IC contact for maskormenace

[devoutish]

You've reached Alfie Solomons. Leave your name and state your business.

Alfie can be reached via the imPort network, or via a home phone and answering machine. He does have a cell phone, but it's not publicly available.

Comments

[trouvaille]

Yes.

( the latter feels like less of an admission, under the circumstances. )

[devoutish]

[He sends her the address of a public park in Maurtia Falls.]

[trouvaille]

( gwen does not, exactly, come alone; she brings with her a large dog, wolfish in the features but showing signs of growing yet bigger than he already is and thickly furred. she stands out even aside from that despite diminutive height even in heels, her leather trench coat pristine white.

that might be an illusory cheat.

she sends him a picture of her checking her imaginary watch. )

[devoutish]

[He sends her a picture of her, taken from a distance as he approaches. He's on his way, Gwen.

She'll see him coming, dressed in his usual old-fashioned clothing - black wool coat, black hat, wooden cane. There's not a lot of people in the park today, which is why he chose it. He's not really interested in being gawked at.]

[trouvaille]

( upon consideration, she saves the picture. she likes to know what's out there in the world of her, as much as possible.

putin rises from where he'd lain down when he realised they weren't continuing to walk, regarding alfie with canine skepticism and not subtly shifting the not inconsiderable bulk of his body between gwen and unlikely stranger. )

No, ( reflexively, before he can decide to take exception. ) Leave him.

Hi. You're looking brazenly anachronistic.

( --upbeat )

[devoutish]

Fucking hell, that's the biggest dog I've seen in my life. Where'd you pick it up, the zoo?

[Alfie Solomons, master of polite greetings.]

[trouvaille]

Eastern Europe. His daddy is a Russian bear fighting dog and his mother was a Czech wolf dog. Literally, they bred them with wolves. My stepmother gave him to me after she gave his sire the snip.

( putin accepts her absent-minded affection readily when she illustrates this story by scratching under his (massive) jaw. )

He's a good boy. I don’t have any security here, so...

( he goes where she goes and she feels safer. )

[devoutish]

How long does it take him to gnaw through a man's arm?

[He's joking, but he also wouldn't be totally surprised if she had an actual answer to that.]

[trouvaille]

( breezily; )

I look forward to finding out.

( it's 90% a joke. )

[devoutish]

Might get your chance with the paparazzi, eh?

[But, joking aside, he's here for a reason.]

Right. You wanted to speak in person.

[trouvaille]

Yeah. There's something I've been wondering, about ImPorts-

( senator hundred had been personable and helpful and forthcoming and this is not a question or even a line of thought she wanted someone in his position to be associating with her. she doubted she'd have trusted any answer he gave her on it, either, as much as she'd liked talking to him. )

Has anyone ever tried to...

( how to put this. )

Do you know if it's possible to dissect someone for their powers in this place? Like if you took something from someone, could it be used?

[devoutish]

[Well, that sure is a creepy question. And he's sure she's asking because she's worried about someone doing it to her, not because she's thinking about doing it to someone else.]

Haven't got a clue. If it's possible, I haven't heard of it.

[trouvaille]

There was a woman talking on the network about being killed for her power.

( add that to the list of sentences gwen never imagined she'd have to say out loud, with her own face, like it's normal. )

Where I'm from, ( since shed mentioned having her powers already, it's just expedient to be frank about where her concerns rise from, ) there's a market for that. Like selling powdered horn to get old men randy but nastier and real.

[devoutish]

"Powdered horn". Mm.

[The slang is lost on him - he doesn't know "randy" either. Maybe she means powdered animal horns - ivory? - for some kind of weird magic spell?]

Right, well, there's that one man out there, at least, that thinks it's possible. But if there's a market for it, if there's strong demand, it's nothing I know about.

[trouvaille]

You know, like rhino horns as aphrodisiacs.

( that industry is older than alfie; it was easier when animals weren't so close to extinction and people were more credulous about the science behind it. )

Good to know, anyway. You don't tend to forget being told about what people are prepared to do to children for money.

[devoutish]

Mm. Are you concerned about kids in particular?

[trouvaille]

I'm concerned about me, ( frankly. ) I am also small and vulnerable, I don't know if you noticed.

( she's not completely helpless. even so. )

[devoutish]

Mm. I don't believe you're as vulnerable as you say you are.

[She's too smart-mouthed, he thinks. No one who sees themselves as totally defenseless is that ornery and sarcastic - unless they're an idiot, and he really doesn't think she is.]

[trouvaille]

( the matter of gwen's smart mouth is a not uncomplicated one; as much to do with less of a self-preservation instinct than her concerns suggest and the fact she's never been forced to rely on her own ability to protect herself before as it is because she's capable of doing so.

she's capable of a lot of things she's never had to do; she's equally uncertain about actually doing them. the prey instinct that says be careful too often kicks in too late, if at all, and there have never been real consequences.

or not fatal ones, in any case. she hasn't led a life entirely without pushback. )

Maybe not entirely, ( she concedes. ) But nobody thinks the scariest thing in the room is the debutante.

[devoutish]

Yeah? Look at me.

[He raises his eyebrows and gives her a moment to do so.]

I'm no longer young. I've got a cane; I've got a bad back. I do not look like I could be the scariest thing in the room.

[trouvaille]

You do look like you're a pain in somebody's arse.

( --is a concession, in its tone, to his point. )

I don't know. I've never not had anywhere to go, you know? I could probably...do something about it...if someone threatened me. I did, once, I got kidnapped and I made him let me go. I asked nicely. We were both very surprised when he stopped the car.

( the same trick would not have worked twice with the same man; he'd been unprepared for her to be anything other than what she looked like, and she'd been lucky. still. )

But if someone threatened me I'd, you know, I'd probably tell them they'd be very sorry when my godfather had them shot or something. And he isn't here.

( or effective against supernatural and superhuman threats, for that matter. she briefly, viciously resents the fact that that's her instinct; she knows better than to believe the family myth of her godfather's infallibility, but it is the old standby. something goes wrong - call seven. he'll fix it.

well, he isn't here. and neither is anyone else. she'll have to adapt. )

[devoutish]

You need to get yourself sorted out.

[He's a lot less sharp than he would be if a man had said something similar, though. He has his 1920s gender biases, and a woman who feels insecure and isn't self-sufficient isn't scoff-worthy to him.]

Find somebody who will shoot people for you, or learn to shoot them for yourself.

[trouvaille]

It's on the to do list.

( not sarcasm, though it's gently flavoured with habitual edge; she hates helplessness almost as much as idleness. neither suit her for long, especially as she chafes against the perception of her own vulnerability even as she occasionally falls prey to it.

this is a strange, scary place; it offends her sensibility to stay scared of it. if you don't like something, she's always reasoned, look at it differently. change it.

her methods are sometimes suspect, but there you go. )

Wish I had my uncle's crowbar. People are very polite when you're holding one of those.

[devoutish]

[He raises his eyebrows.]

You can buy your own crowbar here.

[trouvaille]

I could have my own crowbar there, too, it's a metaphor.

( sort of. in that if she literally held a crowbar people would be polite because that's adorable, she thinks she's at all threatening--

after a beat, )

No one takes him seriously with it, either, he keeps it in the back of the Jag because he's really hoping someone will ask him why he has it and he can be, ( she tilts her head meaningfully to look up at him from beneath her lashes, ) mysterious, but we all know the reason is he's a twat who's watched one too many '70s mob films.