2012 01 31 Tripping The Light Sarcastic

Log Title:
Tripping the Light Sarcastic

Characters:
Empath, Misty Knight, Jumpstart

IC Date:
01/31/2012

Location:
The Paramount

Brief log summary::
Empath on the make. Misty and Jumpstart on the job.

Rating:
r

There is no TS in this log::
Yes

Post your log::
Tonight the Paramount is the place to be. The well-to-do and the hoi polloi are out and about at the grand reopening of the hotel. In its lavish ballroom, men and women, the wealthiest of New York are gathered and enjoying themselves with the live music and excessive food and drink. Among those, dressed in a tuxedo is the Spaniard member of the Hellfire Club, Manuel de la Rocha. Bored to death, but trying his best to be seen. He meanders over to the bar and ponders if he should use his abilities to entertain himself.

It was short notice, but a friend of a friend of a friend called her and asked her to do it as a favor. Thus is Mercedes Knight in an expensive blue evening gown subtly punctuated with sequins and stonework in an oceanic pattern. She looks the part of arm candy, her characteristic afro blown smooth, sleek and straight. The man beside her is her client for the evening — a visiting son of a Symkarian dignitary. He's barely out of his teens, and is all smug smiles at having a tall, elegant woman on his arm — even if it's obvious to anyone with the skill and knowledge that she's his bodyguard, not his date.

Spotting the beauty with the boy, Manuel thinks that this cannot be right. He ponders a thought and then grins as he recognizes the boy as a European trash disguised as royalty. The perfect victim, but first perhaps a fair try. Ordering a rum and coke, he takes the drink and makes his way to the youth. "Hello, Jon…how are you?" He speaks in a snotty tone similar to the rest of the party-goers, but is punctuated with a clear Castillian accent, denoting his place in the proper part of the Spanish speaking world.
Jon looks briefly taken aback at someone recognizing him, but it lasts only a second, as he visibly decides his reputation must haave preceded him. Then the training kicks in and he recognizes the one who has addressed him. "Manuel. I am well, and it looks like I find you doing well for yourself." He gives the other young man a brilliant, dentally enhanced smile. "I had no idea you'd relocated to New York City. How are you finding it?" He pauses a moment, and introduces the woman on his arm. "Ms. Knight is showing me around."
"I am fine, Jon. Family affairs have brought me here, while I also receive my education." Moving closer and placing his arm around Jon and pulling him closer in a faux embrace, "Have you heard Millie is here and she is dying to see you? You remember Millicent, don't you? From that time in Cannes." Manuel may be lying but a quick twinge of his power on Jon makes him more pliant to believe him. Once he is done with that he turns to face Misty. "Ms. Knight, a pleasure." He bows and attempts to kiss her hand.

Misty has done the bodyguard thing before, and she favors Manuel with a brilliant smile, allowing her hand to be kissed. "Manuel De La Rocha, isn't it? How nice to make your acquaintance." Her tone is polite, but lacks the snooty edge most of the rich types milling about here.

"Millie?" Jon says, racking his brain for a moment until Manuel's nudge jars his emotions. "Oh, oh, yes. Millie. /Caaaaannnnnnes./" The word is drawled and drawn out almost to a leer. "Mercedes, you will forgive me if I must step away a moment?"

"Of course," Misty replies. Despite how fancy and feminine she looks, in the heels that go flawlessly with that dress, she is easily six feet tall and some — capable of seeing over the crowd should her charge require assistance from a woman named Millicent.

As Jon goes over to search for a Millicent in the crowd, which should be easy enough in this crowd, Manuel remains by Misty. "So Mercedes, is it? I have to wonder how a boy like Jon managed to catch a woman like you?" He looks her over as if examining her, "Considering you stand out in this crowd, which is a good thing and for all the right reasons. I must ponder your connection to him. I pray he did not pay you to escort him here."

Misty arches a sculpted brow at the insinuation, but her smile never falters. "In fact, he'd be mortified at the idea," Misty allows, leaving it at that. "But one likes an occasional diversion to break up the monotony, hmm?" She reaches out with the left hand, bracelets shining and chiming, to pluck a flute from a passing tray. She takes one sip, and holds the glass up thoughtfully, letting it catch the light. She apparently has decided that, at least for the moment, Jon's ego will take its bruising from other sources tonight.

"I see." Noting her beauty even more so and a touch of attitude as well, he does a surface scan of her emotions as he allows that to decide the direction he will take in this conversation. But as he does so, Manuel claps his hands catching the attention of the waiter. Passing his now down rum and coke, he fetches another drink and simply smiles, "Tell me, Mercedes, just where did Jon find you? So I may know where to find someone just like you."

Misty's emotions are like a caldera. There's a seething current of anger under a carefully constructed facade of coolness — hence the attitude. It's also long, long habit if Manuel looks deeply enough. So much so that she barely has to put any effort into covering the more volatile emotion. "Terribly sorry, Mr. De La Rocha," Misty replies coyly over the rim of her champagne flute. "When they made me, they broke the mold."

With a furrow of his brow, he opts to be cool on this one. Not try to play a trick on her…just yet…anyway. "Oh firstly please call me Manuel. And secondly…" He holds out his hand some livelier music starts to play from the band, "I am sure Jon will not mind, but I would love to have a dance." Looking over to Jon who has stopped a perplexed woman in conversation, however her perplexion turns to consent as she and Jon enjoy a forgettable conversation. "So shall we dance, my dear?"

"I'd be /delighted/", Misty replies, with a smile and inclination of her head to acknowledge the familiarity given her — that he has already taken for himself. Given the song is a rather energetic salsa number, the smile widens. She extends Manuel her right hand, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor, gown swirling around her ankles. She allows herself one brief glance to make sure Jon's not gotten himself into any trouble. Satisfied he appears to be in no immediate danger, she turns to her new dance partner.

Ah salsa, the rhythm and outright grace are required to make good dancers. Manuel is a great dancer and so with Misty in his hand, he swirls and spins her about as his hips, his frame, his entire body is in tune with the music and in tune with hers. Making faces to match the dance, he moves like a true Spaniard and while the dance originated in the lesser Spanish nations, he is more than familiar. At this point, his powers kick in as those nearest him find themselves enthralled by the dancers and soon enough the floor is cleared allowing them to really show off.

Misty doesn't tend to show this side of her often. She doesn't often get the opportunity. But she is in her own right an excellent dancer. Her shoulders sway this way and her hips sway that. She keeps effortless pace with Manuel, and as the floor clears space around them, she allows him to dip her, and twirl her around the floor. By the time the band has started to segue to something more sedate, there are no eyes in the room that aren't turned to them — not even those of Jon and the presumable Millie.

With Misty completely in his arms now for the slower paced song, Manuel shows his grace is applicable to both fast and slow music. Swaying this way and that in time with the tune of the music, He compliments," An exquisite dancer only matched by your exquisite beauty. Clearly you are not meant for one like Jon." With an almost sinisterly sweet smile, "What would it take to woo you away from the boy to a man such as myself?"

Misty is also a flexible dancer. Segue from salsa to slow waltz is done without so much as missing a beat. "You're very kind, but there is nothing of that sort between Jon and me. I just enjoy the occasional soiree." She gives him a one shouldered shrug, and tosses her head slightly to keep her hair out of her eyes. Another surreptitious glance as they make a turn around the floor, to be certain Jon remains out of mischief. "Not to say I am seeking a fling, nor anything long term with anyone else," she adds, mildly, to avoid any sting in the words.

"Ah, well…I am known to charm women, even such clearly strong ones as yourself." Manuel can feel her natural strength in his grip as they continue their dance, both literal and verbal. "What if I were to say, that I am known for showing a woman a good team." *dip* "I am a better dater than I am dancer." Spinning her about, "I would beg, but that is unbecoming. Perhaps, one attempt at a good time in a…not so restrictive place.
"Are you really?" Misty asks. Manuel, unless he travels in the circles Misty does, probably has no idea of exactly how strong she is, and how much she's holding back. "And flattered though I am at the attention," *dipped* "Somehow, I think you are also the sort to leave a trail of broken hearts in your wake." She didn't come right out and /say/ 'I know your kind', but she barely has to. There are several women glaring daggers at her from the sidelines. And several more storming toward the punch bowl. More still wearing those stiff expressions that indicate they are trying not to burst into tears because it would simply wreck their mascara.
Sighing but still smiling, "I must admit…you know me well. It is as if you are some sort of detective. But something tells me you are as much of a heart-breaker. Beautiful women always are." With the music finally coming to a stop, Manuel takes one step away and bows formally and again reaches to kiss her hand, "Perhaps another drink. We can see if I can win your heart. Or at the very least pique your interest in an attempt to see you again after this fine night."
Jumpstart has business at this party. This business requires that he be dressed differently from his normal banged-up street attire. This is why he is wearing a thrift store sport coat that is way too short for his arms. At the door, he got through by (pretending to be) talking on a smartphone (that he stole from someone's car in the parking lot) with Steven Spielberg. "No, no, Mr. Spielberg, the deal isn't gonna fall through, I'm gonna find the guy right now. Yeah. I'm here, the guy is here, it's not going to happen, just stay by the phone, all right? All right?" His insistence that he needs to get in even though he's not 'on the list' due to a thirty million dollar deal about to fall through because some pencilneck with a list is keeping him out, gets him in. His good looks keep people smiling at him, he nods and contributes firm agreement to conversations he passes to keep security from noticing that he really doesn't actually seem to know anyone. From time to time he cups a photo out of his pocket, taking a glance and scanning the party. He's here looking for someone.
The crowd jostles and shifts a little as the boy known in some circles as Jumpstart makes his way through. Misty is peripherally aware that something different and new is affecting the crowd dynamic, but at the moment she isn't turning her full attention toward it.
"How perceptive," she compliments Manuel, with regard to his first remark. She shakes her head with the second comment, though. "No. Not much of heartbreaker, me," she assures him in a throaty purr. Arm breaker? Leg breaker? Yeah. Those. But that would be terribly poor form to bring up.
She beams as her hand is kissed, because, well, that's what's expected of her — and because ticking off a rich and powerful young man who has been seen in the company of some of the big wheeler dealers of the city is just a bad, bad idea. "Oh, I really should keep my wits about me," she demurs. "But perhaps you can pique my interest."

"Oh you have no idea." Manuel grins as he guides her to a table and pulls out a seat for her. Whether his comment was about keeping her wits about him or piquing her interest is for him to know and for her to eventually find out. But once she is seated he joins her. The arrival of Jumpstart does catch his attention and he exhales loudly, "Clearly based on the ill-fitting suit he is wearing, clearly he was not invited. And somehow I think he does not belong."

Jumpstart gravitates towards Misty and Empath since they are at the center of attention, or at least they were until a moment ago, and he needs to be able to see a lot of faces. Since most are turned their way, it's the perfect situation. "MK, how goes, great to see you. Staying busy, keeping the cash coming in?" he says, smiling at her - and past her to the people at the bar. Talented amateur.

"Do I not?" Misty asks, still smiling brilliantly. This time she snags another glass, but it's nothing more than water. She raises a brow curiously at Manuel's assessment of someone who doesn't belong. "Ah, well," she says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Everyone wants to see how the other side lives."

She turns, and lifts a hand in subdued greeting as her initials are called out. "Well, good evening there, my young friend. I had no idea work would bring you over here this evening." Her eyes glimmer with a 'this ought to be good' sort of anticipation.

"Oh you know this man." The frown on his face shows what he thinks of Jumpstart and of that fact that Misty would refer to him as a friend. "Well, 'friend' why not join us. You seem to have made your way in. You might as well as enjoy yourself." Manuel clearly says that with a mixture of iciness and warmth. A chair away from Misty and Manuel is kicked out for him to sit and join them.

Jumpstart says, not really listening to Manuel, "You know, I'd like to go into that with you some more, sit down, hash out the numbers, cut it up, see what's what…" The say-nothing yammer of dealmaking, as the security guy beginning to loom behind him is suddenly uncertain. In the nick of time, Aurelio says, "…look, but I think I see the guy I'm here with…hold that thought a minute. Hey, hey Larry! Larry Fishbein! How you doing man! I have that money I owe you from racquetball!" He crosses to the bar.

Larry Fishbein is a squinty, suspicious type. When Aurelio gets closer, he produces an envelope and hands it over. "By the power vested in me by the State of New York Department of Consumer Affairs Process Server's Licensing Commission, you are hereby served with a complaint for divorce and restraining order. I…"

Larry may be a corporate type, but he's clearly quick to anger, he grabs Jumpstart and starts pushing him back, trying to slam him to the ground, "Shut up! SHUT UP!" he screams.

"We're not /close/ or anything," Misty explains, with a subtle emphasis on the center word of the sentence. She's perched in a calculatedly slinky pose beside Manuel. "We're business acquaintances whose livelihoods occasionally overlap." To wit, she turns a questioning expression on Aurelio. "And it is work that brings you here tonight, isn't it?" Because he doesn't seem the sort to be at this sort of party for his own entertainment. At /all/. At least Misty's wearing Kay Cera.

And then the reason for his presence is revealed. Time to get to work herself. Jon is quailing in the back of the room, eyes wide as saucers, at the sight of the Americans being violent to each other. "Manuel, please excuse me. It's been fun, but I really do need to make certain this doesn't get out of hand." Is that a faint bit of genuine regret as she stands?

"A server…but of course." As the fight breaks out, Manuel can easily end it, but allows it to continue. When suddenly his phone rings, Manuel looks down and hmmmns, "Very well. I will be right there. Meet you at the club." Manuel stands up, "Mercedes, it was pleasant meeting you." When Misty goes to attend to Jon, Manuel offers a quick grin, "We /will/ meet again, Ms. Knight." With that he makes his way out of the Paramount.

Misty is no longer working the demure kept woman facade she's been holding up all night. She shrugs it off like a mink, and strides through the crowd. "Okay, Mr. Weinstein," she says, intentionally getting the man's name wrong to draw his ire toward her. "Let's not turn this ugly." She grins as Fishbein's mistress gasps, stomps a foot, dashes her drink in his face and stalks off. Too late already, perhaps.

Jumpstart is finally knocked into a table, which entertainingly flips the drinks off into the crowd. The security that was there to toss Jumpstart is now baffled as someone who is definitely ON the list is the one flipping out. "You tell that bitch she gets nothing from me, nothing!" he rages. "I gave her the best years of my life!"

Jumpstart was taken off guard, but he's younger and stronger than the guy and he manages to flip him over onto his face. "Yeah," Aurelio gulps for breath. "What woman wouldn't be crazy about a guy like you? Next time, don't make a sex tape with the secretary, I guess." Finally the security guys approach. Aurelio raises his hands. No fight here, nope.

Misty gives a couple of quick, curt gestures to Jon, who, pale faced, nods and dashes for the elevators to his suite of rooms upstairs. There to wait until she gives him the all-clear.

"The /best/ years," Misty says, in that 'you don't say' sarcastic sort of drawl. "Is that so?" She's helped dozens of women in marriages with narcisisstic, philandering jerks, so Fishbein has no sympathy from her.

"You okay?" she asks over her shoulder as she passes the security guards and the boy who is doing a passable impression of a little fish in a big pond.

Jumpstart says, "I'm good….I'm good." The security guys are more concerned with hauling Fishbein off, who is almost frothing at the mouth he's so mad. The place is abuzz, Jumpstart's shirt is splattered with wine, his dark hair disheveled. "Thanks." To the security guy who is flanking him "What, I can't stay? Aw come on guys, he attacked me! What if I sue the place, huh? I know this great lawyer, uh, obviously…"

Misty reaches out and plucks Fishbein out of the crowd, as he was making ready another lunge at his server. "mmm, no. I think that'll be enough out of you tonight, Fishy."

Fishbein turns to swear at Misty. "Oh, you think you're a tough enough bitch to take me?!" He hauls back a fist, and throws the punch, with the wobbly and misbalanced motion of one who's had way too much Dom Perignon. So it's no problem at all for Misty's right hand to pop up and catch his fist. "Honeychild, callin' me a bitch was strike one. Throwin' a punch was strike two. You got one left. Better think twice."

Jumpstart starts to puff himself up to protect her, stepping forward. Halfway through his demand, he remembers who she is, "Hey, hands off h…what am I saying. Keep fighting her if you have a dentist that needs a new kitchen."

Fishbein, now aware of security looming behind him, Misty effortlessly holding his punching hand in front of him, and several members of the party starting to snicker at his predicament, does what any drunken egotistical businessman would do. He tries to press his attack.

"Steeeee-rike three," says Misty conversationally, and begins to close her hand ever… so… slowly.

Fishbein growls, and struggles, trying to push forward, until the pain of having his fist crushed reaches his booze-addled brain. The color drains out of his face. "Who's gonna be a good boy and get in a taxi and let the nice people finish their party?" she asks in the voice a mom might use with a toddler.

"Uh…uh…AHHHH!!! I'm gonna sue! I'm gonna….oh god, my hand! I…ahhh!" Fishbein yelps, alternating between threats and delirious pain. Jumpstart is accustomed to a world of violence, it seems, he doesn't really flinch. He pushes the security guys forward, "Yo, go get him to a hospital or whatever, man, don't be hassling me, what did I do, just wear a bad coat?"

("Is that my cellphone on the floor?" says someone confusedly.)

Finally, Fishbein passes out. The security guys move to drag him away.

Misty lets go when his eyes roll back in his head. When they get him to the hospital's infirmary en route to the disturbing the peace and drunken disorderly charges he's going to be facing, they'll find his hand badly bruised, but not broken.

"Real prize that one," Misty says conversationally, taking Jumpstart's elbow in a possessive 'he's with me' gesture. "I expect I'm gonna have to keep an eye on him to make sure his future former wife gets a fair shake in court."

She grins sidelong at Jumpstart. "You got big brass ones servin' him in here, kid. Not bad."

Jumpstart says, "Thanks, that means a lot coming from a real live hero for hire. I'm Aurelio Montes de Oca. You here on a job too?" Like they're old colleagues, yeah, see? Just because he's in a $2 coat from a Brooklyn thrift store and she's in a ump-thousand dollar dress.

"I /was/," Misty confirms. "Saw the kid with the emo haircut sprint for the elevator? I was bodyguardin' him, but I think you just showed him no matter how much of a badass he thinks he is, he ain't bad enough to handle New York City on a rough night."

"Yeah, I know your name," she says, in response to the intro. "You're the go-to guy for a lot of the people downtown. When you're not boostin' cars with legal backin' word is you see a lot, hear a lot, and have the sense not to go spreadin' it around."

Jumpstart says, "You know who I am? And…that's the word, huh? Well, I'll take it. I try to keep a lower profile most days, but the lawyer's regular process server couldn't nail that jerkoff down. Listen, if you're doing the for-hire thing, maybe we could do some business. Let's get together and cut it up. For real this time. See, the way I see it, you're chasing some chuco down for jumping his bail, it gets a lot easier if he ain't got his ride. And anyway, too many of them put their pink slip up to get the bond anyway. What do you think?" Charming smile. But he really shouldn't show his cards in a crappy wine-stained shirt and an ugly jacket. An eager amateur.
"Montes de Oca, what kinda detective would I be if I didn't know who in town knows how to pay attention to stuff an' keep his head down?" Misty gives him a /please/ look.

But the look soon turns to an impressed, pensive expression. "Hm. What I had /not/ heard was how shrewd you are." She nods. "You got potential." A brief flit of her right hand past her cleavage, and a black business card with the Nightwing logo — a Knight chesspiece wherein the horse is a pegasus — is flipped between her forefinger and middle finger. "Yeah, there might just be a few odd jobs you could do for me. I hear you're not a bad mechanic either. My baby could use somebody who knows how to take care of her." She proffers the card with another lightning quick motion of her right hand.
Jumpstart puts it in his wallet, trying to keep his eyes from bulging when she produces it. "I can wrench anything that rolls and more than a few things that float." he says. He also gives her a card. It's more rumpled and appears to have come out of a machine at the mall. It says "USA Cobra America Vehicle Repossession And Towing".
The hotel manager is here finally. And now more apologetic than firm when he addresses Aurelio: "Sorry, you really can't…"
"Okay, okay." he says to the manager.
Misty glances down at the manager, on whom she has six inches of height in these shoes. "We're going," she assures him, smile polite even as the manager blanches a little looking up at her. "You may want to vet your party guests a bit better next time, though, sugar."

"You need a ride anywhere, Montes de Oca?" she asks. "Symkarian embassy paid for the limo 'til dawn." She raises a hand to get the attention of the valet, pausing only to retrieve her wrap from the coat check.
Jumpstart offers Misty his arm the way he's seen it done in movies. They're the same height. "Done. Uh, let me call my ride and tell him to go on home." On his by-the-minute flip phone. Yes, Aurelio is living the life tonight.

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