KIMBERLY WEXLER
"Hello, you've reached Kim Wexler. I can't take your call right now, but please leave your name, contact information and reason for reaching out, and I'll get back to you at the earliest opportunity. Thank you."
[There's a flicker of concern on her face at mention of a friend being injured. It sounds like he has that handled, but the Enma is another matter entirely; the vaguest bit of reassurance slips into her voice:]
I'm sorry to hear about your friend. I can't promise any news from the Department when I'm as new as you are, but I'll let you know if anything comes up.
[She's unconcerned about whether that will ever come to pass; she knows who pays her bills, even with Mikey's money in her purse. As for the order...]
He'll be fine. Takemitchy has been shot, stabbed, beaten to half-death in several occasions, and he's alright. My biggest headache is making sure he doesn't make himself worse because he can't sit on his ass.
(what a fond smile on his face, though.)
That's the thing, though, Gisele. You're new. You can get a lot when no one knows you exist, you know-- hey, don't be mean! I have been nothing but nice and you won't even give me that?!
[There's a whiplash there, the easy confession of violence and hurt and the accompanying dismissal of the horror of getting caught up in a bombing, and then the complaints of a child not being given a cigarette. The concern goes, and the reassurance with it.]
You want a smoke, go get a pack. [He obviously got the one he gave her somewhere.] Even if you were older, I don't smoke with my clients.
[She breezes right on:]
But I'll see what I can find out, and you tell me if you hear anything.
[This is not the 50s, but then again, in just a few weeks here she's noticed people here smoke far more than they do back home. Maybe it's also an American thing.
[ The park is pretty well deserted, given the state of things—palpable tension and literal smoke hanging in the air not too far away—but there are a few brave souls who meander in and out. One of them, a human guy who looks like he's spent a few too many nights working late, drinking late, or both, has occupied a nearby bench since before Kim or Mikey showed up. He pays no mind to either of them, passing their conversation first with an arm flung over his eyes and legs stretched out, futilely trying to sleep, then tapping at his phone with a pinched look on his face. Finally, when they get to quibbling over cigarettes, he gets to his feet and wanders off, pacing along the same strip of grass, phone pressed to his ear. ]
Yeah. [ He says, curt. His accent is, like Kim's, American—but broader, more intrusive. ] Yeah. No, I think it's just a shitty spot. [ Frustration bleeding into his voice: ] I—please. I guess that's what air pollution is. If you wanna get technical.
(this was supposed to be a quiet spot, and the buzzing of the conversation was a background, one that he felt useful to drown their conversation as the other takes the stage - one day, mikey'll find out that the man is for the spotlight in his antics. right now, however, he's pissing him the fuck off. staying away when two people are talking is one thing, but pacing and loud as the other is...
well, breaking every single common curtesy one would do in japan. rather impolite to have a private conversation on a cell phone while others, strangers, are around to listen, in that volume much more, so on his feet he goes, decided steps to the man who disturbs the hell out of his patience right now.)
[Kim stays rooted where she is when Mikey's attention shifts from her to the "stranger", her hands at her sides. Her expression is neutral, frozen that way, at least for as long as she's still in his sightline.
[ Less than an hour ago he believed this kid was capable of blowing one of his own faction's buildings sky-high; some of that's subsided, but Mikey getting a good look at him wasn't part of the plan. Conversation definitely wasn't part of the plan. He can almost feel the snag somewhere in his chest.
He doesn't look at Kim. Barely looks at Mikey until the kid's marched right up to him. Jimmy tells the phone hang on, puts a hand over it. He raises his eyebrows, on the brink of saying something—and lets the past day's exhaustion and worry, the feeling of being constantly on alert, bleed into his expression. He looks permanently tired. ] Fine, uh, fine. I'm sorry. [ Aggrieved-sounding, but it is an apology. He spreads his hands in a conciliatory gesture, throwing a glance toward Kim. ] To you and your mom.
(there is a moment there in which all he can do is raise his eyebrows at the comment, looking at kim from head to toe a few times, before the sharp hollow gaze returns to the stranger. so many things that went a little off - how come he hasn't heard a peep from the other line, as the silence looms?)
She wouldn't hold a candle to my mom. She died. You will be dead too, if you don't explain to me exactly what you've heard.
(the steps towards the other don't cease once they start.)
[ The uneasy surprise on Jimmy's face isn't feigned—it's adjusted in service of the moment, but really, why is this kid talking about his dead mom? Why was he bragging about his buddy being stabbed, as if it's some accomplishment?
He tells his phone he'll call it back, pretends to jab a button, and slips it in his pocket. Holds his ground, though he feels—imagines he feels—Kim's eyes on him. He definitely feels the strain beneath her words. And maybe the kid'll keep coming, maybe he'll crash into him or punch him in the solar plexus or try to kick him in the goddamn head. It doesn't seem unlikely. ] Listen—Mikey? Mikey. [ Don't make the name sound childish. Don't dismiss him. Don't say "nice jacket."
His tone skews thoughtful, his gaze sharpening. ] What is this?
(it's solely kim's voice that stops him, because well, really, he couldn't care less about the man trying to talk to him. his gaze looks behind his own shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed. if he had heard anything of what they've spoken, both of them could be in trouble, and that's the message he attempts to send her as he gestures with his head towards jimmy.
[When he glances back at her, Kim's got a breath drawn that she can't quite let go of, and her mouth is set into a hard line –– it's hard not to shut down like this, at the sight of some violent impulse, but with Jimmy here, there's fear.
It takes every bit of her resolve to keep her gaze trained on Mikey, silently warning him, as if a single glance towards Jimmy might give her away, but her attention has never felt more focused.]
[ There's no way he can ignore—that anyone would be able to ignore—whatever's going on between the kid and Kim. He looks over to her, willing himself to see her through a stranger's eyes: her suit and high heels and rigidity. As if every movement should crackle.
She looks scared. Objectively. He snaps his gaze back to the kid and wonders—a runaway train of a thought—what would happen if he took a step forward, whether Mikey would snarl at him like a dog at the end of its leash or whether the chain would break.
And then Jimmy laughs, short and perplexed. ] You're coming on a little strong. Until, uh, twenty seconds ago, I was having my own conversation. [ Light, but with budding curiosity: ] Why, what'd I miss?
(it's a good question - the leash could break or be pulled, but to be honest, rarely ever does anyone have any say on mikey's behavior. as it stands, the boy lacks empathy in selective ways. caring, understanding, being merciful, only applies to the people he chose and loves, the people whose lives are sworn to him. everyone else, there's not a shred of him who would blink an eye to violence, to any injustice that wasn't done to his own.
his eyes squint, sharp towards the man's bubbly response, and it's only because his phone rings that he steps to the side.)
Don't move.
(mikey can't risk it. shuten's been clear on keeping things on the downlow, and while never has mikey accused anyone of anything, well, do you know how easily it is to spin this meeting? but either way.)
Yes. Takemichi Hanagaki, Keisuke Baji, Ken Ryuguji and... Kazutora Hanemiya. I'll be there soon.
(listen, it's been a day. he barely caught any sleep since the bombing, and his people are down. this is more important. once it's done, his phone rings with the conditions of everyone he named.)
[When Mikey picks up the phone, Kim dares to breathe. She takes a couple careful steps to join Mikey and Jimmy, as though this moment were far more casual, stopping just close enough that she could put a hand out to either.
And while Mikey is engrossed in his friends' welfare, she chances a glance at Jimmy, as aloof as she can manage but lingering. They have this, she tells herself. It doesn't stop the tremble in her fingers; she puts her hands together to still them, one hand locked into the other.
She puts the command in her voice anyway as she looks back to Mikey, brows knit. She cuts in cleanly, with a thread of concern:]
It's going to take you a bit to get back across the city. You go, and I'll talk to this guy.
Jimmy shifts impatiently, by all appearances letting the names wash over him like the unsolicited details of someone else's dream. Takemichi he knows, that's the pincushion. The rest are—begrudgingly—filed away.
He stills ever so slightly with Kim's approach, casts a look her way. Tries not to color outside the lines of natural curiosity.
This kid. He's like an open wound. Well, Mikey wants to be the boss? Jimmy looks to him, eyebrows raised. ]
Why are you telling me what to do? He didn't even answer my question yet. Chill, Gisele.
(which, given the tense aura looming in this encounter, doesn't particularly sound like an easy feat. he texts as fast as he can with a single hand before his phone is pocketed and the adults have his full attention.)
[Her jaw tenses, just the slightest grit of her teeth before she relaxes again. She replies plainly, with a sharp little shrug of her shoulders, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.]
Because I don't like it when my clients threaten random people for making innocuous comments, especially not when there's more important things going on.
[She looks to Jimmy and summons up every memory of some client flaunting her counsel and landing her with more paperwork, more continuances, more court appearances. That impatience surfaces on her face, like she's just as annoyed with him as she is Mikey.]
Just answer, and then it's time for all of us to go.
[ Something in him bristles at rewarding the kid's foot-stomping with any real information—but that's just pettiness, and pettiness has no place in this. Jimmy reaches for his lapel, as if surprised to find he's not wearing a suit jacket or faction pin. As he hadn't deliberately discarded both before coming here. ] Oh. Sutoku. [ His face'll be on the network at some point.
A quick glance to Kim, but Mikey looms large in his attention. He takes a sharp breath and asks, voice brittle: ] There wasn't another bomb, was there? [ It's asked for show, but the longer he thinks about it, the uneasier he gets. ]
Edited (when you fearmonger yourself) 2022-09-27 20:30 (UTC)
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no subject
I'm sorry to hear about your friend. I can't promise any news from the Department when I'm as new as you are, but I'll let you know if anything comes up.
[She's unconcerned about whether that will ever come to pass; she knows who pays her bills, even with Mikey's money in her purse. As for the order...]
And no, I'm not giving you a cigarette.
no subject
(what a fond smile on his face, though.)
That's the thing, though, Gisele. You're new. You can get a lot when no one knows you exist, you know-- hey, don't be mean! I have been nothing but nice and you won't even give me that?!
(????????)
no subject
You want a smoke, go get a pack. [He obviously got the one he gave her somewhere.] Even if you were older, I don't smoke with my clients.
[She breezes right on:]
But I'll see what I can find out, and you tell me if you hear anything.
no subject
(but then again, shinichiro-gang-leader-bike-shop-owner-sano was completely different from the lady next to him.)
What kind of anything, anyway?
no subject
It's a professional standard, yes.
[This is not the 50s, but then again, in just a few weeks here she's noticed people here smoke far more than they do back home. Maybe it's also an American thing.
She adds:]
If you hear anything about who did this.
no subject
(isn't that just standards of friendship?)
no subject
Of course. Viktor and I appreciate that, thank you.
[This sure as hell doesn't feel like a law conversation.]
a cameo
Yeah. [ He says, curt. His accent is, like Kim's, American—but broader, more intrusive. ] Yeah. No, I think it's just a shitty spot. [ Frustration bleeding into his voice: ] I—please. I guess that's what air pollution is. If you wanna get technical.
[ And so on. ]
no subject
well, breaking every single common curtesy one would do in japan. rather impolite to have a private conversation on a cell phone while others, strangers, are around to listen, in that volume much more, so on his feet he goes, decided steps to the man who disturbs the hell out of his patience right now.)
Keep your volume down.
no subject
Please don't do something fucking insane.]
no subject
He doesn't look at Kim. Barely looks at Mikey until the kid's marched right up to him. Jimmy tells the phone hang on, puts a hand over it. He raises his eyebrows, on the brink of saying something—and lets the past day's exhaustion and worry, the feeling of being constantly on alert, bleed into his expression. He looks permanently tired. ] Fine, uh, fine. I'm sorry. [ Aggrieved-sounding, but it is an apology. He spreads his hands in a conciliatory gesture, throwing a glance toward Kim. ] To you and your mom.
no subject
She wouldn't hold a candle to my mom. She died. You will be dead too, if you don't explain to me exactly what you've heard.
(the steps towards the other don't cease once they start.)
no subject
[That’s firm, and she does move then, following immediately after Mikey, a hand outstretched even if she can’t do anything useful — stop, just stop.]
no subject
He tells his phone he'll call it back, pretends to jab a button, and slips it in his pocket. Holds his ground, though he feels—imagines he feels—Kim's eyes on him. He definitely feels the strain beneath her words. And maybe the kid'll keep coming, maybe he'll crash into him or punch him in the solar plexus or try to kick him in the goddamn head. It doesn't seem unlikely. ] Listen—Mikey? Mikey. [ Don't make the name sound childish. Don't dismiss him. Don't say "nice jacket."
His tone skews thoughtful, his gaze sharpening. ] What is this?
no subject
and then the question.)
What's what?
no subject
It takes every bit of her resolve to keep her gaze trained on Mikey, silently warning him, as if a single glance towards Jimmy might give her away, but her attention has never felt more focused.]
no subject
She looks scared. Objectively. He snaps his gaze back to the kid and wonders—a runaway train of a thought—what would happen if he took a step forward, whether Mikey would snarl at him like a dog at the end of its leash or whether the chain would break.
And then Jimmy laughs, short and perplexed. ] You're coming on a little strong. Until, uh, twenty seconds ago, I was having my own conversation. [ Light, but with budding curiosity: ] Why, what'd I miss?
no subject
his eyes squint, sharp towards the man's bubbly response, and it's only because his phone rings that he steps to the side.)
Don't move.
(mikey can't risk it. shuten's been clear on keeping things on the downlow, and while never has mikey accused anyone of anything, well, do you know how easily it is to spin this meeting? but either way.)
Yes. Takemichi Hanagaki, Keisuke Baji, Ken Ryuguji and... Kazutora Hanemiya. I'll be there soon.
(listen, it's been a day. he barely caught any sleep since the bombing, and his people are down. this is more important. once it's done, his phone rings with the conditions of everyone he named.)
What faction you in?
no subject
And while Mikey is engrossed in his friends' welfare, she chances a glance at Jimmy, as aloof as she can manage but lingering. They have this, she tells herself. It doesn't stop the tremble in her fingers; she puts her hands together to still them, one hand locked into the other.
She puts the command in her voice anyway as she looks back to Mikey, brows knit. She cuts in cleanly, with a thread of concern:]
It's going to take you a bit to get back across the city. You go, and I'll talk to this guy.
no subject
Jimmy shifts impatiently, by all appearances letting the names wash over him like the unsolicited details of someone else's dream. Takemichi he knows, that's the pincushion. The rest are—begrudgingly—filed away.
He stills ever so slightly with Kim's approach, casts a look her way. Tries not to color outside the lines of natural curiosity.
This kid. He's like an open wound. Well, Mikey wants to be the boss? Jimmy looks to him, eyebrows raised. ]
no subject
(which, given the tense aura looming in this encounter, doesn't particularly sound like an easy feat. he texts as fast as he can with a single hand before his phone is pocketed and the adults have his full attention.)
So? I asked a fucking question.
no subject
Because I don't like it when my clients threaten random people for making innocuous comments, especially not when there's more important things going on.
[She looks to Jimmy and summons up every memory of some client flaunting her counsel and landing her with more paperwork, more continuances, more court appearances. That impatience surfaces on her face, like she's just as annoyed with him as she is Mikey.]
Just answer, and then it's time for all of us to go.
no subject
A quick glance to Kim, but Mikey looms large in his attention. He takes a sharp breath and asks, voice brittle: ] There wasn't another bomb, was there? [ It's asked for show, but the longer he thinks about it, the uneasier he gets. ]