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While the worst of things was finally dealt with in Harlem, construction crews were bustling about in the winter cold to put the burrow back together again. The road was still cracked and misshapen, and some buildings were on the brink of collapse. As far as most people knew, that part of Harlem was a condemned zone.
Wilson Fisk was one of many that Lynette had planned on trying to meet with after all was said and done. She hesitates as she paces outside of Fisk Towers, her body a bundle of dark clothing with the collar of a frumpy jacket popped up to help hide her neck. A pair of glasses rest across the bridge of her nose, keeping her eyes and their lingering, serpentine appearance, a secret. Finally, after taking a deep breath, she enters the building and moves toward reception. "Uh, 'xcuse me. M'here t'see Mr. Fisk? S'e in t'day?"
*
"Uh…" the pretty receptionist looks towards the elevator. "Mister Fisk is quite busy and he has a very full — "
A gruff, but warm voice interrupts the woman behind her, "It's alright, Denise. I'll make time for Miss LaCroux," he shoots the receptions an easy smile. Wilson Fisk lifts a few fingers towards Lynette, "Follow me upstairs?" he asks as he treads to the elevator. He presses the button and soon the doors open. "I trust you're alright after yesterday's…" he emits a long-suffering sigh, "…chaos."
*
"S'alright. I c'm back la-" ter. Turning her head toward Fisk, she offers the man a soft smile and then shows it to the newly named Denise. "T'anks, chere. Have a good one." Following after the much larger man, she stands in the box on cables with him, her hands sunk deep into her pockets. Should he look her way, or notice, a faint pattern of red diamonds is still on the bend of her jawbone.
"M'alright. Jus' tired. I hope y'doin' ok. S'why I came t'visit y'." A pause. "I brought you n'Miss Vanessa s'mt'ing, too."
*
Fisk steps into the elevator and after Lynette follows he presses the button for the thirtieth floor. When he answers her question, Wilson sounds tired, "…We're alright. I'm alright. Vanessa will be okay. Once her arm heals." He shoots her an appreciative, never-meets-his-eyes, smile.
*
"M'glad t'hear dat. Was worried 'bout her, n'm'glad she got s'm help durin' all dat mess." Frowning, deeply, she glances up toward Wilson and then back down toward the door. "Don' t'ink 'nyone died, dough. So dat's good. N' dey found de donation's, too, so dat'll go t'de babies like planned."
*
"Good," Wilson replies and nods easily as the doors open with a ding. He leads the way into another reception area, complete with several comfy couches. Fisk lifts a hand to his personal assistant before leading the way into his large spacious office. The walls of windows give a fantastic view of the New York Skyline.
Lynette is ushered to the sitting area in Fisk's office, where Wilson seats himself on an armchair. "Yes, Vanessa should be fine," he replies softly. "I'm disappointed your rally was so interrupted."
*
Lynette turns her head this way and that, taking in all that she can see in the plush business area. Once close to some windows, she heads their way first, just staring out at the city and enjoying a memory. When lead to a chair, she offers a murmured 'thanks', and then sits. Her petite form folding in on itself as she sinks in.
"Harl'm's been…a mess dese past few mont's. I don' like dat dat happened, but, m'sad t'say I ain't s'prised, eitha."
Perking up a bit, she straightens her back and digs into one of her pockets. She pulls out two bands that look like nothing but simple woven cords. On their ends are tiny, leather and cloth pouches. Each sealed up with stitching. "Here. I wanna give dis t'y' n' Miss Vanessa. S' gris-gris. Dey f'pr'tection."
*
"They're lovely," Fisk answers as he accepts the pouch. He grants her a grateful nod and then offers, "We should consider addressing the Harlem problems more directly, perhaps. I know that you have taken some steps to clean up your community, but it's challenging." His lips twitch into a near smile.
*
"Y'c'n wear dem or put dem on s'mt'ing. Jus' keep'm wit you." She instructs before giving them a glance, and looking at Fisk more directly. "Sorry if dey don' 'xactly match y'style, dough. S'old magic." She explains, bluntly, and without any hint that she's joking at all. Fisk knew about her now, he knew about many of them, so why pretend?
Nodding, she rubs at her curls and gives those more hidden scales down the back of her neck a scritch or two. "I ain't be dere long, but I love it. Dey open, n'kind people. But all dey get f'it s'trouble. Don' know what t'do."
*
Wilson manages another smile for Lynette, "Matching style or not, the sentiment is appreciated." His posture relaxes as he leans forward and issues her a small nod. "Maybe they need to take control of their own community — their own people." His cheeks puff out irritably.
*
The girl at least smiles to this. When Fisk leans forward, she slips back, sinking into the chair as she had before. "Dey tryin', Mr. Fisk. Dey tryin' as best dey c'n. Dey jus' wanna be able t'live in peace, n'dat's fair, ain't it?"
*
"I wish we could find ways to help, but I'm told that solutions have to come from the communities where they are situated," Wilson lifts a hand at that assertion. "Vanessa was the one that told me that. I trust her judgment." He manages another tight smile, "Is there something I can do to support efforts? As I said, I know…" he frowns lightly. "Sorry. These are things I don't know."
*
"Dey fightin' in deir own way. 'fore all dis stuff came 'long, dey was jus' fightin' t'be demselves n'be comf't'ble in deir own skin." She murmurs, glancing from Fisk, to the windows, and back again. "M'sure helpin' t'rebuild would be nice, but dat don' fall on y', Mr. Fisk." Taking a breath, she sighs. "Dey 'suppose t'have deir own hero, but I ain't seen'm in ages now, feels like. N'de t'ings dat happen dere? S'bullies. Bullies pickin' on de weak cause dey can. Dat attack yest'day? De 'vent was f'kids, Mr. Fisk. C'ldren. What fuck in dey right mind attack /kids/?" He could hear the anger in her voice now, and even see her bare her teeth when her lip curls up. A breath or two later, she clears her throat. "M'sorry, I jus'…dey cowards. All dis bein' done in dat part of de city? Jus' cowards. Dey like weeds."
*
Fisk nods lightly. "I don't know why anyone would attack a peace rally." There's a measure of honesty in the thought. He sighs softly and shakes his head slightly. "And of course they're cowards. No one should attack anyone unarmed or defenceless." He manages a broad grin. "They are like weeds. But how do you resolve that? How can you cope with an enemy disinterested in anything. Even discussion. Even debate."
*
Lynette parts her lips and then closes them once more. She's thinking of something, and the gears are rolling in the girl's head. Perhaps it was due to her being tired, or worried, fearful, angry? But after a moment of silence, she looks across to Fisk, her head canting to the side slightly. "Y'kill weeds, Mr. Fisk. Y'rip'm up by de roots n'make sure dey neva c'm back."
*
Wilson nods slightly. "How? How do you find the weeds. How do you eliminate them in this case, Miss LaCroux?" His eyes narrow slightly.
*
Despite her almost zealous like fervor, the girl frowns. "I don'…I don' know, Mr. Fisk. Dey usually jus' s'ring up were dey ain't wanted. Don' usually have t'go lookin'." Swallowing, she glances down at her knobby knees. "Ain't got much trouble wit de pullin' once y'find dem, dough."
*
Fisk nods, "More than ever, I think we need our powered police force to come alongside people like those in Harlem. To give them legal recourse, not just vigilante justice. Vigilante justice means the law has failed."
*
"I r'member y'talkin' 'bout dat b'fore." Nibbling her lower lip, the girl moves her head, resting it right side up, and Fisk could feel her eyes staring at him from behind the protection of her shades. "S'mtimes, de law ain't 'nough. 'n in s'm ways, 's already failed, Mr. Fisk. I know dey say n'eye f'n' eye makes de world blind, but dey also say turn de otha cheek once."
*
"But then where do we go? Without the law we have anarchy. Chaos. When the law fails, we change it, we don't resort to vigilantism — we make the law work for its people. We live in a democratic nation for reasons, Miss LaCroux. And democracy must e allowed to work." Fisk leans back in his seat and emits another heavy sigh.
*
"Dey 'lready chaos out dere dough, Mr. Fisk. N'dats wit de law. Dat's 'round othas dat fight back, only t'be hated f'doin' so. Even if y'made dat law, dat don' stop rules fr'm bein' broken." Another frown, she slumps back into her chair. "I don' got de answers, Mr. Fisk, n'm'sorry 'bout dat. M'jus' tryin' t'survive."