ArchivedLogs:Thin Ice

Thin Ice
Dramatis Personae Alison, Cage
In Absentia	2013-08-21 Cage is taken to task for scooping Alison's story
Location <NYC> Heroes for Hire
It's mid morning on Wednesday. Cage is on coffee too, and still staring at the case file he's been retrenching to read all morning. Unfortunately, he's been a little distracted. The events of the previous, with a little perfectly natural anxiety have combined to leave him seriously stressed. In an effort to feel a little control, Cage has come to work in a suit (but no tie, of course). Charcoal gray slacks, crisp, tailored yellow dress shirt, and his suit jacket hangs from the rack nearby. Out front, he hears the door open, but Janice doesn't buzz him. Probably just a delivery. Then, he hears a deep, recognizable voice, saying something quietly to Janice. "What the... Mel?" Cage is seriously confused, and then Janice's voice calls back to him. Janice says, "I'm stepping out Mr. Cage. Text me if you need something." Yeah, because he's super good at texting. Cage leans forward to see if he can peer into the front office, but his desk is positioned to purposely be obscured from the front room. He finally slumps back again, brow furrowed. What the hell just happened? The case file lays open, and forgotten, on his desk. It is, in fact, Mel’s voice. This is confirmed a moment later when the big man pokes his head around the door, locating Cage, and offering him a tight, sympathetic smile. Nothing else, though, as he immediately disappears again. In his wake -- one /annoyed/-looking blonde TV talk show host marches into the office. Alison is dressed rather severely in a black pantsuit with an ivory camisole top, with matching heels that give her a little more height. She pauses as she enters, looking everywhere /but/ at Cage before she turns, and closes the door, sealing Mel in the outer office with his smartphone and a list of calls to return. When the door has closed, she turns to face Luke, eyes snapping hotly. “You, Mister Cage, are in /so/ much trouble,” she pronounces, and her eyebrows lift. “Would you like to explain yourself?” Luke Cage is incredibly lucky there aren't any telepaths here today. He's suddenly struck with the memory of every cheesy movie guy remarking on how sexy an angry woman seems to him. Cage is conflicted in that first moment, but hopefully it just looks like generic flabbergast. Finally, Luke eases out of his chair, circles around the front of his desk, and leans back against it, hands planted on either side of him on the desk. He looks to hold Alison's gaze, and nods. "Yeah, Alison, I'm sorry. I got an explanation, but not an excuse." He pauses, shrugs, and forges on. "I'd been planning on visiting the church for days. By you've seen the news. It's fuckin rough down there, and I didn't know what would happen with the people inside. So, my plan was show up, grab some random reporter on site, and do the thing." "I know you don't like this, but I was worried about you getting hurt. I shoulda run it by you first. I'm sorry." Alison doesn’t seem mollified by the explanation, her arms folding across her torso and slender fingers drumming silently in the crook of an elbow. “So, Mister Big Hero decided that risking the life of an innocent human being was a /better/ plan than taking in a camera-toting television star known for her mutant sympathies?” she confirms, lifting her eyebrows. The comment about her remaining safe gets a snort, and she lifts those drumming fingers to point at the slowly-dying ivy perched on a file cabinet. Her mouth tightens, and her eyebrows lift, and… ZAAAAKT. A beam of blue light shoots from her extended finger, obliterating the ivy, pot and all. Then she turns back to Cage. “You were saying?” Luke sighs and looks out the window. His quiet voice is almost more intimidating (in the right circumstances). He's not /trying/ to intimidate, but he is obviously pained. "I... would risk /any/..." He pauses, clenches a fist in frustration. Phenomenal public speaker, tongue-tied one-on-one. "And suppose you had to end up doing /that/," he says, nodding at the plant remains. "In front of god and everyone. You can't afford to be outed like that." "Shit." Cage suddenly stops, perhaps replaying his last few remarks for himself. He closes his eyes and tilts his face to the ceiling for a moment, folding his arms across his chest. "That wasn't my call to make. I'm sorry. I really fucked this whole thing up. But look, there's two big things here. One, I know how it sounds, but the idea of you getting hurt and its my fault... I dunno if I can handle that. Two, I saved the best bit for your show. If I'm still invited, that is. I can just tell you now, otherwise." Alison’s eyebrows climb into her hairline as Cage begins to offer further explanation, and there’s something hard about her expression. “First of all,” she says, moving back to the desk and planting herself in front of Cage, “you’re right. It’s /not/ your call to make, in regards to that kind of stuff. I’ve been a mutant for...well, a number of years,” she says. “Since the eighth grade. So, I’m pretty adept at deciding when and where to use my abilities.” She holds up the laser-finger, and adds a second next to it. “Secondly...the /Bugle/? /Really/?” She wrinkles her nose. “You could have picked a more sympathetic ear than J. Jonah Jameson’s. Do you /know/ what an ass he is?” She frowns deeply, and uses those fingers to jab at Luke’s stomach. “Your motivations were kind of sweet, but if you ever allow me to be scooped by that upstart from the Bugle’s dot-com, or treat me like a helpless damsel again, I am going to laser off all of your favorite parts.” She smiles tightly. “And you’re still invited to the show,” she clarifies. “My /producers/ aren’t happy -- you gave away half of the interview, so we’re scrambling for a different tack to take with it. Your ‘best bit’ had better be /amazing/.” Luke nods along with her criticisms. He did just agree with all of them, after all. And then he rolls his eyes at the Bugle. "Shit, I know. She was just there, and I didn't even really listen to where she was from. Now you know why I have a PR guy. I know I'm terrible at this stuff. But yeah, that will /never/ happen again. I totally lucked out with the piece. It looked ok to me, but Jamison is a jackass. I don't know what I was thinking." Luke leans forward a bit, with Alison so close now. It's almost an unconscious movement, like a plant toward the sun. He reaches out to hopefully rest his hand on her hip, maybe drawing her a little closer, if she allows it. "The bit is good. I promise. I was planning on it being a surprise, but if you need it ahead of time, I can spill it now. It's up to whether you like surprises or not." “I feel sorry for your PR guy,” Alison says, frowning a bit. “Wait. You have a PR guy?” She seems surprised by this information. “Then why am I arranging things with you directly? That seems like the sort of thing that he’s supposed to set up.” She lifts a shoulder, her expression thoughtful. “Although, if he’s been running around putting out your fires, I imagine he’s a very busy man.” She allows herself to be drawn in, although her mouth remains tight as she settles against Luke. “I’ve heard that line before,” she says. “But, I’m going to /trust you/ with surprising me along with the rest of New York. Or at least women between the ages of 18 and 45.” There’s another jab of fingers. “I’m still put out with you,” she asserts, although her eyes and voice have lost some of their frosty heat. “Do you know how much a video piece would have done to help their cause?” Not to mention her career, which she doesn’t. “To put human faces on the whole issue, instead of snapshots that could be of anyone?” “Yeah, apparently I keep him pretty busy,” Cage says, smirking. He seems to be recovering somewhat, with Alison leaning up against him. “You should see the crowbar he uses to get my foot outta my mouth…” He grins, and lifts one hand to brush Alison’s hair back behind her ear, and then glances down at his big feet, waaaay down on the floor. “I know, I /wish/ I had done it differently, and if I could, I would go back and change it. The story of my life.” Luke chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, except for that fuckin Mets game, even with the hate soda. Best day I can remember… in a long time.” Another rueful grin. “But hey,” Luke says, something clearly just occurring to him. This is perhaps the downside of being a totally transparent, earnest person. “If your demo is the 18-45 ladies, would I be better off doing the show, like this…” He reaches up and undoes just the top button of his dress shirt, and raises one eyebrow. “Sex sells, right? But I don’t want to lose my usual air of ‘respectability’.” “Like I said,” Alison murmurs as Luke pushes her hair back. “I can imagine. I’d love to meet him, someday. Soon, even.” The look she gives the big man is pointed. Clearly, this is not an idle thought. She’s not buying into the whole earnest remorse, yet, since -- despite her lean -- her back remains a bit stiff. “I would think that you’d at least want to change that hate soda,” she says, her mouth pulling tightly to one side as she considers that. “On second thought, scratch that. /I/ don’t want to change that hate-soda, so you can’t either.” When the man reaches to unbutton his collar, Alison’s resolve cracks a hair, and her hard look softens a bit. “You are /not/ coming on my show and doing a strip-tease,” she agrees. “Respectability aside, I haven’t even seen your routine -- how would I know it’s safe for my viewers?” “Yeah, ok. I got a couple people you should meet, actually. Parley is my PR guy, and my buddy Trib. He works here too, kind of as an extra investigator. We should have a party sometime, with you and Mel. And I /think/ I saw Janice giving him the eye…” He shrugs, but the look in his eye is pure mischief. Then Luke is just laughing, and shaking his head. “No no, lady. I got exactly two dance moves, which are the bare minimum to survive at a club. You wanna get my clothes off, you gonna have to do it yourself. Either way, I’m pretty sure /that/ bit won’t be making it on TV.” The laugh that follows Cage’s statement about Janice comes from the outer office; a short, sharp bark that indicates Mel is ever-present. And listening. Alison’s laugh is a less humored thing, but it’s sincere enough. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, for a man on thin ice,” she notes. “Hey, you’re the one who brought up strip teases.” Cage’s expression is soft, less worried, yet still a little guarded. ”And I’ve never lasted long on ice. Do you know how much I /weigh/?” He moves to rest both hands on Alison’s hips. “You and I both know I screwed up. And I can assure you this /particular/ screw up won’t be repeated. Can’t promise zero screw ups though.” Cage smiles gently, and tips his head forward a little. “What if I make you dinner tonight? Then I can work at making it up to you.” Alison’s mouth pulls to one side as she studies Luke’s face, her brow furrowing. “Ugh,” she says, finally, rolling her eyes. “What is it about you that’s so charming? Do you practice it in the mirror or something?” She considers the offer, and sighs a mock-heave of exasperation. “I /suppose/,” she says, leaning in to plant a kiss against Luke’s lips. “If you /must/.”