lucillebrass

[lucillebrass]

definition-of-power:

The crowd parted as they made their way to the middle of the dance floor. Immediately the press rushed to get a shot of the pair together. Soft voices whispering in awe. Some for the mere fact of witnessing the two dancing, others wondering what possible connection the CEO of AIM and the ruler of Latveria could have.

Firmly he place his hand upon her waist and lead them in a waltz. “Sort of speak.” He replied vaguely. There were many dances he participated in. The dance between business. The dance of manipulation. The very dance between the inner recesses of his mind. “I am partial to Tango.” He smirked, dipping her a bit, before pulling her in closer. “However I can see you are quite a dancer yourself.” Twirling her, he was aware  that the space was soon opened due to couples stepping away. The music had began off slow, increasing in volume and tempo slightly over time. The light against her dress made the woman seem to shine even more. Though they were do nothing more but simply moving across the floor. It was clear they made a very intimidating sight.   

“So, let me get to the point. I believe our businesses could do very well for one another.” That was evident. “Obtain a great deal of profit. And more so I can help regain some the image your company has lost with certain individuals. As you are aware no doubt of my companies variety of focus and specialties. I find AIM’s biological components and industrial chemistry to fit quite well with my own. If you would be so willing, a proper meeting can be arrange for us to digest farther into negotiations.”

“I’ve had some practice,” Lucille responded, recognizing the intimacy of the dance for what it was. This king, this leader, this man was incredibly adept at manipulating people, and Lucille knew that he would look for any advantage over her. Pulling her in close with such a personal move was meant to promote trust in her for him, so that she would follow his lead, give him an advantage over her in trade, do anything he wanted.

She’d been naive before, and her company had suffered greatly for it. She would never be naive again.

“I think that is an excellent idea,” Lucille responded, aware of the crowds around them. She saw camera flashes out of the corner of her eye, and she knew that photos of them dancing together would be soon splashed on the front pages of the online gossip blogs and Twitter. Lucille was also aware that with the type of dancing they’d done, she had a rush of color in her cheeks, even through the ‘bulletproof’ makeup that she was wearing. It would look like she was flustered in the company of the monarch.

How would it affect her company’s stock? Lucille couldn’t tell, even though she’d studied economics extensively. The stock market was as much a study of people as it was a study of numbers, and she didn’t yet know how they would react to the idea of her in the company of the infamous Dr. Doom. 

“Your people will have to call my people about it,” she said. He’d managed to get an invite to her, he certainly knew how to contact her company.

Chaos Theory (Charity Gala)//Doom-Open

[lucillebrass]

definition-of-power:

“That was the intent.” She was correct in her prediction. With what would befall that evening he was sure the media would eat it up for days. This election unlike any of its predecessors was being viewed under a fine microscope. 

Wither Quinn succeeded or not, change was inevitable. People were restless, order was on a very thin tight rope and with the gentlest breeze everything would fall. And he would be there to help pick up the remains. 

The world was quite fragile. In many ways similar to a child. It sat in the illusion that it ran it’s own course, but in reality there was always a guiding hand. For although it liked to pretend it had a say, it was content with staying in a fairy tale. “Yes, quite so. Yet in is understandable seeing as we have both been preoccupied.” He had been watching her closely for some time. Impressed by how she handled the mutant flu incident and even moved up in her company. The woman was cunning and smart in her own right. The kind of person one would wish to have business relations with. He would not have to always keep a watchful eye on her, needing not worry about much complications. Their mutual partnership would simply benefit them both. “I am however glade that you made an appearance here tonight. There is much to be discussed between us.”

He had taken another particular interest in her for a different reason. Having learned of her exploits to the past, Victor desired to find a correlation between what happened to Brass and his newest project. He deemed himself the only man capable in finding the balance between science and mystics. Using one to enhance the other. 

He also set his glass away with the passing waiter, having only nursing the drink. Extending his hand for her to take, his eyes gestured over to the dance floor. “If I may?” 

“That there is,” Lucille responded, smiling as she took his hand. “And of course.”

She’d learned how to dance as a child, at her mother’s insistence. Her mother, a former supermodel, insisted on after-school activities such as gymnastics and dancing to take away the natural clumsiness of children and give her daughter something that resembled grace. Lucy never did anything with the training competitively, but she still remembered how to dance in a formal setting, and all of those hours spent in heels was coming in handy.

As they stepped out onto the floor, Lucille became acutely aware that they were attracting their own attention as couples stopped and stared at them. As the music changed, they began to dance, Lucille letting Doom lead the two.

“Do you do a lot of dancing?” she asked, letting the rest of the crowd fall away as she focused on the dance, and on him. Everything little bit of personal detail was much closer, and she could see attention to detail in every stitch. Lucille fancied her company as her kingdom; here she was, dancing with a king, discussing a sort of alliance between their two nations. 

She definitely needed to request a more detailed dossier about both him and Latveria when she went in tomorrow. If this partnership was going to advance into something permanent, something real, then she needed to make absolutely sure she knew who he was and where he came from. She’d gotten an abbreviated version earlier, before she went in, but there hadn’t been all that much in the way of substance in it.

Chaos Theory (Charity Gala)//Doom-Open

[lucillebrass]

definition-of-power:

No one was nice to one another out of the kindness of their hearts. Although there were some that fooled themselves into believing they were good people. He looked around at all the “heroes” that had come. The ones that fought for justice and righteousness. Even he would admit it was a nice story they made up for themselves. They got to feel like victors every time they saved a little girls’ cat from a tree or stopped a bank robbery. Never mind their alcoholism or reprise memories. No, they blissfully ignored the fact that they were far more mangled in their head than the majority of the people that surrounded them. 

Not that he was much of an exception. It was simply that he was no longer apart of the fairy-tale. He was the author. 

“Miss Brass is here, sir.” Malina whispered in his ear, informing him of the woman’s arrival. 

And sure enough, when he looked up the CEO of AIM came strolling through the doors. He couldn’t help but smirk at her skill of keeping an air of confidence while simultaneously gaining sympathy from the press. She knew how to work a room. 

Besides his own, there were three other major companies that ran New York. Stark, OsCorp, and AIM. So far he had yet to reach out to any for a mutual alliance. Stark Industries was out of considerations for the pure fact it’s owner held a strong dislike towards him. It was quite petty in his opinion. Personal feelings should never intrude on business. The two industries could have done very well for each other. So with OsCorp in the erratic state it was and AIM gaining reference again. It had taken no thought as to whom he would align with. 

Yet it wasn’t so much her allegiance he sought. No something different entirely. 

“Shall I call her over?”

He shook his head, “I will personally see to this one.” At her small pout upon his statement, Victor smiled down at the petite woman. Caressing her neck, he leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. “Be a dear and keep the guest preoccupied while I’m gone.” 

The small gesture of affection caused her to perk right up as he had predicted. Malina eagerly nodded, grinning widely at him with admiration in her doe eyes. 

He walked away from the blonde and towards Miss Brass. Finding it both ridiculous yet entertaining at the use of her phone to help spy on her surrounding. Her rather blatant greeting was refreshing however. Perhaps he would not have to beat around the brush with her. 

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

“Of course not,” Lucille responded, putting her phone away with a confident smile. “What a wonderful party you’ve thrown; it’ll be the talk of the town for weeks.”

Since the debacle with the mutant flu, Lucille had gotten a few reporters on her side -- ones who argued that the fault was really with the former CEO, Killian, and not with her, and that the mutant flu had simply been the mistake of a well-meaning but inexperienced CEO. There was enough truth to that dialogue that she’d let those reporters get a little closer, and in turn she’d gotten a much closer look at the media and how easily it could be manipulated.

Given how tense the current landscape was, with everyone’s nerves on edge until Election Day, people would be watching this party closely. If anything happened -- even if nothing happened -- it would be news.

This was either going to be Ian Quinn’s great turning point or the start of his campaign’s demise. Lucille wasn’t the only one he was schmoozing here tonight, and everyone knew it. If he could convince a number of large donors to contribute to his campaign, he could start outspending the other, more established candidates.

That his success -- if he had a good night -- would come at the hands of Viktor von Doom, a foreign political leader, would be hotly debated and extremely controversial.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Lucille began, choosing to play the middle ground between bold CEO and enchanting public figure. “It’s a shame we haven’t met before today.” 

Everything had to be carefully calculated, every word had to be intentionally chosen. Doom was no idiot, no matter what certain members of the Fantastic Four would like to proclaim; if she said something wrong or misspoke, it would influence their interactions for times to come. As a CEO, her time was money, and she would rather not spend time and effort repairing bridges that hadn’t needed to be burnt in the first place.

Bridges burnt that would place her in a lower ability to negotiate until -- and maybe even after -- they were fixed.

She took another small sip, her lipstick remaining flawless as she thoughtlessly placed her flute of champagne on the board of a servant walking past.

Lucille’s attention was on Doom.

Chaos Theory (Charity Gala)//Doom-Open

[lucillebrass]

definition-of-power:

He swirled the dark liquid in the short glass, watching the ripples form but soon disperse, the chaos subsiding to a still calm, yet with a simple flick of the wrist it came quickly back. It was funny how such a thing could relate to life. Left alone things had a way of settling, but with a little outside interference, that was when it all fell into madness. 

Victor could understand the world’s fear of chaos, it was unknown, unpredictable, one could never truly grasp it. Sure there were those that tried to study it’s forming, tried to comprehend the uncomprehendable. They had their shiny degrees, certificates to show that they understood and had made sense of it all, yet in reality they were just as lost as everyone else. Not even those that were afflicted with madness understood it, nor did most of them try. Perhaps that was the best response, to let it go unquestioned. He wasn’t a philosopher per say, yet he was sure everyone suffered from a bit of craziness. It was only those that let the madness take over that were labeled insane. 

How long would it be before he was in that class of insanity himself? Or was he already there? It was often said that the line between intelligence and mental instability was blurred. All he knew was there was a twisted knot in the pit of his chest, and the farther he climbed up the latter, the looser it became. What then? What would happen to him once it finally came apart? When he finally lost. Or perhaps he was already too far gone. Had reached the end of the rope and was now drifting in a sea of darkness. 

Victor’s eyes narrowed as he took a sip from his drink. Scotch always tasted a lot like whiskey to him only a bit more smoky. He sighed placing the cool glass against his forehead. His short time in Latveria had not given much fruit towards his project. He needed a stronger power source to even attempt running such a machine. Something of which he had not been able to focus much of his time on. Not only was there a mental block but upon arriving home, there had been a incident that left several orphan children homeless. He had devoted his energy to seeing that every last one was out of the cold. Call him what they will, it did not change the fact that he was a competent ruler and his people loved him. 

He looked out the window of the limousine. It was a beautiful sight, seeing the city come into view as he rode from his private landing strip. In many ways New York had become a second home to him. If he had not agreed to finance Richard’s failed experiment, things could have gone very differently. Perhaps instead of developing abilities and ruling a country. He could have been married, even fathering a few offspring. For though he had not been in love with Sue Storm, he had been fascinated with the idea of her and what she had represented. Stability.

Although he was nearly thirty minutes late, it had not taken too long to arrive at his tower. As he door was opened immediately his assistant flew from the entrance to greet him. She wore the dress he had gifted her. The pale grey gown against her fair skin gave the woman a ghostly appearance. She wore very light makeup and with her tall heels she stood almost to his height. Her face was flustered from current stress, making sure everything was in order. She held a black folder along with a clipboard in her arms, and he could see her frustration from reports coming through the small comm in her ear. Yet despite her worries she had made sure her outward presence was that of elegance.    

“Guest have already filled the hall, sir.” She informed breathlessly, “Ian Quinn and his running mate are in attendance along with Governor Rockefeller.” 

Victor began towards the entrance,having her follow along. 

“Several of the heroes are here as well.So far there has not been much interaction between them and the candidates….” As she had spoken, he stopped mid-way to the doors. Reaching to her in order to take the items from her hands and give them over to the nearest guard. 

At her confused look, he simply clarified. “By extension you are a representation of me.” Gesturing for her to take his arm. 

Even though she was his assistant, she was not to look as such while standing beside him. He was known for his calm and intimidating air. It would not match if the woman at his arm was to flustered to focus. 

Although it was clear she wanted to smile, she dare not to do so less it displeased or soil his image. Together the pair walked through the doors the enormous structure. Automatically eyes were on him and his picture was taken by varies camera men while reporters hanged back for the right opening. He had allowed a few of the media inside. The news outlet, vultures though they were, held a purpose tonight.    

Already a cluster of people had formed and he allowed himself to be engulfed by them. He greeted certain individuals by name, making the customary small talk. 

A glass of champagne was handed to him by a passing waiter. He looked down into the beverage, at the ripples that formed and smiled. 

It was the first society event since she’d gotten sick.

The rounds of medication had done their job, clearing her up to the point where the doctors felt she could be declared ‘cured’. Not that it was especially difficult; the strain that she had had was from the ‘30s, so it didn’t have the same resistance to penicillin and a multitude of other antibiotics that today’s TB did.

She’d lost a fair amount of weight while sick, though, and when she’d passed the paparazzi on the way in, she could tell they’d noticed. She used that to her advantage, always willing to talk to a sympathetic press, and then she’d breezed her way in, proving to the world that she was healthy again.

That she did it at Doom’s party was a statement, too, but she hadn’t figured out what that statement was.

Since she’d broken from HYDRA and taken her own company back, she could see that it might be prudent to court her. She had a number of resources at her demand, and those who worked for her were either loyal to her or paid well to be. In addition, she’d become something of a public figure, and her words were occasionally paid attention to. As there were three big multinational tech companies centered in New York, and one of them bore the name of an Avenger (which found itself on the same side as the Fantastic Four), it made sense that Doom might court the other two.

And since OsCorp was in a constant state of flux, that meant courting her.

A waiter offered her a glass of champagne, and Lucille took it, sipping at it lightly. She recognized some of the people there, politically; she’d boozed and schmoozed some of those very same people for bill riders and City Council decisions and State Senate approval and yes, even passes from the Governor and above. Quinn had been flirting with her donating to his campaign, but while she agreed with some of his policies, there was an underlying current of racism in his campaign that she wasn’t comfortable with.

So she kept him in her line of sight, watching who he talked with and how the people in those conversations went. The man had a good poker face, she decided, and he was good at making the people he spoke to feel heard. Those two things were utterly essential for politics. Beyond that, there were a few times when people clearly intended to stump him, and were surprised when he had an answer -- so he had a good staff behind him that left him prepared.

Well, those were a lot of the requirements for being President, and sometimes men were swept into power just on the basis of those alone. Perhaps, if it got closer to the election night and he was still in favor, she would grant him that audience, and that donation. She could use her influence to perhaps weed out some of the worse elements in his circle.

After all, money talked, and Quinn was the sort of man who listened.

She was halfway through her first glass of champagne when she felt attention on her. It had become a sort of sense to her, and she discreetly used her phone’s camera to look behind her, turning slightly as if she was trying to find the best angle to read the display.

“Yes?” she asked to the person near her.

Chaos Theory (Charity Gala)//Doom-Open

[lucillebrass]

themanwithoutfear-fh:

“Sure, of course,” Matt replied, taking the phone with a smile and trying not to let the concern show too clearly on his face. The woman obviously knew she was sick - her voice was muffled and he could hear the crinkling sound of her surgical mask as she talked - but clearly didn’t realise how ill she really was. Being this close to her, Matt could hear the rattle in her chest as she tried to breath and there was a strong, putrid smell to her breathe that went beyond a simple chest infection.

Her phone was wafer-thin and light in his hand - a much more expensive piece of hardware than his own generic handset - and the dialling tone was clear and crisp as a high-end stereo system. For all that, it might as well be a piece of featureless plastic to Matt’s senses for all the information he could read from it. The flat touchscreen offered him nothing since he couldn’t read the text it presented, and there was nothing to learn from its faint, electronic hum.

“Ms. Brass?”

A female voice answered the phone, presumably this was the Gina that the young woman had mentioned. “No actually, My name’s Matt Murdock… Is that Gina? I’m here with your friend. She’s very sick and needs help getting to a hospital. We’re near the corner of West 28th street & 5th Avenue, just down from Broadway… She’s asked for you to send Ashok and Nina, if that means anything?”

There was a pause, and Matt could hear the other woman breathing as she tapped on a keyboard. Behind him, the wheezing and coughing was getting worse, and there was the faint, coppery scent of blood on the air. 

“Hello…Gina? Are you still there?.”  

“Please hold, Mr. Murdock.”  The silence seemed to stretch on forever, until finally, “I’ve confirmed your location and dispatched assistance. Please remain where you are and be aware that if this is a hoax or you have stolen Ms. Brass’ cellphone, A.I.M. will press charges to the full extent of the law.”

Matt was about to reply when the line suddenly went dead, and the phone became as lifeless as it already seemed to his enhanced senses. “Charming woman that Gina,” the lawyer commented, feeling for the wall and crouching down beside her. “But she said that she’s sending help, so let’s get you as comfortable as we can while we wait.”

Matt could feel the fever coming off her in waves as he handed back her phone. “Matt Murdock,” he said, by way of completing their introductions,”…although you probably already heard that, and you’ve nothing to thank me for.”

Her simple request was heart-breaking. Asking him to stay - her voice sounding weak and lonely - as if her expectation was that he’d abandon her when she needed someone the most. Maybe that was what her life was like?

Resting his hand gently on her arm, Matt smiled kindly. “You don’t have to worry, Lucy,” he replied calmly, his voice strong and unwavering, something the lawyer felt she needed to hear. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Lucille didn’t know who Matt Murdock was. It felt like the name was important, like this was a person she should remember, but her head was too damn foggy to focus, and instead she summoned the essence of a smile at his description of Gina.

Gina was a nice woman, when you paid her checks and treated her with respect. A random man on her boss’ cell? Would be viewed with the highest suspicion.

The smile was cut short when she felt a tickle in her chest, and then she was bracing herself against a wall as she went through a full-on coughing fit. It was most of a minute before her coughing stopped, and by then Lucille knew that her surgical mask had been sprayed with blood from the inside. It itched, and her throat and chest hurt something terrible, but for the sake of the man helping her, she didn’t remove her mask.

There was no sense in harming what might have been the only person in New York who would get her help instead of kick her while she was already down.

Her head was pounding, and she was sweating in the cool air. The air felt good to her when she’d started out from her apartment -- it had almost seemed like a blessed relief -- but as the breeze blew past her, she shivered and cursed it. That was... high fever, maybe? Some sort of fever.

“I don’t want to get you sick as well, so you probably shouldn’t be too close,” she said. “But it’s not often a total stranger will stay with a person who is actively ill. That’s... almost heroic.” 

The words left an almost bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t like needing to be saved. She had, in fact, been looking into ways she could protect herself so that she wouldn’t be at the mercy of heroes, super or otherwise. She knew they were (mostly) human too.

A car pulled up, one that Lucille recognized. She tried to stand up, but utterly failed, dizziness kicking in to have her fall right back on her ass. She started to try again, but her head was spinning, and she tucked herself into a ball to try to keep the world steady.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wobbling slightly with the world, “but you should probably give a statement or contact information or something to my driver, so that he can let the doctors know how I was when you found me.”

Sneezed On The Beat (And I Got Sicker) || Lucille & Open

[lucillebrass]

sgtbarnesthesoldier:

From a man who has lived through the horrible stages of this world and is still alive today, my experience tells me it’s not that black and white. But like what you said, we all have our own experiences and voice. 

If this was black and white, it would be a cookie that I occasionally enjoy with coffee. You are right, though -- this is a very complex issue, one which I acknowledged I was not the most qualified person to speak on.

Originally posted by be-holder-com

[lucillebrass]

dailyshawnbutler:

You know, when you say it like that, it all makes sense. I’m not apposed to registration, and I think, sure, it’s going to make a lot of people feel safe, and we need that. But it’s the same problems that’s always the problem around election year: people see the big picture items, the issues, and they jump all over them without every reading the fine print. You’re right: there needs to be a Good Samaritan law, there needs to be adjustments, and those aren’t in writing yet. 

So is this your official statement or AIM’s? 

As a CEO? Not reading that fine print can be extremely dangerous.

Originally posted by thebeyfashion

Mine. 

[lucillebrass]

dailyshawnbutler:

Registration won’t stop bad guys who want to sent people into the fast or the future or do anything else. All it does is regulate organized teams–giving the X-Men and the Avengers someone to answer to. People who already want to do good. If another Lazarus shows up tomorrow, he’s not going to stop and wait to see if the UN thinks it’s okay for him to attack and torture people. You can’t possibly thing this is going to help in situations like that. 

Oh, and I’m sorry you’re sick. I hope you feel better soon. 

And regulating cops doesn’t stop crime, but we do it anyway because we recognize that those in the public service need to be kept to a consistent standard. It is true, we sometimes fail when holding them to that standard, but that standard exists for a reason. It is a contract that helps us trust them, as well as one that helps them trust that we respect their judgement and their skill.

Personally, I believe that there should be regulations on strategic movement, some way that groups of extremely powerful people can be held accountable to themselves and to us, but that there should also be some sort of Good Samaritan law as well, so that if aliens pour from the sky again we don’t have to wait on that decision.

However, I still stand with my original statement: as I am not part of the superpowered population, my advice for everyone, on both sides of the aisle, to let this be a calm, deliberate decision, and one that people take an active part in. Even if some treaty or agreement is signed at the UN, Congress would still have to ratify that agreement, which means people can and should reach out to their local representatives and express their feelings on the matter.

Thank you for your concern.

[lucillebrass]

I contracted tuberculosis while I was sent into the past a few months ago. 

I will still be leading AIM during this difficult time, but I will be doing so in a lesser role, and leaning more heavily on the Board of Directors, especially while I am receiving active medical care for this disease. I am blessed in that I have access to excellent medical care during this time; as I have learned more about the modern-day presentation of this disease, I have found myself once again luckier than I had any right to be. Many things could have happened when Lazarus sent me into the past, and if this was the worst of it, then I will accept that with a view of gratitude.

The fact that I got ill like this, though, illustrates the dangers that superpowered individuals can stand to our society. We have the medical knowledge and ability to treat this disease, and for that, I am very fortunate. If someone had gone back and gotten the plague, though, or smallpox, we as a society would have been much less fortunate.

I am far from the most qualified person to speak to registration. I can only speak to my own experiences, as can we all. Instead of telling you what to choose, though, I implore you to make an active choice and then make that choice known at the polls this Election Day.

History is made by those who show up.

[lucillebrass]

Have Your Way || Drabble

Lucille wasn’t sure what to make of registration.

The crimes that she had committed and the crimes that had been committed against her were both outside the purview of this legislation. HYDRA itself was outside of the law; in fact, it wrote the law.

Sometimes, Lucille wondered how long it would be until the Avengers realized that all of Washington was rotten with HYDRA, not just the tiny corner that the Captain had helped flush a few years back.

It had been that connection that had stopped Lucille from coming up against proper charges for her role in the mutant flu crisis. In a just world, she would have been nailed for gross negligence, and she knew it.

As she waited in the hospital, watching for the doctor to come in with the test results to tell her what the holy hell she had, Lucille decided to sit back and watch on this one.

It wasn’t her fight, not in any sense of the word, and so she didn’t need to wade in and create another mess for herself. When she got done here, she’d draft up an email, probably authorizing her team to stand behind Stark Industries -- provided that Stark managed to keep his own head up in this mess.

As for the moment, though, she was tired, and Lucille had no energy to do anything more than watch the drama play out.

It always did.

[lucillebrass]

At first, Lucille thought the stranger’s help was a hallucination. After all, it had been her against the world since she’d gotten the damned position, so why should she expect that anyone would help her now, while she was vulnerable? It made more sense to expect an attack, an accusatory question marked with the flash of a camera while she was stumbling around.

Thinking that she could get her own self to the hospital was a mistake. She should have asked her chauffeur to bring the car around, and her bodyguards to help her. She employed these people for a reason, dammit.

“Thank you, yes,” she said quietly, pulling up her phone and getting her assistant’s number up. “I don’t... I’m not sure exactly where I am.” She looked to the corner up ahead, and found herself struggling to focus on the small numbers long enough to read them. “S... 7th? 6th. 6th Street and 28th. Please, call this number and tell Gina I’m here. Ask her to send Ashok and Nina.”

Her head was spinning at this point, and Lucille crouched down, trying to will the world back into focus. She was much, much sicker than she originally thought she’d been, and it would have been better for her to have just asked for help from the beginning, but she had wanted to do this quietly, without alerting anyone else. Now, because of her stubbornness, there was a much higher chance that her picture, this picture, of her nearly faint with fever, would be splashed on the night’s news.

She coughed again, a deep, bitter sound, and this time she was shocked to see that the light pink of the saliva she’d coughed up had gotten much, much darker; the coughing was getting worse. Additionally, the ache in her ribs from the coughing fit had gotten much more painful -- if the cough didn’t steal her breath, the pain would.

“My name’s Lucy,” she introduced herself, hoping that the nickname wouldn’t trigger memories of Lucille Brass, that bitch who had unleashed a disease on the Upper East Coast and killed hundreds, if not thousands. “Thank you so much. I’m -- I’m so sorry to have put you in this position. Thank you for helping me.”

Lucille had been privileged to have had a healthy life, filled with doctors’ visits when she needed them, and healthy food to keep her going. The advancement of her illness at this point had mostly been her pushing herself to keep working, with an additional fear of the shame she might incur if it was heard that she had taken ill. She didn’t have much experience with long-term illness, and now it was showing.

“Please stay?” she asked, her voice sounding weak even to herself. She was so proud of herself for learning how to dominate conversations and meetings, and now she was weak and ill. “I’m so sorry, it won’t be very long for them to get here.”

Sneezed On The Beat (And I Got Sicker) || Lucille & Open

It was official; Matt hated looking for a new apartment.

He’d spent all day travelling between different buildings, only to be either stood up by the letting agents or talked down to and treated like a simpleton (because clearly having a disability also meant he was stupid). It wouldn’t have been so bad if a single one of the apartments had been okay, but they were all over-priced and totally unsuitable for his needs. Half of them turned out to be partially derelict and the rest were converted basements with no windows, but the realtors seemed to think that, being blind, Matt wouldn’t notice… or worse, that he should somehow be grateful.

Was it really too much to ask to find a loft apartment near Hell’s Kitchen with roof access that wouldn’t bankrupt him at the same time?!  Apparently so…

Brooding in his frustration, Matt stalked through the city, tapping his cane irritably to clear people out of his way and not paying much attention to where he was going.  Everything kept moving around him, unchanged and indifferent to either his mood or situation.  It seemed so easy for everyone else, Matt thought to himself, and he wondered about calling Lily.  If he admitted to being Daredevil, then maybe she could convince Tony Stark to give him space on The Avengers… At least that job seemed to come with room and board included!

This train of thought was suddenly derailed as the intrusive sound of coughing broke through Matt’s inner monologue and brought him suddenly back to reality.  The sidewalk seemed relatively quiet in this part of the city and Matt raised his head to sniff the air curiously, trying to determine which neighbourhood he’d stumbled into. The night was rich with the scent of haute cuisine spilling from restaurant doorways as patrons, stumbling inelegantly in designer heels after one too many bottles of Château Lafite Rothschild, called an end to their night.  Under the usual background of inexpertly serviced yellow cabs, there was the deep throb of sportscar engines waiting to be unleashed at the next green light, and the excited laughter of rich kid adrenaline junkies behind the wheel, anticipating the exhilaration of rapid acceleration - at least until the next set of lights brought them up short.

From all this Matt knew exactly where he was, even though Lower Manhattan wasn’t an area he stumbled into often.  The nouveau riche weren’t exactly his usual clientele as a Hell’s Kitchen lawyer; in fact, he was more likely to be sitting on the opposite table from them in a court room, but that omnipresent coughing kept Matt from walking back the way he’d come.  There was something about it that bothered him; an underlying rattle and wheeze that sounded decidedly unhealthy.

As he got closer to the source of the noise, Matt could feel the heat of her fever on the woman’s skin, even as he noticed the expensive scent of perfume. She was leaning heavily on the wall outside this building, clearly struggling to catch her breath after that last coughing fit, and Matt pulled his cane in tight as he got close.

“Are you okay?,” he asked, concern and sympathy clear in his voice as some other people strode quickly past, tutting at the slight obstruction. “You sound like you could use some help… Can I call someone for you?”

[lucillebrass]

Do you think you're important?

It’s not just a thought.

[lucillebrass]

Sneezed On The Beat (And I Got Sicker) || Lucille & Open

Lucille was a wreck. She was sick, and she didn’t know with what.

It had come on unexpectedly. There hadn’t been anyone sick in her office, as far as she knew, and even if there were, she’d implemented a policy of a week of paid sick leave each calendar year -- which was separate and different from family leave, which was another week, and vacation time, which was two weeks for a full year of working.

So she was sick and she didn’t know what caused it. 

She’d had a nasty cough for a few weeks now -- one that wasn’t going away with over the counter medication -- and she’d been coughing long enough and hard enough that it was now messing with her chest -- which had a constant ache -- and her throat, which she’d been tearing up with her coughing, to the point that there was a light pink spray on her tissues today. 

So she figured she’d picked up bronchitis somewhere, and she really needed to get it checked out.

Normally, this was the sort of thing that she had a personal physician for, but her regular doctor was out of the country -- on a goddamned sabbatical, of all things -- and she didn’t trust his business partners well enough to let them come to her house to treat her.

And getting the car to come around would take much more time than just taking herself there.

Lucille bundled herself up, making sure that she slipped a surgeon’s mask over her face -- a holdover from when she was scared of getting ‘mutant’ flu -- and slipped out the door.

By the time she was at the bottom of the elevator, she felt infinitely worse. The pressure differential had fucked with her head, making her both queasy AND lightheaded, and when her hand had brushed against her head, she felt feverish to her own touch.

Goddamnit, what was wrong with her?

[lucillebrass]

The slight touch was thrilling. Lucy had to active tell herself to scale it down a few notches, because she was getting way too excited, and that would lead to awkwardness and hurt and heartache, and Lucy could not afford to take a day off to watch Netflix and eat wine-flavored ice cream. Her hopes could not get too high.

That being said, going out to dance with this electrifying woman sounded like a brilliant thing to do.

“I’m sure we could show them a thing or two,” Lucy said, smiling back. 

It had been a while since Lucy had honestly danced. The stuff she did at concerts wasn’t dancing, really, it was jamming, and beyond the few metal concerts she went to, she hadn’t really been a public place like this in a while. For a second, she felt concerned -- would she be rusty?

Then she remembered that she’d been a fucking dancing champion before this job, before becoming CEO, before becoming CFO, and how much fun it had been. If she tapped back into that, if she let her worries go for just a few minutes, then maybe things would be okay.

Hold Up || Open

She couldn’t help but admire Lucy’s work ethic and her considerable dedication to her company’s success. Powerful women were driven by desire to succeed; something she, herself, shared in the secretive aspect of her life. It was evident in each muscular curve on her arm and every marking which, when put together, told the narrative of her quest.

“I did,” she answered in the past tense, lifting her glass to her lips, “as a diplomat’s daughter, I was privy to travel most could only dream of. My travels these days consist mostly of trips to and from Greece. I imagine your business has allowed you to see much of the world as well.”

She placed her drink down and leaned forward, her fingertips grazing the other’s knee as she attempted to right herself. A slip of the hand, naturally, but she certainly did not regret it; it appeared playful in nature. Elektra lowered her voice so that only Ms. Brass could hear her speak, their conversation masked by the low thrum of the music and conversation around them. “But we aren’t here to talk about work,” she mused, “are we, Ms. Brass? I think we’re both overdue for a bit of fun.”

Dark eyes grazed over the crowd for a moment, a devilish smirk crossing her features before she turned her attention back to the other. “Care to dance?”

[lucillebrass]

There was a spark when Elektra held Lucy’s hands, and when that spark connected with the now obvious want in Lucy’s core, it surged up through her, like champagne, bubbling over through the rest of her being. If not for the makeup that Lucille had painstakingly put on before coming to the venue, she would have been blushing deep, and as it was she still wasn’t sure her own body language wasn’t giving her away.

The last person had been Sam, and that had fallen apart quickly, torn to pieces by their differences and their positions. Lucy had liked Sam, and had enjoyed his company, but that experience had taught her to look to elsewhere for romantic escapades. The question, then, was who was like her? Hers was a unique position; there were very few people who could understand her, or why she did what she did. Of those, almost none were suitable to pass even the slightest amount of free time with.

Almost none, Lucy observed, but not zero.

“My company,” Lucy began, “often requires very hands-on management. The last person to run it left it in shambles, falling to pieces, and so I’ve had to spend some considerable time putting things back in place.” And removing bad elements, she thought, remembering Mystique and what the mutant woman had done for her. “It sounds like you’ve been to a lot of countries. Do you like to travel often?”

Hold Up || Open

“As did you,” Elektra complimented in return before taking a moment to survey the club in which they’d chosen to frequent. Since she’d been resurrected, Elektra was always on the look-out for anything suspicious. Though she could be certain that the area was secure - a high-ranking member of a corporation was present and, likely, so was her security team - part of her always saw him looming in shadowy corners. Sometimes Bullseye would be seated at the bar and, very rarely, he’d whisper into her ear.

You’re good, but me, baby? I’m magic.

Jolted from her traumatic memories by Lucille’s next words, Elektra was able to return to the much more pleasant moment at-hand and offered her a coy grin before her own fingers grazed the other’s face in a similar fashion. “Likewise,” she replied, “and your invitation was appreciated. You’ve already far out-shined the others at this venue, and you’ve only just arrived. The night can only improve from here.” Her comment was accompanied by a small wink. Elektra was also not an overly-affectionate person and was not entirely sure if she should hug the other woman or not and opted to, instead, hold onto both of her hands and offer them a gentle squeeze.

Elektra joined her at her request and folded one leg over the other. She rested one elbow upon the table in order to prop her face up and shook her head at her question. “Not since I’ve returned from Greece,” she explained over the music, “I’ve barely had time to reconnect with old friends I knew from Columbia.” Perhaps because Daredevil was so elusive. “And what of you?” she inquired, leaning forward with great interest, “You’re young, successful, and radiant: Why must you spend so much time working?”

[lucillebrass]

I run a billion-dollar multinational conglomerate. It is inevitable that I will require most forms of legal help... though, I think, very rarely constitutional.

Originally posted by beyoncexknowles

Thank you, Ms. Brass, though you didn’t advise which form of lawyer you required.

[lucillebrass]

I’m sorry for your loss.

Originally posted by beyonce4world

Yes. My father’s murder was a highly-publicized event. Criminal Law has been an interest of mine.