3449/Patchwork without my okay

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Patchwork without my okay
Date of Scene: 20 September 2020
Location: Office - Fisk Towers
Synopsis: A Businessman saves a young Nurse after they talk over how to save Hell's Kitchen, names given, and cards for her to hand out.
Cast of Characters: Wilson Fisk, Claire Temple




Wilson Fisk has posed:
Goons, are suitable for a few things, pay them to fetch, and deliver or get them to hurt, which would be tonight when they rolled up on Claire's door. The big trouble makers who showed up for her black street kids, guns, and fury asked her nicely the first time to come to the car; the boss needs to speak with ya. They are not the type of people to take a no for an answer.

Fisk is not used to waiting for someone. It is not something most make him do; as he looks down at his Rolex with a shake of his massive head, his desk is a bottle of wine chilling waiting for his guest. His eyes narrow, 15 minutes later than should have been, did his friends find trouble, not they know who they are working for, or the why. Just bring her to the corner, his own bodyguard will save her, and then get her for her safety, overly complicated. Still, his hands will be clean, nothing tracing back to him if the job fails. Otherwise, he will be enjoying dinner with a pretty young thorn in his side.

Claire Temple has posed:
At first, Claire fights back. It probably means a punch to her face and a bruising at her arm, but she's taken worse injuries just working at the hospital before. She can take it. It's not until the guns are drawn out that she goes still and quiet. She knows better than to fight back against those. Still, she doesn't make it easy for the kids. She goes where she's told, but she's fighting them every inch of the way emotionally. "Look, kid, you don't want to do this... I'm *from* the neighborhood. Your fucking *mom* knows me!" She tries, but it's not working." She's moving slow. She's looking for exits or help. It'll take them time to get to the place she's supposed to be 'saved'. Even after that, something feels a bit off to her. It's all a bit too convenient. And the body guard isn't letting her go home, but to somewhere else. She can't tell if it's a set up, or if she's simply caught someone *else's* eye. But, ultimately, that someone is stronger than she is and she's delivered. If a bit later than expected.

When she arrives, a touch of blood at the corner of her mouth and the side of her face faintly warm and swollen with the bruise that's going to develop later, her hackles are up. She's wearing her scrubs -- the same thing she was wearing on her way home when the kids found her in the first place. She smells like disinfectant and sweat, her dark hair back from a long day at work. She watches everything with too sharp, too aware dark eyes.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
A hanky purple is quickly taken out of his suit's silver pocket, as he unfolds is slowly, watching Claire with a nodding of his head.' My name is Wilson Fisk, and my bodyguard, Francis, told me there was a young woman. We saw you on the camera, with those ruffians and troublemakers, asked him to help you, then bring you here. Make sure we can move the trouble; we don't need it. So they have been nicely asked to leave you alone, and my building. I was about to enjoy a meal, and have a glass of wine care to join me?" His voice is soft musical, with bass as he steps forward now, offering her the perfect silk hanky."Do you wish ice for that bruise?"

As, Mr. Fisk, offers the hanky moving back to lean against that oak desk, now that she has been handled or not, as he waits for her to speak."What did those brutes want with you?" His voice is so silky, so soft, the powerful under there, but it is kind of power, like a washing river, nothing menacing in it.

Claire Temple has posed:
The woman treads a few feet deeper into the room, still acting a bit like an abused animal. Wary to be touched or near another. Uncertain of the situation she's walking into. Claire's brown eyes never leave the handsome Black man across from her, taking in the whole of his demeanor, that sharp suit. The purple in his hand. She gives him a faint smile and the slightest shake of her head at the question of her bruise. "It's... not that bad. I've had worse." She then pauses a few feet closer to the table, crocs clapping quietly on the floor. "I'm...not exactly dressed for dinner." She admits with a little attempt at a laugh.

The silken question he offers her gets a slightly deeper frown. She looks back across her shoulder towards the door, but doesn't run. Finally, she gazes back to him. "I... am not sure. Paid to do it, wouldn't say by who. They... they're not bad kids, normally. Just desperate. The theme for the neighborhood, sometimes."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"I see, that is the sad state of the world, and I will be trying to fix up this city, with my charity work, and we need to restore the city to it's glory. I have been away for a long time now, I return." Mr. Fisk nods slowly, his hand is resting on the desk, as he sighs softly."I did not catch your name?" His voice so soft, so pleasent, as he reaches to pour two glasses of the wine slowly, it's a good year as he offers it towardfs Claire."It is only fitting to know the name, I'm going to share wine and supe with shortly."

Claire Temple has posed:
A slight smile crosses her lips, though there's still suspicion in her eyes. The woman is relaxing by inches, but it takes time. "We could use a lot more help like you, if you mean it. Those kids need alternative that aren't working for some toughs, turning against their own because the price is right." Finally, she moves to that chair and sinks down. She's not easing back into it, getting comfortable, ready to eat or drink. But she's sitting. She's listening, at least.

"Claire. Temple. I'm a nurse, with Metro General. And...you are? Tit for tat, after all." She stares back at him, hard. The look on her face dares him to tell her his name isn't important. Even now, it's clear she's a fighter.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"I did mention it, it most have slipped by your pretty little ears, so worried about danger. I don't blame you in this city, my name is Wilson Fisk, or Mr Fisk, or Willy to my friends." The large black man nods slowly, as he places that glass for her down on the table, in the center of the room with the two chairs, as he watches her for a moment."Well, it is my lucky day it sounds like Miss. Temple, you are the person I need to meet tonight, I was trying to find ears on the street, someone that knows where I need to place my charity, my money to do the best."

Claire Temple has posed:
The fact that her wary head didn't pick up on his name the first time makes her blink. Claire's either shaken around more than she cares to admit, or bone deep exhausted. Probably a little of both, but the tough girl in the chair would never say that. Claire dips her head gently in respect to him, especially after that faux pas. "..Mr. Fisk. Sorry. It's... Been a long night." She dares admit. She then lets her eyes drag away from him, flickering around the too-nice room.

"...Quite a posh place you have here. If you... if you're willing to put this privilege to helping Hell's Kitchen...Harlem, the Bronx? They could use it. I know some people. I certainly don't know everyone..." She reaches forward, fingertips wrapping around the glass. Studying it. She brings it to her nose for a sniff, but doesn't drink.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"Thank you, I'm from the city, from Hell Kitchen, as a child, and I wish to bring it to glory." Mr. Fisk nods slowly, as he sips his wine, watching her with a little chuckle; it is done correctly with the swishing and then the swallow, as a man should enjoy the finer things in life."So if you have contacts, you may have them reach out to me." With that, he produces a business card, shiny fancy, as he offers it to her setting it down on the table in front of her."That is the number to my Personal Assitant; she will arrange meetings to help us bring a brighter tomorrow, today. What sort of helpful people for this do you know?"

As he leans back to pick up a pad of paper and a pen as he starts to take notes."Computers, I don't trust them; it is old habits that make a man strong." With that, his hand is ready to write, as she is speaking with a little smile across, his large handsome face.

Claire Temple has posed:
Not really an experienced wine drinker, whatever Claire was worried about with that scent, she doesn't get. She finally, either out of respect or some attempt to relax, takes an uncertain sip of the wine. Far better than anything she's ever laid her hands on. She gives him an odd sort of smile, still uncertain, but trying. After a second sip, she neatly sets the wine glass down, it less interesting than the man across from her. Her now free fingertips reach out to take the business card. She turns it over in slightly calloused, slender hands. "I...I really don't know if I'm the sort of person to arrange these meetings. I'm just a nurse." Claire murmurs softly.

Then he's got a pad and pen. He's ready for her to just... Talk. Expecting her to spill names and ideas. Some hardness comes to her features, a woman practice in suspicion, especially of those with money. "Look, Mr. Fisk... what you want to do is... Nice. Very nice. If you... mean it. But I see a lot of money and not a lot of action and it's been a very long night. How... how do I really know the people of Hell's Kitchen can trust you? How do I know i'm not giving up some really damn good people to so... Mobster?"

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"Well, there is no action for I have only just gotten back, if you wish to have them reach out, you said you know people that could help." Mr. Fisk sets the pad down on the desk with a shrug of his shoulders with a little chuckle."Sorry for asking when you offered by saying you know some people, I will not do that again." With that, the large man pushes off the desk, as he sips his wine as he looks down at his Rolex, with a soft little chuckle."I'm from Hell's Kitchen, I grow up there, my father was from there, and well, my family was till they died. It was my dead wife's dream to make our home wonderful once more." With that, he turns ashamed to look out the window, as the large man sighs softly in pure sadness.

Claire Temple has posed:
"I'm... sorry for your loss." Those words are honest, at least. Claire's been through losses herself and she can read the sadness in his posture. He's not putting it on for sympathy. Claire exhales quietly, studying the large man across the room as some of her own guards come down. "...Fisk. I... I think my mother talked about him. He caused some...trouble back in the day. But she said that about a lot of people." There is a fond, sad smile on her lips as well. She's too tired to hide just how much she misses her own mother.

"You have to forgive me, Mr. Fisk. I run into some kids who have been paid enough they're willing to grab a local... and then suddenly your body guard just... scoops me up from it all? And here I am? I've dealt with enough mob in my day. I know how this city runs. I... I might be a bit wary about it all, but it's been a long night and I don't trust easy. I want us to both be on the same side. Hell..." She looks down into her wine glass, that bone-deep exhaustion showing all too well on her face for just a heartbeat. "It gets tiring fighting alone."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"Indeed, it is exhausting to lose a loved one, my father was a trouble maker, yes, and he lead many down the wrong path. But, I wish to make sure no more fathers like him can control the streets, and I wish to save the youth. I forgive you, of course, there is great evil in this world's shadows, but I'm here to light the light on that evil. I think it was destiny that brought you here, that is all." Mr. Fisk's filled with passion as he slams his hand down on the desk, with a loud crack of his muscled formed."We are going to save this city, and that is my goal; it can be so much better." With that, he turns now, as he looks right at Claire's eyes."I'm sorry for your loss, but we can save Hell's Kitchen, we can make it right and make it the shining part of the city. As it always should have, I wish to start there, and move to Harlem, slowly fixing distract by distract! We will change how this city works by saving the youths!"

Claire Temple has posed:
The empassioned speech gets a long look from her, interested but still wary. Claire jumps, just a little, as he strikes the table like that. She's a woman who has grown to be wary of men's loud voices. It's a defense mechanism at this point in time, even if Claire is used to standing up to them also. She's silent for several heartbeats, weighing the look in his eyes as she stares over the rim of her wine glass. As he finishes, she still doesn't cut in. She lets the silence hang heavy.

"If you're serious, I'll help you. First is going to be cleaning up the NYPD... after school programs. Things to stop the cycle of imprisonment before it starts. Kids get picked up young for stupid shit, especially if they're Black or brown. Then they get stuck in a system that does nothing but abuse them, and most of the cops in this city are a part of that problem. We work on getting money out of the PD and into the schools. Rehab centers. Shit like that. You've seen the cycle, haven't you? We don't fix this shit by opening a few battered youth shelters and a soup kitchen."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
The pen is picked up slowly, as he starts to write down slowly, with a nodding of his head."That is the plan; I need to know who to five the funds, too. I need someone I can trust to spend it right and build it right." His voice is soft as he shakes his head with teeth finding his bottom lip, eyes burning with passion."I don't want someone who will waste it or steal it, be useless, open a few shelters, stock a kitchen, and then dust their hands off; I need someone driven, and I will open my purse strings to that man or woman. I need someone, smart that cares, do you know anyone?"

As he points to folders, on his desk with a frown stacked up."All of these seem like People with sinful hearts wanting money, or dumb with big bleeding hearts. I need someone that lives there, bleeds for it, and wants to make it better, a real hero." His eyes are moving back to her, as he shrugs softly, with a frown on his face. "I hope you can think of someone that runs a mission or something to help that needs the funds; I will have them take it all. Run it till the world knows Hell's Kitchen is amazing."

Claire Temple has posed:
"...There's a pair of lawyers. Nice guys. Trying to fight for the little people, struggling because they take a lot of missed rent cases and probono work. Nelson and Murdock. They know this area even better than me. They talk to a lot of the people around. I'm stuck in the hospital... more often than I like, and then I've got a few other... distractions these days. But those two could help. And I know at least two after school programs that are struggling but... You gotta get the kids into them first." Claire seems like she's convinced, even if she's still exhausted and wary. But the question of someone who bleeds for it? She seems to know. There's the strangest, quiet look on her features. A bittersweet, understanding smile. She knows people who bleed for this city.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"I see. I will reach out to Murdock and Nelson; they sound like extraordinary men; the world needs more of them." Mr. Fisk nods slowly, his hand is resting on the desk, as he lifts that glass to his lips as he takes a long sip of it. As he writes the names down, as he thinks for a moment, he takes out a handful of cards, placing them down in front of Claire."If you find others, give them this, and we will save this city, Claire, we will protect it from itself. Thank you, but sadly I have another meeting. My driver will take you home, and I will be in touch shortly. Stay safe, I will pay for you to stay in a hotel tonight, and you can go home in a few days; I wish the heat to drop down, of course, we have much work to do!"

Claire Temple has posed:
"Of... of course." Claire takes one last sip of her wine, at least enjoying that glass. She finishes it, out of respect and probably that it really was a long day. She then leans over, picking up his cards and looking across them all, half memorizing the name of his assistant. "I'll... talk to a few others. Give them your card. I'll get you some people." She smiles a bit more to him. "We can do this."

Then she's standing, moving around the table to offer the big man her small, calloused hand. A single shake, a show of respect and a promise that, for the moment, they are on the same side. Seeing someone else fight for this city? It's heartening, in a way. "And your man can take me home... I don't like being away long. But, I will take the ride. Thank you."