Who: Luke & Brielle Nora What: A run-in. Where: The streets. When: Recently. Warnings/Rating: Not much.
It was a quiet night on the shitty side of Newark. Not a lot of people walked these sidewalks if they had a choice in the matter, and those that did kept their heads down or were the kind of people one kept their head down to avoid in the first place. The homeless didn't even panhandle out here for nickles or dimes or bottles of water. When it got dark, good people huddled in on themselves, lighting candles to keep back the dark. Nora did not huddle, and the fires she lit had nothing to do with a fear of the dark. Tonight, the dark needed to be afraid of her.
She crossed the street on spiked heels, boots laced taut, leather to her knees. Her jeans were dark gray, a swansong of black when it fades from years of abuse and washing, worn linen-thin to the point of pliancy. The most unlikely element of her outfit was the fishnet tanktop, dark bra playing peekaboo from underneath. Her blond hair was down, shining like a sickly yellow halo in the flickering light of a streetlamp while Nora jaunted down the sidewalk, a bitch on a mission. At the end of the street, she rounded into the dark entryway of a housing project that had a big sign proclaiming upcoming renovations.
She was inside for awhile. It was a strangely long time for one to spend inside of a building that was lifeless and abandoned. There were signs of the beginning of construction, fresh boards over broken-out windows. But it was a mediocre part of town, and maybe thats why construction was stalled. Either way, anyone who might have been wondering why she went in there wouldn't have to muse over it for long. Soon enough, Nora came skipping out of the shadowed front, off the recently repaved steps and onto the dirty sidewalk, freshly lit cigarette on her mouth, metallic lighter clicking like music between her fingers.
It had been a long, long time since Luke had ventured out after dark to prowl the streets on rooftops and in shadows. Seattle, New York, those were years ago, and once he’d reunited with Wren and found out about Gus he’d vowed to give up that lifestyle. And, he had. He’d put himself through school, joined the police force, and left dreams of heroism and saving the world firmly behind him. But then the pulse had happened and he’d been given powers, powers that felt more like a gift than a curse, and he couldn’t just do nothing with them. It would be a waste. Wrong, even. If he had the power to help, to make a difference, then didn’t he have a responsibility to do so?
Some might say no; he knew Wren would.
But he was different. He’d always, always had a hero complex, and burying it didn’t stop it from existing. So here he was, hooded, testing out his abilities on the street instead of the safety of the X-Mansion. His focus tonight was on how far he could leap, and potentially lengthening the range of distance, which had already earned him a few bruises. He was making progress, through. It was quiet in this part of town, not the safest or most desirable but for someone like him, someone who had little to fear, it was an ideal setting. He was alone, or at least he had been; he sensed someone coming early, heard footsteps before any normal human would, and he crouched low on his rooftop across the street to observe. Even from a distance, he recognized the woman’s face-- and that was all he recognized about her, because he’d never seen Brielle look like this. The fishnet tanktop, the heels, none of it fit the image of her he had in his head, and even if it had, why would she be here? Why at this hour? It didn’t make any sense. He was still pissed about what she’d done to Wren, too, because he knew she wasn’t lying. No, Brielle was the liar. That, or there was something really, really wrong with her, and neither option was very reassuring.
So, he watched. He waited. He had no idea why she’d went into some condemned building but he was determined to find out, even if her motives weren’t immediately clear. She’d gone in, she’d come out, and Luke had no idea why. He was itching to confront her, hackles rising, but he forced himself to stay back, just for a little longer, to see what she did next.
She paused a couple of buildings down, giving a brief glance back to the vacant building she'd previously exited. Naturally, she didn't seem nervous, nobody dressed like that could pull off any degree of social anxiety with conviction. She also didn't seem to sense anyone in the vicinity, and she casually lit a cigarette with that chrome zippo while pulling a cell phone from her back pocket. She mashed a few buttons, sending a text, while she continued her leisurely stroll down the grim sidewalk.
The streets were dead. More businesses were closing down on this side of town than opening up, and those that did stay in business, they sure as hell didn't keep hours after dark. There were a lot of metal bars on the windows of most storefronts, some were boarded up, proving a long period of vacancy and looting. It was pretty apparent that this block was infected, dying slowly. If some investor came in and thought they could renovate an old building into trendy lofts, they deserved to lose out on their million dollar investment. Unless they were willing to pay her to torch the place, in which case Nora was more than happy to help them get their money back in the form of insurance claims.
The night was quiet, and breeze barely stirred. Barely. Just enough to drag a bit of air up from the gutters to the rooftops, just enough to stir some ashes. Just enough that someone who had an animalistically keen sense of smell might pick up on the smell of gasoline and smoke. From the top floor of that condemned building, from deep within the broken out windows, a fire began to glow.
He slunk along the concrete, staying low, no hurry to keep pace because Brielle wasn’t all that far ahead-- and even if she was, Luke knew he could catch up. The cigarette made him frown because he'd been pretty sure she didn't smoke but maybe that was a stupid thought; a lot could have changed, or she might have smoked all along and he'd just never known. Still, he couldn't shake the sense that something was off. Like her clothing, it just didn't seem to fit the understanding of the woman he'd cultivated from bits and pieces. knowledge here and there mixed with just a little bit of experience. He watched, too, as she pulled out her phone, but aside from being out in a bad part of town in the middle of the night she didn't seem to be up to anything particularly nefarious. Maybe she'd just turned mean. Maybe. In which case--
But then the scent of gasoline reached him, faint but definitely there, and as he turned he scented smoke, too, which set off internal alarm bells of not good. Funny, but he didn't immediately connect that with whatever Brielle was doing; not until he realized what building the smells were coming from, at least.
It took him a few seconds. Like a dog with a scent he followed, and the flicker of flame beyond the windows caught his eye once he was close enough. He didn't think anyone was inside, but thinking wasn't enough. He needed to be sure; hero complexes weren't very compatible with self preservation. From the street below he was a human-shaped projectile that shattered through one of the windows, and he was inside for a minute, no more. Just long enough to make sure no one was going to burn to death (and to wish he had some kind of water-slash-ice ability) before he was out, this time on the street.
"Hey!" He emerged from an alley, tugging his hood down, irritation bordering on anger as he approached. "Brielle! What the hell?"
Nora whipped around at that Hey! The voice was not known to her, but it was undoubtedly addressed to her. There wasn't anybody else walking these streets, or at least not that she'd noticed. The fact that this man had seen something had her scowling when she turned. The guy could have been trying to get a date if he mistook her for a working girl, but she thought that he sounded a little too angry for all of that. Then again, the exact parameters of people and emotions were a mystery that she had little interest in solving. Trying to understand people seemed unnecessarily more complicated than just destroying them. Still, she knew that connections and networking could have its merits… but this guy didn't look like he wanted to trade business cards.
Brielle -- and just like that, the unfriendly glare that she'd initially pinned him with upon turning, it gave way to a quick frost. Big doe eyes of innocence didn't go with this outfit, but she gave it her best shot. "Oh!" And she tilted her head, catching the chiseled angles of his face in the pale glow of a street lamp. She remembered him through memories that were not really her own, and a smile bloomed like those flowers that only opened for the moon. Maybe this smile was just for him. "Luke," she cooed like he was an old friend and not a life-ruiner. The lighter flicked in her hand, idle. Would it be a shame if she had to torch that pretty face of his? She thought about it for a moment and thought, no, no it wouldn't.
"I was just coming from a meeting at the Ladies Quilting Society," she didn't care enough to concoct lies that sounded believable. "Walk me home?" And cue the pouting lip that suggested he really should, these streets just weren't safe at night. Case in point, something exploded from inside that house, and it sent splinters and some glass raining down into the street a few yards away from them. "We should probably… go…" The authorities would be here soon.
This was probably a really, really bad idea, judging by that whip-quick scowl, but Luke had never been all that good at thinking things through. And when he acted on impulse, he kind of just rolled forward without brakes. Full speed ahead. His posture wasn't friendly, and his expression was wariness in high walls and locked gates, none of which softened when she graced him with wide eyes and a smile. The time for that was long since past, and any hope that they could have been friends flickered and died the moment they'd decided to keep the truth from Wren. And leaving bruises and scratches on his wife had buried that hope six feet deep, concrete atop dirt, where it could never, ever be revived.
"Hi." He kept his tone flat, detached, gaze darting briefly to the lighter-- but he didn't let it linger. Her half-assed excuse earned her an incredulous look because come on, he wasn't completely lacking in brains. "Sure you did," he remarked, scornful disbelief, and his eyebrows went up when she suggested that he walk her home. Yeah, that wasn't happening, but then there was a mini explosion inside the burning house and the sound of splinters and glass raining down on the concrete was loud, loud, ringing in his ears. He knew she was right; the cops would show up sooner or later and he didn't want to be around when they did.
He turned back to her with a frown, arms folded over his chest. "Fine. Let's walk, and you can tell me why you're setting abandoned buildings on fire."
"Are you angry with me?" She feigned Victorian innocence with a swooning twist toward him as they walked. The vintage lady routine didn't really work when she was wearing the kind of clothes that one bought out of the back pages of Bondage Monthly, but Nora liked to play pretend. She twisted to face him, then pivoted a little so that she was walking backwards without the worry of running into anything. "Oh, don't be angry with me, Luke. I'll just die!" Her perpetually sad eyes gashed wider, bleeding the promise of sorrow that Nora thought was fitting of Brielle. Then she turned away from him, barely diminishing the urge to roll her eyes, as they continued to walk briskly down the sidewalk.
"Besides, there was nobody in there… so calm down, fire marshall." Seriously, its not like she lit up an orphanage or a hospital or anything, although she suspected that the price tags attached to those kinds of gigs were really, really nice. Damn, she needed to advertise better. Distantly, she heard sirens that were growing closer, and while it was probably only firetrucks on the way, she figured it was better to go unspotted in case cops were en route as well. "This way," she said, motioning to an alley that the pair of them could cut through to another block.
He didn't seem to be in much of a mood for games, although Nora doubted that he ever was. The attraction was a mystery to her, and Nora turned slightly to look at him again. "You've gotten handsome," she concluded with a smirk that rose solely from the knowledge that he wouldn't appreciate the compliment. Oh, maybe she'd make him uncomfortable, and he'd leave her to her criminal escapades. "When did you get so handsome?" She purred.
It wasn't the question so much as how she asked it that had Luke frowning. The wording threw him off, maybe. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something, definitely, and he wondered if Brielle had just stopped caring as much after he'd refused to believe her over Wren. But that didn't feel right either, and he ended up rolling his eyes. "I'm sure you'll live." A small part of him felt a little guilty, maybe, but this wasn't the Brielle he remembered. That made it easier. And he thought of Wren, which helped keep his resolve strong too.
"That's not the point, Brielle," he said, in response to her flippant dismissal of the burning building's importance. He was incredulous, almost disgusted by how little she seemed to care, but he was confused, too. What could she possibly get out of torching abandoned buildings? Money? A thrill? He shook his head, the gesture more for himself than for her, and he hesitated when she motioned down the alley. Maybe he should just leave her, because he doubted talking would do much good. But he was angry, and he wanted to know, once and for all, what was going on with her. And, too, he wanted to make it very clear what would happen if she ever went near Wren. So after a few moments he relented, sirens at his back as he turned into the alley that led away from the scene of Brielle's crime.
His frown deepened when she told him he'd gotten handsome. He kept his arms folded over his chest, trying to keep his discomfort out of sight. He ignored her question outright. "Don't," he muttered. "It won't work. Why are you setting buildings on fire? Is this your new thing?"
"You could be my new thing," she said with smoke in her voice and a gleam in her eye. The alley was bricked and tall. It wasn't the kind of alley that abided vehicles. There were some rubber trashcans set out on the concrete stoops that led into the back of little shops. Wooden crates and cardboard boxes were stacked or piled, waiting to be reused or broken down flat for recycling if rain didn't weather them useless first. A dumpster sat by rusted and empty, speaking of the lack of business in this area. Nora leaned against it for a moment, stretching as sirens went by and got quieter, the sound eventually died down altogether as city officials presumably went to work on putting out the fire she'd left behind. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, having sucked its tar way down to the filter by now. Its ember was tossed back into the dumpster from over her shoulder. It was a careless exposal, but she hadn't dropped the thing on a rag soaked in gasoline or anything, so she hoped that kept him from bitching.
"But no, of course not." The words were a resolved sigh as she straightened, as if only just remembering all of the reasons that he wouldn't be anything of hers. Putting aside all of the evidence of just how boring he was, there was also the issue with the cousine, Wren. From what she could tell, neither Wren nor Luke had a sense of humor about gratuitous violence, so Nora had to assume that they deserved each other in some grossly romantic sense. Nora made a face thinking about it, curled lip distaste and a little twitch before she shook the feeling off dramatically, like a dog shaking loose from water.
"I set it on fire because it was fun. You know about fun, don't you?"
The sudden, inexplicable feeling of standing face to face with a stranger was an unsettling one, and maybe it made no sense at all, but it was there all the same and it wasn't going anywhere. It wrapped around him, constricting, and he couldn't fight it off. He didn't like it. Unease prickled along his spine and if he'd been in less control of himself he might have growled, but as it was he kept quiet, hackles rising where no one could see. There was something about this, her, all of it, that he really, really didn't like, and it wasn't a feeling he relished. "I'm never going to be your anything, Brielle," he told her, firm and not at all softening the blow for her sake. The sirens faded away and left heavy silence behind, and he watched as she tossed the cigarette into the dumpster behind her. That distaste, the curl of her lip, registered, and he scowled. "No," he echoed, disdainfully. "Of course not. You know that. I know you do. So save yourself the effort and quit whatever game it is you're trying to play, okay?" He had no patience for them.
Fun. Her motivation was fun, and if this was happening, well, it was going to happen. No use in playing nice now. "I think I'm learning," he said darkly. "Hurting Wren and trying to make her think she's crazy, is that your idea of fun too?"
Where Brielle might have wept or at the very least whimpered with wide eyes that leaked silent tears like an emotional wound, Nora smiled. She fucking smiled, tip of her tongue wedged into the corner of her mouth. Flirtatious and just a little predatory. "Oh, don't let me down easy or anything, baby." She swooned in mockery, rolling her eyes just a bit when she tipped her head back -- chin pointed so that she could look down her nose at him in the moonlight. "Besides," cheshire grin queued, "It's a little late for nevers, don't you think?" Years might have passed since the nights that Brielle and him had spent together, but none of it was forgotten. Not on her end, anyway.
When he asked about Wren, something that better resembled sympathy bled into her expression. Her lower lip pouted out, and eyebrows knit in solemnity when she stepped closer in order to reach for his cheek. It was one of those mothering touches that spoke of aww. As if he'd just said something naive or just especially sad. "Wren is crazy." Although she wasn't the only one.
Even back in the days when Wren was a painful, aching ghost of a memory and they were just strangers seeking comfort in one another, she'd never smiled at him like that. And the Brielle he knew wouldn't have taken his harsh words so carelessly. Not that he wanted to hurt her, but still, it was telling... the problem was he wasn't sure what the story was. "This shouldn't be news to you," he said irritably, because it wasn't like he'd ever given her any false hope. But that subtle reminder of their past made his scowl deepen, and if he felt any discomfort it was well hidden. He tried his best to forget; maybe it wasn't fair, but his time with Brielle wasn't anything he needed or wanted to dwell on. "I wasn't your anything then, either." He went for straightforward as opposed to playing dumb.
Her false sympathy just stoked his anger, and he flinched back when she reached for him. "Don't touch me," he snapped, shoving her hand away. "She's not crazy, as much as you'd like her to believe she is. You want to go around setting buildings on fire, Brielle, fine. But you stay the hell away from Wren and out of our lives."
Luke was disapproving and scowly, not compassionate or gentle-hearted in the way that unlived memories might have led Nora to believe. She found him a disappointing irritation, she imagined it was the same feeling she would have when around young children, although thankfully nobody had subjected her to such a thing as that. It truly was a curse to feel so old and so wise. Because she wasn't being deceitful or even her standard gear of intentionally cruel when she said that Wren was crazy. Brielle's memories said quite a great deal, and those kinds of self-suffering theatrics which were so perfectly attuned to their bloodline made for the echo of some kind of mental malady. Nora was sure of it, although she was forced to admit that perhaps the disease wasn't martyrdom and rather just some extension of humanity. In either case, she just didn't fucking get it. But remedy wasn't on the menu, Nora wasn't here to help anyone.
"If you say so," she whispered after such lulling quiet. He didn't want to be her anything? He could be the dirt she kicked over his family's mass grave for all she cared. She laughed, a little surprised when he shoved her hand away. Of course, she'd expected a little hostility in him, but reward was so rarely attained. It made her scrape her bottom lip with her teeth, like she could savor time or the cellular space between his calm and his potential for snapping. She wondered if he would push more than just her hand, and despite the lure of temperamental violence, it really was getting late. She had places to be and cops to elude.
"Hey baby, whatever you want," she said with a shrug and steps that led her just a bit more backward, like a call girl shunned but not truly deterred. There were plenty of games to be played tonight, and he hadn't really been on the menu. Not that Nora minded surprises, but Luke didn't seem in the mood for a friendly chat over low income bonfires, and an angry fuck was looking equally as unlikely, so it was time to jet. Small talk did nothing for Nora, and threats got boring pretty quickly. She really was the kind of girl for which actions spoke louder.
"Have a safe night, Luke," she said from over her shoulder when she turned and ventured further into the alley. Hip sway and stalker boots and goodnight.
Compassionate and gentle-hearted were how Wren would have described him, and maybe she was right, at least sometimes-- but not here. Not now. He'd lost compassion for Brielle when she'd left bruises on her cousin's wrist and tried to convince her that she was crazy. Instead of moving on, she tried to interfere, and had the audacity to pull the victim act on him. Maybe there was something wrong with her, maybe she'd snapped, but Luke wasn't about to play hero. He wasn't her saviour, if Brielle needed saving she'd have to find someone else. But she didn't seem like she wanted it, and he had to admit that maybe he'd never really known her. Maybe this was who she really was.
"I do say so." He folded his arms across his chest and watched her retreat, his eyes narrowing when she called him baby, but he didn't respond. If she wanted to leave, fine. He wouldn't stop her. As far as he was concerned if they never saw each other again that would be ideal. But he took a step forward when she turned to call her farewell, just one, because he had his own parting words for her.
She wanted actions? If she pushed, he'd give her actions, and she wouldn't like it. "I mean it, Brielle," he called to her retreating back. "Stay away from Wren, or you'll regret it." Not a threat, no. A promise.