Owner	Pose
Terry O'Neil	Nico Sabatini happened to have quite a luxurious house in Westchester county. For all intents and purposes, the Sabatini fortune was a miraculous result of the right investments at the right time, and everything was exclusively above board. And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. "No. We did -not- smooch," Terry says, fuming a little as they drive towards the large, three story house in the distance. "He fell asleep and then we ate pizza when it arrived."
Colette O'Connail	"Coward. And I totally have a cute nose already. If you weren't gayer than a musical called 'Fabulous!' you'd know it. Fuck you, Terry."     Colette's doing a good imitation of being pissed, apart from the fact that she just can't stop grinning. "Well, I tried. I'm not exactly an expert in picking up gay guys though. I don't know though. I mean with me, I usually use how many times I catch a guy staring at my ass as a rough guideline to what to expect, and that would probably work for you too, except for the whole being utterly incapable of picking up on the cues thing."     Colette is a little more subtly dressed than last time. Chucks, jeans, almost normal. Well there's the knee-length burgundy overcoat which probably cost a lot more than Terry's car, but she's trying. She has also come equipped with goodies. Pulling a laptop and and assembly of dubious-looking electronics out of a tote back, she starts setting it up on the back seat, and declares "IMSI catcher. It'll take a bit of calibrating once we get there, but then we control all cell traffic within the immediate range. I'm pretty sure this is totally illegal to use, but I promise not to skim anyone's bank details. I'll be monitoring any cell traffic, and if anything suspicious happens when you're inside, you'll receive a text reminding you that you're supposed to be at uncle Brian's, which means get the hell out now. Talking of which..." She pulls a phone out of the tote, and drops it on Terry's lap. "That's your phone for the day. Oh, and when we arrive, park across the road, thirty feet north of the house. Better sightlines. And leave the keys in the ignition. Any questions? Nope? Good."     Colette finishes fiddling and turns back to Terry. "You know, it ought to be easy for you. I mean guys are just NOT touchy-feely. Any contact that lasts longer than four seconds, you know he's into you. I have girl friends who don't know how /not/ to snuggle who would run away screaming if I questioned their sexuality. We're here."
Terry O'Neil	Terry sighs, taking a couple of side streets to head in the direction Colete is suggesting. "Right, except he has to hang on me at all times if he wants to walk. I don't own a crutch. Almost every moment he's up and about is contact that's longer than four seconds." He pauses, and taking a sharp turn, he says "It's ... driving... me... fucking... crazy," he hisses. He finds a good parking spot that fits, more or less, the description for the ideal spot. "Am I an idiot for finding him adorable?" he asks, parking the car and looking at himself in the mirror. He's dressed presentably enough now: purple button-up, black tie and slacks. It's almost like their wardrobes were exchanged from last night.
Colette O'Connail	"How about when he's sitting down?" Colette asks. She gets out and starts setting things up in the back seat. "Start counting next time you're cosying up on the couch watching Queer Gar for the Oblivious Guy or whatever. How the fuck does this thing work?" That's reassuring. "Oh... I think I got it. Jeez, look at this. Can't believe you can just buy this shit. Damn, I'm being dumb. Should have set up three in different spots, then we could traingulate... never mind, not important."     Colette drops the laptop over the back of the seats into the front, then comes back in to sit with it. "Right Terry, you're up. Remember, he's just some guy that apparently your dad knew. You've had the photo for years, but just recently recognized him from the photos of that benefit. You decided to drop in on the way from work, really sorry to interrupt him at home, you're sure he's just settling down for supper with the wife and kids and doesn't need the interruption, but you'd really appreciate if he could just look at this photo and tell you anything at all he remembers, you've been trying to find your father for years and this is just the only hint of where you might find him you've got, and you'd be ever so grateful if he could tell you anything he remembers. Leave your own phone here, put that one in your front pocket, nothing else in the pocket with it. I'll be able to hear what's being said through it. Ready?"
Terry O'Neil	"Ready..." he exhales, and leaves his phone in the car as intended. "For the record, Gar doesn't know I'm here. He was asleep... so... if something happens... just make sure he's ok, okay? He'd blame himself. And then you go to my mom and give her all of the evidence. She'll know what to do." He gets out of the car and makes his way to the house. Sabatin is, indeed, making bank. You can tell because he employs a real British butler. Or, at least, someone who knows how to act like a Butler. It takes a few minutes to explain his situation and manage to be heard over the extremely loud disapproving glare of the man. He vanishes into the house, leaving Terry outside. "... "He has a freakin' butler!" he hisses very quietly, knowing Colette will hear him. A few seconds later, the butler comes out. "Signor Sabatini will see you. He has five minutes to spare." The crispness with which this was announced gave Terry the impression that he would be billed for any overdue seconds. Soon he is being led into the house. There is a certain saying about men who have not earned their money honestly: that they try to compensate with ostentation what they cannot justify with legitimacy. Room after room, Terry is treated to gaudy visions of rococo excess and waves of gold leaf. You needed sunglasses to walk through this house, lest you blind yourself on the reflected light. "Please wait here," the Butler says, dropping Terry in a study and vanishing past a set of ornate double doors. Terry looks around. The study has no books. Of course.
Colette O'Connail	Inside the car, Colette watches the screen of the laptop intently. She frowns when "He has a freakin' butler!" comes out of the speaker of her own phone, and says "Shut up, Terry. Don't talk to the wire, ever." Of course he won't hear that, it's a one way connection. And it's not actually a wire, it's purely cell-based and nothing that anyone would be suspicious about. Unless they had three IMSI catchers of their own in the area, and triangulated every signal as a matter of course, which would be insane levels of paranoia.     Colette briefly worried about the fact that the possibility even occurred to her. Does that make her insanely paranoid? Captain Marvel accused her of being a bit paranoid. Nope. Caution. Captain Marvel's a bit kinda... unprofessional. And not that experienced really, when it comes to it. Nice lady though. Focus, Colette.     About thirty seconds after the butler comment, Colette notes down an outgoing call. The timing isn't proof, but it's interesting. Maybe time to take extra precautions.     Yes, there are extra precuations that Terry doesn't know about. Colette slips out of her overcoat and pulls the zipper of high-necked top she wears beneath up all the way. Out of the tote bag comes a gun which she tucks in the waistband of her jeans, a balaclava hood which she puts on but keeps lowered for the moment, and a monocular, which she uses to study the windows. She kills the lights in the car.
Terry O'Neil	"Dusty..." Terry says, touching one of the empty bookcases. It does sound like he's muttering to himself. When the doors open, he wirls around to get his first look at Nico Sabatini. He hasn't aged gracefully. The man in the photographs could have easily been an Italian male model. This man... well. While a shadow of his old self is still there, these days he seems to be aiming for roles that require swivel chairs and stroking cats. "Signor Sabatini," Terry starts- "Nicola. Please." The man wastes no time and makes a beeline for the only line of books that can be found in the mostly empty bookshelves. He gestures to one of the plush armchairs, "Sit." He speaks with the demeanor of a man not accustomed to hearing 'no' for an answer. Terry obliges, getting almost swallowed by the extremely plump seat. "Thank you." Sabatini pulls on the books, and the bookcase swivels, revealing a hidden bar, fully stocked. "It's the only way my boys don't get into the good stuff." He pours himself something from a bottle that is terribly faded and, therefore, probably terribly expensive. He crosses the space and sits down on the chair opposite from Terry, separated by a small ornate table that had so many ornaments, it could have easily been composed by Johann Sebastian Bach. "Now, you say you were looking for a father I'm supposed to know?" the way he speaks, it's clear that the only reason he's seeing Terry is because he's intrigued. Or amused. "Yes, signor. I am so sorry to interrupt you like this, out of the blue, but if you would just look at this photograph..." he reaches for it, and Nico tenses visibly for a moment, his hand moving towards his blazer, until Terry brings up the glossy photo. The man relaxes. "Let's see it, then," Nico says, extending a hand. Terry gives him the photograph and sits back. Nico does the same, his craggy face furrows in concentration, looking at the picture. There is silence. For several uncomfortable moments. "And you say this is-" "My dad. Yeah. I've been looking for him for years..." "Huh." Nico turns the photo this way and that, an eyebrow rising, and then the corner of his mouth. Terry keeps his hands on his knees, waiting. Finally, Nico speaks. "Yeah. I remember him."
Colette O'Connail	<...my boys don't...> Colette takes a sharp intake of breath, and shakes her head when the words come through. Not good. This Sabatini guy's a fucking idiot. Can't stop himself speaking tough when there's zero need. Colette figures whatever his Suicide Slums plan is will die its own death within a few months, anyway. On the other hand, it means Terry is in a riskier position than she had hoped.     <...Yes, signore...> "Oh Terry, no." Colette sighs. "Too much respect. And way too Italian. You're treating him like a fucking Mafia don. Why, Terry?" She pulls up the hood of the balaclava, straightens it, then takes a longing look at the laptop screen. With the lights out inside the car, it's the only light source. The sickly blue LCD glow illuminates her darkened, hooded features in a pale light for a moment as she turns to study the house through the monocular. After a couple of seconds she drops the monocular, snaps the lid of the laptop shut, and plunges the interior of the car into darkness.     Colette stands up from the crouch she's in, very slowly, her back to the wall of the house. She glances into a window and pulls her head back, motions smooth, minimalist and careful. Too close to the street, too much 'noise' for any thermal sensors to be useful, but motion sensors are a possibility she does her best not to trigger.     Colette steps sideways out of a different shadow, checks another window.     And another. Third time lucky. The quickest glance through the window shows the two seated figures. Remembering something, she reaches into a pocket and switches of her phone, wincing slightly to herself. Stupid. Still, last time she did anything like this, she didn't own a phone. She didn't need one back then.     A small voice in the back of her mind reminds her that those aren't strictly speaking /her/ memories. It suggests a different approach, but she shoves that down.     Maybe, she concedes to herself. If necessary. Not yet. Could all still be fine. Mister Don could just be being an ass. She slides a few inches across the face of the wall, peering out of the darkness through the corner of the window to watch.
Terry O'Neil	"You do?" Terry says, sounding hopeful. He finds himself sitting at the edge of his seat, despite himself. "Oh yes, I do." He reaches over and touches something. A small electronic Terry hadn't noticed before, small and insignificant on a sidetable. "You're his son, you say?" the man says, looking at the picture. "Yes!" He looks up at Terry, and nods. "Yeah. You resemble the bastard alright." Terry is about to say something, when the ornate doors burst open and two men the size of a small football stadium burst through. It is amazing they could fit through the door. Or in those expensive suits. "I-I don't-" Terry starts, but the man silences him with a glare. Nico leans back against the chair, tossing the photograph to the floor. "I remember the son-of-a-bitch alright." He turns to the two men that came through the door, and says "We'll be taking a walk in the garden." Next thing Terry knows, he's being hoisted out of his seat by enormous hands, and walked rather hastily out of the room. "Wai- what did I-" Nico Sabatini stays behind for a few seconds to finish his drink, smiles with a certain satisfaction, and walks out after them.
Colette O'Connail	Colette can't believe her luck - this guy really is stupid. She'd been figuring things out. How to get Terry out of there unhurt. It was going to be complicated, and messy. She was going to have to arrive under the desk, and then do three things at once and hope that Terry didn't get in the way of any of them. It was going to be messy, and noisy. And seriously hard to explain away, though she'd had her hopes that with some very quick maneuvering she'd be able to manage something. The garden? A gift.     Colette twists her body away from the window and is standing under a tree. She looks across the garden, takes another step to a shadow thirty feet away and hunkers down in a bush, eyes on the back door. She slowly slips the gun out of the waistband of her jeans, takes off the safety and waits. Kill them? Don't kill them? She hasn't quite decided yet.      Maybe just one. For old time's sake.
Terry O'Neil	The garden was your typical extravagant affair. Lots of hedges. Lots of exotic flowers arranged in ways that Louis XIV would have heartily approved of. Terry isn't quite as appreciative of the surroundings- which are the only part of the house that show actual taste and which therefore must have been outsourced- by virtue of being held down. The garden lights are on, which gives the whole affair the feel of a dinner party gone wrong. "Look, I don't know what my father did, but-" "Your father, you little shit, put me in a coma." Nico glares at Terry, his eyes narrowed. "Funny how things work. I've had a price on his head for years." Terry frowns, "I don't know what has to do with me. I never met him!" "Funny about that." Nico nods to one of the men. The addressed thug reaches into his suit and then holds out a gun for Nico. He takes it. "Guy vanishes off the face the earth like that? Knows what he's doing. I had given up on ever finding him, and here you are." Terry frowns, "... you want me to help you find him?" There's a slight glimmer of hope. "I can do that-" "No. You're going to bring him to me, alright." He cocks the gun, looking at Terry. "I'm counting on him keeping tabs on you." He begins to level the weapon at the young man. Terry panics, "Wait! Wait! Wait!" Nico raises an eyebrow. Terry says "What if he isn't keeping tabs on me?"
Colette O'Connail	Fortunately for Terry, someone is keeping tabs on him.     There is sudden movement behind Nico, and then incomprehensibly he seems lost in shadow. There is the sound of a gunshot, shockingly close, then a second, then the sound of glass breaking from several directions. The garden lights go out in the space of a couple of heartbeats. A voice calls out something, sounding panicked, but meaning is lost to shock and confusion. There's the sound of a whimper, and then an unpleasant crunching sound followed by two thumps. Very close to Terry, and below him, there is a sharp intake of breath. Nico's voice comes out of the dim light, strangely shaky. "Fuck. What... boys? Boys? I've... I think... I've... my leg. Hit." Terry's eyes begin to adjust. Nico is on ground, clutching at his leg. His gun is on the ground close to him. The whites of his eyes seem very large in the reflected light from the house. Someone else is there, dressed head to toe in black. The 'boys' are not immediately visible. The newcomer puts a foot on Nico's gun, and holds it's own gun to Nico's head.     Rewind.     Too fast. Hold the action, we need a slow-motion relay to catch all that.     On the third 'Wait!' Colette had launched a pair of small bolts of dark energy at two of the garden lights, and then while they were still travelling, stepped out of the shadow Nico's body was casting, and hurled a shield of darkness between his gun and Terry. Nico fired, and a fraction of a second later, Colette put a bullet into the back of his leg. She let the shield of darkness drop, launching more bolts of dark energy at the garden lights she had not yet targetted, then grabbed Nico's wrist and twisted as he started to tumble, helping him down with a sharp kick to his wounded leg. As soon as he dropped the gun she stepped backwards, and reappeared behind the two 'boys', who were only just beginning to react. Two more tiny bolts to the backs of their heads toppled them both, one on top of the other. Another twisting step into the darkness, then a step forwards to put her foot down on Nico's gun before she shoved the barrel of her own against the back of his skull.     Back to real time.     The newcomer raises a finger towards Terry, and crouches down next to Nico, gun pressing into his head. "Talk," the figure hisses. "Or die."
Terry O'Neil	Terry had the standard reaction. A gun went off. He closed his eyes and briefly wondered how his mother would take it. How Gar would take it. He opens his eyes and blinks, realizing that he was alive, and a little puzzled about the whole thing. He stares at the newcomer and tries to say something, but he finds that his adrenaline has him all out of whack. Nico whimpers and clamps his hands over his wound. At first, a fire of rebellion appears in his eyes, but a quick look at the black-clad intruder quenches it very quickly. "He ... we were supposed to close a deal, okay? I was trying to get into the Gotham scene. He said he worked for someone called The Cheshire and that he'd give me an in for merch down there... " He whimpers and looks up at Terry. "We showed up to the rendezvous. He turns on me, motherfucking coward turned on me. Brought some goddamned /monster/ and sliced most of my guys to ribbons. Shot me in the head. That's the last I ever saw of him. that's all I know!" He turns to the dark intruder "That's all I know! You have to believe me!"
Colette O'Connail	The newcomer hisses "Kid, fuck off now, adults talking," and jerks a finger towards the street. The voice sounds female. And... no. Surely not.     The newcomer leans close to Nico, grinds the gun against Nico's skull, and digs a finger into the bullet wound. "Only reason you are alive now is 'cos there's a chance we got a use for you later. But you are the fuck out of Suicide Slum, or we kill you, we kill your family, we burn everything you have ever cared about to fucking ash, you dumb. Fucking. Low-grade. Amateur. Piece of shit."     The newcomer stands, raps Nico over the back of the head with the but of her gun hard enough to at least make him dizzy and possibly unconscious, and vanishes into the darkness.     If Terry took the newcomer's advice and ran to his car, he'll find it empty but for Colette's gear and coat. He might recall that she made him leave the keys in the ignition...
Terry O'Neil	Terry doesn't need to be told twice, he hightails it out of there faster than you can say 'speeding bullet.' The mansion is bizarrely empty, except for the Butler who does not stop Terry's escape. That is not his job description. Polishing off the remainder of the expensive drink in the great hall, however? Perhaps. When he gets to the car, Terry groans and looks around, "Goddamnit Colette, where the fuck are you?" And then he stops and stares at the coat. And then he turns around to look at the house. And then back at the car. "..." He reaches ito his pocket and takes out his phone, and gives it a look. Meanwhile, Nico has melted into a pile of sobs and whimpers. "Done! Done! I'll order everybody out tomorrow. Done! Just please- let me live!"
Colette O'Connail	In the distance, Colette looks at Terry, and the car, with a sigh. She shouldn't have done that, stopping to threaten. If she hadn't, she could have beaten him to the car. Oh well. She /probably/ got away with it. He /probably/ won't know what actually happened. Time to wing it a little.     Luckily Terry does not have long to wait before the familiar teasing reappears. "Handles. That's how you open car doors, Scoops. Or you could stand there saying 'open sesame' and hope. It's not locked. Never lock the doors on the getaway car."     Colette appears, walking out of from Nico's house. She doesn't have her coat with her. Of course. That's in the car. Her hair is in disarray. She doesn't look terribly happy. She has something in her hand.     Two things.     A balaclava and a gun.     "No gawping. No questions. Get in, let's get the fuck out of here."
Terry O'Neil	Terry is about to open his mouth when Colette gives him the ultimatum. He gets into the car and starts the engine. Like a good getaway driver, he asks no questions and says nothing. Well, at least until the house is way, way behind, and they are well on their way back to Metropolis... which takes about one hour to two. This car ride is going to be awkward. Finally, he just can't help himself. "What the--?"