Armory With Cookies

December 08, 2015:

Lunair - Armory - comes to the warehouses around the New York docks looking for a certain person with a chilling disposition… and there are cookies.

New York City Docks


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Disturbances around Captain Cold's base of operations (in New York) are rare. A lonely, seemingly rundown warehouse in the midst of other warehouses just like it - not far from the docks? Who would come here but a bunch of punk kids with spray-cans of paint, and rocks to toss at already-broken windows?

The cops don't know about it - and the ones that do, well… they get paid handsomely to keep their traps shut. So when the second disturbance in as many days is reported back to Snart himself, he pays attention.

The area outside the warehouse is pretty sparse. Aside from a few shipping containers, there's not much here. Cameras and sensors are hidden at strategic locations throughout, and the odd henchman can be spotted - although they look like wandering bums.

On purpose.

Cold, garbed in his sleeveless blue hoodie, heads out of the warehouse to see what is going on…

Lunair isn't spraypainting or anything. She's just curious. The warehouses always seem to house someone or another. Which makes her wonder, what is it about warehouses? They always seem to be full of EVIL or WEAPONS or something. The day she finds a legit warehouse is the day she will skip having dessert. Ahem. But Lunair is wearing a long, black and silver military style trenchcoat, a black bandana over her nose and mouth and is peeking around curiously, unaware of THE COLD lurking about.

"Would you like to tell me what you're doing here?"

The voice comes from Snart as he rounds an empty container to stand some yards away from Lunair, his hands at his sides. The 'cold field' around him is more or less invisible, and only affects the atmosphere about a foot or so away from him - just a precaution. Watching Lunair with a calculating gaze, he lifts his chin and says:

"I know you…"

"Eh?" A look up, as Snart comes around the corner. "Ummmm… hiding Christmas presents?" Lunair looks hopeful. "Just exploring, really. Hi!" She waves to the fellow. He seems so cool, such a nice guy. "You're the guy who made the epic ice sculptures, yeah? How are you?" She seems curious and warm.

Cold's lips form a thin line and he very slowly and deliberately folds his arms across his chest. The veins beneath his skin take on a slightly more bluish tinge, like a chill running up his limbs from his hands, as he regards the 'casual intruder' with suspicion.

He smirks.

"I'm the guy asking you questions, and you'd better have some honest answers for me. What are you doing here?" The henchmen milling about the place start to pay a bit more 'obvious' attention to the conversation between their boss, and the newcomer. No one 'makes a move' as such - they just watch more closely.

Lunair headtilts. She decides to pull her power armor on over herself. "It's kinda chilly, sorry. And honestly? Just exploring. I heard a really icy person was around here, so I decided to check it out. The giant middle finger sculpture was hilarious." Hey, she thought it was great. Lunair is curious, quietly amused. She shrugs in her armor. "That's about it, honestly. Is this your place? Should I go away?"

Cold lifts a hand to wave off his guards, his eyes focused upon Lunair. He cannot quite figure her out… but she does not overtly appear to be a threat —

— and then of course, the armour comes on. Ice instantly forms all over Snart's arms and continues down his back and chest, encasing him in armour of his own. His expression turns a bit more steely than before and he points a finger at Lunair.

His guard don't move - not yet anyway.

"You're the second person from the docks to come looking for me," he tells Lunair honestly. "Why? And don't say it was for my autograph; I don't do those."

"It really WAS you! HIiiiiiii!" She waves again. Lunair looks quietly amused beneath her black armor. "Doesn't that ever get … y'know, cold?" She tilts a bit left, then right, just examining him. She giggles as he points. And points back. "I was curious! I go where I wish. I wanted to say hi! Because your ice sculptures were great and it was really nice of you to help out. What do I call you, anyway? Are you often busy?" Then a beat. "And oh. Not autographs. Okay!"

Snart blinks.

This… is something new for him.

Rolling his eyes and staring upward, he waves off his henchmen who all slowly vanish from sight like ghosts, and then returns his attention to his latest fan. The ice-armour around him sort of splinters and shatters into flakes around his feet, but the cold-field remains in effect - only drawn much closer to his body.

"Curious," he states in echo of Lunair's answer. "Just… curious." Letting out a breath, he tucks in his chin and purses his lips in thought.

"I don't know what you've heard of me," he tells her very deliberately. "But I'm not a nice person. Remember the snakes? Nice people - safe people - don't do that. Do you understand?"

And then things take a dark turn. Lunair laughs. "That's fair," She inclines her head. "I haven't really heard of you at all. Not even what you're called," She admits. Lunair shrugs. "I don't know about that. Fighting doesn't make you a bad person. It means you get things done. Did you see what /I/ did?" She of the railgun? "I don't know. I figured you deserved a chance as much as anyone else. I mean, I'm not gonna raid you or fight you or whatever. I was simply, again, curious. I'm going to call you Snowballs until you let me know otherwise," Another shrug.

"I respect your danger level." But she doesn't seem terribly worried. "So yes, I guess I get it. What are YOU doing here?" Peer. "Awfully risky to run in warehouses with the gangs, Intergang, and random vigilantes."

Cold smiles.

"They call me Cold," he tells her simply. "And I'm here because I choose to be; no one bothers me but the very brave, the very stupid, or the very curious." He lifts his chin to study Lunair a bit, pinching his lips together at the corner of his mouth.

"I think you're 'two out of three', there. What do they call you?"

Lunair is amused by the assessment. She's hoping very stupid isn't the one. "I'm Armory on the job. Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but - you probably have cold hands, huh?" That's a bit of a joke. She doesn't seem terribly bothered by Cold, oddly enough. "And I see. I hope it suits you, then. Finding a place of your own is really important, you know?" She offers. "But it must be a pain with all the weirdness in warehouses," She muses.

"The weirdness keeps people away - most people," Snart replies sardonically. "I don't like to attract too much attention. Mansions attract attention. Attention is bad for business - which brings me to my next question: what are you going to do about having met me now?"

He pauses and spreads his hands a bit.

"Or what am I going to do with you?"

All in all, the master of cold is amused by the entire exchange. It is odd - oddly refreshing - a pleasant distraction, but that does not mean he is willing to entirely 'play nice'… not without a reason.

After all - who wants to get caught?

"I see," Lunair is a social blank slate. She's not sure what to make of this. "I understand that. I live in an apartment," A shrug. Then at his question, she considers it. "I dunno. I just wanted to say hi, that you did awesome and umm… I hadn't thought ahead of that," She admits. She was curious. She just likes Cold, it seems. Maybe he's cute? In need of a hug? "I could bring cookies by." She's sincere.

"Or I could go away. Whatever's cool. I don't really deal with the cops, seeing as my powers are terribly, dreadfully illegal." Lunair's got GUns guns guns as a power. really.

"I've seen them in action," Cold acknowledges with a nod. "Impressive."

It doesn't cost him anything to admit it, and he's still deciding what to do with… Armory. "I like the name. I know someone who likes to pick names for… people like us. I think he'd approve too."

He blinks, considering the offer of cookies.

How surreal this exchange is turning out to be.

"Cookies… I'm wondering if you're the kind of fan to keep this meeting to yourself? Or the kind who goes and tells everyone?" He takes a step — a friendly step — toward her, and tilts his head to one side, still with a half-smile on his face.

"I can tell you only one of those options will involve cookies. I like cookies."

Lunair beams beneath her helmet. "Thanks." She really appreciates it! "And yeah? That's nice of you. At least you didn't mistake me for trucker hat guy." That happens so, so much. "Registration must suck if all the names you want are taken," She muses.

Then a soft giggle. "Eh. I dunno who I'd tell, honestly. So it can be just us, I guess." She seems to grok that he prefers it. He seems kinda cute and he's smiling! "What kind is your favorite then?" She's betting something with icing perhaps. She doesn't move away from him. If he does something funny, after all, a bit of napalm would fix any personal space issues.

Cold smirks.

It's the closest he ever gets to chuckling.

Turning away from Lunair, the leader of the Rogues starts walking slowly back the way he had come, pausing only before he has to turn behind a shipping container. He glances back at Lunair in all her armour — such a potent array of abilities for someone who seems so innocuous — and gives her a nod.

"Chocolate-chip, of course," he tells her… and then he is gone.

"Okay, bye." Lunair waves. She smiles a bit at his smirk. Though, maybe it's because she has such an alarmingly powerful array that she's so easy going. When you can drop several pounds of C4 on someone in a heartbeat, what's life?

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