2007-03-23: The View is to Die For


Jessica_icon.gif Anders_icon.gif

Summary: A glimpse into what's been going on behind the scenes, when Anders delivers something to Jessica — and they have a "misunderstanding" dangerous proportions.

Date It Happened: March 23, 2007

The View is to Die For

Parkview Estates, Uptown, New York City

The sun set a couple of hours ago and the city is lit up and resplendent from the highrise view of the twelfth floor of the lush Parkview Estates in uptown New York City. The spacious apartment is outfitted in every necessity and then some, decorated with plush red and black furniture, sparkling glassware and sleek modern art. The floors are a warm cream, the floor covered in a red mat. A crystal clear picture window takes up almost the entire wall.

Its residents are nowhere in sight.

In a swivelling, high-backed red chair belonging to a computer desk several feet away, someone - someone who does not live here, but has taken up this locale as a neutral meeting spot - looks casually out the window, facing away from the door; her blonde hair and blase smirk reflect in the glass. She's waiting.

The person she is waiting for has many, many flaws, but at least he is prompt.

The door is tried, handle turning and the door itself swinging open on its hinges to reveal a tall man in a black black suit. He steps through, briefcase in hand, and looks about the room, gaze settling on the chair.

It’s only then that Anders speaks up, "What a pretty place to meet, Miss Sanders."

With a push from one black, heeled boot, the chair spins languidly around to face the second guest to the Parkview apartment. The woman he knows as Niki Sanders sits there, sprawled like a cat, and when her sights settle on him, it becomes obvious that her gaze is just as predatory. She's also dressed sharply for business, whatever that is, clad in a pair of slim-fitting, slate grey pants and the suit jacket that goes with it - only there doesn't seem to be much more than a black sateen bra underneath the once-buttoned jacket. "I like the view." She wastes no time in eyeing the briefcase pointedly. "It's all there?"

Let's all just ignore the fact that blood is starting to seep from the beneath the door off to the side beyond the living room, presumably one of the bedrooms.

"And the agreed bonus, Miss Sanders, though we do wonder why you requested it without your husband's knowledge," Anders says, smiling, "Perhaps there is trouble in Paradise?" he asks, looking the woman over before turning to the window.

"The view is wonderful, but I can't help thinking I've seen it all before," the man in the suit continues, the smile becoming a grin and a pause that lasts just long enough to imply things, "… New York is such a boring city, Oslo is so much prettier."

The blonde pushes herself up and out of the lush chair, standing fluidly, a smirk in place all the while. She laughs under her breath. "Hmhmmm, you have no idea," Jessica answers, throaty, her lips twisting wickedly as if at a joke that only she knows the punchline to. She glances once over her shoulder out the picture window on the man's comments, but looks pretty bored with the view herself despite her accolade of it. "You really /don't/ know, do you."

"I do not know much, Miss Sanders, I know what I need to know and I rather like it that way," Anders says, nodding and feeling perhaps slightly uneasy, the dangerous schizophrenic isn't acting like normal, there’s much less hate directed at him, for one, "In that interest, I will not tarry."

The man puts the briefcase on a low table and then moves to look out of the window, it is really a gorgeous view, "They look like ants, don't they? Tiny and insignificant and /below/ the concerns of the likes of us," he asks, "Pitiful, really." His back to the woman, he risks slipping his hand up to his shoulder holster.

Jessica eyes the briefcase once more. Impatient - not to be confused with anxious. No, she's calm and confident as can be. "Mm," she murmurs in some form of agreement as she comes closer to Anders from behind. The sharpness of her heels is subdued by the rug that covers the length of the hardwood floor beneath. "Don't flatter yourself, Anders. We're not the same." A brief pause, then… "I could crush you like an ant. I should. Niki /really/ doesn't like you."

As the woman comes closer, the man sighs theatrically and turns slowly, an odd pistol held out, "You know, they instructed me to come unarmed to talk to you, but you /have/ been away from treatment and I am not as stupid as I look," Anders says, the futuristic gun trained on the woman he is now sure is one of the less friendly Miss Sanders, "I do not want any trouble, there is all the money you requested and I have neither seen you here nor noticed that odd smell."

Anders is obviously worried, but to his credit, the pistol doesn't shake, "Take the briefcase and we can both go home, you to your husband and myself to my television dinner."

What a drama queen. Jessica doesn't flinch when Anders turns around with the unusual pistol, arching a brow to display just how much she does not care. "They really don't tell you anything, do they? God. You're just as clueless as Niki." Lifting one hand in a clearly defensive 'don't touch me, I'm doing what you say, promise' gesture, she starts to crouch, lunging with her knees, until she's at the level of the low table the briefcase is in. She snakes her other hand out slowly, nearly brushing Anders's leg, so that she can curl her hands around its handle. Tightly.

Nice and easy. Right? Wrong. She wants the briefcase, but she doesn't trust Anders. That said? She's not going anywhere while that weapon is trained on her, so she's decided on a happy medium: as soon as it's in her strong grip, she's standing up and the case is being swung at the man's face. Hard.

The man apparently isn't as dumb as he looks, or maybe he is, as his response is to use his free hand to grab at the woman's wrist, apparently forgetting who he is fighting. He does catch the wrist, no problem there, aside from the shot of pain up his arm and sharp cracking noise that follows the point of impact. Super Strength, Anders, Super Strength.

Anders' response is straightforward though, the odd pistol making a high pitched twhip noise as it sends a pressurized needle at his opponent.

The briefcase is dropped with a heavy thud at the side of the fracas, and the tight grip the woman had on its handle is transferred to the man's wrist as he clutches hers. The second that pistol makes the tiniest bit of noise - or is that when Jessica sees the intent in Skargaard's eyes? - she whips her arm off to the side harshly, the one that's wrist-to-wrist with Anders, and aims to throw him, with his weird little pistol, the hell away. But she's not fast enough for the pressurized needle, which, in the midst of it all, *thwacks* into her left shoulder.

It takes Anders a moment or two to realise that, for whatever reason, Jessica must be having an off day and that hes not sailing through the air again, "We could dance, Miss Sanders, but I suspect your husband would find it inappropriate," he says, before sweeping his combat-booted foot at the back of her leg, all brute force and little complexity, after all, his hand is probably starting to hurt.

Jessica stumbles backward once, glaring daggers at Anders, but she easily sidesteps the sweep to the back of her leg and jams her knee harshly toward his stomach, "D.L. doesn't know where I am," she hisses as that fails and grabs for a handful of the man's shirt with the intent to haul him close — only to, should she grasp the slippery Norseman, shove him down to the floor by the window and its lovely, twinkling view. "And you can call me Jessica."

For his part, Anders manages to catch the very edge of the woman's knee in his gut, but it merely winds him, causing him to stumble back out of the reach of the grab and end up against the window nevertheless, "At least its not the other one," he says, "My kolle is safe."

Given a little space, he looks at the gun, realises its useless now and throws it to the floor, "You'd think he'd pay more attention, given that you're insane."

Jessica, whipping her head around with a flair of blonde, tracks Anders with her eyes. She reaches up and grabs the needle that's protruding from her shoulder, pulls it out, tosses it aside, and stalks with long strides toward the window. She blinks heavily several times, obviously trying to fight off its effects and slowly failing, but she ignores that fact. "Forget about him," she says, lashing out to grab the agent's throat. Her fingernails sink in. "Thanks for the… 'deal', by the way," she purrs through her teeth; there's no gratitude in that voice, despite the words, but she does grin like a Chesire, even as she sways on her feet. "The treatment?" she slams Anders lightly against the glass - lightly, on Jessica's terms, means that the picture window starts to crack and spiderweb. Nonetheless, her grip starts to slacken as the sedative works its way through her bloodstream. "It's really working," she says, high on the sarcasm. "You tell your boss I'm ready to play on the level," she adds, "And maybe I won't put you through this window." But she really, really wants to - the urge gleams dangerously in her icy eyes. Crrrraaaack goes the glass.

Taken off guard by the grab and the assault, Anders has only one real response, "Miss San-.. Jessica," he says, calmly and in between the pain from being thrown about like a ragdoll, even as his skin starts to show signs of frost, "I serve the Company, I serve it to the best of my ability and I.. ow, well, that was a rib," he snarls as he impacts the glass again.

On the impact, the spiderwebs spread, but the glass too takes on the icy texture of his skin, becoming brittle, "I serve its best interests," the man tries again, forcing himself forward to try and wrap his arms around the woman, "At any cost."

Well, he's loyal. She'll give him that. "Good," Jessica replies, looking up at Anders in the near face-to-face poise they've found themselves in. "Turns out, so do I, for the right price." As Anders wraps her arms around her, she plants her free hand (you know, the one that isn't sinking around his trachea), on his chest as if to break away - but no such luck.

Luck isn't a factor for either of these two, working for their own, overlapping motives tonight. No, it would seem that their distinct lack of luck is in the air.

As Jessica tries to shove Anders away just enough to back away, it's rather unfortunate that he had to go and shoot her with a sedative - because just then, her muscles give way and her body becomes heavy, falling forward against him in an unwanted hug, a dead weight. The woman's eyes fight to stay open, but her lids are too heavy; she gives Anders a flashing look of hate intermingled with fright just before there's a resounding *CRASH!* followed by the tinkling of billions of icy shards. The brittle window shatters, leaving nothing between the two people and the night air, twelve stories up.

Perhaps if the man had not been quite so beaten, or the woman had managed to fall with less force, tonight would have ended differently. Sadly for the pair, the lack of luck seems to be holding. Anders makes a valiant attempt to support Jessica's weight, but his hand, damaged by catching her wrist earlier, chooses now to give.

With an odd acceptance, the man staggers back, to fall with Jessica through the cloud of ice crystals and greet the night air head on.


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