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Wilson Fisk's office is quickly becoming a familiar place for Lynette. When she arrived, she was ushered to the sitting area of the high tower office and urged to have a seat on one of the many couches in the room.
Fisk appears at the door, with a coffee cup in hand, looking over his shoulder towards the receptionist, "Linda, did you offer Miss LaCroux a coffee??" He manages a flicker of a smile and then issues a vague shake of his head, "Did you want anything?" Lynette wins an easy smile as he finally shuffles into the room.
"My apologies — I was briefly tied up. Been trying to move some to rebuild City Hall. After that nonsense some weeks ago…" He shrugs slightly and takes a seat adjacent Lynette. "I trust you're well?"
*
There was coffee, and it is held between delicate palms, and sipped at gingerly now and then. It was once pitch, but is now the hue of a creamy beige. When Fisk shows himself, the girl stands from her seat, offering him a smile of her own, though her expression is a bit subdued; pensive, concerned. "Don' 'pologize. Y'a busy man. M't'ankful y'got de time t'see me." The girl confesses before sinking back into her cushion.
Some thing had changed about her attire. Her jacket was now something more suited, and a bit more on the up and up as far as expensive goes. She even has a blue scarf around her throat, baby blue and brilliant, for good measure. But, there also seems to be some lingering crimson stains on the tan leather fabric. It was almost brown now, and in that lingering stage of 'will not wash out no matter how hard you try.'.
"M'guessin' y' got m'message?" A pause, she glances over toward Linda and then back to Wilson. "'bout V'nessa? S'…kinda pers'nal, what I saw." A pause, she leans forward and lowers her voice. "T'ink she's in danger."
*
There are few phrases that get Fisk's attention like I think Vanessa is in danger. Wilson leans forward, his expression turns grave, and his lips turn downwards into grimly serious consideration. His hands clasp his coffee cup tighter, and his muscles tighten considerably. He emits a soft sigh and his chin drops.
With a light pursing of his lips, he forces his gaze upwards. "How?" he manages a single word. The shock about his beloved Vanessa is enough to garner his undeniable serious concern.
*
Kingpin has partially disconnected.
*
Lynette watches the man shift in his spot. Her hand up, she rests it, timidly, on Fisk's forearm. It was a simple show of support, but it was light, and ready to retract at a moment's notice. "At de gala, wh'n she shook m'hand, I had a vision. I don' know if y'even b'lieve in dat sorta stuff, but, dey ain' wrong." Nibbling her lower lip, she continues. "I see a man, least I t'ink it was a man, dat had 's hands 'round h'r throat. De man was gaunt in de face, like a skeleton, but de rest of 'm was lean with muscle. 's body w's all black, 'cept f'r 's face, n' gloves, n'he had dis long, jagged cape wit a high colla." Her hands move up, showing the height of said collar going well over her head.
Looking around, she moves over to the desk, requesting a piece of paper and a pen. Then, she makes out an odd shape that looks like a thick, bold, stylized 'T' that resymbols a bird with craning wings. "S'wearin' dis. T'ink it was like a clasp f'r 's cloak."
*
Wilson's eyes narrow, his jaw tightens, and his knuckles whiten around the mug. He easily sets Lynette up with a piece of paper and a pen. His breath rakes in his throat and his heart pounds. "When? When do you think this will happen?" Everything in his posture, demeanour, and expression reflects that same tension. Nothing about him is jovial or relaxed. He is stressed.
*
"I don'…I don' know, Wilson." Lyn frowns, her full lips pouting out with both frustration and genuine apology. "I don' know de time 'r place. S'close pict're in m'mind. Only seen de two of'm." Lowering her gaze, she sets her mug down as well and turns in her seat, resting both hands on the man's arm.
"V'nessa 's wearin' a gold evenin' gown, wit gold threadin'. Sleek, long, no sleeves. De colla dippin' a lil, 'n dere was a shere, white drape woven wit it, cross de skirt, n' her right breast. S'long gloves, white, with s'm bracelets, n' 'r pearls were bein' pressed 'nt' 'r throat."
*
Fisk's jaw works as he processes the information. "Vanessa must be kept safe," he replies dourly. His lips purse and he nods once towards Lynette. "I'll get her more security. Your visions… do they always come to pass? Can intervention be made?" this is an important point of fact. "I will get Vanessa the best security — " The tone edges as close as Wilson Fisk gets to panic.
He treads to the phone on the desk. "I'll double her security. We'll hire her round the clock watchers…"
*
"I don', I don' know. Dey…I ain't neva had one of de future b'fore. Dey mostly 'bout de present or past." She frowns again, slipping her touch away once Fisk stands and moves toward the phone. "I don' know n't'ing 'bout dis guy. I c'n try lookin' 'gain, if y'ok wit it. N'if V'nessa's ok wit it." A pause. "Dat's up t'you, dough. I jus'…needed y't'know. Y'a good man, n'she's a good lady."
*
"I'll speak to my wife, and will see what she does or doesn't want to know. There's a fine line between fear and preparation, and we desperately try not to live on the fear side of that line." Wilson Inhales a sharp breath. "Thank you for this. I needed it. We can respond accordingly, and I will speak to Vanessa. I want to know more — knowledge is power and in this case, we can't afford to be powerless."