Owner Pose
Lady Shiva Whenever Luke's shift at the bar, or around the neighborhood, or Heroing, or...

... ends -- whenever he returns to the little slice of Manhattan he calls home --

-- he'll find himself confronted with company.

The doors and windows are as locked as they were when he left. Nothing is missing; little is out of place beyond a magazine here, a few piece of food there, and the chairs wherever he meets with clients. And yet:

The woman stretched across his sofa is a stranger.

The woman with her stockinged feet kicked up on the armrest was not invited.

The woman casually thumbing through an issue of 'Jet' is not from anywhere near here, but here she is anyway.

Relaxing.

Lounging.

Perusing.

There is a sticky note on the fridge with a phone number and a name ('Hillary Parsons') in immaculate handwriting.

'Wants divorce; Maggia husband'
Luke Cage Harlem's been pretty quiet for the most part. So that's a good thing. There isn't really a reason for Luke Cage to be dealing with too much drama. In fact, he's been able to leave the bar and go straight back to his apartment on numerous continued occasions. It's a very special time.

And potentially a rare one. Never know when demonic angels or plant eating weirdos are going to show up and ruin everything.

So when he walks into his apartment, rocking his yellow hoodie, and looking as ever stoic as he always does, there's really no reason for him to be worried about anything being amiss. Everything's just the way it was when he left.

Except for the part where there's a woman on his sofa.

Cage sighs as he actually turns his back completely to the home invader to re-open the door he just closed. The look on his face is one that shows he's not even going to allow himself to be bothered or annoyed. In fact, it seems like he's about to try and handle this as calmly and simply as possible.

"Why don't we skip the part where I have to throw you out and you just leave peacefully? That way, we can just pretend like this never happened."
Lady Shiva "But it ''has'' happened."

Lady Shiva turns a page. Her eyes scan deliberately downwards for several seconds.

"Why play make believe as a pretense to pretending, when we're already living in what Is?"

Flip.

Chestnut eyes rove ''just'' enough to catch Luke's.

"Are you prepared to wrestle with Occam's Razor, Luke...?"

Back to the magazine.

"Also - and I believe that you are well aware of THIS, too - clients in our world tend to find it distasteful when one or more of the operators promised to them do not participate in the jobs they provide," she casually explains. "You wouldn't want to disappoint Mrs. Parsons, would you? She will be expecting '''both''' of us, after all."

Flip.

"You may call me 'Lady Shiva'," she then offers.
Luke Cage Luke Cage's annoyance is clear on his face but it's over and done with when he closes the door. He's pretty much chalked this entire thing up to another one of his friends. His amigos. His compatriots. If they will even be that by the end of this whole scenario. Luke's not happy but he's not going to argue and thus he just closes the door. Not like she can hurt him or whatever. He ain't worried.

"Listen. I'm not the cryptic riddles guy. That's Danny." Luke moves on to the kitchen area so that he can take a gander at the fridge and the post-it note. Which he just kind of nods at. "And I don't need a secretary but thanks for this tip." He will, at the very least, acknowledge the assist.

"But there is no 'our world' or 'both' of us. There's me. And a select few that I work with. And you ain't been selected." Luke crosses his arms and leans back against the fridge to look out at the sofa invader.

"Probably because I don't work with people that break into my home. Crazy, I know." Oh the sarcasm.
Lady Shiva "You do not ''have'' a secretary."

Flip.

"But: do turn the stove on."

There's a kettle on one of the burners, is the thing. And beside the stove are two cups, two saucers, and two mesh cages loaded with loose leaf tea, waiting.

"You are a mercenary, Luke. ''I'' am a mercenary; we share a world as great and small as any other. You didn't choose me; just as I didn't choose you, when I woke up this morning. Mrs. Parsons chose you; I chose Mrs. Parsons; Mrs. Parsons chose me in turn."

Shiva shuts the magazine and shifts on the sofa, standing; stretching, both arms unfurling overhead.

"That is not a riddle, by the way; it's just what happened," Shiva offers with a small, tight smile and a wink.

"Imagine being so privileged as to CHOOSE every person whose path crosses ours..." she muses, still smiling Luke's way.

"The TEDIUM of it..."
Luke Cage "Yeah, so you're insane. Good to know."

Luke in fact makes sure to not reach anywhere near the stove because ain't no way he taking orders from a rando in his own apartment. That's definitely not going to happen. "But I'll tell you what. If you want to help Mrs. Parsons this badly, please, be my guest." Luke even reaches behind him to pull the post-it down and hold it out for the woman to take.

"In fact, you should take this and go get started on that right now in a location that is not my apartment." Just a little more shade is thrown. Because he can. She broke in here so shade will be thrown!

"As a moment of unneeded clarification, I am not a mercenary. I help people that need help. That's it." Uh oh, here comes a little more shade to go on top of the other shade. "I don't really fall into the category of 'do anything for money'. I have a day job." Shots Fired! Shots Fired!
Lady Shiva "For free?" Lady Shiva asks, threaded brow arching.

Her arms fall and her hands settle into a loose clasp behind her back.

"You 'help people that need help'," she clarifies, "for free?"
Luke Cage "Sometimes. Depends on the case."

Luke glares in Shiva's direction because this is getting him nowhere. She's no closer to leaving his apartment than when she invaded in the first place. Thus the frustration growing.

"Listen, I'm pretty sure this kind of intimidation tactic works on most people but I just pulled a double. I'm tired. I really don't feel like fighting and I don't like cops so..." Cage moves over to the counter and plants the post-it down on it while he leans. And sighs.

"Fastest way to resolve this nonsense. Go." Luke Cage seems ready to just go with whatever flow will get this taken care of in the least amount of time possible.
Lady Shiva "I help people too, Luke."

Just before the post-it hits the counter, Shiva catches it between her thumb and forefinger. She is not strong enough to ''stop'' the motion; it's more a question of whether physical intervention and steady eye contact are enough to prompt Luke to do so.

"For free, sometimes."

She edges closer, slow as honey.

"Depending on the case."

The proximity -- the downward shift of her voice -- the eye contact... all together, it just might read as flirty if not for the palpable remove underlining all of it. This is a negotiation, a dialogue, a dance... and whatever ephemeral tune it's set to is one of neither love nor war.

"This is not how I would approach intimidating you. I met a woman waiting for you, outside of your home. I learned her story -- that she wants to separate from her husband because she fears for her safety as he sinks into the underworld -- and offered her peace of mind, in lieu of letting her await you in agony," Lady Shiva explains, ever calm, ever composed in the face of frustration and glares.

"I am only your enemy if you require me to be, Luke; if you do not, I could be your friend."

If by now she has been allowed to claim the post-it, Shiva will walk it back to the fridge, where she will ever so carefully paste it back into place, smoothing over its top border a few times just to be certain it sticks.

"You are not unaccustomed to working with curious souls possessed of curious talents, after all. There's a precedent," almost has the air of a joke.
Luke Cage Luke is not about to fight over a post-it note. Not at all. Especially after working. He just wants to relax and this has gotten so much more complicated than he was expecting when he came home. But he can pretty much see that there's no getting rid of this woman right now so he'll just have to deal with whatever consequences may come. And punch them.

"Fine." The sigh that surrounds that word is about as defeated as he can muster the energy to let loose at this exact moment. "One case." That's it. That's all he's giving her. "But this breaking and entering stops and you follow my lead on this."

Luke is tired but not too tired to stand some of his ground. "I don't know you. We ain't friends. So this ain't no partnership. As far as I'm concerned, you're a glorified consultant that I never asked for and the sooner we get this done, the faster you can get back to whatever 'curious' life you wanna' lead."

Luke Cage is a man of his word and thus his hand extends for some proper handshaking, dealmaking contractual obligation finality.
Lady Shiva "I don't know you either," Shiva agrees, slipping her hand into his once the note is in place. Her grip is ''strong''; it isn't titanium-bending, however.

"But that will change, I think. The breaking and entering stops," Shiva agrees, strolling from the kitchen back to the sofa with another nigh-feline stretch.

"We can worry about my key come morning--"

She pauses, just a few steps from the sofa, then remembers to turn and walk back into the kitchen. Stepping up to the stove, she flicks a burner on, then gently nudges the kettle so that it's perfectly seated over the flame. Once that's done, it's on to the fridge; immaculately trimmed nails softly click against the door while she peers inside, thoughtful.

"What do you take in your tea, Luke?"
Luke Cage "Ain't gon' be no key either. You get tonight and tonight only."

Luke is already tired of this not-quite-alliance. It's written all over his face. He even goes the extra mile to make this even more clear with his response to the tea, "I don't do tea." And then he's moving to grab a seat so he can not sleep like he originally intended and they can talk about this case so that this whole ordeal can be over quickly.

Luke is making no attempts to hide this fact. So much obviousness.

"So. Mrs. Parsons. What do I need to know?"
Lady Shiva Shiva doesn't respond. She grabs milk and sets it beside the stove, then retrieves a neatly tied plastic shopping bag from the bottom of the fridge. Her face is beyond expression, delicate features relaxed in a mask of utter calm even as she navigates the choppy waters of taking up space in a superhuman stranger's home. With the utmost care, she unties, then peels the bag away after placing it on the counter, baring a pink box with a gold wreath stamp.

The cursive script within the seal indicates that it could've only come from a bakery that's been in Harlem longer than Luke has-- longer than Luke's mother, even; a bakery known around these parts for turning out some of the best cakes not just in the neighborhood, but in the borough-- maybe even the city, depending on who's doing the rankings. The bag rustles around Shiva fishing a trowel from beside the box. Cardboard crinkles as she flips the lid aside.

The kettle keens through brief, taut silence.

"Mrs. Parsons' husband has grown distant and secretive," she begins sometime after the whistling ends, just above the sound of pouring tea. "When they were wed, he was a counterfeiter and launderer on the outskirts of a Maggia Family; within their first two years, he'd graduated to participating in his organization's drug trade. He has yet to tell her where, exactly, he was while their daughter was being born. Ten years in, she has questions that he will not answer, because she cannot ask them; he has returned to her bloody and furtive on multiple occasions; he vacillates between explosive rage and clinging, sobbing affection, and through it all, he keeps his Family's council."

Shiva sets the teapot aside. Metal clatters against porcelain, soft and rhythmic as she swirls loose leaf cages through boiling water.

"His other Family," she adds for dramatic emphasis. "His shadow Family," is punctuated with a wink over her shoulder.

"Mrs. Parsons fears for her safety and the safety of her daughter-- for what happens to those near men like her husband when the shadow grows darkest," Lady Shiva continues amidst the clacking, "and while she cares for him, she believes it best to separate from his presence. She has not broached the subject with her husband; she believes it best to do so with the support of strong, trustworthy, roughly neutral presences to mediate as amicable of a separation as possible."

Another brisk wink for her fellow strong, trustworthy, neutral mediator before she returns to brewing.
Luke Cage As Luke listens to information dump that's coming from this Lady Shiva that he's barely met, his face just shows how much he doesn't want this Mrs. Parsons to have to continue to deal with the madness that's going on. He's handled quite a few similar instances and these are some of the ones that work his nerves on a more personal level.

It takes him a moment to process the information but he's already formulating a plan. Which he starts to spin, "Okay. We'll find out where he's doing business next. Meanwhile, will get Mrs. Parsons to have someone draw up her divorce papers. I don't want her around him anymore so we'll handle the delivery and make sure he signs and initials everything he needs to."

Luke leans up in his seat a bit more. "I'll reach out to my associates and see if we can line up some relocation fees so she can start over somewhere not here."
Lady Shiva "Oh," Shiva exhales at the mention of lining up fees. "That won't be necessary."

She approaches the couch with two saucers and two cups full of milk-kissed tea in hand. Once close enough, she leans down and places one of them precisely atop Luke's thigh. It is safely balanced -- perhaps ''frustratingly'' so -- but given ''where'' it is balanced, it's only a matter of time before it becomes less so. Unless Luke intervenes, of course.

"I've offered to make the necessary arrangements," she adds on her way back to the kitchen. "She and her daughter will have a chance to birth themselves anew, free of him. I told her to consider it a gift."

A minute or so later, Shiva's back at the couch with two napkins in hand, identically loaded with wedges of cake. The deep, almost earthen brown of their outer crusts and rich gold of their innards betray flagrant butter usage. A translucent coat with pale yellow tinges clings to the outside of each edge in elongated drips thick enough to be broken off in sweet, lemony pearls. Bright yellow flecks of candied lemon stud the wedges like sugared shrapnel; pairing with the punchy, sticky shell and tart, bright accents, the cake itself has a much subtler hint of citrus mingled with vanilla. Every crumb is softer than silk; every bite, a labor of love for the community that nurtured its creation.

One napkin's extended towards Luke for the taking.

"The tea is chamomile; it will help you sleep," she notes. "I would like you at your most alert, so that when we intimidate Mr. Parsons' associates, you'll see ''exactly'' how it differs from this."
Luke Cage Luke Cage wastes no time in grabbing the tea. It is immediately balanced in his hand along with the napkin of pastry deliciousness that he'll never have the opportunity to find out about because he's back on his feet and moving toward the counter to set them both down.

"Yeah, no, I'm good. I'd actually like to wake up tomorrow so I'll pass on the being poisoned by a total stranger that broke into my house under the pretense of working 'with' me on a case that she can clearly handle all on her own but for some reason brought baked goods and tea."

Cage rolls his eyes and moves off in the direction of his bedroom. "I'll be ready at 5." The early bird gets rid of the worm seems to be the next line of thinking for Cage.
Lady Shiva "Consider them gifts," Shiva says of the baked goods and tea.

And while she won't press the issue, she does - pointedly, still looking right at Luke - set her own saucer beside his, then take long sips from each of them, followed by plucking bites from each cake wedge.

"I have helped all kinds of people with all kinds of things for all kinds prices, Luke," she then states, setting his cup back in its saucer. "And after speaking with Mrs. Parsons, I decided that I'd like to add 'Hero' to the collection of things which I have been hired to do. You may interview me at your leisure, once we have solved Mrs. Parsons' problem; you will find me imminently qualified for the position."

Shiva walks her tea and cake back to the sofa, where she inevitably resumes lounging-- only now with the cake in her lap and the saucer in hand. She takes another small, measured sip of tea.

"This is not 'my' case; it is 'ours'," she concludes over the rim.