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Brielle is not the one that is (ouverte) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-07-07 13:25:00

Who: Brielle Nora & Norman Osborn
What: Evil mastermind hangout.
Where: Osborn mansion.
When: Recently.
Warnings: Minor character death.



The mighty Osborn estate had no shortage of security hoops to jump through before one reached the front door. There was a guard at the gate who wouldn't even open the damn thing without some proof of identification and there was also the inconvenient requirement of a needed appointment. Nora, unfortunately, was not the kind of person that abided by things like time slots or photo IDs.

The man at the gate proved to be no problem. His burning body on the lawn was a cause for investigation by a couple armed members of the mansion's security detail. While they discussed the horrific immolation over the crackle of radios, debating whether or not they should call the police, Nora took that moment to slip in through a back door that led her through the service kitchen. She plucked a knife from the butcher's block on her way through the shadows and up the stairs. Some might have thought that a knife was overkill when one could control fire, but Nora liked to have options. Variety was the spice of life, after all.

Inside, a maid and another member of the household's security detail were rendered unconscious as Nora made her way up the stairs. She wore sleek black leggings tucked into the pliant leather of boots that curved just above her knees. The heels were hypodermic pinpricks, the kind that Brielle would have twisted an ankle in within moments of walking in them, but Nora was graceful as a shark as she swept down one of the hallways. A panicked nanny released the first note of a scream before Nora caught a gloved hand over the woman's mouth. "Point me to the door that Norman Osborn is in right now.."

The nanny sobbed behind gloved fingers, eyes glazed over with panic at the sight of the knife in the woman's other hand. The nanny's natural worry was for that of the sleeping child in the door behind them, and so she pointed Nora in the direction of Norman Osborn's study with plans of slipping the sleeping Emily into one of the hidden wall panic rooms as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

The opportunity, sadly didn't present itself. Nora slammed the woman's head into the unforgiving, polished cedar of a wooden banister before making for the room that she'd been pointed to. The woman collapsed onto the carpet of the hall, unconscious and out of the way for the time being. Nora knew that there were still some of the security outside, and if they hadn't contacted Norman Osborn about the breach, they would soon enough. Nora wanted to get her five cents in first. At the door of the study, she gave a polite knock, one-two of her index finger's knuckle against the wood in a kind of announcement before she pushed the door open and strode inside.

Breakins weren't a common occurrence at Osborn manor. Surprising, really, considering how very popular (or unpopular, entirely a matter of opinion) Norman was. He'd have thought more people would want to get their paws into his business or try, at least, but there was so much security both at his home and Oscorp that maybe they knew better. Paranoid was an understatement. Norman was fiercely protective of what which was his and he never, ever let his guard down, not for a moment, because he knew better. If it was possible he'd have cloned himself a hundred times over to fill all the necessary positions in his work and personal life but alas, such advancements had not yet been made.

And so he was surrounded by idiots. A burning body on the lawn and nobody called him. Nobody thought to buzz, to warn him, of course not, and one woman managed to make her way to his private study without much trouble. Maybe he should start injecting his staff with concocted serums and see if that made a difference.

But, just then, he was unaware. Wading through paperwork, seated behind his desk with a glass half-full of fine whiskey on his right, he wasn't aware of the chaos that had swept through his halls and landed right outside his door. Norman glanced up when the knock sounded, but before he could respond the door opened and an unfamiliar woman strode in.

He raised his eyebrows. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, you already have," she explained, easy breezy beautiful, as if getting into his home had been the only objective and she'd bother with worrying on how to get out later. She didn't seem like the type to worry about escape plans. She obviously wasn't overly concerned with armed guards, the prospect of police sirens, or sitting down to the betting table with a man as notorious as he was powerful. The whole world knew who Norman was and nobody knew who she was. It made for a poetic juxtaposition when she sat across from him, although maybe she just had a penchant for the dramatic. Actually, she definitely had a thing for dramatics considering her love of illegal fireworks and sacrificial lawn ornaments set ablaze. Independence Day was naturally her favorite holiday.

She tossed a lanyard with its attached security badge onto his desk, and the plastic edge of the card clinked against his whiskey glass when it landed face up for his viewing. The picture was a grim-looking, straight-faced photo of the guard it belonged to. A cookie cutter badass, like all of his guards. She doubted Norman could even tell them apart. "I'm pretty sure he's dead, but if not.." And she made a reluctant expression as she calculated the damage brought on by a fireball straight to the face. ".. I hope his company insurance policy covers plastic surgery. I mean, I'd apologize, but if I can get past your security, you're going to need to do better anyway. I like to think I did you a great service."

She pulled out a cigarette then, and blue eyes regarded him with a wordless question on whether it was alright to smoke or not. She didn't seem like the type to ask permission for many things, but she asked now. "When I woke up in the hospital, there you were, on the television. I didn't know who you were, but yours was the first face I saw, and I couldn't stop watching. Then you started talking about the pulse and eventually it all kind of started to come together in my head.." She talked with her hands, unlit cigarette between her fingers twirling like a baton. "That I was here because of you. You created me.. in a way, you were my God. I am what was never meant to be, and yet I am. Its a Frankenstein's monster kind of thing," and she slumped back in her chair, legs crossed at the knee, boot kicking with the kind of primal energy. "I even took my name from yours.. Norman, I'm Nora."

The fact that she'd even gotten this far without his permission was mildly impressive. Normally, unless someone had an appointment, they never stepped past those outer gates. Norman valued his time and he refused to waste it on those beneath him-- which, admittedly, was almost everyone, but some people had their uses. He maintained his raised-eyebrows skepticism when she said he'd already helped her, a silent oh, do tell, just in case she hadn't intended on elaborating.

He leaned forward when she tossed the security badge onto his desk, faint curiosity in the midst of indifference as he pulled it toward him with one careless finger. The man's face was only familiar in the sense that he was part of his staff, a veritable army of security more brawn than brain because, sadly, finding both was near impossible. "Dead?" He wasn't upset or outraged on behalf of his employee. No, if anything he was annoyed that the man had allowed himself to be killed in the first place. And, if by some miracle, he was still alive? He'd end up wishing he wasn't. "He's no good to me now, better if he didn't make it," he remarked. "Competent help really is so hard to find." Oh, the struggles he faced. What he really wanted to know was how this woman had potentially murdered one of his staff because she didn't look like all that much, but appearances could be deceiving. He was very interested in what was hidden beneath hers.

Her unspoken request to smoke made him smile, and he gestured for her to go ahead. Norman rarely cared enough to hear what anyone else had to say and so this in and of itself was a feat. And when she mentioned the pulse, oh, that was when it clicked. While unintentional, the pulse had afforded him a unique opportunity, one he'd wasted no time in attempting to capitalize on. But his test subjects had been so very uncooperative, unwilling or unable to understand the bigger picture. If he could replicate the effects the pulse, why, he could quite literally bottle power. His little mutants could be part of a brave new world but no, no, they'd fought and struggled and cursed him, so of course he'd had to use extreme measures to run his tests. And then one rogue had broken free and brought his research to a screeching halt... but not for nothing. It hadn't all been a waste.

And now there was someone who saw their powers as a gift. Someone who was grateful to him. It was almost too good to be true. "Oh, you are," he agreed, regarding her with new eyes. "It's nice to meet you, Nora." He did so like the thought of being someone's God. "Tell me, my dear, what can you do? What is your gift?"

She smiled in sugar-sweet appreciation when he motioned his permission for her to smoke, and Nora flicked the metal lid of her lighter with no great show of theatrics. While she was a show-off, there was also something to be said for discretion, and even more to be said for the slow build of anticipation. She could tell that Norman wanted to know what she could do, as soon as that little lightbulb went off, before he even asked her out loud. Curiosity was the natural state of humanity(a faction she felt no true belonging to), and the smile remained when she sucked some smoke into her lungs. The exhale went for the ceiling, and she thumbed the little metal wheel of her zippo when he said that it was nice to meet her. She liked the way that he said it, corporate niceties laid atop intrigue. She didn't believe that Norman Osborn was the type of man to find anything all that nice in meeting new people… but if there was anything that Nora believed, it was that she was unique.

The lighter clicked again, and a little flame sparked again like when she'd lit her cigarette a moment ago. But this time, when she took her thumb away from the trigger, the fire didn't go away. Nora leaned forward with eyes all for the fire, cigarette tucked into the corner of her mouth with concentration, as she set the lighter in an upright and standing position on the edge of Norman's desk. The flame grew in a blink, like a butane torch cranked up to high. When she reached out and grabbed the fire up, it was like gathering a handful of daisies. Her fingers curled around the fire, and when she opened her palm back up, the fire floated in a perfect sphere, inches above her hand. Then she released it gently, fingers furled like she was coaxing it back to sleep through hypnotism. The flame shrank until it dissolved entirely, not even a hint of smoke left behind in its wake.

"Pretty cool trick, huh?" Grinning, and extremely pleased with herself, Nora leaned back in the chair and pocketed the lighter once more. "I haven't quite figured out what I should do with it, I'm not really the kind of girl that caterers performances at children's birthday parties, if you feel me. But I figure that's where you can come in. I mean, you can do all of the press conferences that you want, but some are going to figure it out eventually, that Oscorp was responsible. I'm just saying it might be nice for you to have somebody like me on your side." Cue the pretty smile and predatory tilt of the head, it made for a strange juxtaposition. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you can afford me."

For all extensive purposes, Norman had all the time in the world. He was calm. Relaxed, even. Other people might be tense or on edge with the presence of a stranger in their home, a stranger who had potentially murdered one of their guards... but oh no, not him. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been afraid and worry was for those who lacked control. For the weak. He was neither weak nor powerless. And so he waited, watched, smoke exhaled and he expected something good. It never bode well for those who disappointed him, though he very much hoped she didn't fall into that category.

The click of the lighter was expected, but this time the little flame didn't disappear and his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Intrigued, perhaps, but not impressed. Seconds later and it was a testament to the kind of man that he didn't so much as flinch when the flame grew without warning, from a candle to a veritable blowtorch right there on his desk. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming; he could appreciate fire. He'd used it himself on occasion, though not quite like this, and he'd always been pleased with the results. It consumed, destroyed, leaving only ashes in its wake. But better than the growing flame was her control over it, manipulating the burning reds and oranges as though it was nothing at all. Such control over a destructive force was admirable, even enviable, and it represented power. He liked power. There could never be too much of it, and with her at his side... they could lay waste to all those who stood against him.

"A very cool trick," he echoed, leaning back with a smile. "Yes, it certainly is." Such power was wasted on children's birthday parties to be sure; she was destined for so much more. She could be quite useful in tracking down more of his creations and recruiting them to his goal of simple world domination. First, however, the city. He'd start small. "The possibilities are endless, and money? Money is certainly not an issue." He waved a hand carelessly. "I don't think it's a stretch to say we might have some common interests, do you?"

"Not at all. Your interests are my interests." Nora did not know very much about Norman Osborn aside from the fact that he was secretive and powerful and rich and now obviously responsible for the horror that was her becoming. What else did she need to know? She wasn't pledged undying alignment or servitude, but he wasn't an idiot and wouldn't believe that she was anyway. All Nora was offering was an opportunity for Osborn to capitalize on the hell she was going to cause anyway, with or without him. If he wanted to pave the way for her and point his little finger with the instruction of attack, that worked for her. For now, anyway. Because Nora wasn't an idiot either. If one was planning on ransacking this world and others for the sake of cheap thrills and blood lust, it was probably a good idea to have a powerful ally. Or at least one that could post bail, not that she imagined there was any jail that could hold her. If cockiness was a shortcoming, she didn't care. Nora didn't give a damn about winning Miss Congeniality.

"If you're interested, I could go on and get started on anything you might need done without it looking like you're the one doing it." Kicking back with a stretch, Nora brought her arms over her head, folded with elbows bent, and she rubbed the top notches of her spine as she considered her personal list of things that needed doing. There were fires to start and a cousin to torment some more, but she hadn't set her sights on anything elaborate or purposeful yet. The fires were all business anyway, checks in the mail and all.. and the thing with Wren wasn't even maliciously motivated really. Some people were just natural victims, and every bad girl needed one of those.

"Anyway," she said with a too-friendly smile as she straightened and stood up. "I know you'll find a way to reach me."