2010-01-30: Look Out, World (Phantasm)



Posting Date: January 30th, 2010


They've got plans

"Look Out, World"

Den of Vice

It's human nature that even if the world is burning, someone somewhere is throwing a party. Tonight, that someone is Lena, mistress of the nomadic Den of Vice. Tonight they've returned to their roots in the basement club of what used to be a jazz bar. The lights are low, the air is smoky and there's a sweet young thang in green sequins and feathers up on the stage with a band behind her. She's making love to the 40s-style microphone with her voice, and making eyes at the men in the audience. They're all suited, sipping scotch, cigarettes smoldering between their fingers and lost expressions on their faces.

It's been a good night for tips, for the circling waitress.

The owner is at the small bar, a vision in silver satin and diamonds. For all that it's been a good night, a profitable night, Lena's looking less than satisfied. She is, in fact, looking downright depressed, waving away the whiskey on offer, or the murmured flattery of some hopeful gentleman.

Enter Nathan. He's dressed in a broad shouldered black suit — well cut and completely streamlined. The Den of Vice isn't the kind of place his formerly political self would be, but he's far from respectable now. Frightening, but not respectful. The dark circles that lined his eyes coming up the war are long gone. In fact, if anything, the elder Petrelli looks freakishly rested. His lips curl into a smile as he walks up to the owner herself, a black violin case in hand.

Instead of issuing compliments or beating around the bush, he uses his assertiveness differently. In fact, he jumps the bar, hoping over the other side, and plucking the bottle of whiskey onto the bar along with two glasses filled with ice. He pours one for himself and one for Lena. "Toast that we're not dead yet?" he lifts his eyebrows somewhat pragmatically before shrugging.

"That's worth a toast." Lena might have disdained a whiskey from the bartender— who has since retreated, giving Nathan a wide and wary bubble of personal space behind the bar— but she takes it willingly enough from the ex-Senator. She even finds a smile for him, red lips curling in dark humor as the glass it accepted. "I wondered if I'd see you back in here again, Nathan. Should I be happy or disappointed?"

The question is asked as her gaze slides to that violin case. Then the whiskey's lifted in a salute to the man and sipped from, as neatly as any lady. Good manners are worth faking, sometimes.

"My thoughts exactly," Nathan says as he lifts his glass to toast before he brings the glass to his lips. He hmms quietly with a smirk playing his lips at the question, "Somewhere in between, maybe. No one likes politicians these days. Even if they are… somewhat unemployed." He grins broadly. At least he'd found his sense of humour somewhere. "I'd have thought you'd be semi-happy to see me though," the question is almost a statement, but is posed with a shoulder shrug.

He glances down at the violin case before he places it on the bar. His eyes narrow as he smirks again, placing his hands on top of the case.

Whatever's in there must be interesting! Interesting enough that Lena reaches out to trace one black leather seam, fingertip coming dangerously close to Nathan's hand. "Yeah, well, maybe I got over my thing for Petrellis," she says, with a chuckle that should summon thoughts of Mae West. "Lots of swooping in to save the day, not so great with the follow through. But maybe you could change my mind, if this is what I think it is."

Another sip is taken from the glass before she grows bored of the pretense; it's set aside without another a look. Lena beckons to Nathan, bidding him bring case and whiskey along to her office. The floor show in here, the oh so sultry singer and her gloomy audience, isn't worth the price of admission.

Her office, on the other hand…

Even as Lena's fingertip comes close to his hand, Nathan doesn't flinch. In fact, he nearly dares her to touch him. Of course, that would come with its own myriad of problems. So perhaps it's better that she doesn't. "I always follow through, Lena. One way or another." Both of his eyebrows lift as he grasps the case (and the bottle of whiskey — apparently he's at home here) before he hops the bar again and follows her to her office.

"So… did you miss me?" the question is said somewhat daringly with another smirk as he places the case on one of the tables of the office before he pops open the clips keeping it closed.

Lena doesn't wait for the case to be opened. She turns neatly on her stilettos and takes advantage of his distraction by cracking her palm against his cheek. It's fast but it stings, and she doesn't even leave the poor man with a pain-killing effect. Just a hand-shaked red mark on the side of his face.

Then, apparently satisfied that she's answered Nathan's question to her satisfaction, she slinks over to the chair in front of her vanity and sits down. Hair as sleek as hers requires frequent brushing. "So, tell me what ridiculous plan you have in mind, this time?"

Having a shockingly high pain tolerance, Nathan doesn't verbally complain until the hand is pulled off his face, although his tensing and cringing are indicative enough of his level of discomfort. "Dammit woman! There's no plan this time! Just… geez! Why did you do that?! I wouldn't have brought you presents if I'd known — dammit Lena!" he touches his hand to his own cheek. There's no reason to be civil in the confines of Lena's office. Or to pretend that he's not a politician turned rogue.

With a sigh, he closes the hinges on his violin case again and then forces a polite smirk, "I've chosen to take up violin." He picks up the case again. Yes. That's what the case contains: a violin.

"You're whining, Nathan."

And Lena sounds shocked, shocked she tells you. She twists on the little bench seat, brush in one hand, and attempts to appear both sultry and stern. But a grin breaks through at his sputtering.

"Oh come on, don't be such a baby. I've hit you harder than that before. Tell me what's in the case," the young woman instructs. The brush is bobbed at him, a warning. "If it isn't what I asked you to find, I might hit you again. Don't tell me you don't deserve it."

"Of course it's what you asked me to find. Could you see me playing violin?" Nathan smirks again as he places the violin case back on the table. Quickly he unclips it and pulls out several items. The first is a semi-automatic weapon which he leaves on the table. The next is a bag of white powder (which is also placed on the table). And the last is met with a mischievous grin as he tosses a small baggy towards her. "They're all real. And all black market." It's a little baggy of jewels. "Now that my political career has sunk, I'm lucky I did that smuggling stint in Ireland, wouldn't you say?" He raises the bottle to his lips before he adds, "And there's more where all of that came from. And then some. And… biological weaponry. As we'd discussed. But I chose to leave that… elsewhere."

The bag is caught and opened with a girlish squeal, once he's explained its contents. The emerald she pulls out, large as her thumbnail, is held up to the admiring light. "Oh, Nathan."

Mission successful! She sounds like she might almost regret the slap! Almost.

"They're never going to see us coming," Lena gushes, standing to waltz over him and steal the bottle. It's tipped to her mouth, a healthy swallow taken before being pressed back into his hand. The jewels end up on the table beside the rest of the haul. "Cheers, darling. Here's to resetting the world."

Nathan beams at the admired jewels. "Stunning, aren't they? Easy to take. Even with the state of the world, no one expected a flying man to steal their cargo." At this he actually grins before he accepts the bottle back with a nod, "The world will be ours in short order. And then things will be as they should be." At this he raises the bottle in the air, "Cheers to plans going right for once!" He flashes her a smile of his own as he takes a sip of the whiskey.

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