1964-01-10 - A Party To Die For
Summary: Lynette meets with Wilson and Vanessa to obtain more information about Vanessa's would be killer.
Related: The Meanest Town On Earth, Buy The Ticket, and The Grim Connection
Theme Song: None
kingpin lynette 

The meeting room of Fisk Towers is large, spacious, and designed for far more people than currently accommodated. Lynette sits next to Wilson, and Vanessa sits across from her. Her manner is apprehensive while her husband's is oddly severe. Vanessa leans back in her seat and manages a stiff smile for Lynette. What brings them here isn't exactly happy or warranted.

Wilson eyes Lynette and manages a vague smile. "Thank you for coming again. I've filled Vanessa," his eyes trail towards his wife, "in on what you saw, and we would appreciate and invite any further insights you may have. As it stands, we've both," his eyes narrow, "been diligently trying to ensure Vanessa's safety and continued help."


Lynette keeps her eyes down for the most part. The mood had shifted, severely, since her last time visiting, or even seeing, the Fisks. Like a kid who knew they were in trouble, or a dog pouting because they've done something 'bad', the dark skinned girl nibbles at her lower lip and hides under the shadow of her curls. When spoken to, she glances up toward Wilson, then to Vanessa, and back again. "M'sorry f'worryin' y'like dat. I jus'…I don' c'trol it, n'I didn' want s'mt'ing bad happenin' outta de blue."

Explaination given, she takes a deep breath and nods. Standing, she removes her large, winter coat and scarf, draping both over the back of her chair. "I-well, I try." She at least offers and strides around the table to face Vanessa directly. "Evenin', Mrs. Fisk." She greets, offering the woman a kind, but apologetic, smile. "Need y't' jus' r'lax, non? Breathe deep n'settle y'self. When y'ready…" She pauses, offering both hands to the woman, palms up, "take m'hands."


Vanessa's eyes reflect that same apprehension as she casts a worried look towards Wilson. "Go on, darling," he offers smoothly. "Take a deep breath. I'm here. Always." His eyes virtually sparkle as they dwell on his wife.

Vanessa inhales a deep breath and manages an easier smile for Lynette. "You'll forgive me and my husband, won't you, Miss LaCroux? We've never…" her voice cracks. "I'm less worried for my safety than Wilson suggests I should be. A person can't live in fear — "

Wilson lifts a hand, "But you should live prepared. Please. For me."

Warily, Vanessa allows her chin to drop into a small nod and her hands reach out towards Lynette. Her eyes drift closed and she attempts to relax.

The contact is enough. The flashes of visions are confusing quick, and rather unclear. Like the first vision that featured Vanessa's assailant, the same picture presents itself quite vividly. But things hone in more. A dark warehouse. Teens dancing. Music blaring. A dark cloud hovers above the group, heavy, uncomfortable. Tears run down the teens eyes. Some scream in abject horror. The music gets louder.

A dark haired woman wearing a black leather jacket and a pair of ear muffs treads through the crowd. Behind her, a brunette man wearing red glasses follows.

The man, dressed in black, reaches out and tightens his grip around Vanessa's throat.

Voices call.

The order and relevance remains confusing… almost like the future remains a murky, shaky reality shrouded in mystery.


"Non, I undastand. N'no f'giveness needed, miss." Lynette smiles once more before the beautiful, older woman lifts her hands and joins them with the girl's own. Her grip tightens around that of Vanessa's, as her eyes snap open and wide, orbs of obsidian rolling back as she 'watches' something yet to be. Like white hot electricity, the sensation rolls down her spine and through her, muddling up her mind as Vanessa is blind to the vision without any ill side affects or warnings. After what seems like ages, but is only seconds, the girl breaks contact and pulls away, dragging her steps backward a couple of inches.

"Dere's music. S'loud, n'lots a kids dancin' in a-a warehouse. A dark cloud's hova'rin', n'dey cryin'. Screamin' n'weepin'." Reaching up, she rubs at her now closed eyes and scratches back into her floofy hair. "Seen a woman wit dark hair, wearin' a leatha jacket, n'ear muffs, with a man, brown hair, n'red glasses. De man I tol' y'bout earlier 'still reachin' f'Mrs. Fisk. 'round her throat."


Wilson stares at Vanessa. Questions exchange between their gazes, silent, yet still there. Vanessa inhales a slow breath. "Thank you," she manages towards Lynette. "I suppose… we have two options." Her gaze lingers on Wilson longer than she intends. "The first is for me to avoid warehouses of all kinds. The question is… for how long?" Her head cants to the side. "The second, and perhaps less appealing option is to seek them out, my love."

Wilson fidgets. His hands uncomfortably knit together in his lap. "We need to make a plan. I am not willing to sacrifice you in any way. Not your safety. Not even if we can manage whatever dark reality Lynette sees you exposed to."


"M'sorry. M'good wit details n'memberin' t'ings, but visions don' work dat way." Glancing between the pair, she studies them before glancing toward the door. "I c'n tryin' focusin' 'gain, eitha with Mrs. Fisk, or on m'own. I c'n try explorin' warehouses, too, see if dey make me feel 'r see s'mt'ing. F'I see 'nyt'ing, I let y'know, Mr. Fisk." The girl promises, giving her temples a brief rub with the ball of her palm.


"That… would be good, Miss LaCroux. Perhaps," Wilson begins and then quiets a few beats as he studies Vanessa's face, "you could explore warehouses and see what you see? And, if nothing comes of it, we can try again. Just the two of you."

Vanessa manages a small slight, very-tight smile. "Alright. I will avoid warehouses for the time being and leave this in Miss LaCroux's hands. I trust you'll keep us in the loop?"


"M'use t'sulkin' 'bout places like dos." Nodding, her kinks sway and bounce. "'f course. Look, I know dis 's weird, n'taxin', but de future ain't written in stone, non? S'out dere, n'we doin' what w'c'n wit what w'got. I don' mean t'worry y', but y'take it day atta time. Don' t'ink 'bout 'what if' too much, jus' focus on right now." She advises and moves back around to her chair, tugging on her coat and wrapping her face half covered in blue fabric. "I keep y'in de loop. If y'don' need me no mo', 'm get started."


"Of course," Wilson replies — a bit gruffer than he intends, but then he is rather stressed. Thinking that something could happen to his beloved Vanessa, he feels very unsettled. "Please, go ahead and do what you can. Miss LaCroux, I think this goes without saying, but Vanessa," he glances towards his wife, "she's my life."


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