13642/Lairs

Lairs
Date of Scene:	26 December 2022
Location:	The secret laboratory of Valerie Killmore
Synopsis:	Norman checks in on a pet project
Cast of Characters:	Valerie Killmore, Norman Osborn

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Valerie Killmore has posed:
Hell's Kitchen. Not the best place in the world, but certainly not the worst. More rundown and filled with petty crime. You know, like murder. Quaint, is what Hex calls it, and filled with the broken beauties that she uses for her work.

Tucked away somewhere between too dangerous to park your car, and so dangerous your baby needs a rocket, is a rundown 3 story building that at one time fancied itself a rental opportunity. Then abandoned, and long forgotten. Just like Hex enjoys.

The stairs leading up to the door that leads into her laboratory, is covered in sigils, springs, exploding ping-pong balls that erupt from the sides via air compressed upgraded nerf weapon - of - doom, and there's only a specific pattern to take to avoid all of them. How many? So many, Hex has lost count herself, it's just a side project after all, and only one of them would blow up the lab completely.

The door has a numpad sequence on it that is made from an old rotary telephone, hooked up to a mostly broken Sony Camcorder that works as a telecom system should anyone make it up the stairwell alive. Normal has the code to get it, five 5s. Inside the makeshift lab, which is really just the floor, with torn up carpet, a found-couch with most of its cushions, a table held up in part by a bungee chord on one side, is Hex working away. Blasting Mistress for Christmas, by AC/DC, currently, with a background of welding happening, and subsequent sparks flying off of whatever metal masterpiece she's working on currently.

Norman Osborn has posed:
The intersection between occult and science fascinated Norman. The Serum had given him visions - visions of things beyond human sight. Monstrous things. Were they fantasy? Or a hidden reality, underlying it all? Chaos squirming like worms beneath the solid matter of the universe. Sometimes Norman felt the worms behind his eyes. He was starting to like the things they said.

Norman Osborn did not call in advance of arrival. He funded this little project of the girl's, he could come and go as he pleased on his own property. That being said, he expected her to have violent countermeasures and so better to be direct and announce himself than risk being annoyed by some pop-up flamethrower or other such nonsense.

He looks up into the camera on the stairwell. "I have avoided your traps up until now. But I grow weary of walking on eggshells. Disarm your security and allow me in. Quickly. I have no patience for further bother and the next trap I see, I shall be sure to ruin permanently."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
Perking up from her two legged chair precariously balanced by, well, her supernaturally gifted sense of balance, she is providing her profile for a moment, eyes squinting. What did she hear? Go back, go back, think it through. It's almost like the steam wheels with robotic mice running around inside of her head are visible, until her eyes widen. "Mister Osborn?!" She calls out, and then looks around, before kicking backwards off her chair, back she rolls, is up and running toward the door.

From behind the door there's a crash, tear, bang, as she gets to the camera and grins big, and far far too close, "Traps? Oh, uh, disable them, right." You hear a snap off to the side, "Next time, I'll build in a way to disable them, I promise." Turning her head suddenly she says, "Be QUIET George, I am NOT going to tell you a second time. No, do NOT even think about it, you're going to embarrass me in front of Mister Osborn? I WILL melt you down." And then she turns back to the camera, as if nothing transpired.

With that she opens the door, with her face still up near the camera as she opens it, but soon enough she can be seen grinning and peeking out from the side of the door as well as looking up to Norman, "Mister Osborn, heya, so, yeah..." And she brings her hand up to her forehead, flicking her blue hair out from behind her fingers as she beams, tilting her head heavily in Norman's direction, "I think you'll be quite impressed with the most recent project and its progression."

Norman Osborn has posed:
Norman Osborn wears a long dark green coat over his usual suit, the heavy layers providing more warmth than he needed. Perhaps another Norman Osborn might have been shivering at the cold of the world, but his blood ran hot now. Too hot. He flexes his hands for a moment, feeling the blood rushing to them as he begins to take a look around.

"Don't make promises you cannot keep, Valerie. I am not easily impressed. Show me what you've done. And leave nothing out. I may not abide failure but I abide it even less if it's been covered up." He looks around for somewhere to sit. He won't comment on the decor or lack thereof, nor the blue hair nor any of the general post-capitalistic bohemia that abounded around him. He could have his own wild sense of style now and again.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
Hex hasn't really changed since you met her anyhow, she'd always been standoutish, she has blue hair from the serum that runs through her body, that give her the pink eyes. She's always been more a fan of athletic wear, or pajamas, than she has what someone might consider normal or useful clothing. Hell, she hasn't worn a thing that has pockets, not one time in the past many years. So, on one foot she rotates, raising the other up melodramatically as she turns, and then walks back toward her table, "Oh, hah, haha, leave nothing out ... well, I was walking through the alleys on 45th street." And she reaches out snapping her arm, and pointing to the first 'push pin' on her board, which is on a map, "And that's when, I got to thinking, records. Then I tried a few, and no. It wouldn't work, they just shattered, and although that would be amazing, it wasn't strong enough. Ohhhh, no no nono."

Hex starts pacing in front of her table, lifting up an arm, bending it, so she can rest her chin on her hand as she walks, "Then" Her hands burst up, "I found it." Turning she grabs something into her hand and thrusts it forward, nowhere near close enough to hit Norman, "Of course! A fork would do." She thrusts it forward a few more times at faster-than-human speeds.

"And what is more deadly than a single fork? Not much, it turns out, but more forks. 8 to be exact." And then, she reveals it, a disc like object with forks welded together by their end. "But, wait, there's MORE!" Her eyes get wide, crazy wide, "Ask me, ask me how could someone launch such a thing with deadly force? How could THIS handle a tank, a car, what about a baby stroller with 3 puppies inside, wrapped up under one of those blankets, with little bowties around their necks, and 3 people standing around looking at them, going, awww, how cute?!" She acts out, in a very dramatic way, the entire scene she's describing, from using hand motions around her neck when talking about the bowtie collars, to patting empty air, and then even standing around and clasping her hands together with an awwww look on her face.

Norman Osborn has posed:
Osborn isn't immune to being amused and he certainly finds a degree of charm in the performance. She wouldn't have gotten this far, gotten this much of his hard earned fortune. Of the money that he earned and he deserved and would let NO ONE TAKE IT FROM HIM HE WOULD RIP THEM INTO --

The bulge of an eye. The tremble of a tendon in his jawline. He shrugs off his coat and his blazer, leaving him in shirtlseeves, rolling them up at the wrist as he listens, pacing. "Fork is merely a crude way of saying 'point'. Yes, sharp points are dangerous, I didn't need you to research much to realize that, child," he says. "Now please, annihilate this family for my amusement."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
"You already knew that?" A frown, Hex, gets serious for a moment, and then sighs, slumping her shoulders, "I shoulda asked, I guess. But, there was a lot of testing I could have avoided." Then she shrugs and turns back, walking to her table, and there's something there, under a cloth. Not designed to be a 'Ta-Da' moment, just a towel of some sort was just tossed there and happened to hide the-whatever-this is.

And then she pulls it back. A laser disc player, yes, that's right. It's been modified with hot pink graffiti all over, strange symbols, and whatnot, but - nonetheless, is a laser disc player. "With this." Awe, straight up, pure awe is in her voice as she walks over to it, caressing the wood panel edges, and smiling while laying her head sideways on its top. Eyes still wide open, she points, "Here, you insert the fork disc of doom, or an FDD" she says it like Fhhhhdh, "For short, in here, where it says insert disc, line it up, and Eject your way to death. I didn't even have to modify that, and saved some materials that way."

Then she looks back to Norman, "Isn't it impressive?"

Norman Osborn has posed:
Norman Osborn will attempt not to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I do not deny there is a certain native brilliance in what you've achieved here. No...ordinary mind could have conceived, much less executed, this particularly...rambunctious piece of technology," he says.

"That said, I remain in the struggle of how to make practical use of your particular form of intellect. I suppose I must also remain pleased to continue to put something so...chaotic as you into the universe. To let a little madness thrive and bloom in this stifling shell of a false world," he says with a snarl, grinding his teeth for a moment. "Have you burned anything down recently? Tell me of the mayhem."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
There's a lot of words there, and a confusing look, and tone, causing Hex to stand up. She grabs at her left elbow with her right hand, and starts to rub a little, pulling her frame in, making her look rather small. Rather innocent. As she sniffles a moment, "You, you haven't seen it yet, I can show you!" Her eyes widen, and she takes the forks and just slams them into the laser disc player, then turns it toward her window.

With a decisive thrust forward, she presses the eject button. Reaching up quickly she plugs her ears, and the laser disc player doesn't do anything. Then she reaches down and jabs the button again, and again, and again, till it fizzles smoke. Her jaw drops, turning, "It worked thi-"

KZzzzzzzztttttttsswswwwwwooooosh, a terrible wind erupts from the laser disc player as it lights up bright, blindingly so, in pink, before launching forward those forks. They swirl at speeds faster than the speed of sound, breaking that barrier within the lab itself, making her braided pigtails go flap-fluttering away from her head, even as her wall erupts, exploding into dust and rubble, the forks spiral out of her apartment lab, into the street, and at a distance there's the sound of metal erupting, stone and concrete exploding, as those forks continue through multiple cars, cutting up the sidewalk and street, and eventually crashing into a building some blocks away.

A pause, as dust settles, and Hex smiles big, then quickly grips her hands into fists, and pulls them down, looking to Norman with a little-daughter-wanting-recognition type face. Wide eyed, smiling, trying to contain her excitement at the expected, soon-to-have appreciation.

Norman Osborn has posed:
And through it all, Norman Osborn stood still. Certain in his indomitable will. Certain in his own capabilities to swat away the danger should it come close to him (even if this is a gross overestimation of his abilities, he carries himself as if it were true. He certainly believes in it, utterly. He must believe. He MUST.)

He is not immune to the cute. While he had a son rather than a daughter, he always wanted a little girl to dote on. One could hardly dote on Harry. Pathetic little worm of a boy. Ah god, not the WORMS AGAIN.

His eye twitches.

"You may be onto something."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
Acknowledgment! Hex is relieved, and happy, smiling without the ability to stop her head from nodding. She nods a few more times, and then puts her hands on her hips, standing there like a skinny goth emo super heroine, "And that's how you take out some puppies protected by the adoration of strangers." Taking in a deep breath she walks over toward Norman and looks up at him.

Still smiling, "I'll be working on the spring loading mechanism next. I think I can pull a few more bits of oomph for the spinny force and get those forks to take out a whole .. herd? litter? coat? worth of puppies? What IS the plural on that?" She is stuck now, hmmmmming in thought.

Norman Osborn has posed:
Norman Osborn looks down at the young woman, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He seems larger somehow - physically. Has he gotten taller? Or is it just that he's more muscular? He's been working out maybe. The physique is surprising on a man his age. Probably a sign of ego.

"And try to find a way to compact it? My ideal mechanism should be handheld, capable of being used with a single grasp. This seems a little unwieldy as anything other than a rather impressive kind of...novelty bomb," he says, but he grins as he says it. "I am fond of novelty bombs, though. Do you have anything to drink that isn't fruit flavored, girl?"

Valerie Killmore has posed:
Drink? Drinking is like eating, easily forgotten. Hex pauses a moment and blinks, "I think I have some tea." She walks over to a corner, unable to separate thoughts from actions, most of the time. And she's grabbing a pitcher, of something, then sniffs at it, and thinks, sniffs again, "Nope, not tea. Could be oil? Though I distinctly smell some tea in there, did I make oil from tea? I may have. Not sure, though, was this what I used to light the pizza delivery guy on fire?" A pause, her eyes widen, "Pizza, right! I ordered pizza."

She moves, and parkours her way out of her lab, over the couch, roll, dive out the much larger hole made of her window. Then, soon enough, she's bounding back up the stairs, and opening her door. Pizza and a six pack of monster energy drinks, "I found these in his car. Pizza's a lil' cold, ironically." A pause, "You know, you sure are packin' on a lot of oomph, broadening out. Looks good. What were you saying about fruit bombs? That's pretty devilish, make an apple that explodes when people bite it, I could do that. Not out of a laser disc player, that's just ridiculous, I'd definitely need some VHS tapes though."

Norman Osborn has posed:
Norman Osborn gives one of those slow, deadpan looks at Valerie for a moment. "Yes. An apple. Precisely my thinking."

He watches her bounce around with a certain degree of lunacy. Even invigorated as he's become, he's not quite as energetic as the young and unusual genius. "I'll pass, thanks. I will have some supplies delivered to you as well. You should not be without a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of wine, in case of guests. Nor should you be out of...paper towels," he says, drawing out his own handkerchief to wipe his hands.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
"I have a towel ..." A, singular, probably dirty, maybe not. Despite being clean and presentable, most of the time, Hex will also go days or weeks on end without ever thinking about daily maintenance. Or sleep. She gets 'caught up' in whatever it is she's doing, and even though she doesn't take the time to 'dress up' she still takes the time to put on makeup. Even if it is smokey black eye makeup and similarly colored lipstick, it is still effort, showing she's not beyond such vanities.

Ask her though, about anything like that, and she'd probably just break out into tears, or equally likely, punch something. "Oh, okay." She tosses the monsters onto the couch, and takes in a deep breath of the pizza, "Yep, definitely not as warm as it should be." She tosses that onto the couch as well, "You don't have to waste your money Mister Osborn. I'm sure I could find some half-bottles in my usual hunting grounds, and with luck, they'd still have liquid in them. But then I wouldn't have to smash them, to jab them into guests, it's pretty efficient if they come pre-smashed."

Norman Osborn has posed:
Norman Osborn turns on her sharply and within a few steps they're quite close again, him looming over her. How did he move so fast? "Let me make this abundantly clear: I will do with my money as I please. Wasteful or no. I need you capable, not malnourished due to the peculiar vagaries of your wandering mind. We'll find a covert drop for you to get food deliveries. It will save you time by not having to order anything. Food will just arrive, prepared. Eat it. If you have preferences, make them known. No, this is not something special for you. I am merely allowing you access to a service that I already provide other...consultants," he says.

"Do not think I am judging you, girl. I appreciate that sometimes, to get things done, you have to make a few messes. I don't mind watching the sausage getting made."

Valerie Killmore has posed:
Stopping, pausing. Looking down, suddenly, as she's gone from a happy smiling prized child, to suddenly being the 'bad one'. And she looks to the side, and off, and is just quiet. Small. Shrinking, with her arms coming together in front of her body, as she looks at the floor. "I ... I didn't ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to step on your toes, so sorry." She sucks in an already tearing up breath.

With a quick wipe of her forearm sleeve, she rubs the front of her face to get rid of any building wetness, and quietly says, "So, sorry, I'm terrible. Of course, why would YOU care about a little bit of scratch, you are so smart, and rich. Such a thing, I'm so sorry, it was super insulting, and I didn't mean to, I'll make it up to you. I promise. Whatever you need. I'm just a worthless..." She is gripping her forearm tightly with one of her arms, "skinny, bitch, I deserve to be ran over by a zamboni uuuuuuurgh!" A sucking in of air, and disapproving groan at herself, "Please, forgive me?" She gyrate bounces on her feet, in pure frustration.

Norman Osborn has posed:
Norman Osborn reaches out and catches some of that dyed hair, tucking it behind her ear gently. He is tender to these strange souls, alike to him, than he is to any other. They glimpse the same madness in the world he sees. And it bonds them.

"You are forgiven. You were forgiven before the words left your mouth," he smiles. "I was merely reminding you of our positions. Of who I am. And I see that you remember. That pleases me, too," he says, patting the girl gently on the cheek. If possible, he'll also lean in to press a kiss to her forehead.

Harry would be sooooooooooo mad.

Valerie Killmore has posed:
At the first touch, Valerie is soften, her frustration seeping from her body, and then fully gone as soon as those words are uttered. That she's forgiven. "Y-you, are so kind, Mister Osborn, I don't deserve you in my life." And she immediately wraps her arms around you. Hugging, but it's tight enough that a normal man might feel 'crushed', in that bear hug sort of way from a strength clearly powered by a force greater than her slender arms.

Pressing herself into the hug, she just stays latched for a long few moments, "I always remember, how could I ever think to be you? Me?" She scoff laughs and shakes her head some, and then pulls back a bit, "Your son is the luckiest man alive. To have someone like you, always in his life. I hope he's grateful. I only see you oh-so-often, and ..." She warmly beams with a big smile, "Just, so lucky, I'm jealous." Her half smile, smirk appears, and she points to her face, "I'd murder him in his sleep and pull his skin on like a Halloween costume, if I thought I could convince you, but you'd see right through me." A pause, "Well, him, into me."

Norman Osborn has posed:
Sometimes an idea, said a certain way, will hit someone just right. The idea of Valerie murdering weakling Harry, wearing his skin as tribute, coming to him in the night to his approval...well...sufficed to say, Norman Osborn spasms for a moment and his eyes close. His massive body trembles like a shockwave runs through hims and he arches until a button pops from his shirt. He tears off his tie and when his eyes open, they've flooded yellow and he smiles down at her.

"We could do it together," he says and then he laughs a long, cackling laugh.