Summary:A benefit dinner ends up rather interesting for Captain Rogers, T'Challa and Melinda May Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The ballroom at the Ritz Carlton is lit up for the benefit for Returned Service Men and Women. Amongst the special guests is one Steve Rogers who has invited a couple of friends along. The night has been good, the food excellent and the speeches are just drawing to a close.
Steve Rogers is just finishing his speech up as Mari McCabe, watches from their table. Of course she's dressed impeccably, in lovely gown of her own design. Her makeup has been applied expertly to hide most of the bruises and abrasion she received the other day. Most, but not all - it's clear the ex-model has been in the wars.
One of the main benefactors of this gathering is the dark skinned african prince sitting at the same table in an immaculately tailored suit with his hands clasped before him. It's usually the african princes that are ASKING for money or at least that's the common tale on the internet. T'Challa is of course the opposite. It's just one of the many things he does to stand out.
After all, Wakandan Prince scams are so 1990.
He claps politely as Steve finishes up. Not that he needs to feign it of course. Steve always had a talent for speaking, especially to soldiers. Or… people who behaved like them.
Most people would jump at the opportunity to accompany Captain Rogers to this benefit event. May is not one of them. It's a job like any other, but worse. She's stuck wearing heels. And because of how tall Rogers is, she's wearing platform heels no less.
Standing off to one side of the stage out of the way while the man finishes his speech, she stands patiently and stoically, the floor-skimming, ruffley gossamer edge of her black-beaded white gown hiding aforementioned shoes.
There will be complaints. Later.
"…and I think I can speak for all of us when I say, to all of the returning soldiers: we're thankful that you're home and indebted to your efforts." Giving a final smile, professional and with just the right amount of dimples to appease the photographers and various media outlets covering the gala, Steve nods his head curtly. A lift of his hand and he departs from the podium after he introduces the next speaker, waving them in to take his place.
Looking dapper in a fitted tuxedo, traditional in black and white, he returns to the table containing both Mari and T'Challa after collecting Agent May. "Could've been worse. Didn't have to remind people not to cuss," he quips under his breath to the table's occupants as he sits down. Reaching for his glass of water, he sips deeply of it.
"Agent May, please join us." Mari says as she gestures to a chair. "Don't worry Steve, I'm sure you'll have at least one chance to do that tonight." She winks as she sips from her glass. A lovely crisp white wine for her. "As usual, you were inspiring. Didn't you think so, T'Challa?"
"… Mari McCabe …." An older gentleman stops near Steves chair and glares at Mari. "… look at you. You're a disgrace to McCabe Industries the way you carry on, brawling and bring attention to us in ways we don't need or … want." He's blustering. A bit red cheeked indicating that he might have had one too many. He's got the bearing of an ex-serviceman about him though. Perhaps explains why he's here.
"Gentlemen, Agent May, may I introduce Gordon Federer. One of the directors on my Boar——"
"It won't be your board for much longer … girl…"
"Gordon. Pleased to meet you. Mind your manners." T'Challa says with a smile that holds despite the reprimand. His mind is working overdrive about what Mari told him. He doubts that anyone on Mari's board gets that way with her regularly. There might have been a falling out sure, but Mari is generally quite persuasive so… he's guessing no.
"Steve. You were brilliant as always. Who is your friend? I don't believe we've met." He knows it's not a FRIEND of Steve's but perhaps a co-worker? Or child of someone from the war?
Steve is very sociable.
"Charmed." He says, bowing in May's direction.
Walking back alongside Steve, May nods politely to Mari and T'Challa as she make it to the table. She's already settled in her chair when the rather aggressively rude man approaches and seems bent on ruining the evening for everyone at their table.
"Please excuse me, I feel the need to take out the trash." Looking even more Vulcanesque than usual and speaking in Japanese with an Okinawan accent as she moves to stand again smoothly, she takes one step sideways toward Federer, even more of her dress than before dragging along the floor. "Mr. Federer," she says in perfectly level English. "I was told this was a charitable event." Her eyes skim up and down the supposedly imposing man's form as if he is being weighed and measured, and found wanting. "I feel you have found your way here in error."
Her shoes are under the table.
Upon Gordon's arrival, the Captain gives him a considering flick of eyebrows. Placing his glass of water back down on to the table, he then leans back in his chair and interlaces his fingers across his lap. Benignly, Steve watches the conversational bits fly back and forth, as if he were a spectator at Wimbledon. When May stands up, his eyebrows dance upwards as well and remain up.
"Respectfully, Mister Federer, Agent May has a point. I haven't had the opportunity to speak with Miss McCabe's board yet myself, but perhaps I should consider pulling my interest in funding a future line for veteran soldiers, if this is how business is conducted outside of the board room." So evenly does the Captain say this, with the barest hint of apology in his tone, as if to indicate that Gordon has erred most grievously and is beyond even his forgiveness.
"Roger, I'll be happy to come and speak to you tomorrow. This is no—-"
"Be quiet, girl." The man blusters, gaze sweeping over Steve and T'Challa, coming to rest on May as she gets up in his space. "Really, Captain Rogers, I would have thought a man of your standing wouldn't want to associate with the likes of … her. We'll replace her and then you'll be much happier with entering an alliance with us."
No, he hasn't taken the hint from any of them.
"As for you, madam." He goes to push May out of the way. "I am exactly where I need to be."
Another man comes to join him, standing at his shoulder. "Oh, is that her Roger?"
This … doesn't look good.
T'Challa is an extremely capable fighter. But he suspects at the moment he doesn't really need to be because, well, Steve and May are here. So all he does is take a single step back and gesture to the other two as if to say 'be my guest.'
If things get really out of hand he'll act. But again. Steve and Agent May are here. Surely they can handle it.
The instant the man reaches to push at May, her right hand snaps up quick as a snake and bends his thumb back nearly to the point of dislocating it, while she taps at the tiny commlink in her left ear with her other hand.
"Security, this is Agent May. Please send an escort to Captain Rogers' table to see Mr. Gordon Federer and his associate Roger out of the venue. They are threatening a guest." She pauses for a moment. "No, I don't think arresting them would be excessive."
Her expression is still completely Vulcan-calm, and she looks at Roger now as if daring him to give her a reason as well.
A slow nod follows the pronouncement of how things are apparently going to go in regards to the Captain's agreement with McCabe Industries.
"I love it when people tell me what to do these days," he mutters under his breath, surely worth a laugh from T'Challa and maybe Mari, with their exquisitely-sharp hearing. May's already on her feet. Steve makes a point to sloooowly push back his chair and rise to his own feet, his hands rested before his belt buckle now neutrally.
The Agent moves and he winces sympathetically. "Unfortunately, you've had too much to drink, Mister Federer — and I can tell you've got just enough good sense God gave you to realize that you've erred," he adds after May strikes, quick as a snake, after the man goes to move her. "You might recognize the hold as something you trained in those years back. Your thumb's not gonna last long if struggle. Be a shame to leave this place with an injury beyond your pride when you wake up sober tomorrow morning. Be best if you saved face." Those broad shoulders shrug. He has no true pity for the man.
Mari steps back, next to T'Challa but giving him room. She really doesn't want to brawl here or make a scene. "I'm sure, gentlemen, we can discuss tomor—-" The other man steps close, putting his face right into hers. Mari blanches - this guys been eating onions.
"Listen here you freak. You're bad for the image of the company and we're going to replace you."
As for Gordon, he sputters as May grabs his finger, freezing quickly so as not to put more pressure on it. "Good sense? The good sense God gave me, SIR, is to know she's a freak and dragging our company down when we would should be growing. She's a disgrace." At least he's not struggling or threatening anyone physically?
T'Challa just makes a rather regal gesture and four ghosts appear. Literally that's what happens. Four fully armed Wakandan warriors appear, except they happen to be dead. And glowing. And see through. "My bodyguards suggest that you leave. Now. Their next suggestion will not be quite as polite."
Because seriously, is anyone going to say that he attacked someone with a quartet of ghosts?
This is a TAD… obvious. Fortunately this is also a tad not televised or he would be finding a more subtle way to do this. Like letting Steve and May handle it.
Which to be completely clear, he still is.
May puts just that tiny bit more pressure on Federer's thumb, forcing him to his knees as she hitches up her skirt enough to take a step after Roger Onion-Breath. The latter is really damned lucky that that's when the even security — NYPD officers that volunteered to work the event — arrive and promptly have handcuffs at the ready.
"Both of these /gentlemen/," and yes, that word positively drips sarcasm, "have been verbally harrassing Ms. McCabe including issuing threats. Captain Rogers and I as well as Wakandan Prince T'Challa have witnessed it." She releases the man's thumb so handcuffs can be slapped on him and takes a step back.
"As for you, /sir/," she addresses Gordon, perfectly mimicking the tone he'd used at her just moments ago, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. I know I will."
Steve glances around them. Unfortunately, it's still a scene despite Mari's inclinations to keep things on the down-low. Eyes are wide in the tables nearby them and eating utensils are frozen; drinks remain lifted to lips. Thankfully, the Captain's got enough sangfroid to remain calm in the presence of the supernatural so clearly on display.
Barnes is getting a hell of a tale over dinner when Steve gets home tonight.
"Amazing what money'll do in place of good sense and business scruples," the soldier fires back at Federer, now glowering. "Rest assured, gentlemen, parties are aware of your inability to control yourself in a public venue." He includes Onion-Breath in this pronouncement.
Guess who's aware of it? The security, a la the NYPD, who are quick to step in. Steve continues standing there, stiff-spined, radiating Disappointment (with a capital letter necessary).
The appearance of spirits gets a gasp from the surrounding tables. Mari's shoulders sag, just a bit as the tensions gets raised.
Onion-Breath steps back in shock. "What the. Another freak!"
When the handcuffs arrive, Mari lets out a sigh and moves closer to T'Challa for the moment. "Thank you." she murmurs as she waits for the others to be escorted off.
It's then a woman in a garishly bad dress swans past the table as they stand they. She waggles her fingers at the group and blows a kiss to Mari before heading to the door and out of it. Mari's eyes narrow and she growls.
"Thank you Steve and you Agent May…" her eyes looking to the door briefly before deciding it better to stay where she is.
"That's Your Freakish Highness, if we're being formal." T'Challa says calmly and without missing a beat. When the people are led away the ghosts simply fade into the ether, leaving just the prince.
His sister, or mother, would hit him for that one.
"Well done, Agents. I am sorry it came to that. I suspect however that was not simply a matter of an overwrought board member. That pot, I suspect, was stirred by a hidden hand."
May remains standing — the Wakandan spirits' arrival and departure somehow not causing her to so much as bat an eyelash — until the men are led out in handcuffs and the tacky swanning woman has passed by. That latter gets a briefly narrowed look.
She doesn't believe in coincidences.
Finally, though, she returns to her seat at the table. "You're welcome, Ms. McCabe," she replies to the younger woman as if she's just given Mari a tissue or some other minor kindness.
Steve waits to be absolutely certain the NYPD have the two men in-hand (and in cuffs) before he seats himself again with a certain decorous annoyance on display. At least things didn't come to more intense blows; if someone's complaining about a sore thumb in the morning, they have bigger things to worry about.
"I agree with His Freakish Highness on matters," the Captain deadpans, giving T'Challa a small smile in his tease. "Might want to consider bringing in a PI to investigate things, Miss McCabe."
Mari loops her arm through T'Challas as they all sit again. "Just act like nothing happened, there'll be something else in a few moments to distract them all." The dark skinned woman answers. "This is related to those contracts we found, Steve. The ones with Mephisto. WAND has confirmed, he's bad, bad news and Rivera has entered an agreement with him. What he gets out of this, I'm not sure but for her? The ability to control imps that affects peoples emotions."
Mari gestures to where the blustering Board member and Onion Breath are being bustled out. "That's what I want that was about. However, if you're still willing to help, T'Challa and I are going to have smoke her out, get her to come at me directly and then catch her…"
There's a mischievous look in the Vixens eyes - she truly is thrill seeker, as she offers water for Steve and May and more for T'Challa. "And both you and T'Challa must dance with me tonight."