2012-08-04 Recompense

Well, Heather's evenings at home are rather.. odd. She Skypes with her parents while eating like three pizzas. After the chat is done, she works out some more, sit ups and things that don't require weights. In fact, in the privacy of her home, she starts with a warm up, and then goes into some Krav Maga maneuver practice while watching training videos customized for her by her friend in the Mossad. That done, she turns up the music and continues her workout with the sort of dancing that would fit better at a club than at home. But that's just for her own entertainment. That done, she would be going for a shower while the next meal is prepared... well, called for delivery at least. After the shower, it's time for comfy around-the-house sweats and a random NetFlix movie.
"You owe me a gun."That's the low and somewhat less-than-happy voice of the Phantom, coming from inside the door that leads to the balcony she'd just passed. She'd passed it after her shower to get her clothes and was heading back--and in that scant ten seconds, he managed to appear. Not bad for a guy in purple and what look like thick boots. He doesn't seem put off--or turned on, for that matter--by her wearing naught but a towel. He's here for a reason, and /that/ isn't it. His usually-smiling mouth is drawn in a line, and though he's standing with most of his weight on his left leg in a relaxed pose--her training should tell her that he's ready to move in an instant. The relaxed posture is for show--though he keeps his hands loosely balled as he points those blank, white lenses at her.
Two towels to be exact. One over her head in her hair, and the other... well she was about to let that one slip off to the floor. After all, she had her favorite sweats laid out right there before her. To her credit, she doesn't do a deer in the headlights for more than a second or so, but then she just smirks, "Ever heard of a doorbell?" she inquires, "And how's Wolfy?" she asks. Since she never really got the dog's name. She tosses away the towel she was working her hair with, and then her hands catch the body towel just before it can slip down to show off anything. "Also, do you mind letting me get dressed before we have -that- conversation?" she asks, gesturing to the next room as an invitation for you to wait there.
He'd made his point, and he knows it. Nowhere's safe from the Phantom. That doesn't mean he's going to go wait in another room like a /guest/. What he does instead is turn around, folding his arms over his chest. At least he can't see her in the reflection of the glass--since the shades are drawn. "Next time you want to play hero," he says, as if he were facing her, "you need to think. You need to /plan/. You need to understand the situation before you act--last time it just cost an irreplaceable weapon. Next time it might cost someone their life." It might just sound like he's not really used to giving such lectures--at least not to someone who should know better. The old "life of crime" speech to thugs, sure. A witticism before a punch, of course. But having to point out what should be blindingly obvious--not so much.
Pausing a moment, Heather sighs, a very put-upon sigh. "You really are impressed with yourself, aren't you?" she asks as she undoes the towel and reaches for her shorts and stepping into them. "For all I knew, -you- were the armed psychopath who was firing in a crowded area, endangering civilians. -I- was simply trying to do my civic duty. You never did anything to identify yourself, -even- after I demanded that you do so. Now, I feel bad for your handgun, but maybe it taught you to listen rather than simply trying to make assumptions yourself, eh?" She pulls that tank top over her damp hair and settles it in place before saying, "Okay, I'm decent... ish."
That draws a small smile from one corner of the Phantom's mouth, seen as he turns around. "Says the one without experience. The Phantom has lived for /centuries/, girl. I'm not impressed with myself as much as have the very knowledge I'm trying to impart to you. The next time you waltz in without thinking, you may cost someone your life. If you can't understand that, if you can't believe you have anything to learn in your relatively inexperienced life, then you'd best go back to the corn fields." A beat's pause, then he adds, "But if you genuinely want to /help/, you'll listen to someone who's trying to help /you/. I could have done a lot of things if I really wanted you off the streets, but I'm willing to give you a chance." He keeps his arms crossed, though it's a loose pose, one displaying relaxation and being at ease rather than tension and anxiety.
"And you waving your guns around and shooting in crowds... isn't endangering folks? As far as I can tell, the kettle's still black." Heather sits down on the bed and bends to pick up the towels then, and yeah, she keeps her place nice and clean it seems. "If -you- want to help, you know it's generally going to put someone on the defensive when you B&E into their home. If you're so experienced at this, you oughta know a far more effective approach than showing up after a shower.... in my -home-." Her blue eyes flicker your way, but there's curiosity in them. "But first things first, how do we fix the missing pistol issue?"
"Ah," says the Phantom, unfolding one arm to lift his right index finger. "As I said--you need to understand what the situation is before you barge into it. I have the skill, knowledge, and experience to know what I'm doing and what I can do. The bullet would have ricocheted into the cement, and the angle would have ensured it buried itself into it instead of flying off wildly." Another small, lopsided smile. "And before you ask, you were supposed to know by studying the situation. Acting blindly is what gets people hurt. You might not really understand it, what being hurt /really/ means--but the innocent person you lose because you were reckless, they'll understand it." As he reaches his thumb and index finger into his belt, just in front of his right hip, he says, "As for the pistol issue--you're going to help me upgrade." he draws out some folded pieces of paper, one of which is tossed onto a table nearby. "That name you should recognize. You dealt with him two and a half years ago. I need you to get in touch with him."
"I notice you're -still- avoiding the issue where I asked you to explain and identify yourself, and you ignored me." offers Heather with a smirk, but she -is- listening. "Oh, trust me, I understand about studying the situation. The situation as I saw it.. a masked lunatic was brandishing highly lethal firepower in a crowded environment. One who..." and she speaks slowly and emphasizes these words clearly. "Refuse... to identify... himself." Then she lies back on the bed and adds, "Now, please acknowledge that, and you can continue your lecture. Unless you get out of the... hero worship of yourself, we have zero to discuss."
"Then you did not actually study anything. You leapt to a convenient assumption without bothering to gather any facts," replies the Phantom with only a mild scold in his tone, and he adds, "And I told you who I was. I said it clearly. The Phantom has lived for centuries; I'll admit talking about oneself in the third person is a bit--eh--but it's sometimes necessary." He arches a brow over the mask, crossing his arms again, keeping the other pieces of paper to himself for the time being. "I'll also say that it isn't hero worship--it's confidence. I know what I can do and what I will allow myself to do. That comes from training and experience."
Lifting one arm to cover her eyes, Heather snorts, "You told me -now-. You just can't admit that you might've fucked up anything, can you? I wasn't leaping to assumptions. I was simply -stopping- what might be a potential threat, before anyone else was in danger. I admit, I might need a bit of help focusing that attention, but I studied the situation and I told you what I saw. Now that I've admitted that I ain't perfect... and by the way, there's no damned corn fields in St Louis. That's a total beer town, not corn for the record, but fantastic sports for baseball and hockey... anyway, can you just fuckin' admit that you couldn've done better too?" she asks, turning her head and looking your way now with her arm raising to reveal her eyes.
"The fact that the situation was nothing like you assumed shows it was, in fact, an assumption in the first place," points out the Phantom, canting his head to one side. "You can't seem to accept that you were wrong. Dead wrong. If you can't accept that you completely and totally misjudged the situation--and that continuing to do so will only risk innocent lives, then you have no business going out there in the first place. I think about that /every/ time I go out. /Every/ time I raise my gun, I have to carefully consider what the ramifications will be if my shot is off by even a hair's breadth. Every time I walk into a bad situation, I have to look and understand what the situation /is/. I'm not saying I'm better than you--I'm trying to get you to understand how important such constant attention to detail and forethought really are." Throughout it all, he doesn't move, save the slow rise and fall of his chest. He'd have to admit he'd been on the receiving end of such a talk a few times--granted, not for many years, but he still remembers.
"Funny, didn't I just say the same thing to you?" Heather sighs and says, "Well, I just -told- you that I could've done better. I flat out said it a second ago, or are your ears working just as well as they were the other night?" She bounces up as a knock comes at her apartment door, "That's dinner. And I -need- to eat. So follow me out to the living room if you want to continue you deny that you can ever fuck anything up Mister Phantom. And by the way, that suit... you might consider that a centuries old guy might want to update with the times just a bit. Now... not another word... about anything I might have done wrong, until you admit that you could've made a mistake yourself... a mistake I -watched- you make by the way, there's no lying to yourself in the privacy of your own mind. You flat out ignored me when I was trying to figure out who was who and what needed to be done. I even -asked-.. and you ignored me. Who's fault is that now? Oh right, YOURS!" That said, she puts on a flashy smile and opens the door to receive the half a dozen Jimmy Johns sandwiches, "Just add it to my tab." she says to the guy, "And give yourself a twenty percent tip, okay?" She leans out to kiss the delivery guy's cheek and then steps back inside to hold the bag out, "Want one?" she asks.
"Funny, didn't I just say the same thing to you?" Heather sighs and says, "Well, I just -told- you that I could've done better. I flat out said it a second ago, or are your ears working just as well as they were the other night?" She bounces up as a knock comes at her apartment door, "That's dinner. And I -need- to eat. So follow me out to the living room if you want to continue you deny that you can ever fuck anything up Mister Phantom. And by the way, that suit... you might consider that a centuries old guy might want to update with the times just a bit. Now... not another word... about anything I might have done wrong, until you admit that you could've made a mistake yourself... a mistake I -watched- you make by the way, there's no lying to yourself in the privacy of your own mind. You flat out ignored me when I was trying to figure out who was who and what needed to be done. I even -asked-.. and you ignored me. Who's fault is that now? Oh right, YOURS!" That said, she puts on a flashy smile and opens the door to receive the half a dozen Jimmy Johns sandwiches, "Just add it to my tab." she says to the guy, "And give yourself a twenty percent tip, okay?" She leans out to kiss the delivery guy's cheek and then steps back inside to hold the bag out, "Want one?" she asks.
While she's dealing with the delivery person, the Phantom is accessing his left gauntlet. Logs are pulled up and sorted through, and he finds the time-stamped one he wants, he pulls it up. When she turns back to him, he says, "Just watch." He holds his left arm out so she can see the screen. It's from the perspective of his mask, showing that it's more than the simplistic cloth affair it seems to be. He starts the play-back just as he's walking up the stairs--or trying to not fall up the stairs, at any rate. Grunts, heavy breathing, then open air--and the blonde getting her hand shot off. Then her coming over and demanding his weapon. A shot of Stonewall getting away, then he looks back to her as she approaches, then he aims and fires at the back of the man's knee as he tries to get her attention onto Stonewall. The video ends, and he says, "Now you /tell me/ how anything, at all, could have been done better by me /while he was getting away/. What, would you want me to introduce myself politely? Maybe take you out for drinks and a sandwich and only /then/ mention that, oh by the way, this very large man who was leading this crew you let yourself get shot by is getting away? /I/ knew what I was doing." He's being actually sarcastic, which is rather unlike him. That's about how far he's getting pushed, though, but if she's going to be someone who helps people, someone has to be the guy to get her to think about this. If he comes out the bad guy in the end, so be it.
There's a bit of a pause, and Heather inclines her head a bit as she watches the footage. "Funny, not quite how I thought I remembered it." She takes a breath and then says, "Though, drinks and a sandwich -do- sound good. Speaking of which, I suppose you don't want one then?" She sits down then on one of the barstool style seats at her kitchen counter and starts opening up a sandwich bag. Unrolling the paper, it might get frustrating until her eyes might be noticed. She's not ignoring you, not ignoring the data. She's... actually thinking, and hard. By the time she finishes unwrapping her sandwich she says, "Okay, you're right. There really -wasn't- a good choice available to you. That in and of itself -was- my fault. So, my experience is trying to keep -one- person safe, which takes a whole different skill set." She takes a bite of her sandwich and turns the stool to face you, raising both brows in a... 'okay?' expression.
He can tell she's thinking. He's been watching her the whole time. At last, the gears are turning. That's about the best he can expect right at this moment, and he knows it, so he won't press further. He's really just trying to get her to think about it from a better perspective. "So now," he says as he turns off the screen's display, "you're going to help me get new weapons. The paper on the table is the name of a man you worked with, as I told you. He's got access to the electronics I need." He crosses his arms loosely over his chest in that pose meant to exhibit relaxation. It might just figure he can't just go down to the local electronics store and pick up what he needs--nope, he needs something a little--better. And it's not like he can go to Stark International or Oscorp or whatever. The Phantom may have contacts all over the world, but not in the upper echelons of major worldwide businesses.
"Yeah, I know I owe you a weapon. Sure, no problem." says Heather after swallowing a bite. She stands up and heads to the table to pick up the paper. Skimming the name, she raises a brow, "Him?" she asks, "Really? I thought he was just a supplier for digital photography supplies." She smirks a bit, "Well, looks like we get to take a trip. Madrid it is...."
"This," says the Phantom as he pulls out another piece of paper, "is a list of what I need. He's the only one I can get all of this from, without there being any paperwork, and who will take--alternative payment. I can get him untraceable jewels; rubies would be best; they're worth more than diamonds so it will take less of them to cover the cost. Plus a little extra for the trouble, of course." That piece of paper gets set on the table with her sandwich, and he crosses his arms once more.
Smirking a bit as she takes another bite of her sandwich all while looking at that paper and thinking about the guy some more. Heather just shakes her head and says, "Hold that jewel thought, -I- owe you a gun, right?" she asks. "But seriously, you up for an international flight to meet the guy?"
"It won't be cheap," says the Phantom, arching a brow at the young woman. What drives the price up more is that he's adding in a few irrelevant things, so no one can look at the list and deduce what he's going to use the components for. He cants his head a little, and says, "Also, it would be better if you talked with him. I don't know if he'll be as--forthcoming if he has to talk to someone in a mask." That's said with a small, lopsided smile. "But if you want, I can meet you in Madrid, yes. I won't be able to stay long, few days at the most."
"Well, I can come up with a reason to be there, no problem. I'll see what I can do about getting the stuff from your guy." Heather grins then and adds, "If that'll make you stop breaking and entering girl's places while they're showering you perv." she offers but it's obvious she's kidding.
"Technically, it was after your shower," the Phantom points out with a grin, lifting a finger from his arm. Technically, he didn't enter her apartment until after she'd gotten out of the shower, so. "And on that note, unless there's anything else, I'll let you get back to your dinner." He did notice she could pack away the food like no one's business. Some people just have high metabolisms, though.
You have -no- idea. "You sure you don't want a bite?" she asks with a grin. "Maybe a cup of coffee?" She turns to face you, elbows lifting to rest on the counter behind her. It presents an interesting view as she does that. Usually she wears a sports bra under such a flimsy top, but these are her PJ's. She's not -quite- flashing you here, but a stiff breeze could change that.
It's a good thing the Phantom is polite, and so looks discreetly in another direction. Namely, the door he came through. "No, thank you," he says as he turns back to the woman. "I do appreciate it, but I have to be going. I'll find you later and see where we stand." And with that, he gives a two-fingered salute as he turns to head for the sliding doors that lead to the balcony.
((Fade Out))
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