4086/Worst Accident ever

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Worst Accident ever
Date of Scene: 09 November 2020
Location: Rooftop garden, Fisk Towers
Synopsis: Hitman, stoped by the lantern Corp.
Cast of Characters: Wilson Fisk, Thaal Sinestro




Wilson Fisk has posed:
11:00 am

Fisk Towers, Rooftop Garden

Nothing going on today, on purpose. He needs to read over paperwork, get his mind right for the next round of interviews---exhausting weak for one Mr. Fisk as he stands there in a pale silver suit with a deep red shaded tie. His hands are deep in the soil, routing around doing his favorite hobby. Losing himself to the work's passion, the paperwork read over, now to relax.

Little does he know, this is going to be his last day. Standing there, hands deep in the soil, as that red dot from the roof next door is trailing along his massive neck. The sniper waiting for the right moment, judging the wind. Billy Kinchild, sniper from the Marines, dishonorably discharged, drug habit a mile long. In deep into debt to Hell's Kitchen's mafia, to clear both his gambling and his drug bill, all he had to do was kill this man.

Paid for by the man himself, it was to be a botched attempt on his life. His own men are going to shoot him after the first shot. This version of him right now is a clone, provided to him by skilled hands. Set-up before the election, but still, it will appear good for the tabloids and papers.

Thaal Sinestro has posed:
T-10 SECONDS

A bead of sweat rolls down Billy Kinchild's brow. Fingers that never shook before that third tour introduced him to his new first love curl against the trigger as best as they can.

Breathe in--

T-9 SECONDS

Late morning sun gives way to a burst of emerald radiance bathing a green thumb.

T-8 SECONDS:

-- ut. Ignore the glare; compensate; steady...

... Steady...

T-7 SECONDS:

"Wilson Fisk--"

T-6 SECONDS:

... compensate...

    ... Steady...

        ... one shot...

T-5 SECONDS:

"-- I regret to inform you that your popularity is not - /quite/ - what a man of your stature might desire," the light intones.

T-3 SECONDS:

The glare's intensifying. Why is it-- no. Steady-- STEADY-- hold the bead--!

T-1 SECONDS:

"But don't worry:"

T-0 SECONDS:

*BANG!*

"I'm here to help," it promises as the thundercrack of a rifle round dissipates into the air.

In the distance, a green point roughly the size of a bullet lingers.

"A Green Lantern's duty rarely include public relations," the wiry, magenta man wreathed in green and hovering above the garden states, "but we do our best to improvise."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
Mr. Fisk is standing there working so hard, this one the clone has no idea. That death is coming, the other one had set him up today. Make it real, make it good. Kingpin never fails to put on a show when needed for fear. But this is to played for the votes, as the bullet is suppose to hit with a crack of the air. Mr. Fisk turning wiht a look of pure fear as his hand stained with the dirt, as his hands are thrown up into the air. His eyes narrowed as he looks up at the Lantern."Hello there, it seems I owe you my life. My name is Wilson Fisk, come in we will have lunch and I'll have that delt with." His hand is pointing towards the other building, as if this is normal in his life."Would you care to bring him to the police, or do you prefer something more perment?"

Thaal Sinestro has posed:
A silent beat passes as dark eyes narrow in naked appraisal of options and the man behind them.

His eventual, "'Permanent'," lies somewhere between question and statement, a quirked black brow offering the only clear hint as to which way it might lean.

"Hm," follows half a beat later, and - seemingly without another thought to spare for the attempted assassination and its perpetrator - the alien hovers towards the roof access door, fully expecting Mr. Fisk to follow along and make good on his offer. What was initially a brilliant green corona has, by now, receded to a persistent glow-- albeit one with edges that flicker and twist like emerald fire.

"I am Sinestro," he states without looking. "There were whispers of an attempt upon your life, between men who thought to carve their mark upon this city in your blood; fortunately, your planet's telecommunications are..."

Rather than complete the thought, he lets a soft sneer do the heavy lifting.

ELSEWHERE

There was a mutie in Kabul, once.

Once.

Once.

No-one from Billy's unit talks about it, but it-- he-- he-- there, eyes burning with black flame and vengeance.

This was supposed to be a straightforward job, and now Billy's staring at a bullet floating a dozen feet out from his roost--

This was supposed to be a straightforward job, and now there's green light flooding Billy's roost.

Now there's a wiry green wraith racing to wrap itself around his limbs and body, its dark eyes seething with emerald fire.

Now there's--

-- there's whatever happens to men who come at the Kingpin and miss.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"Indeed. I'm a vegan, I hope that will not damper your hungry mouth for lovely food." Mr. Fisk picks up his phone calling down with a little sigh, first he reports the hit on his life, it would shortly be spread around the city, and than the world. As intent, but for now he is next calling his chef to send up the food. After his two calls he sits down behind that massive oak desk, his fingers steppled in front of him as he looks over at his guest."It is a pleasure to meet you Sinestro was it, what brings you to help one such as me? You mentioned something about lanterns?"

Mr. Fisk settles down into the chair as it creeks under his massive weight, as his eyes watch the man with a little chuckle."Now than, sadly the media will hear of this. Secrets, never seem to be properly kept in this city, do you wish your name attached or not?"

Thaal Sinestro has posed:
"Food is a luxury, regardless of its source," is all the answer Sinestro provides as far as the menu goes.

Until they reach Fisk's office, his eyes rove around the stately environs of Fisk Towers. Green flickers across the odd piece of artwork or architectural accent and the glowing badge thrumming an inch or two from its static white duplicate upon his chest shimmers in syncopated time. More than merely cataloguing his surroundings, he lets the ring cross-reference points of interest with data already skimmed from Earth's information networks for later perusal; much more efficient than talking to the other man about something so inconsequential as his aesthetic sensibilities.

"'Green Lantern'," he flatly repeats, settling into a post a couple inches from the floor across from Fisk's desk. "A pan-galactic Corps charged by the Guardians of Oa with maintaining law and order throughout the known universe," he says, the way someone might explain how to score a birdie.

"Despite a relatively low position in your planet's political hierarchy, you are a man whose profile is on the rise. Your sudden demise could readily lead to lawlessness at worst, should its fallout be managed improperly; at best, the naked impotence of Earth's lawkeeping apparatuses would surely inspire further such deviations from what I am given to understand is your norm."

Following this explanation, he pauses just long enough for disgust to curl his lip around the, "Unacceptable," that follows.

Another beat passes.

"You may inform your media that Sinestro of the Green Lantern Corps was involved," he then offers, a hair lower with a wrinkled nose. "Sector 1417."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"I see, it will be told than. Thank you again, for the help. This Corp sounds like a good powerful force of justice for the galaxy. I'm glad you saw the value in me breathing another day." Mr. Fisk nods slowly, as the food is brought in vegan ribs and a meatloaf, with a wine as he waves towards his guest two plates placed on the desk, as he motions him closer."This chef use to run the best vegan resturant in town, but I have hired them to be my personal chef. I don't belive in killing of animals at all, they have done no great evil. They, are to be allowed to enjoy their lives in my book." His voice is soft, warm with a little chuckle, his lips moving slowly in pray, towards something."Now than, I will make sure it is know, that you helped me and that the Green Lantern Corps is a friends to New York City."

Thaal Sinestro has posed:
"Mm," Sinestro vocalizes.

Is he responding to being presented with a plate from the best vegan chef in New York?
Wilson Fisk's love of animals?
The Green Lantern Corps' impending positive press?
The value of Mr. Fisk's li--

"'Permanent'," he repeats, eyes returning to Fisk after a lingering look at the spread. Toned and slender arms fold across the emblem on his chest as he cants his head.

"An interesting choice of words, when determining an assassin's fate."

Ever steady, ever composed, his voice sounds as if it's downright unused to rising or falling; in another life, he surely could've had a lucrative career as a documentary narrator, but in this one--

"What would a lower functionary of a local government know about such things?" he wonders.

When he finally comes closer, his attention is set squarely on the mayoral candidate behind the desk, with nary a moment spared for ribs or meatloaf.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"I grow up in the night, in the dark as a criminal. I have reforged myself, in the light." Mr. Fisk nods slowly his hands slowly slicing into the food with his knife, as hewatches Sinestro."My father was a two bit criminal, that got me locked up for his own wrong doings, a man does not always start on the right path. Sometimes, one has to find their way to it through trial and pain and fear, and a little nudge. So, that is what I know of such things, I don't support it, but who I'm to stand in the way of the Corp."

Thaal Sinestro has posed:
"Ah."

ELSEWHERE

When waiting in still terror finally gives way to something new, Billy's overcome with a wave of regret that just about manages to peak through the cold, nauseating fear gripping his thoughts.

Nothing's ever just a straightforward job anymore, is it? Not really; not with them around. Not with frozen bullets and warden spirits.

Not with guns that mount themselves on tri-pods forged in painstaking detail from emerald light, aiming themselves right between his eyes-- only to freeze, unmount, then carry themselves closer, 'til they're pressed right beneath his chin.

FISK TOWERS

"Who indeed?" Sinestro echoes, the edges of his aura finally settling. His brow remains arched for a moment longer, but ultimately, the story's a hard one to question; as the Lantern lets it drop, a precisely sliced cube of meat dislodges itself from the loaf and floats towards his mouth.

"I was surrounded by madness," he says after swallowing, "and senseless death, in my youth. To pull oneself from the screaming mire of unending chaos and build a life beyond it is no mean feat indeed. Regardless of the results of your impending election, you've much to be proud of, no doubt."

It's like a compliment, if you squint just so.

"But what will you do should you manage to win?"

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"When I win, it's not a mater if I manage to win, I will start education program, we will show the beaten and the damned. There is a better path indeed." Mr. Fisk nods slowly as his hand is rubs along the back of his neck, teasing to bone with a loud pop. His eyes closing as he takes the first bite of the food with a little sigh of pleasure."I wish to make sure, people are able to enjoy life. To build the promises down in Bushwick, that have fallen through, help those business. Make sure, we are moving into brightest day."

Thaal Sinestro has posed:
"I would advise," Sinestro replies, unflinching in the face of the other man's fearless confidence, "taking care to consider how your people choose to enjoy the lives you'll no doubt enrich... but, then, I suppose that I needn't tell a man so well-acquainted with the shadows that people are prone to giving in to their worst impulses, when left unchecked. Do I?"

Since it's a rhetorical question, the Lantern draws a few 'steps' back from the desk afterwards and continues, "Your hospitality is appreciated, but my duties musn't be delayed much further, I'm afraid. If you wish to repay me for today, however, a small favor from a future mayor would be greatly appreciated: there are others on this world who bear my emblem, wear my ring. One is known to us; the other... is an aberration. A man of your stature must be possessed of great resources, and thus: should you happen to hear, or see signs of another wielding a ring like mine, I would appreciate,"

A green spark leaps into existence on Wilson's desk, hovers for a split-second, then stretches itself into a line-- into a card, readily dwarfed by hands like Fisk's. Its contents consist entirely of a phone number with a New York area code; while it's warm to the touch, actually doing so will cause it to disintegrate, leaving the number shining brightly in Wilson's memory.

"a word," he concludes before twisting away to make his exit.

"Good day, Mister Fisk."