The Hand, The Wife, and The Car

April 03, 2016:

A gallery opening for Leeland Koenig ends horribly for one of their guests.

Characters

NPCs: The Hand, Senator Moore, Nancy Moore, Martha and various others.

Mentions: Someone

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Tonight the Hand moves.

Flitting through the darkness..

Blurs of shadows across the rooftops. Blacking out the lights within the buildings where people still work feverishly through the night to meet their deadlines. Those people, who left their loved ones at home or left nothing at all save for the job they work to make ends meet.

It was a travesty. You work your entire life and you work more for only ten years of happiness. And when some of them retire? They blow through their savings within two months time and are reduced to being greeters or people who pass meat across the counter top because of that one medical hiccup which costs millions.

The congregation of black stop and rests upon the rooftop of a vision of red who stands there, a pillar of the hand with a boot upon the building, looking down into the art gallery where the who's who rub elbows with some of New York's finest. Most of them that claim base out of Hell's Kitchen. Those people. His people…

A LONG TIME AGO:

"Have you ever tried it.. [[BLUR]]? You know, just falling. Head first into whatever would come our way."

The face of the man seemed a blur, followed by flashes of red and black..

"I think I have already."

NOW:

She shakes out the memory as she takes a full stand atop of the edge of the roof, her arms outstretched with a lean forth as her eyes close and she falls. It was a long drop. Some forty stories up that gives her the ample amount of wind to allow the mechanical wings to retract to send her gliding. The Hand upon the opposite building disappears and blends into the shadows like ninjas in preparation just in case Elektra should miss or fail to kill her target.

But she never misses.

Her feet slam upon the ground of the opposing roof with a tuck and a roll, right upon her feet with a walk that has gloved fingers pinching against the zipper to tug it down…

INSIDE:

Glasses were clinked as the former Senator of New York laughs along with his wife, his hand at the small of her back as he whispers loving words within her ear. He shakes a few hands and tugs her off to view another painting, leaving her alone for that silent moment to take a phone call off to the side..


Floyd Lawton probably shouldn't be there, but there he is. Part of the gig of being on the government dime. Thankfully, they weren't counting on him to be security - Floyd was a killer, not a protector. He might put himself in harm's way for the thrill of it, but just to save some fat schmuck? Bomb in his head or no, he wasn't likely to do it.

But…one of the Senator's staffers has been leaking classified information to an anarchist terrorist organization. Warning them of raids, keeping them one step ahead of the feds. All for a nice, tidy paycheck. Floyd shakes his head - so much for principles.

He looks a bit rumpled in his tux, never fitting in with the jet set even when he legitimately was a rich guy. He's just not the kind of guy to look good in a penguin suit. And he wants a smoke. But when he heads over to crack a window, he sees a flash of red on the nearby rooftop and coming in fast. And he smiles. Well. Tonight might be interesting after all.


Classical music plays across the gallery, the who's who looked exceptional tonight. Their jewels dangling upon their wrists and necklaces that were possibly rented hung upon their necks. They were supporting a local artist, 'Leeland Koenig', a person who created an urban jungle landscape and gave it a twist. Some of his arts include a woman, broken and bloodied, depicted so real that most people question just how true that picture is from Koenig's memory.

But Elektra was a vision in red, white diamonds hung along her neck, blood red lipstick upon her lips as she glances around the scene with a keen eye. She was marking exits, checking trajectories, forming a battle plan if need be. And while Floyd and She aren't after the same target, the back of his head was spotted and judging from a quick look at his stature she knew who it could have been.

Deadshot.

He was quickly becoming a rival.

She graces the floor with light steps, a tight smile upon her lips as she reaches over to steal a flute of glass from the tray that was carried by. She wasn't going to approach Deadshot for a quick conversation and witty banter, she was officially on the job. The only person that needed talking to -would- be. And her target was right within her sights.

'Nancy? Nancy Moore?' A fatcat woman calls out. She had at least an extra chin but she fit into her dress really well.
'Martha?!' Nancy Moore, the senators wife cries out in glee.
'I"m so glad you could make it! Oh my gosh! I haven't seen you in nearly a decade!'
'Oh come now! I've been around! But I have been busy..'
'Ooh, do tell!'
'Gosh, I don't want to talk business when we're here for Leeland..'
'Oh, business you say?'
'Well, yes. And I knew you were going to be here. But, Hell's Kitch—..'
'Oh.. gawd Nancy, that ol' place again?'


Floyd glances back as he hears the fat lady shouting her bit, catching sight of Elektra beyond her. That lipstick's hard to miss. He takes a long drink of his own glass of wine, finishing it off and getting another from a passing waiter, "I think I'm switching to red," he says.

He makes his way towards her, criss-crossing amidst the people with a relatively easy gait, managing to make it look like a casual stroll as he eases between them. He's armed, obviously, but his guns aren't obvious - he could've gotten a pass for them, but it was more fun to sneak them through security.

"Well, fancy meetin' you here," he says.


Elektra has eyes upon the women, weaving through the crowd, her own path heading straight for Deadshot's as his path blocks her own way towards the women. There was just a slight show of irritation upon her lips, but that soon turns to a quick quirk of the half smile she usually sports as she allows that moment to be stalled for a little longer.

With Senator Moore in the corner still handling his phone call, Nancy continuing to speak with Martha, Elektra takes a sip of her wine with a slight tip of her glass.

"And you as well." She politely offers. "Who." Plain and simple. If they were going for the same person, there would be a little bit of upset in /his/ department.


Floyd Lawton smiles, "I wanna tell ya it's classified, 'cause it is, but fuck it. Smirking little fuck hitting on the teenagers by the caterer's table. He's getting two to the back of the head, but not until he gets in his limo home tonight," he says, pitching his voice low enough that only she can hear amidst the sussurus of voices in the room. And, if someone's got superhearing, well, fuck it.

"How 'bout you? If it's the Senator, I don't care, but it's gonna get messy an' it won't look great on my rep. Which ain't sayin' I can't be convinced to let it slide." he smirks, taking a sip of his wine.


"Hm." It was probably the only words that Elektra manages to say at the moment. With a little lean over, she spies the man that was Floyd's intended target, a small smile of approval shown but disappears almost immediately. Her eyes cut towards him as she finishes off her glass, placing it upon the tray with a slight lift to pull the pin from her hair to allow it to fall in black waves, dark as night. With a shake of her hair and a smile, she brings the pin upright, bending it briefly as she begins to stroll through. With a slight snap, the rest of the pin itself was deposited into the garbage there after.

"His wife." It was plain and simple. The Senator, while he was a very big target, could do nothing but speeches to incite the movers and shakers in New York. But the wife? That was the real power behind the man. She wrote the speeches that he spoke, got the man up in the morning to do his job and researched bills that needed to be passed for him to vote on. Behind the scenes. She was the power. In front of them? They never bat an eye in her direction.

But the Hand did.


Floyd Lawton raises an eyebrow, "Oh, it's like that, huh?" he says. He shrugs. Secret Service would take the hit for that, probably, and that's just fine. Suit-wearing fucks always liked to act holier than thou. You work for the Treasury Department, dude, take a step back.

"I ain't got no problem with that. You gotta do you, after all," he says. "Might even make my job easier. Chaos is fun," he grins. "I may have t'take a couple shots just ta make things look good, but…nothin' that'll do much but shave your legs a little close."


"It is most definitely like that." Elektra confirms, a gentle smile gone Floyd's way as a woman and man, an obvious couple, draw near to admire at least both of their states of dress. Floyd did look a little grunge, but it met with a certain appeal that made him a little bit easy on the eyes. Elektra on the other hand, retained a vision even as her hair hung low to tickle her arms and the small of her back. She nods towards the couple then looks towards Floyd again, her head slightly shaking.

"No. Quiet."

Her hand lifts briefly, a quick flash of a moment as her fingers curl to flick the broken pin..

'..Now I say Martha,' Mary starts, '..I did not mean that like you think I've meant it!'
'You didn't?'
'Of course not! I only meant that my husband kept a straight back while I stood by the sidelines and fostered the people!'

Nancy and Mary draw up into a rambunctious fit of giggles, until Nancy suddenly stops. She tries to cough and grasp at her throat, no sound drawing forth as she tries to breathe in a bit of air. But nothing was happening. She violently reaches for Martha, then crumples to her knees, the older woman screaming for help as others begin to rush forth and render aid.

But not Floyd's target. No. He only stood by the sidelines to watch, a nasty little grin upon his face even as he lifted upon his toenails to look over the mayhem.


Floyd Lawton raises an eyebrow, "Subtle like. Not as much fun," he says. He doesn't pretend to care or feign compassion - he's a decent liar when need be. But he doesn't need to. He watches the woman choking her life away, knows full well the agony through which she's suffering. But it doesn't touch him at all, even as a crowd gathers and calls are put out for a doctor.

"But still. Nice and clean," he says. "Looks like my boy practically creamed his shorts watching it. Sick little fuck," he chuckles, "Almost makes me like him. Almost."


"But necessary." Elektra reaches out to grasp Floyd's arm, keeping him close to her person as she looks on with a false-like horror of the situation. Her bottom lip was bitten soon after as she begins to lead Floyd away from the scene, the sounds of sirens looming within the distance as Martha, her friend, Senator Moore, her husband begin to scream her name.

Nancy was dead.

Even as they walked, Elektra 'wearily' places her head upon Floyd's shoulder, keeping up the idea of distress as she walks him out and into the open streets, her expression slackening as she gives a last look into the gallery.

"Your boy. Where is his limo." He wanted messy? They were going to get messy. When it comes to men and the abuse of young women and girls? She would gladly do this one for free.


Floyd Lawton grins, "Downstairs in the garage. Probably all warmed up and ready to go. But I paid his hooker of choice to take the night off. Let's go give him a surprise," he says, offering his arm to the deadly lovely…


DUE TO THE GRAPHIC NATURE OF THE REST OF THE SCENE, WE'VE DECIDED TO CUT HERE SO THAT YOU JERKS CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT!!! - E.

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