you're having a rough day. Would you care to join me for a drink?" That… maybe wasn't the best course of action, but it's the one she takes anyway.

"Detective," Jessica counters. Her severe expression doesn't become any more severe; the smirk that draws up her lips only adds a little dose of wickedness to it. "Or should I say, Mrs. Petrelli." The correction is a mockery. Rather than reply to Kate's lovely offer straight away, she looks past the woman and at the booths, the tables, the corners. Searching, searching. There's a subtle sheen of sweat over the blonde's skin, a pallor to her otherwise faintly tanned complexion. "Hm." Jessica almost laughs. At what, who knows. "Line up some shots of whiskey," she tells the bartender, barely glancing at Kate again.

"Shots. Whiskey. Right." Kate nods once. "Just like the old days. We'll see if I've still got the stones, shall we?" She smiles thinly to Jessica. "I must admit, I honestly didn't think I would run into you here." It just seemed too obvious. "The years have been kind to you, I see." Absently, she rubs at her scarred arm.

Jessica eyes Kate sidelong, critically, noting the scars and every other detail about the woman and maybe the depths of her soul. She has an intense stare, especially so today. Rampage, remember. As she the glasses start to line the bar in front of them, she undoes the singular button of her jacket. It's not generosity or a sharing mood that prevents her from just taking them all for herself, it's the fact that her tab is paid in multimillions. "Yeah, well. You'd be surprised where people end up." She slides the jacket off of her arms with a violent, brusque motion and drops it over the nearest barstool - beside Kate, where she sits. Her top has a low back, barely one at all. It shouldn't be surprising that, in a place like this, it's mostly skin. One of the straps hides her tattoo, however, but it can't hide the bandage seeping with red on the front of her left shoulder. "Everyone comes here. Just a matter of time."

Kate has to admire the top. In her single days, she would have worn something similar. Not so anymore. "But they don't always stay, do they?" Mrs. Petrelli raises her first shot with a brilliant, albeit gap-toothed smile. "Cheers." She tips her head back and down the first shot. Oh, whiskey, how I missed you. She shudders and licks her lips. "That's good stuff. Not that I expected anything less from someone of your stature, Miss Sanders."

One of the shots of whiskey is downed and the glass slammed back on the bar within a few seconds by Jessica's hand. She doesn't flinch. "Cheers," she returns with a notable lack of cheer, but a slight sneer, instead. A glimmer of amusement sparks in her eyes before she looks away from Kate, still watchful of S*Y*N's patrons. "My stature," she repeats with through a chuckle, made even lower and sultrier by the liquor's burn. She twists the second shot glass around on the bar slowly. Suddenly, she's on her feet and standing at Kate's side, looking down at her. "What exactly do you think my stature— " Her eyes narrow. "—is?" Why, Jessica has something to hide. If Kate knows what it is, she's going to start having a rough day, too.

"Tall. Blonde. Important. You've always been important, haven't you, Jessica?" If Kate's unnerved by the killer looming over her, she doesn't show it. She just picks up her second shot. "You've never been one to sit by and let morons take charge. You always manipulate." She peers up casually. "We both like to be subtle. I think it's a… female thing."

Jessica looms, all right. She stares Kate down through the slits of her eyes, rimmed as they are in black. There's distrust in her stare, potentially deadly suspicion. "I don't have to tell you what'll happen to you if you're anything less than subtle."

Kate looks largely unimpressed. Defense mechanisms have kicked in, in full force. "Are you gonna drink or play catchup, Sanders?" The seated blonde brings her second shot to her lips and downs it smoothly. She leans against the bar, but inclines her head just a touch. Message received, loud and clear.

Jessica glares a moment longer just for good measure. "Neither." And yet, she takes a shot and downs it without moving from her spot close to Kate. Then she steps back, the slender ponytail at her back swaying before she sits, this time openly facing the establishment, a hand on her knee. She rolls her bullet-attacked shoulder, and though she doesn't wince, it's uncomfortable. She sets her jaw, looking around, unimpressed herself. She takes a cell phone out of the pocket of the jacket she shunned, calls a number, gets no answer, and proceeds to look even more unimpressed.

"Lost someone, have we?" Kate turns her back to the bar, resting her elbows against it on either side of her as she leans back. "I know how that is. Frustrating." She watches one of the dancers on stage, almost interested. It's the art more than anything else. "Why do you still do that?" She gestures toward the stage. "You can do so much better."

Jessica has excellent social skills when she's trying to get what she wants. Then, it's all a lie. Manipulation, as Kate said. Now is not one of those times. With the phone at her ear again, she doesn't answer a single one of the woman's inquiries. "You ask a lot of questions."

"And you're a boring conversationalist." Kate shrugs. It's just a fact. She glances toward Jessica, and then back out toward the floor. A soft sigh escapes her lips. She doesn't dare just get up and try to walk away from the Sanders woman, though. Not just yet. Not when there's information to be had.

"What can I say," Jessica smirks as she flips the phone shut in the palm of her hand. "You don't inspire me." She twists in her seat to pluck another shotglass up between two fingers. It's an impressive little line-up they have going on there. The liquor doesn't seem to inspire her to talk either, but she does jerk her chin toward Kate and brusquely ask, "What?" She ears that sigh. She can almost see the woman thinking.

"Harsh," Kate muses, going for her third shot. She even clinks glasses gently with the other woman this time. She doesn't respond again until after she's downed it. "Woolgathering." She tips her head to one side slowly. The alcohol is starting to take effect. "Is she still in there? Niki? I mean, it doesn't matter to me one way or the other. I'm just curious."

"No." Jessica slides off the stool, whisking the jacket along with her. "She's dead and gone." The words are pretty dead themselves; hollow, it if weren't for the touch of annoyance. She pushes her arms through the sleeves, and soon the jacket is snugly fit to her body once more and buttoned the one time. She turns her back on the other woman, flipping her hair over her collar as she saunters away, on a route that leads behind the stages — though she won't appear on them, tonight. "Say hi to your husband for me." Her grin is practically audible.

Kate huffs at Jessica's back, her lips pursed in irritation. As if she'll be telling Peter she saw That Awful Sanders Woman at all. She slides off of her stool and stalks, albeit not in exactly a straight line, toward the exit. This day can't get any worse.

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