Defenders Disassemble

July 16, 2018:

A mixed group gathers to plot about Wilson Fisk, and disagreements separate them again.

Luke's Bar

Now with 100% more angst.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Kingpin

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Harlem, New York City. It’s usually quiet in the neighborhood on a Monday night but with the electricity use demands placed on NYC power grid having reached ‘critical levels’ and the near constant rolling brownouts throughout the city (which most people blame on the destruction of the Kitchen), some people have taken to the outdoors in effort of cooling off. People sit on their stoops while children play in the streets, someone having cracked off the valve of a fire hydrant nearby. Despite the problems, their meeting place remains a cool respite even as the heat clings to the concrete jungle when the hour draws near to the 8 o’clock meet time.

Luke’s Bar has not been officially re-launched since the bombing and subsequent rebuild, yet it is fully operational and well stocked. With the blinds drawn tight, it was the logical private gathering place on neutral ground even if not the most convenient to all attending members. The odd mix of people drifted in before the appointed time, some in their full regalia and others their plain street clothes. Drinks have been provided (Jess having made clear that alcohol could be imbibed if wished around her without being a trigger) and bottles and pitchers have been placed in a central location for refills at will. Smoking is allowed inside for the time being, but people will find it a nuisance due to the fact that only Luke and Jessica seem to be able to provide the light.

People are now scattered on various chairs and barstools throughout the common area, finishing up with their opening casual exchanges and introductions. Luke, aside from being a attentive host, has remained standoffish from the rest of the group. He’s been aloof even through greetings and the time it has taken for everyone to settle down, now having taken the post of door guard to make sure no one unwanted wanders in, standing near the exit with arms folded over his chest.

It’s time to get down to business.


It was a rather long debate with himself while Danny decided what to wear to this little meeting. No, not whether or not cargo shorts would be appropriate, but whether he should come masked and body armored or dressed like his daytime persona of Eccentric Millenial Billionaire.

In the end, Danny chose his new duds, if for no other reason than to hide his identity on the way to and from the bar. He stands in a corner, clad in dark green body armor with yellow accents, and a yellow helmet with dark eyes. He's not very good at doing the quiet brooding thing. He manages to keep 'in character' as mysterious vigilante guy until it comes to him to do introductions. By that point, sweat is snaking down his cheeks and he's just looking…uncomfortable.

So when it comes to his turn, he unhooks the helmet and tugs it off, curls slick with sweat, an unflattering red mark across his face. He inhales sharply, "Sorry, sorry, can't…do the whole masked thing. Too damned hot. I'm bad at lying, anyway. I'm Danny. I'm the Iron Fist. Don't tell anyone. Thanks." And then he's grabbing for a bottle of water and unhooking the body armor. Just a little striptease, nothing to see here. Once the outer later is peeled off, he slumps to the arm of the couch and waits for someone who knows more about what's going on than him to call the meeting to order.


A cigarette and a beer go a long way to helping Owen not bolt from this little get together. The fact that he is not exactly in the running for BFF of most of the assembled is not lost on him. But he has his reasons for being involved, and not being 100% welcome is hardly new territory for him. He is not dressed for action, no mask or boomerangs in sight. He's dressed in a plain black Luke's bar tee shirt emblazoned with STICK CHUCKER on the back, trendy torn jeans and dark brown engineer boots.

While others in his situation might opt for quietly observing were they in his position, this is Owen. Always a little too quick with a quip or ill advised joke. When Danny starts off the introductions he can't help but chime in.

"I'm Owen. And I'm a heroin addict.." He waits a beat, far too pleased at his /joke/. "Oh shit. Wrong meeting."


One of the (many) benefits of the serum is a certain imperviousness to the extremes of temperature. Cold and heat just don't hit a supersoldier the way they do a civilian. In fact, Bucky Barnes didn't sweat at all on the walk over to Luke's Bar, something that earned him Jane's deepest ire… and possibly the ire of those who noticed his oddly pristine state upon arrival.

There's many greetings made, some cheerful ribbing, and a few neutral looks. Perhaps a hint of guilt as Bucky looks around the new bar, too. But overall, the Winter Soldier's demeanor is somber. His mind hasn't left the eight thousand casualties, ever since the bombing happened. Eight thousand casualties, the memories of New York turned into a mirror of so many scenes created at his hands… and Matt. Both he and Jane would be lying if they said they weren't significantly worried about him.

At least they're all theoretically here to discuss all that. Though introductions are in order first, it seems. Bucky looks awkward, as if unsure how or whether to say anything, though he's spared an immediate decision when others speak first. And on that note —

"Oh good," Bucky says, when Danny reveals himself. "You finally got the mask I told you to get."


There's a table back —> there, where a certain Irish Butler has been informed that he is 'off' tonight so. That means, he's parked himself at a table with a backpack and a bottle of whiskey in a brown paper bag. He brought his own paper bag, okay. He is wearing a gift, that is a dark red t-shirt that reads 'Fairy God Father' with a picture unicorn bleeding glittery rainbows from its neck on it. Paired with a pair of black designer jeans, black boots and a matching black leather jacket, his hair has been pulled back into a dark red beanie.

He was back there playing Solitaire. Not on his phone, with cards. On his table. Because he's old. But then Danny and Owen happen. There's a large black backpack at his feet, and a file-box stashed under his table as he takes swigs from his bottle with a quirk of an eyebrow as people start making introductions. When Danny's helmet comes off, and Owen's mouth opens. He reaches down to unzip his large backpack and he pulls out a 62 OZ costco like bucket of Malteasers, setti "ng the red bucket on his lap as he works it open. You gotta bring snacks to a show.


Daredevil does not look like a man who belongs in a bar. Or at least, not Luke's bar. But there he is, in full red-leather getup, leaned back against the bar itself as he faces the small, strange circle of people assembled. Once the introductions have been made — including the self-immolation of Danny Rand's secret identity and Owen's quip about his addiction, and small talk has subsided to a low lull, the masked man clears his throat.

"Thanks for coming, everyone," he says in a voice just loud enough to carry over the chatter and into the back of the room. "And thanks for hosting, Cage. We're all here because we have a stake in what was done to this city a few weeks ago."

A beat. "And because we now have a sense of who did it, and why. For those of you who don't know, a group of us have been tangling for about a year with a — " There's another pause as he grapples for an adequate descriptor "— a crime lord who has kept his head down and his name largely off the streets. It's now very clear this man was the man who orchestrated the bombings in Hell's Kitchen."

Finally, he says: "We called this meeting to bring everyone up to speed on what we know, what we think we know, and see if we can come up with a plan for what to do about it."


One of the many benefits of having a costume that includes a featureless helmet is that nobody expects you to engage in small talk. After the last couple of weeks, that suits Kinsey Sheridan just fine. Being Six has its perks. One of the many downsides of having a costume that includes a featureless helmet is that it's difficult to drink. Drinking is not something Kinsey does much of anymore — alcohol doesn't play nicely with her specific suite of abilities — but after the last couple of weeks, she'd like to make an exception. (Fact: she built an Emergency Induction Port into the helmet. She COULD drink. Just, drinking a mojito through a straw sort of undermines the whole 'is it a robot or what?' thing she's cultivated, so: RIP.)

She's holding up a wall, arms folded, ankles crossed. Once DD starts speaking, he has the whole of her attention. Probably. Her head is angled that way. Maybe she's playing tetris in there on the HUD, or something? Who knows?


Indeed, Jessica doesn't even seem tempted by the alcohol. Someday she might be tempted again. She can't predict that. Today is not that day. If she even looks at the stuff it's because it's in the hand of someone who is talking.

She has a Coke. A comfortable stool to perch on. A cigarette she couldn't resist, with an ashtray kept close. She'll light the cigarette of anyone who wants it, often while exchanging greetings with all and sundry. She had brought Foggy Nelson in, introducing him to anyone who wondered why he was here as, "Foggy Nelson, my other lawyer, who has been engaged in legal voodoo with the bad guy."

She, too, wears her Luke's Bar tee-shirt, over a pair of cut-offs. Seems fitting. With the words 'Secretly Decent' emblazoned across the back of the shirt, and everything.

And if she's been a very quiet presence, well, she's been a much quieter person, on the whole, since the destruction of the Kitchen. Danny's display, and Bucky's reaction, produces a slow, soft chuckle, more like a series of silent breaths than an actual audible laugh. Owen's joke produces a faint snort.

Matt calls the meeting to order, though, and she turns her full attention there.


Percy Franklin Nelson has never, ever in his entire lifetime been a lurker — except for a rather broody period back when he was tween and staying with his grandfather in a podunk suburb of Minneapolis; back then, he lurked and sulked, and it didn't really suit him at all. So, being part of this Vigilante Convention with a lot of potential lurkers has Foggy standing out just as awkwardly as can be, wearing a vintage Metallica T-shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers. Not usual Foggy attire, but he's been pulling an evening shift at the soup kitchen almost every night this past week.

He double-takes a bit when Danny reveals himself, and just, "Dude." Then he clears his throat, adjusting the messenger bag that is loaded with paper — a lot of paper, including several rolls of rubber-banded paper. He looks precariously around, seeing if anyone is going to talk first before he glances toward Jess — as casually as he can, he avoids looking at Matt in his Daredevil get-up. Not Matt, don't call him Matt. Daredevil, call him Daredevil…

After a heartbeat, Foggy slowly raises his hand. "Uh, hi… um. I got something."


"The man's name is Wilson Fisk," Daredevil goes on with a survey of the room and the people in it, arms banded across his chest. "But his name on the street is the, ah," a beat, a note of derision, "the 'Kingpin.' Fisk has been running guns, drugs, and human trafficking out of New York for well over a year, and largely co-opted several of the major gangs in the city. Last year Fisk tried to manufacture a designer drug that would temporarily give people metahuman abilities. He used mutants and metas as lab rats, killing dozens, torturing hundreds. A group of us shut it down."

The man in red swallows hard, forcing down the bad taste in his mouth. "At this point, I think that the drug — and everything he's been doing — was so he could build up the funds necessary to do what he's doing now. First blowing up those buildings in the Kitchen, then —"

He dips his head downward before giving a nod in Foggy's rough direction. "Go on, tell them, Nelson."


Wolf-Whistle from Emery's table. "Yes! You in the classic attire with teh fabulous hair! I'd let ye read me the feckin' dictionary with that sexy voice. I, for one, want to hear what the adorable blonde with good taste in music has to say." A point to Daredevil. "You're pretty too, The Beezebulb of Broadway. You, dun even 'ave to talk, just standin' there is causin' me to tink impure thoughts and me priest told me I can only come in twice a week now." Just in case he's feeling left out. He tosses ball of chocolate malty goodness in the air and leans his head back to catch it in his mouth as he tilts back in his chair and is listening. Ignore him aiming and throwing a malt-ball towards Owen.


Danny tosses sheepish smiles to the people who either act surprised or snort at him. He cups his hand and drops water into it, then lets it run down his back. He sets the helmet on a nearby table, then lets the body armor jacket slide to the floor. He reaches back and grabs a handful of Emery's Maltesers from the bucket and makes a loud crunch just as Matt is doing his dramatic speech. The next bite is more mouth-closed. Oops. And then in a small olive branch-like gesture, he strains to offer the bucket to Owen.

"I've ended up in a bidding war with someone for a few Hell's Kitchen properties. I wanted to buy them to build a new housing trust to make sure whatever's built there stays affordable. The properties should've gone pretty cheap, but…a few my uh…the company that does buying things for you…" he snaps and looks at Foggy hopefully, "…had to let a few properties go cause the price got too high."


Bucky passes Claire a smile as she greets Jane. He's always fond of people who like her. But the moment is brief, for all of them, as the conversation turns to business.

"Based in New York," he remarks. "But connections and resources everywhere. Not just within the bounds of the States, overseas too. Some of the materiel used in the bombing was sourced from Colombia. He's got ties to Mexican cartel, for sure. And whatever weaknesses he thinks he has, he isn't shy about hiring around." Bucky's expression, so typically wry, turns a little contemptuous as well. "He hired a countersniper for me. As Jane and I found out when we confronted him."

He folds his arms and leans back against the wall, farther from the center of discussion. He knows what he thinks ought to be done about it, but he doesn't say anything about it in mixed company — for now — waiting instead to see what Foggy's got.


Letting the heroes talk is probably a good idea. Owen knows that he should shut up and listen and only add what he can when called on. But then Daredevil starts giving Fisk's background and derides 'the Kingpin' part of it and Owen starts shaking his head. He lets Bucky add some background before chiming in.

"For those of you who don't know, I'm also Captain Boomerang." He waits for confused laughter before continuing, "As in I've been more on the wrong side of the law than not. And while Fisk meant nothing to me, Kingpin has been a power player coming up fast for years. He's brutal as fuck, especially for a New York player." He says almost apologetically, "I'm from Gotham. We know crazy."

As if choreographed, he catches the maltzer out of the air with his mouth without having to pause talking for too long.

"I know it might seem like you're connecting all the dots, but there's a lot of history there from before you were on to him. This may not even be his end game."

With that said he grabs a couple more from the bucket offered by Danny.


Luke, unlike Danny, is pretty stellar at the whole brooding thing even if he's not given to the expression often. He hasn't bothered touching a drink or a cigarette since the party assembled, put off from even those approachable habits. The man doesn't even have a Luke's Bar t-shirt (having been lost in the fire) but even if he did, he doesn't look up to being 'Strong Black Coffee' tonight. If he has something to add about this, it will be later. Right now he's just glaring at his boot tips as he listens.


For the first time in the meeting, Six stirs near the wall, straightening out of her lean, so that she can face Owen. Her ordinary-looking (sleeved, and gloved) arm folds over her ribs, while the visibly artificial one uses it as a rest, elbow on wrist. Jointed fingers in matte black and silver open, half-close, a gesture like a shrug that is not a shrug, standing in for some expression that her helmet prevents anyone from seeing.

Her voice is completely synthesized. Female, silken, calm. "Why don't you illuminate us?"


Acknowledged by Daredevil gives Foggy a small pause, and he swallows awkwardly before responding, "Okay." He advances forward, digging out the rolled map from his bag. He starts to roll it out across a table, using salt and pepper shakers and whatever else is on the table to hold it down. Its a map of Hell's Kitchen that focuses on the building footprints. He's marked it up with those round stickers and some colored markers.

"So. I marked all the major epicenters of the bombs on the map. There was some serious methodology put into this whole thing… Willy targeted very specific buildings, but this one is very special." He puts his finger on a building on 38th street. "This is where Fisk grew up, and this building got an unnecessary amount of explosives. He wanted it taken all the way to its foundations. All the other structures are older buildings… and the older buildings that are still standing have some higher security measures."


Ever familiar at the ex-Winter Soldier's side, Jane Foster similarly arrives, small and serious — especially these days, with memories of Hell's Kitchen casting a permanent shadow under her eyes.

Of calm spirits — for now, at least — she makes no grandiose greeting to the forming group beyond a quiet lift of her hand, and a pit stop at Danny Rand giving himself a de-superhero makeover, stripping off all his identity-concealing armaments. It's not so much the stripping that makes her tilt her head, but what the billionaire heir is stripping off. "Who did your gear?" she asks, a little critically.

Awkward times for Mercer.

Claire in particular introduces herself, and Jane's eyebrows lift, before memory puts two-and-two together. "I heard great things about you," she answers. "I'll do you something better, promise."

As business proceeds, she lingers not too far from where Bucky leans, silent, sharp-eyed, listening. And not objecting to the things the boyfriend reveals of their recent antics.


Danny's way of answering Jane is to rap on his helmet and point to Owen. He pops another ball of chocolate into his mouth, then follows it with a big swig of water. He cranes his neck to try and look at the map. He frowns. Clearly something is going through his head, but whatever it is, he's not ready to share it with the group.


"Mercer, we brought everyone together to share information," Daredevil says to 'Captain Boomerang' after Six chimes in. "I'm sure we'd appreciate whatever insight you'd like to provide."

But then Foggy is talking. And even though what none of Foggy says is news to Daredevil, those revelations — among them the fact that Wilson Fisk didn't just blow up some run-down neighborhood, he was born in Hell's Kitchen and essentially set a torch to his own home — is enough to tighten the man's jawline.

He's distracted from whatever ruminations he has on Fisk after processing Bucky said. His head slowly lifts and turns to face the Winter Soldier. "You confronted Fisk," Daredevil repeats. It's safe to say that James Buchanan Barnes has known Matt Murdock long enough to recognize that there's a lot behind that flat-voiced deadpan. "Personally."


"…." Emery narrows his eyes slightly as he looks between Danny and Owen, lips parting, and eyebrows raising a fraction. "You little arseclowns should be glad that I've takin' a liking to ye. I have literally shot someone before for just lookin' at me Malteasers without askin'…" He may or may not be joking, but he keeps his voice down however. Because people are sharing stuff and he just idly nudges the box under his table with a toe, thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes and taking a deep breath. There's a glance over to where a map has been laid out and he looks down again. He's looked more refreshed and been less tired since the 'break' he took. But for now, there seems to be some drama going on and so he waits. For now. A look over to Bucky before he asks. "…I bet ye didn't try to eat /him/ did ye?"


Jane taking notice of Danny's armor draws side eye from Owen. He's trying to track the conversation but is obviously keeping an eye on that interaction. When he sees Danny indicate him, he turns his head enough to grin at Jane and blow a stream of smoke out before turning back to the conversation of at hand.

Addressing Six he give some highlights, "He started off just straight mafia. Just suddenly popped up as head of a family one day outta nowhere. He built it up the usual. Paying people off, taking over territory, but for some reason he's able to just absorb other gangs. He consumed a huge portion of New York's books in just a couple years. And even those who weren't with him, stayed clear. And then like two years ago, he moves into international shit. Weapons. Trafficking. Big boy moves that mean pissing off much bigger fish, but he still comes out on top." There's a slight pause before Owen adds, "Somehow."


'Willy,' Foggy says. Whatever expression Kinsey makes in the helmet, apparently the software on-board is designed to interpret as a hard 'no,' because for just one moment, under the pitch-black gloss of the curving frontplate, a large, red, brightly glowing 'X' appears where her face ought to be.

Inside of that helmet, the maps — physical maps, oh my god, what is this, fifteenth century Spain?? — are quickly scanned, replaced with digital editions affixed with the markers placed by Nelson for later perusal.

She's listening to Owen too, though. Multithreaded consciousness: it's useful! "Somehow," she repeats, with a small nod. The synthetic voice doesn't make inflection easy to read, but she adds, quietly, "We have some idea. I may explain later." If the conversation gets around to it, one supposes.


It is safe to say Jess is busy listening to it all while she smokes. Every nuance, every point of tension, every bit of the information that's being shared. The detective, for once, has no big info dump to share. Info dumps are things she usually excels in. She tends to have folders full of case notes and evidence to lay out for anyone who wants to see them. Usually she gives more information than anyone wants, assuming everyone wants to know every nook, cranny, twist, and turn of what happened and the truth the same way she does.

This is not a case she has directly worked. It is almost surreal, in a way; everyone down to Foggy Nelson has worked the case instead. As she quietly moved rubble, grieved for her adopted home and focused on her relationships with people in this very room, she hadn't felt the urge to investigate at all.

But that doesn't mean she won't absorb it like a sponge. So far she has no insights that will lead anywhere productive, no questions to ask that might open up new avenues for exploration.

She crushes her dead cigarette in the ashtray beside her, then pulls another Marlboro Red and lights it up.


This is all a Very Serious Conversation. And Danny's sheepishly eating Emery's Very Serious Treats. He's following as best he can, listening, trying to fit all the pieces together. But then Six does her face-plate-projector thing and he momentarily flashes to the day when he can get her to dance with him to Daft Punk's 'Around the World.'

Wait…what? Gangsters? Death? Seriousness? Oh, right. He looks back at the map and does his best serious face. And then he sneezes as a whiff of cigarette smoke hits him in the face. "So…" and again. Sniffle. "So um, Luke and I have been trying to bust up the drug side of things. But seeing this big picture stuff, it almost seems…inconsequential? I mean, to have this kind of power, he's gotta have some pretty diversified crim-" another sneeze, "-criminal interests."


"How do you think he's funding his endeavors." Luke rumbles at Danny with a lift of his eyes and drops back down soon after.


Claire Temple .. oo OO ((Jane Foster's heard about me. Weirder than aliens or not?)) That's at least one of Claire's thought bubbles as the conversation goes on. .. oo OO ((Jane Foster snipes people?)) may also make the list. She pulls out her phone to quietly google this Fisk person as tales of his misdeeds spread around the room. Alright, and she probably also has to google Captain Boomerang, because with a name like that… There's some more brow lifting, but for the moment she's trying to find a not too crowded corner of the map to look in on.

"So the answer may be depressingly obvious, but how tied in is he to the authorities, police and all that? Does anyone have a sense of who's on his payroll and who isn't?" Claire glances up from phone and map, then back to the former to adjust the google search: Captain Boomerang body count?


He's gotta have some pretty diversified criminal interests. "He does," Six says. And then Claire: how tied in is he? "Very."

She glances up at Daredevil, then Foggy. "Once Nelson is finished, I can expand on those things." It isn't inflected as a question, but she tilts her head as though it's meant to be.


Owen's commentary draws a narrow-eyed look from the Winter Soldier, but he doesn't say anything that numerous others don't already say.

After a moment, he simply reroutes his attention back to the information Foggy has to share about Fisk's particular history. And to sharing a bit of his own, which… well, he'd forgotten Matt didn't quite know about that excursion, but it wasn't exactly one he and Jane were asking permission to undertake, nor hiding the fact that they were.

You confronted Fisk, Daredevil accuses, steel in his voice.

The Winter Soldier stares back, expression neutral, to all appearances completely unrepentant. If he were still the Wolf Emery compares him to, he might have flicked a lupine ear to the butler's sarcastic remark — but his attention stays on Matt.

"I confronted Margaret Thatcher," Bucky remarks. "After that, he's not so bad."


The glaring red 'X' from the female RoboCop draws Foggy's eyebrows up in an earnest 'what?' expression. Looking back toward his map, he scruffs back a bit of hair out of his eyes, trying to get the cowardly leonine mane to stay tucked behind an ear. He puffs out his cheeks a bit as Matt gives the lowdown on Fisk, nodding slightly as if he already knew this information — and might have based on the time he's had just digging crap up. He looks to Claire when she mentions the Police. "I talked to my guy in NYPD, telling him I had a client who wanted to sue Fisk and if he had any dealings with the guy. Nothing. The police just thing he's a normal dude with deep pockets."

Then he holds up a finger. "But. I've got a contact who has supplied me with some bugged footage from Harlem's Paradise… some guy came to see Cottonmouth with a sizable bribe… $10 Million if Cottonmouth got his sister to push through legislation that would rezone the Kitchen and scrape the affordable housing regulations. Make it some big gentrification project to revitalize Hell's Kitchen."


And Owen looks over his shoulder at Emery at the crack about Bucky trying to eat Fisk laughing. He just says "Word." in full support of the crack, and also adding "And you know you love us." in reference to the chocolate thieving.

"And I gotta say, even though it's gonna make me the asshole, we have something Fisk wants." Owen waits for a beat before continuing. "We know he wants Six and the red.. er, Daredevil." He tries to be on his best behavior and not make cracks about codenames, unlike some people, *ahem* Emery. Owen continues, "He was desperate enough to meet me in person to try to get at you two. Either your identities, which some here will know why that's a non-starter for me, or you. Delivered to Fisk."

Which begs the question. What the hell is Owen suggesting right now?

"So I say we pump me full of nano tracer tech, slap some hot ass red leather on me and give him a Daredevil."

It's probably clear to many in the room except Owen why he's proposing this particular plan.


Jessica had known that Owen had gotten a tip. This is the first time she is getting the full shape of what happened, the source of the information that likely saved her life. Her mouth makes a tight line, and her eyes narrow. She slow looks at Luke. It's a look that asks did you know that bit?

But now is not the time or the place to react more than that. Other than to say, as a blanket, not-quite aimed at Owen except totally aimed at Owen: "Let me just say that if anyone delivered anyone in this room to Fisk in any fashion I would personally rip their arms out a la Chewbacca, so I'm real damn glad nobody did such a damned shitty thing like that. And that plan is also dumbass."


"We've been /over/ this Owen. Ye do /not/ have the ass to carry that out convincingly." Emery gestures over towards Daredevil. "Ye could bounce a quarter feckin' dime off that ting and it would ricochet off and kill a random pigeon 3 blocks away…." He shakes his head. "Would never work."


"They have these butt pad underwear things. I saw it on an infomercial once," says Danny, unhelpfully. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes that was not productive. He fills his mouth with Maltesers instead.


Owen is quick to clarify, again to the room, "Well I didn't say yes." And then not being able to help himself he adds, "Or no. Which means it's an option. I mean not /actually/ handing yous two over." He does however make a conceding shrug at Emery, "That's true. JUst have to hope Fisk ain't as ass man?" To Danny Owen just flatly states, "They don't work." Wait what? Why is he an authority on that?!


Six is so focused on what Foggy has to say that Owen's sudden confession arrives as an even greater surprise than it would have otherwise. This — moments like this — are why Six's costume includes a full helmet, rather than a mask, or a pair of goggles, or something of that sort: she's never mastered the art of guarding her facial expressions. Until two years ago, she never had any reason to be dishonest to anyone. What Owen says about Fisk wanting her doesn't arrive as any surprise. That Owen was asked to oversee that transaction, on the other hand…

The only indication of her brief, stunned surprise is a beat of silence that cold mean anything. Thanks, helmet. "While I appreciate your willingness to put yourself at risk-" And the fact that you didn't turn me over for a Klondike bar or whatever, "-I am not sure that locating him is the difficult challenge ahead."

And then Danny is talking about butt pads, and the cyborg (?) is leaning, ever so slightly, to look at Rand's ass. Is he? ….nah.


Words like Harlem's Paradise and Cottonmouth bring Luke's dark eyes up again, scanning this Foggy person who he only knows by proxy as the other half of the law firm that handles most everyone's shit now. His jaw works side to side, making the tendons in his jaw so tense they pop with the movement. "You out-cher damn mind, boy." Luke growls at Owen fiercely, a new type of anger bubbling to the surface that he rarely displays. He catches the look from Jessica then, and with a shake of his head, he shuts back up and looks away at anything but her. Oh look, they forgot to fix the caulk around that window.


Daredevil put this meeting together largely to disseminate information and bring the people who'd been out in the streets doing the work together. But he's finding out that there's a lot he didn't know on multiple fronts. Bucky's even, unapologetic words are met with a subtle tilt of his head. "Yeah, I guess so," he says of Fisk and Thatcher. "Since one died of old age and the other's still alive." A beat, and then a quieter: "We can talk about it later."

And good thing, too, because Owen's confession was bound to derail the conversation anyway. Daredevil knew he was hiding something, but the enormity of it, and how closely it strikes to home, stuns him into silence that not even a lot of commentary about his figure can distract him from. "Getting someone in a room with Wilson Fisk is not the worst idea in the world," is what he decides to say finally, of the many thoughts buzzing in his head. "But whether it's you, or whether it's now, and what happens after whoever gets in that room does, matters a whole lot."


"Always let the Wookiee win, dude," the lawyer says to Owen. "And I think we've got at least two of them in this room, so…" Foggy nods his head toward Jess and Luke in turn. Then his shoulders sag just slightly, hands slipping off his belt and into the pockets of his shorts. He looks a bit uncertain, glancing around at those present. He ignores talks of butt pads very, very specifically… nope, not going there.

Trying to stay on task, Foggy points to the smaller blue dots on the map. "All else I got is that these properties," he taps at them in turn, "are ones that Fisk is trying to buy up in anticipation of this change in zoning. Nelson and Murdock has managed to block his bids… but we can only keep that up until the new zoning happens… if it happens." Then he steps back. "That's all I got…"


There is something about the way Jessica delivers her LOOK HOW GLAD I AM NOBODY DELIVERED ANYONE TO FISK! remark that gives Bucky pause. Especially when Owen answers in a way that suggests he didn't give a firm 'no' as an answer.

The Winter Soldier looks back at Owen, even as Mercer is still laughing about Emery's little joke. For his part, he does not look amused about any of this.

But as for Matt's reply to him?

The Soldier says nothing. He just pushes away from his spot against the wall, glances at Jane, and walks out of the bar.


Claire glances at Six saying Very connected and then Foggy saying just a dude with deep pockets. "That clears it up," she says dryly. But something else between the Owen googling and the Fisk googling is furrowing her brow. "So how much does it have to cost /not/ to show up on web searches these days?" Boomer's suggestion of cosplaying Matt, though? That jerks her head up to stare at him for a full couple of seconds until it's time to literally facepalm at Danny and the Buttpads.

"As the person most likely to have to deal with any injuries Jessica inflicts? Please don't make her make good on Chewbacca'ing you," Claire says in Owen's direction, still rubbing her forehead. "So if you got someone alone in a room with him … what would you want to see happening next?"


Luke looks away from her, and Jessica's eyes flash. Her jaw firms, and her eyes narrow. She takes an aggressive drag on that cigarette.

She's not amused at all, for sure, and that narrow-eyed gaze now makes her way back to Owen. She blows out an angry ring, tense, and leaves it. It's not productive, there's still information and a plan to share. She reads right between the lines of Matt's statement and lets out a wholly exasperated sound she knows damn well he hears.

But Claire asks the only salient question that can be asked, in response to all that. She can fume in silence. And does.


Danny sneezes again. He's trying not to, honestly. "If the drugs are a big part of his income, then maybe we should keep trying to shut that part of things down. If we manage to hit him in the pocket book, then his whole plan goes south. We just need to hit him hard enough that he can't place winning bids for the properties he wants."

And next, in bad idea theatre: "I uh…I figured I'd make a pretty tempting target for these Disney princess drug dealers. Might be able to get them to sell me enough that we can point to their suppliers." He's pointedly not looking at Emery. He knows the butler is probably glaring at him right now.


At the talk of wookies Owen just gives both Foggy and Claire very confused looks. He literally has no idea what they're talking about besides at least recognizing Wookies as Star Wars things. He glances at Jess and catches her look, but avoids making eye contact. But Daredevil's openness to the idea intrigues him. He is about to respond when Claire chimes in with her question, he looks back at her, again confused.

"The man just killed eight thousand New Yorkers, and last I checked we ain't cops. Or SHIELD. Maybe I misunderstood, but I was pretty sure puttin' this shithead down was an option. And that'd be my /next steps/."


"Butt pads dun' fit in a suit right…" Emery murmurs softly, but its gnawing at him, a disgruntled force to be reckoned with banging at the walls of his mind and screaming about an after-action report. He's letting Foggy finish and such before he wipes off his fingers on a handkerchief. There's so much going on right now, he ust sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Then there's more Owen and Danny and he rocks just a little bit, jaw setting.

Its a curling darkness like a shadowy fog trying to creep its way through the cracks of his calm as he /does/ turn his head to look at Bucky's ass as he's heading for the exit. That's when Samael finally puts a fist through the dry-wall of years of repression and the Irish butler, leans forward in his chair with a soft grunt, hands resting lightly on his knees. "Tha-*fuck* that's enough of this shite."

Getting to his feet, there's steely calm to his demeanor that overlays his casual swagger, each move is measured and precise as he bends down to pick up that box of files and paperwork.

He makes his way over to the table where the map has been laid out and he sets the box down with a /thud/. He then reaches into an inner leather jacket pocket and sets a black leather notebook down on top of the box as well. "This is not a game of finding the bad man and holding him accountable for his crimes. This is a build up to a decision you all must make to hold a man twisted and corrupted by an evil he cannot and has not until now had to face as actually being evil. To hold him accountable for his /sins/."

In that box, are files, and documents, and papwerwork. A late 'Wesley's's attempts to buy up real estate on Fisk's behalf, legal motions and accounts of what he was doing to block and maneuver around whatever Foggy was doing. Alot of legal work. The paper reflection of the legal war that's going on and such. And the notebook, is the man's personal notebook.

"He's without his heart now. So decide quickly, or the next fire will be all consuming and spread further than the hell you think you've seen. 8,000 souls turned a fight and a struggle into a war." He looks up, gaze dark as he looks from face to face .


It's the subtle movement of Six's helmet — as she folds her arms — that suggests she's watching Barnes' exit — and maybe the slight movement after that is a glance at Daredevil. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she fails to comment. Instead, she fixes her attention on Claire, and drills gloved fingers once, twice against the geometric angles of her synthetic right arm. It's Foggy she addresses, though, when she speaks: "Let's discuss the zoning changes later. It may be possible to delay." She neglects to say how. A few people in the room can probably guess, though.

She's shifting her weight, preparing to say something, when Emery says that's enough of this shite, and everything else that follows. Settling into silence, she listens; the box he tosses down on the table of particular interest. It's an impassioned speech that she gives a measured, maybe respectful, moment of silence before speaking up:

"Legal justice in this country is complex. Often, you have one opportunity to do things properly, and if you somehow fail to make it count, you can never make another attempt. Simply killing him isn't enough. If I believed it would be, I would have made doing that a priority. Unfortunately, the situation is wide-ranging and complicated. A broader view of his activities is likely to be crucial to whatever course of action we take, as it's likely to require fighting on multiple fronts. I have information to that end, if the room is ready to hear it."


Matt listens to the creak of the bar chair and the familiar tread of Bucky Barnes feet as he silently lets himself out of the bar. Jane follows, and she doesn't keep her silence, offering him an obscenity on her way out. His jaw sets, and resets. Later, he repeats, this time to himself.

In the short stretch of time that follows, Metro General nurse Claire Temple asks the million dollar question, Danny proposes an epically bad idea, Jessica Jones glowers — and Emery Papsworth has a bona fide come to Jesus moment, and dumps a box with reams of paper onto the map of Hell's Kitchen, and a notebook besides. All of it, almost assuredly, stolen. And with it, he delivers a call to some Old Testament style action.

"Yeah, I think it's safe to say that Wilson Fisk has declared war on the people of New York City," Daredevil agrees with the butler. Then he nods towards Six. "Let's hear what Six has to say about his empire before we decide how best to destroy it."


In his years in K'un L'un, and more recently in the board rooms of Rand Enterprises, Danny has learned that often it's better to listen than to speak. He watches Emery post-outburst and glances around, but the the billionaire vigilante isn't going to add anything else for the time being. So much of this is beyond the realm of his experience, so for now he'll be quiet. And eat Maltesers.


Watching Bucky and Jane leave Owen isn't surprised. He's more surprised that people are actually listening to him and not giving him the heave-ho, as he assumes his confession is the reason they're walking out. He is however surprised that Jane cusses out Daredevil and not him on her way out. His brow furrows, as obviously he's missing something. Usually he's the one getting sworn at. Or slapped. Usually both.

But then Emery is standing up and though Owen has never actually been to a church service he finds himself 'mhhmm-ing' along and nodding. He all but amens it, and probably would if he had any type of religious background.

Danny and Luke's plan to go after the drug dealers only draws a grimace from Owen. Buying lots of heroin. He looks queasy at the thought, knowing it would rule out his involvement for obvious reasons and also put a lot of money in play and dredge up a bunch of issues for him. But he's hardly one to talk about plans viability, so he says nothing.

When Six speaks though Owen stops, giving her his full attention. His cigarette is stubbed out and he listens, starting to get an understanding of why just getting to Fisk and taking him out isn't the only or best option. Because the network is already built, who's running it isn't as important as the fact that it's running.


"Of course putting him down is an option," Claire says as she gets to her feet and looks at Owen, then at Emery. "But that's just it, isn't it? Holding him accountable for his sins. Great. You kill the guy behind it. That'll do it for a bunch of folks, but does that do anything for the hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers that lost family? It'll work for some. But on behalf of a hell of a lot of -not- so superpowered New Yorkers, I for one would like a punching booth. You know, come up, pay a couple of bucks, punch the asshole in the face. With everyone in the city getting a shot. Dead's final though," she says. Though the look she takes around the room after saying that? She doesn't look as certain about death's finality as she might have been a couple of years ago. "Killing him dead in the dark doesn't give the city any healing. Any catharsis." She exhales after that, lot of words and all, then meanders towards Danny. "And if you end up hauled in by the police, and you're splashed all over the news? There are a lot of folks that depend on you - on all of you."


"Not me!" Owen is quick to cheerfully chime in at the end of Claire's speech. "But yea, e'erybody else."


"The soul that sins will die, but a sinner is not automatically taken to the gallows." Samael intones solemnly, bowing his head respectfully to Six and glancing over towards Matt and all the others, and his lips form around the crisply ennunciated and sofly uttered words. "Again, I considered all travail, and every right work, that for this a man is envied of his neighbour. This is also vanity and vexation of spirit. The fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh. Better is an handful with quietness, than both the hands full with travail and vexation of spirit."

Then he takes a step back, bowing his head as he waits for what Six has to say. There's a soft gasp as he moves a hand to his chest and turns away from the group, shuddering slightly and reigning in Mr Gloom and Doom as he prepares to listen.


Luke straightens up from the wall as Bucky and Jane leave, but he doesn't do anything to impede them. Either someone will fill them in later, or they've chosen by their exit to split off from the joint effort. "The idea was to use Danny's name - and his implied money - to get us the 'in' with the Princesses. After that, we were going to use a different kind of motivation to get them talking. If it didn't lead to Fisk, at least we could stop that new product from dropping on the street." The same way they shook down the drug dealers to get as high as they had already. His eyes go to the box that Emery drops (and the metaphorical mic) and the big man just wets his lips by pulling them into his mouth and drawing them back out with a scrape of teeth. "I'm with Claire on this one." Luke's never used deadly force, at least directly. But it's clear to see the room dividing. With Owen piping up, 'not me' he gets a flat look from Luke, who doesn't look to keen about the thought of trying to find another bartender. Or heir.


"Oh please, if you're in this room someone gives a shit about you," Claire answers Owen bluntly before giving Samael her focus. Her increasingly befuddled looking focus.

"I'm sorry, what?"


Bucky and Jane's leavetaking, venomous as it is, does produce a glance of real concern from one Jessica Jones. But. That's not hers to fix or even to get involved in. Then Emery's turning up his weirdness from ten to eleven, quoting Bible verses she barely understands.

Plans are flying. Information is flowing. Tensions are rising.

She lets her own burst of temper go, mercurial as ever, inclined more to flare up and snap and snarl and glower than to hold on to anything for too long, though nothing promises she won't flare up over the same issue again at another moment in time. She does rub her head a little, like she's getting a headache, but handles that headache in the healthiest way possible.

By totally lighting up yet another cigarette.


There's no indication, watching Six listen to Claire, that the woman's stance resonates with her. She does spend a moment longer watching Claire than strictly necessary, maybe, resulting in a double-take as Emery holds forth in a way she's never heard from him before. …maybe she should ask Matt about that. ….Later.

"To address your earlier question," she says, tilting her helmet in Claire's direction, "I can tell you that Wilson Fisk was able to acquire a staggering amount of extremely classified government data from a secure federal storage facility. DEO research and development data. A DEO agent in his pocket made the exchange. No charges were ever brought, obviously. That agent was later killed, gunned down. Later we captured one of the scientists who was experimenting on the metahumans, Dr. Parker. Fisk was also able to negotiate his release from The Raft on the one occasion he was in custody by utilizing a corrupt prison watch-dog group. After being transferred to Riker's he arranged to be given peanuts, to which he's allergic. He went into anaphylactic shock. Strings were pulled with politicians. SHIELD was under enormous pressure to release him. His reach is extensive. It includes law enforcement, political elements, media, international and organized crime…" She tips one hand in Owen's direction. "As he said."

She withdraws a small, flat disk topped with a glass sphere, and holds it in her palm. It ignites with light, spewing luminous holographic images, text, and other information into the air above it. "I obtained a large amount of information over a year ago about Fisk following his acquisition of the DEO data. Under his control is an entity called CGI. CGI is a massive collection of business interests, and the records I obtained named countless other holding companies involved in similar transactions. He purchased five for-profit prisons, one of which was Monterary Shock — one location of the metahuman experimentation and pill production mentioned earlier by Daredevil. He owns a freight railway line, a trucking company, a dozen small laboratories — all biochemical — and a pier in Hell's Kitchen. He owns a maritime shipping company, a munitions plant, and a former military research and development contractor. He owned over a dozen low-rent buildings, slums, in Hell's Kitchen. Weapon companies, security companies, pharmaceutical labs, logistics corporations, RFID developers, a software and technology company producing bleeding-edge virtual reality equipment and software…" Pause. "I can provide specific information on request. Suffice it to say he has the capacity to produce virtually any sort of drug or weapon he likes, and the infrastructure to move it. That includes metahumans he's kidnapped and imprisoned. All of these businesses have been structured in a way that prohibits any single collapse or failure from impacting the rest — standard business practice, sadly. You can be certain the legal complexity of offshore accounts or international businesses only complicate things further."


Owen takes in what Six is saying and sighs as it all makes sense now how Fisk was able to pull off some of the more extreme moves in his rise. He is glad though that she delivers the news about Fisk being his own source from the drugs. Maybe that will discourage Luke and Danny? Maybe not.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and again tries to light his own for the third time tonight. He wanders over towards Jess and asks, "Light?" But once it's lit he says quietly.

"I shoulda told you. I'm sorry."


Foggy is standing off to the side now, watching the departure of Bucky and Jane with a slow-building frown. There's something else going on here, but Nelson is only barely in the loop. He blinks slightly toward Luke at the mention of using Rand money, and he starts to shake his head. "I… I get what you're thinking there, but I'm not sure that's a wise idea… unless we're talking about Danny's personal funds. Can't be connected to Rand at all." His mouth tightens a bit. "There's a lot of scrutiny going down when it comes to how Danny is using family funds, particularly those connected to the family business."

He jumps a bit when Emery delivers the box of files, blinking from it to Emery with a sudden arch of his brows. He reaches for the box, starting to open it. He takes out one of the files, thumbing it open to begin to look through it.

Then Nelson breathes out a slow exhale, becoming distracted soon after the end of the exhale by Six the RoboCop. He frowns slightly at the sudden flood of information, trying his best to not gape at her at the reveals about Fisk… "Oh, holy shit, for real? Who the fuck is this guy… Buddy Pine?" Ladies and gentlemen, Foggy just made an Incredibles reference. He looks around uncertainly. "You know… Syndrome?" He looks at Daredevil expectantly… for a heartbeat… and then looks away…


You know that increasingly befuddled expression mentioned previously? Apparently it goes to eleven. Claire ends up watching Six right back, though she doesn't linger on her. There's something uncanny about that visor and everything it reflects. Still, after all that? She finds herself repeating… "I'm sorry, what?" Slow download speeds for the nurse tonight, it seems.


What can Jessica do in the face of such a heartfelt apology accept offer the light, sigh, and murmur something back to Owen? Not wanting to derail the debrief she keeps it low and quick, but neither does she leave him in suspense.


Whatever Jess says to Owen causes him to wince and say something quietly back before he heads back to a table. He's done enough talking for the night. And whatever Jess said to him obviously has an effect on him as he seems to be less engaged with the conversation.


Claire's speech draws a lingering and inscrutable look from the face-plated Six; from the only half-masked Daredevil it draws a similar regard — a look of something lip-parted and shocked into surprise. Whatever his sometime-nurse provokes in him is distracted, for now, by Six's now familiar recitation of Wilson Fisk's extensive holdings. That recounting shocks Foggy — which is fair, it shocked him once upon a time too.

But he's had some time to mull Fisk and his operation as well. "It's a lot," Daredevil agrees with Foggy, in his own understated way. "But here's the thing. This man has never been more vulnerable. He took a massive risk, and I guarantee you he has scared every single one of his partners shitless. The gangs who set these bombs have no idea what they were a part of until it was too late. The business interests that are in the know about what CGI actually is and who controls it must be petrified. Fisk is about to funnel hundreds of millions of dollars through all these shell companies and we have one of his agents on tape saying he'll pay off the head of the god damn land use committee to make all these deals possible."

The Devil comes up from his long-held lean against the bar and he parts his hands. "My suggestion? He declared war on us? We declare war on him. We pull as many threads as we can. Get SHIELD involved, even if they botched it last time. Get these Teen Titans on the case. Work the gangs, work his financial stakeholders, follow the money, expose the corrupt cops and politicians on the take. Find friendly and incorruptible journalists, if they even exist, and start bringing this to light. Wilson Fisk got his power in the dark. Let's shine a harsh light on him."


Some silent, invisible signal from Six causes the holographic display — all of those documents, pictures, lab reports, and the like — to collapse in on itself. Her shoulders shake once in answer to Foggy's exclamation — she understood that reference — but she's quiet after that. At least, until Daredevil's contribution.

"Undoing the knots he's made is important. There may be some objections to the specific pieces of your plan-" This is apparently in reference to Luke and Danny's proposal, as she gestures that way, "-but I think it has the right aim. He is going to be funneling vast resources into his present objective, and fighting a war on multiple fronts won't be ideal for him. If for some reason his aims in Hell's Kitchen aren't realized, these businesses — his drug trade, etcetera — will be what he falls back on. Dismantling it is imperative."


While…Owen and Danny may be /Emery's/ favorites. Daredevil quickly is becoming /Samael's/ favorite. The Irishman just folds his arms over his chest, glancing over to Claire and giving a small shake of his head and mouthing 'later'. But he's listening to everything being delivered by Six, and he does not look surprised. He just squints slightly, maybe going over in his head how many assistants and valets count in the number of contacts.

But that quickly fades for him to look over to Matt with, that might be pride. Or that might be repression developed mental illness. Either way, he has a 'omg he gets me!' look on his face, which looks just like…what he looked like before, just a small curve of his lips. "For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved." A curt nod of agreement.

Then Emery just settles back down in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and bending forward to tuck his head between his knees again as he just focusses on breathing. He's listening. Really.


Luke's head tilts back at the news Six delivers about how complicated and interlaced everything is, letting out a long exhale towards the ceiling born of frustration and a mix of something else. He stays that way for a moment as others react and comment before he finally pushes away from his position near the door. "Emery gave me some names, I'll take care of the Heroin a different way then." If everyone keeps objecting to Danny being involved, then Luke'll put it squarely on his shoulders. He already has blood on his hands that he's heaping the blame on himself for, what's a little more. Heaven help him. Cage crosses behind the bar, starting to clean up just so his hands have something to do, but the first glass he touches he accidentally shatters on it's way to the sink causing him to cuss. It just so happens to coincide with more of Emery's preaching. Owen is safe, there is no swear jar in Luke's Bar.

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