2007-10-14: Lie Hard


Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif DL_icon.gif

Summary: What happens when you stalk a stalker that turns out to be the stalkee and get informed that who you thought was the stalkee is actually the stalker that has made you a stalker of the same stalkee that your stalker has been stalking? And a side of Communist.

Date It Happened: October 14, 2007

Lie Hard

Queens. Unfortunately.

Felix doesn't drive to work. Not worth the hassle. He's on foot as he comes home, picking his way through the park Niki last saw him in. Well, last saw him that he knew of, since he didn't see her at the drugstore. He's got a briefcase in hand, is in his usual sharply tailored suit, and looks profoundly weary. Work must not be going well - god knows he's not setting any blistering pace. More of a trudge, really.

What the hell is D.L. doing out here on the streets? Besides looking like a suspect in every sense of the racial profiling word? Well, he's actually just walking. Headed back towards where he should be going: the direction of his cousin's house anyway. His hands are in his pockets and his head is tilted down, away from anyone that may deem it necessary to pay attention to his face. Low profile is the name of the D.L. game that's for sure.

If anyone in the vicinity happened to be endowed with superhuman hearing, they'd be picking up the noise of a hurried feet carrying someone down multiple flights of stairs inside that six-story walk-up right over… there. Door opens, door closes, and then: "FELIX! Felix wait!" Hello, deafness. There's a dark-haired woman shouting from the stoop in the direction of the park.

Felix pauses, peering around like he expects Mariska to spring up out of the ground like a mushroom, blinking mildly behind his glasses. «Mariska? Where are you?» he wonders….oh, wait. He grins, rather sheepishly, as he sights her, and lifts his free hand to wave.

Big Tall Black Man doesn't really seem to notice too much. There's things going on in his brain that don't really make him… hol' up. Felix. He's heard that name before. Something jars him out of his walking through the streets and makes him stop, spin backwards on his heels and lean up against the wall of whatever (apartment!) building that he's next to. Frown.

Playing the role of happy housewife today will be an ill-suited Mariska, who's now bounding over to the afore-addressed 'Felix Waits' with something small and gunmetal gray clutched in one hand. Did we mention she's doing the whole satin nightgown and robe thing? Yeah. Let's throw that in there, too. It's a green and gold ensemble. Do with that information as you will. Once she closes the distance enough to be within arm's reach, she switches to their native Communist form of communication, «You forgot your phone.»

And it's nearly enough to make him turn around and go home right then. Because, hey. He takes the phone, looking exceedingly embarrassed. "I'd forget my head if it weren't attached to me," he allows in English, as he tucks it away in a pocket, and bends to kiss her. Ah, newlyweds. Even if it was an arranged marriage.

Taking the time to merely be observant, D.L. keeps a close eye on what's going on. He's trying to place the name in his head at the same time, which could be cause for alarm if he wasn't so frowny at the moment. This display of affection is also quite sickening, but that's neither here nor there. He's not hiding the fact that he's staring, either. Just in case any smoochers were to take a gander at their black audience of one.

Yeah. That quick peck on the lips = total gross-out. Of course, Mariska doesn't seem to be too keen on this whole public display of affection thing and she's quick to withdraw in favour of not being attached at the lips just in case someone might be watching. Ahem. "You'd forget more than that, I think," she says in her overgrown accent before beating a retreat back to the building she manifested from, and… oh, hell, keys. Well, that's okay. She'll just wait until… is anybody looking?

It's okay. Fel has not dashed off. Instead, he comes back, fishing his keys out of his pocket and settling them in the outer door. «You need 'em?» he wonders….and then there's that look. Fel slides a glance at D.L, and then peers over at the other man openly, arching his brows. What? I know my wife is hot, but hey, man, staring is rude.

"Yo." D.L. says, though his tone seems to be leading towards something. "Before you freak out, I ain't tryin' to mug you." He holds his hands up as he pushes off the wall to show that he's got no weapons in his hands. None. At all. See? "I'm lookin' for somebody that lives up in here. Think you two could help me out?" Well, he's clearing the previous frown off his face so he should be trustworthy enough, right?

Right, he's totally trustwo— er, big, bald, and black. Well, okay, maybe not big so much as mildly muscular and slightly imposing but that doesn't go with the alliteration scheme we've got going on right now, so, whatever. Cope. Mariska, despite her poor choice of attire for a crisp October morning, makes no attempt to shield herself behind Felix, though she does cross her arms over her chest and give D.L. the 'I will scream the moment you blink twice in my direction' look. It goes a little somethin' like this…

"Possibly," Felix says, in absolutely unaccented English. He does turn to face D.L curiously. "Depends on who you're looking for. I haven't lived there all that long," he explains.

Trying to ignore the blatant racism that's coming from the chick that's not even fully white, D.L. just narrows his eyes in the general direction of the Felix character and then cracks into a humble small. "I'ma' be honest. Some creep lives up in this building. He's a creep cuz he's been followin' my wife around." There's some inadvertent cracking of his knuckles at this moment. "I'm here to talk to him about it."

Upon hearing that D.L. is in the neighborhood to show off his LAWGIVAH pants in requires to a someone hassling his wife, Mariska's expression actually softens somewhat and she even, get this, seems somehow sympathetic to his plight. When he mugs them in a minute, she'll be kicking herself for having fallen for it but, right now? She's totally charmed by the fleeting thought that some kind of chivalry might actually exist.

Fel's expression is sympathetic. "She's got a stalker, huh? That's really police business," he says, thoughtfully. "Get a restraining order, is my advice. Especially if he's threatened her. Who do you think it is?"

"If I knew who it was, you'd be seeing him fly out of his apartment window by now." D.L.'s words are said in jest, but there's a bit of seriousness lingering in his eyes. But then he's shrugging and moving on. "Anyway, I ain't mean to interrupt you two. I'll find this dude myself, don't worry 'bout it." And he's already taking a step or two to start his walk off.

There's a little chuckle from Fel, barely audible. "Actually," he says, reaching into his suit jacket. For the business card, rather than the gun, happily, which he proffers to D.L. "IF you find out, let me know. I can drop by, put a scare into him," he says, amused.

D.L. just takes the card and hardly even spares it a glance. "Yeah, aight. Tha—" This is the part where more than a glance is spared. Name? Recognition. FBI? RECOGNITION. Business card? Clenched into the black fist of doom that, well, is not exactly the most educated fist in the world. "Oh hey." D.L.'s voice is trying to remain calm as he looks off to the side, using his peripheral vision to mark where Felix is standing. Target Acquired. "Found him." And this is D.L. coming out of nowhere with a fist of doom, aimed to clock Felix with all the power of Sucker Punch!

It's really perturbing, what Fel does next. Which is catch D.L's fist in his (admittedly much smaller) hand, and simply hold it there, with no strain. "I really, really think, whoever you are, that you don't want assault of a Federal agent on your rap sheet," he says, with that clinical calm, with only a little tightness around the eyes to show that he's exerting himself at all. "So I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you think the FBI is after your wife, and me specifically, and it better not come out like some tinfoil hat paranoiac bullshit, or you are going to end up somewhere very unpleasant. Do you read me?"

Yeah. That's kind of how these things work. D.L. throws a punch, Felix catches it. Meanwhile, Mariska merely stands by and flinches and — waitaminute, WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED HERE?! Is this Afro-American drama king somehow implying that her defective gay feeb of a fake husband has been stalking… another woman? Hold on. It's going to take the dark-haired, INS-defrauding, illegal immigrant bitch a second or two to sort this one out. Don't let her shocked silence stand in the way of storytime.

If that's supposed to scare D.L., then maybe this agent's got another thing coming. It's really quick and slight, only to help get his hand out of Felix's grip, but Felix may or may not feel a slight tingle before D.L. pulls his hand free and glares at the agent. "Just stay away from my wife." And he's already flicking the business card at Felix. Or he would if it hadn't passed through what used to be his hand a moment ago and is now on the floor at Felix's feet.

That's enough to have Fel freeze, and the blue gaze goes very cold. D.L. just upped the ante. "I have no idea who your wife -is-," he says, jaw tight. "I'm certainly not following any- Wait. Is she blonde?"

In her very best indignant Bond villain voice, she shrills at Felix's shoulder, «What is he talking about?!» Okay, now Mariska's inching over to put herself at Felix's back, but not because she longs to physically suggest her support so much as she doesn't fancy getting caught in the crossfire if D.L. opts in for round two and take a second swing.

D.L.'s ticked off. No wait. Pissed off. And he's trying to walk away before he ends up in jail and having to walk out of it and then be on the run for the rest of his life. Again. Not that he ever really lives that long, these days. "She's blonde, she's mine and she's gonna' get your ass kicked if you don't leave her alone." And again, this is the part where D.L. tries to walk off.

That gets D.L. a bit of incredulous laughter. "I'm not following her. She's following -me-," Fel says, shaking his head. He's not so much afraid as he is amused. "I'll tell you what I told her. When the FBI is watching someone, the agent in charge of surveillance doesn't walk up to the target and hand her his card."

You know who isn't amused? Mariska. Sure, she's getting the story from the horse's ass mouth but she's not exactly being directly addressed and this probably goes a long way to explain the furious and frustrated blush now pinkening her cheeks. That and the whole 'other woman' scenario that isn't at all what it seems because, apparently, Felix has a thing for blonde-haired black women now or something. She'll concede the point to penises but not to another set of tits. Grr.

"She… what?" Oh great. Here we go again. Now Jessica's back. "So tired of these… games." D.L. mutters under his breath as he just waves a hand over his head at the couple. He's not too happy about this situation and finds himself stomping off in the direction that his house is nowhere near. Time to get a little more fresh air… and a divorce.

Felix just shakes his head, and looks back to Mariska. "This blonde woman keeps showing up around me. She's not any kind of professional spook, so I have no idea what her deal is," he says, bluntly. "I don't know why she'd sic her husband on me, either."

Likely story. With her brow fretted and furrowed in aggravation, Mariska momentarily weighs the pros and cons of blowing this whole situation out of proportion or just filing it under 'Coincidentally Fucked Up Stuff That Happened Not So Much To Me As Other People Around Me Today' and just letting it get lost in the shuffle. «Go. You're going to be late,» she says, all but shoving him away from the stoop and in the opposite direction that D.L. chose to take. Don't worry. She'll be sure to bring this incident up again for discussion just as soon as he thinks it's been settled. That's how this whole marriage thing is supposed to work, right? Maybe they should ask the neighbors — only legitimate and loving unions come with how-to manuals.

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