ArchivedLogs:Revisiting the Past

Revisiting the Past
Dramatis Personae Claire, Jennifer	2013-05-20 Having been recently suspended from her school, Jennifer decides to focus on something else. So...
Location Claire's Home
No sooner has Jennifer Walters asked for a meet-and-greet with Claire Basil then has she offered the door to her apartment home. It only takes three knocks before the doorknob is turning, a rush of floral scents wafting out to greet Walters - along with Ms. Basil herself. Dressed in a frumpish little yellow sun-dress that drops down to the knees - and jeans beneath. Her tangled thumb-thick curls of red hair bound up in a bun behind her. She always was an /odd/ one when it came to fashion. And Claire isn't the only one here to greet Jennifer! There are /kitties/, too. One particularly adventurous one immediately shoves her head forward to see what all this is about. Black, with a splotch of white on her throat; she mews at Jennifer rather intently, as if immediately demanding this trespass of hers be repaid in... food. :9 "Come in, deary," Claire immediately hums, cheerful and bright; her hand is already descending to /snag/ the wayward cat as she starts to venture past the threshold of the doorway and into the hall beyond. YOINK. Right by the scruff. The cat mews again. "Booger!" Claire says, and then, in delicate French: "{Naughty little thing. I will /spritz/ you.}" She rubs her nose against a /very/ disobediently squirming cat. Then, violently /flings/ her back inside, toward the couch. ZWOOOM! Jennifer Walters arrives dressed in far more casual wear. Similar to Claire's, Jennifer's fashion hasn't changed. Pale blue jeans, comfortable snow-white running shoes with stripes of purple, a snazzy black leather jacket and a waist-long T-shirt that reminds of the fact that Shulkie's favourite colours are, indeed, white and purple. In her left hand, she holds a dark bike helmet, while another precariously holds a chocolate cake in transparent packaging. A gentle chortle is accompanied by a wide grin as she spots both Claire Basil and the feline entourage that follows. "You're well on your way to the 'crazy cat lady' status, Claire," she comments playfully, watching the one kitten that is the most daring. "You're in trouble," she coos softly at her. 'Lo and behold, the one called Booger is promptly snatched up. "/Told/ you." The door behind her is closed with a hooked foot, and then the redhead proceeds further down the hall. "Sorry for not keeping in touch, Claire. Back across the pond, I never stayed put in one place long enough for an e-mail. And this past month's been more hectic than I would have liked," she admits. The cake is held up and the younger woman offers bashfully, "I brought cake to make up for it, though!" "I prefer to be called a Cat /enthusiast/," Claire responds with that still-mild francophone acent, her tone faintly teasing. "Pshaw," she dismisses Jennifer's apology with a wave of her hand. "Worrying about silliness like that is for people who are not /busy/. You brought... cake?" A crook of Claire's eyebrow as she regards the cake, stepping back, examining it rather closely. Jennifer may or may not know it, but Claire considers herself a confectionary /connoisseur/; that cake is about to face down some of the sternest culinary standards in the city. "Merci beaucoup. Please, put it down on the table. What have you been doing? /I/," Claire soon adds, a hand gesturing to her chest /quite/ dramatically - nose elevated just the /right/ amount for /proper/ gloating, "have been saving the world from fools and bigots." That grin remains firmly on Jennifer's face as she observes Claire closely examining the cake. There is, after all, a good reason why the packaging is transparent. She may not know the full extent of Claire's peculiar quirk, but she knows enough to decide that the fellow lawyer as having a sweet tooth. Once the cake passes the superficial visual exam, Walters makes her way to the indicated table, crouching down to place the cake neatly atop it. The little curls of chocolate remain seated on top, unshaken by the graceful landing. "You must have a better luck with cases than I had. I was saving the fools and bigots from the world." Jennifer's form straightens and she turns to face Claire. Her grin has diminished. "I turned to teaching." Her tone fails to match the same level of gloating that Claire has exhibited; if anything, Jen's voice sounds bittersweet. "But I messed /that/ up, too. I'm suspended-- Too reckless. I guess schools have a lower tolerance for my attitude than the courtroom," she muses. "I have to admit I deserved it, though." "Teaching? Mmmn. /Suspended/. For recklessness? In the classroom? How debauched." Claire disappears, then, into the kitchen; the sound of clinking glasses can be heard. "Ice-tea, dear? Or perhaps - mmn, I'm afraid my new assistant has stolen all of my milk. /Again/. Such a naughty thing." Clink, clink; regardless of Jennifer's answer, there would soon be the sound of pouring. "Recklessness in the classroom," Claire repeats, just a breathy little laugh behind the phrase. "Did you fail to instruct the students of the wonders of abstinence? I have been told that this qualifies. Or," and that edge of mirth increases as Claire returns, with - a glass! Or glasses, depending on Jennifer's answer! "Were you /truly/ reckless - did you encourage them to /think/ for themselves? If so, I will fetch my spritzer bottle at /once/." If Jennifer's amusement was partially forced up to now, the genuine portion grows to overwhelm the less sincere part. Her smile returns, brighter than before. Barely keeping a chuckle at bay, she observes her surroundings casually, while Claire fidgets in the kitchen. "Ice tea would be great," she agrees, before continuing to listen to Claire, letting the older redhead remind the younger one why the latter enjoyed the company of the former. "I did not break any chairs," she starts sheepishly. Hearing Claire return, Jen tears her gaze away from the rest of the place and fixates her attention on her gleeful acquaintance. "Funny you should mention the spritzer bottle. I actually sprayed one of the students in the face with a water pistol." The memory of Shelby flailing like a pissed off chimp immediately comes to mind, and Jennifer has to bite down on her lower lip to stifle her amusement. Guilty pleasure it might be, but guilt overrides the pleasure in this case. This, at least, prompts a stern upraised brow from Miss Claire Basil. She may be a bit of a /loon/, but in other respects, she is as stern as it comes on the matters of /propriety/. "Water pistols," she informs Jennifer, "are a powerful tool - to be used against naughty kittens and disobedient adults. /Not/ for children." She takes a long sip from her glass of iced tea as she settles in, soon adding: "Not that I have not often been tempted, mind you. They can be such /beastly/ things, from time to time. But then," she adds, her voice a little sweeter, perhaps at some distant memory, "/just/ before one has had enough, they go ahead and outshine every adult." Although her amusement lingers, Jennifer offers a theatrical, weary sigh. "Oh, I know, Claire. Trust me, I /do/." But the addition that comes next is uttered with a slightly greater measure of scepticism. "Even if I'm not entirely convinced by the whole 'outshines every adult' thing. Then again, that kind of attitude is probably what got me suspended in the first place." The bike helmet is placed on the edge of a table, leaving her hands empty enough to claim her own glass of ice tea. Embracing it with both hands, she keeps it close to her chest, delaying drinking it for now. "Anyway, you know me, I /dive/ into the bush, I don't beat around it. I /didn't/ forget you, but I didn't come here just to catch up, either. There are two things I wanted to discuss with you, Claire." Finally, she takes a modest sip of the tea. Its delightful taste is directly responsible for keeping that warm smile present. "I talked to someone who introduced themselves as Parley? /Just/ Parley. He said he worked for a Miss Basil? I don't believe in coincidence, so I assume that's you. He approached me to... /warn/ me about Norman Osborn?" Claire sniffs as Parley's name has been spoken. As if Jennifer has just committed some manner of faux pas. "Parley," Claire informs her, "is my very /naughty/ assistant. How do /you/ know him?" A pause, then, followed by a wrinkle of her lips. "He /is/ right to warn you. Norman Osborn is -- a /very/ dangerous man. He's also quite insane." Claire tells Jennifer this as if she were commenting on Norman Osborn's /political/ affiliation. Here it comes. That awkward little dance of trying to gently squeeze one another for information that neither might be interested in letting the other party know. "Insane?" The echo is followed by a cautiously thoughtful question, "How much do you know about Norman Osborn?" Another quick sip. She readies to speak again, but the tea beckons for another sip; it's simply too delicious. "Parley," she hurries to sneak in, "contacted me completely out of left field. I have no idea how he managed to find me. I mean, I visited Norman Osborn on that chaotic Monday, but--" Crrk crkt. Tick tick tick. The gears turn. Her eyes slowly widen in realisation. "Norman must've-- Either Norman told /him/, or he told /you/, but if you're not aware that I met him--" Jennifer wrinkles her nose, that amusement evaporating. She looks to Claire solemnly, letting the other woman finish her thoughts for her. Claire's mouth wrinkles a bit more deeply, but then settles upon a smile. A few stray crow's feet -- she isn't /that/ old -- tug around the corners of her eyes. "Parley," she informs Jennifer, "is a /very/ naughty assistant." She then sighs into her iced tea, before taking a very -- long -- sip. Once it is finished, she sets the glass down and continues: "He is very sneaky. Always associating with dangerous people. Learning dangerous things. But, for all his sneakiness, he is... mmm. He wants justice to prevail. If he warned you about Norman Osborn, I suggest you listen to him. He's clever enough to know that by giving you this warning, he's outing himself to you as someone who knows Osborn's secrets." Claire wrinkles her nose. "As for Norman himself, I know -- enough -- from the case trials I've encountered involving him. He's a maniac. He's murdered men who's opposed his interests. /Brutally/ murdered. I've never come face to--well, I suppose I met him briefly at that disasterous gala," Claire suddenly remembers, glancing toward the ceiling. "But I didn't /speak/ to him, thank God." Tapping a single digit against the glass, Jennifer silently soaks in the new stream of information. There is a twitch in one of the corners of her lips, the kind that is easily missed. Her scowl from before dissipates, and she settles her roots with slightly more confidence into the current situation. "He seemed to have mostly good intentions, from what little evidence I have. Parley, I mean. But as a friend of mine accurately put it-- Eel infested waters." Curiously eyeing Claire, she waits a little bit, as if aiming to speak just when the elder lawyer seeks to claim another sip of the tea. "I actually had a date with Norman Osborn last Wednesday," she chimes in cheerfully, watching for a reaction. "Thai place. Great food." "Mmmnnfh," Claire responds to this last statement. She is now giving Jennifer a /look/. It is one which Parley himself may, in fact, often receive. It is the look of someone who is genuinely considering hunting down her water spritzer. "Did you know," Claire responds, "that they found one of Mr. Osborn's associates -- Mr. Strumm, I believe? Murdered shortly after a falling out with Norman Osborn. Police suspected an animal attack; the bite-marks on the corpse matched that of a canine's." A pause, then. Very dramatic. As Claire lifts her glass of tea to sip - before setting it back down. "The curious bit? His corpse was found on the 85th floor of a high-rise office building. No witnesses." Yeah, she's told /this/ one before. "Mm'nah, I think my date was /slightly/ more romantic than that." After rendering her glass just a little bit emptier with another sip, Jennifer continues: "I've had a brush with one of Norman's more... /personal/ associates, and I don't mean the little puppy following him everywhere." A moment of silence enters, during which Jennifer dares to shape her lips into a teasing grin. "I can handle myself, Claire." Exhaling sharply, Jennifer leaps to the next point on the agenda already. "The matter of Norman Osborn is a topic I want to return to, but I have a couple other appointments to keep today, so I apologize in advance for the rush. The /second/ thing I wanted to talk to you about-- I want back in the courtroom. Full-time. I intend to make the best of this suspension. God knows, it might teach me a thing or two." Claire reaches up to rub at her brow. With /both/ hands. "You and Parley will /both/ be the death of me," Claire announces. But at the prospect of the courtroom, she seems to - brighten, just a /tad/, at least. "Well, /goodness/, I could certainly -- there are quite a lot of mutants out there who /need/ representation, you know. Although there's very little money in it," Claire adds, with a bit of a bitter smile. "Occasionally you'll get lucky, but -- for the most part -- the majority of it is charity work. Mmnh. There /is/ that fellow --" She seems to crack a grin, at this. "--Luke Cage? I defended him. /That/ turned out to be surprisingly lucrative. He's actually running his own business, now. 'Hero for Hire'." "Oh my /God/. Seriously, Claire?" Jennifer huffs, a playful sort of disapproval setting in her features. It is safe to assume, then, that the young woman has at least heard of the man. A crooked smirk switched sides capriciously time and time again. "Pair up one brute with another, is that your plan?" The index finger around the glass unravels, pointing towards Claire. "Anyway, if you're open to the competition, can you give me his contact details? Might as well look into it. 'Hero for Hire'. Pft." The glass is tipped angrily as Jennifer drinks more of the tea hastily. "Can you help me ease my way back into court, then? You've already helped me settle in here a while ago, and I would-- Well, if you helped me again, I would try my best to repay you with a favour or a few. You're criminally resourceful and helpful, you know?" "He seems polite enough," Claire offers, but then: "He's also /single/, I believe. Certainly a better prospect than, nnnergh, You-Know-Who." He Who's Name Shall Not Be Spoken. "He might actually /need/ a little legal advice, now and then," Claire adds, rubbing at her brow at the mention of this. "Goodness gracious, the man -- nngh, you realize," she adds, "he /broke/ out of prison? With his bare fists. To prove his 'innocence'. Like something out of one of those terrible American movies. It all worked out in the end - splendidly, actually - But my /God/, what an atrocious mess..." At the mention of easing Jennifer back into court, Claire nods - pondering. "There's a few cases - I actually might need some help with /myself/. Though, we'll have to see. I'll... mmmn." Suddenly, Claire's reaching into a nearby desk, pulling out a slip of paper and pen. Scribbling down. Numbers! "Just on the /off/ chance you're interested. Mr. Cage's contact information. Tell him Basil sent you. As to easing you back into the court cases -- there /are/ a few cases /I/ could use some help with, perhaps. Barring that -- there is certainly no end of clients, mutant-or-otherwise, requiring representation, and I'd be happy to introduce you to a few of them..." At the suggestion that Jennifer might be interested in Luke Cage more than just professionally, Jennifer intensely grinds a thumb against the glass. Considering that as far revenge for teasing Claire with her date with Norman, Jennifer lets it slide. "Very funny," she murmurs with furrowed brows, even if her smirk remains. When she sees digits being written down on a sheet of paper, Jennifer breathes in as calmly as she can muster. What is she getting herself into? "We can discuss those cases when we next meet. I actually have one already that I would like to prioritize above others. I'll go and try and arrange a meeting with this self-proclaimed hero." Hold on. Jennifer narrows her eyes, glaring at her friend suspiciously. "Wait a minute. You're not-- You're not trying to teach me something here, are you? By suggesting this Luke Cage guy? Super-strength, known for being reckless--?" "Ms. /Walters/," Claire responds, with the /precise/ tonal inflection one would expect from a teacher addressing a 12 year old student who has just been caught eating a handful of paste. "My goodness. I would /never/." Pause. "Tell you that. To your face." Claire Basil proceeds to sip her tea, very proper and /sophisticated/. "...seriously though, dear," she adds, her tone dropping down to a whisper. "He beat the snot out of a prison gang. /Then/, he beat the snot out of the guards. /Then/, he punched through a concrete wall. And left the prison. You two would get along /splendidly/," she announces, smiling with such warmth. Jennifer sharply inhales, parting her lips to sow the seeds of what is no doubt a long rant. Fortunately, the impetuous redhead catches herself right on time, and those lips clamp shut. For a while, all she does is stare at Claire, herself frozen in her spot. "I /never/ punched a guard or an officer. And when I did risk imprisonment, I went about it the /right/ way, which did not involve in the demolition of any walls." Even though the following motions are quick and seemingly brimming with frustration, Jennifer accepts the jests in good nature. Walking closer to Claire, she seeks to snatch the notebook from her hands and claim it for herself. "Give it, before I decide to take the cake back," she warns mischievously, although by no means seriously. "I know! It's lovely, isn't it? He's like you, except with no pesky notions of law and restraint," Claire announces, holding out the document for Jennifer to take. "He's also a celebrity, now. For as long as /that/ might last," she adds, and there's a soft - mayhaps sad - little tsk, here. As Jennifer takes the document. "You know, dear, you /should/ be more careful. You're a known mutant. In some respects, that makes you very safe. In others... you are even /more/ vulnerable." The document is eyed meticulously, as if to make sure all is right and well. "Don't /push/ it," she murmurs with a small measure of that smirk still up and about. Once she seems satisfied with what's in her free hand, she lifts the other to finally finish her iced tea. "That was /delicious/, by the way." The glass goes thonk onto the table as it is set down. "Yeah, I know," she responds in regards to her celebrity status, her smirk growing. "I'll try and make sure I don't put myself into any situation that will have me bust through walls like the esteemed Mister Cage. Now, I'm afraid I will have to leave you, Claire. I'll keep in touch, this time." "Good," Claire informs Jennifer, rather quietly! With a stern little twist of her mouth. "Stay safe, Jennifer." Booger agrees, head-bumping Ms. Walters' ankle on her way to the door.