Summary:With Christmas approaching, Mari spends some time supplying the people in the Zone. Oliver Queen turns up - or rather, Mister Smith does. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The Disaster Zone is a Disaster. Even all these years after the attack, it's still a mess. Access is restricted but that there are still those who refused to leave and make their home here. The outcast, the hopeless, those without identites, picking up the bits of their lives, living in buildings that may just fall down on their heads.
There have been rumours, and reports, of a Samaritan effort, led by some of New Yorks business elite, to aid these people and help them change their fortunes. Interestingly, there's been no announcement by those people themselves, just the reports that say 'someone' is doing is 'something'. There may be names associated with those reports. One of those might be Mari McCabe, Vixen, of McCabe Industries.
Oliver Queen has possibly heard those rumours and is aware that there's food and supplies being delivered to Zone today and he might be a little curious as to what's going on.
There's a truck pulled up in one of the streets - as far into the Zone as it can get before the streets become blocked. Trestle tables are set up - one with warm clothing and blankets and the like. Others with food and plates for the taking.
People are slowly gathering, coming out from the ruins and lining up to get what they can. Volunteers, handing out items as they do. Mari McCabe is at the end of the food table, dishing up food with a smile.
As usual, Oliver Queen is late.
He saw the memos. He signed off on the preparation for relief efforts. A board member even spoke to him about the needs of the people and how making a personal appearance could bolster morale. He wasn't invited because no one expects much from him from a social or political perspective, which meant it was even more important that he contribute.
As usual, he wasn't paying attention until it was just a little too late.
Which brings us to today, here and now. The supplies he promised are arriving in a hastily-rented mover's truck driven by Oliver himself. No sports car. No suit. No flashy, expensive date to impress with his largesse. Just a blond guy in a heavy jacket looking for a place to park.
Once he finds somewhere that's out of the way without being inconveniently distant, he sets the parking brake and steps out of the vehicle. A man wearing scrubs and carrying a medical bag hops out of the other side. Oliver shakes hands with the medic, who nods and looks for a place to set up an improvised clinic, which leaves the billionaire manchild alone for the unloading process.
The truth is that the businesses involved have kept things on low down. They want to draw attention to the problem and not themselves. So it's no wonder that some businesses are 'late to the party' so to speak.
When the trucks roll up, people look a bit a nervous. Mari flashes a smile and murmurs words to them as she makes her way over. The ex-model is well known in New York - both as Mari and Vixen - and seems to just ease into it. Today, she's in jeans, boots and faux-fur lined denim jacket to ward against the cold.
"Mister Queen? Mari McCabe." the dark skinned woman holds her hand out as one of the others directs the medic to an area where they can set up. "I must say, the medic is appreciated. People are feeling the cold at the moment. It's nice to see you here." a small cheeky smile "You *are* to here to help, right?" She teases.
This is the way it's been happening. Just as T'Challa had hoped it would.
Oliver can see that at least some of those present are mutants. Most are barely clean and show the ravages of living in this area - the wariness of strangers, the haunted looks.
The prodigal Queen is already well into distributing his first crate. The disposable cellular phones he brought are a big hit for individuals who may have been out of contact with friends and family for days, weeks, even longer. Each one is passed out with the warning, "Use it sparingly, it's loaded with an hour." Or, "Call someone you love, I'm sure they miss you."
The rest of his truck contains similar items. Oh, there's non-perishable foods and fresh clothing, but there are also small, personal items that make difficult lives more tolerable. Toiletries. Letters written by outreach programs to remind people that they aren't alone. And so many toys for the children.
Meanwhile, the medic is busy dispensing vital care and medicines; basic checkups, hygiene products, insulin and antibiotics. Things that no one should ever have to live without.
Oliver is handing a plush, colorful unicorn to a young girl when he's approached. His breath seems to catch in his throat for a moment, then he turns and offers his hand in return. "I am," he replies, matching the smile with a winning one of his own. "Sorry I'm late. My PR flacks wanted to turn this into a parade. Once I escaped, I thought I'd pick up a few extra things on the way."
"Justine, set up an area where people can return the phones when the credit exhausted." Mari murmurs to an assistant. If the phones can be reloaded, the small conglomeration of businesses will see that it's done.
"I'm glad you didn't let them." Mari smiles again. She saw the catch of the breath and wonders. For the girl or a memory she invokes? "Our aim here is to focus attention on the plight of these people and the condition of the Disaster Zone in general. The city government has this so tied in red tape, it's not funny and it's easier to forget that they're here. I'm glad you decided to be part of it."
As the children approach, Mari helps with the distribution, speaking quietly to Oliver as she does. "I'm Mari, by the way. Mari McCabe." Introduction done. "What do you know about the people here and their situation?"
Does he think it's strange they've stayed here when they could move to Mutant Town or other areas in the city?
Despite having spent years living in destitution and despair, seeing the plight of these people firsthand is affecting Oliver more than he'd care to admit. It's often easier to ignore your own suffering than someone else's. While they speak, he keeps his hands busy parceling out action figures and games. "I know who you are," he says, smiling wider. "You have a look about you that's hard to forget. And I see that going incognito didn't work as well as I'd hoped." There's a brief wave at his own coat and jeans. Rather than disappointed, he almost seems apologetic.
There's another pause while two children, obviously siblings, receive matching sets of superhero figurines. "I don't know as much as I should," he finally admits. "When I see a memo for an aid request, I normally sign a check and move on. This is my home, though. It called for a more personal touch."
"Oh well. You could just say that I keep tabs on the going ons in town. How would you like me to address you?" Mari offers, in a lightly teasing tone "Mister Smith? or perhaps Mister Anderson?" She wonders if he'll get the reference.
"Really, being recognised isn't the issue though. T'Challa and I, when we started doing this, really just wanted to draw attention to what's going on. Use our good fortune to help others, if you will. It's hard not to be recognised, I know that all too well and hiding it often just causes the attention to fall the wrong way. So … here I am."
Nodding at Olivers admission. He's really not the only one who does that. Mari has done herself as well. "Most of these people were here when the disaster befell. They saw the Sentinels destroy their homes and livelihood. A lot are mutants, but not all. Many have lost their identities - the paperwork our society so relies on - and without that, they simply can't move on."
Can Oliver imagine what it would be like trying to do anything without a drivers licence or something similar?
"Some though lost their families and friends here and don't want to leave them. The ghosts, the shades, the memories." Mari's quiet as she explains. "And some simply don't don't want to leave because they're afraid they'll lose what precious little they have left."
"I'll stick with Smith, thanks. I'm part of the system, but I haven't become it or tried to destroy it." The reference is dated enough that it doesn't slip through the five-year gap in Oliver's pop culture knowledge.
Despite the joke, the smile has slid off of his face. "I know what it's like to be trapped by the ghosts of your past when there are greener pastures in sight." It seems an unlikely admission for such a young man, but a sincere one all the same. "All we can do is make them feel human again. Make them feel cared for."
By now, volunteers who are better trained and equipped are arriving to handle the distribution. It makes more sense than throwing things from the back of the truck to whoever is closest, so Ollie moves aside. Despite the humane daytime hour, he stifles a yawn into his wrist. "Aaaah. Excuse me. I'm glad there's someone to organize all of this and get the ball rolling. I'm better at cameo appearances than I am at team efforts. I can't imagine the work that goes into leading this charge."
"Mister Smith then. Just don't show up and multiple, that would cause too much of a stir." Mari seems to be practiced at keeping people at ease. Noting the sombre look that replaces his smile, the ex-model cants her head in apology. "I didn't mean to raise memories for you." There's little known about what happened to Oliver in the five year gap, but Mari can imagine that it wasn't easy.
"That's what we can do in the short term. In the long term, we need to bring pressure on City Hall, as we can. They've got the redevelopment of this area so tied up in red-tape that contractors can't move. Contractors aren't keen on being here, to begin with, so any barrier is going to monumental. As to getting these people they're identities back … City Hall is dragging it's feet there as well. I'll be fair and say that it's not easy but they *could* make it a little easier than it is."
Moving to the side with Oliver, Mari snags two cups of coffee and hands one to Oliver just after he yawns. "Late night? Business or pleasure?" Cheeky thing. Anyone might call her a … vixen.
"Oh, it's not just me. There are others. T'Challa of Wakanda spearheads all this, if it wasn't for him … I wouldn't be doing this." Yes, she just mentioned the Prince of Wakanda. "Pepper Potts from Stark Industries, Emma Frost from Frost International, Captain America and his friend, Bucky Barnes." That's … some line up.
"If you would like to help us, we're trying to work out how to lean on City Hall to get things done. Without looking like we're threatening them etc etc."
"I don't get involved in politics as a rule. I don't have the time or the dedication." It's a fair and candid point for Oliver to make. He's known for being a holder of no strong opinions on any particular subject. Not a bad trait for a CEO, but not a good one for a person who's trying to make a difference. "For this, I'd consider making an exception. In the meantime, I think I'll send over one of those checks we were talking about."
The coffee is accepted gratefully, and while it's not the usual hand-pressed fare he drinks at the family mansion, it's clearly being enjoyed. "Oh, you're a saint. Thanks. Couldn't sleep, so I had a late-night workout. Still a bit sore around the lower back. You know how that goes."
"Not many of us do." Mari grins at that. He's right, no strong opinions on any particular, unless it comes to her business. It often sets her at odds with her Board but that's just good business in Mari's experience. "T'Challa certainly can't - given he's a foreign national however, Miss Potts has some interesting contacts in City Hall, it might be worth talking to her if you know her. If not, I'm sure I can arrange an introduction. The check is appreciated, Mister Smith, and will get put to good use. I think we need to create a foundation or similar. With the number of us involved, I think that would be warranted. It's taking on a life of its own."
"If I'm a saint, my halo is slipping…" Mari's grin gets a bit wider. "but thank you all the same. A late-night workout, hmmm?" The way the womans eyes dance is mischievous. She doesn't ask what 'her' name was but the light tease is there. "I suspect it's a little different to my late-night activities." Indeed, Vixen is active in the city.
"Nothing nearly so exciting-" False. "-or dangerous-" Lies. "-for me." Oliver shrugs helplessly. "Pulled a muscle doing some squats. I watched Rocky before bed and started feeling frisky."
It's not his best story, but it's far from his worst. He smooths things over with a benign smile. "I'm familiar with Miss Potts, but we haven't met. Go ahead, set something up. I always enjoy meeting with a redhead who's smarter than I am."
There's a casual, affable self-deprecation about him. He's clearly a man who knows how the rest of the world sees him and doesn't seem to mind, whether they're right or wrong. Then again, most people wouldn't expect to see him handing out tampons and toilet paper to those in need. "And you can drop the Smith. My friends call me Ollie."
"Dangerous, now you sound like T'Challa." Mari teases. "Feeling frisky after Rocky. I suppose that's something." Rumour has it that Mari herself is a bit of a thrill seeker and if reports are to believed, Vixen takes chances that many would not.
The benign smile is returned with a genuine from the model. "I'll do that but I won't tell her about the redhead bit." Mari's sure Pepper has heard it all before. She does work for Tony after all. "Shall I have my people, call your people? I'm happy to give you my direct contact, if you like… Ollie"
The man is very different to how he is portrayed in the media. That's something Mari has come to expect.
As they stand there, a worn looking woman approaches the pair "Excuse me …. Ms McCabe…." she says tentatively.
Mari looks and frowns "It's … Bethany, isn't it? How are the children doing? Has Phillips cough cleared up any? And please, it's Mari and have you met my friend, Mister Smith?"
Ollie can correct that if he wants.
"Oh … " Bethany colours and stammers. "I didn't want to interrupt and yes, yes, Phils cough is clearing up nicely. The medic over there, he gave me some more medicine. God bless you both … but … I I … was hoping you and the Black Panther could help."
"I'd love to take your card. I have one around here, somewhere. No, no, not that one." The wrong card in question is festive and has the words "OLIVER QUEEN PICKED ME!" embossed on it in gold, along with a club invitation and VIP pass on the back. He stuffs it back into a pocket. "Not that you'd need that. Here, this is my personal… number…"
Oliver has had occasion to interact with almost every form of downtrodden individual on this planet, and has lived meanly himself on multiple occasions. When the woman approaches, he almost seems to transform. The thin veneer of playboy he's been wrapping himself in falls away and he reaches out to lay areassuring hand on her arm. There's no judgement and his voice is calm. He just says, "I'm Oliver. What can we do to help?"
Mari snorts as the card is shown, giving Ollie a teasing look. "I don't know. I might like to come dancing at your club." Of course, if the media reports are true, she's likely to bring a Wakandan with her. No one can decide on the nature of that relationship.
Bethany shrinks a little at the contact but stops herself. "Sssorry. Things here haven't been easy since my Joseph died." She murmurs. "It's just that Sammy, he was foraging further into the Disaster Zone the other day. Sammy's my youngest boy … he said that there was a group of people dragging supplies down into the tunnels. When they saw my Sammy, they took after him but Sammy, he's quick and managed to hide."
Mari hisses a little. It's likely clear to Oliver that to Mari, T'Challa and Black Panther are two seperate people. Much like Green Arrow and Oliver are.
"But we're worried, if there's a gang moving in there, they know who my boy is."
"Was he hurt, Bethany?" Mari asks quietly.
"No, no, Miss … Mari… well, a little. They grabbed him and roughed him up a bit. But it's no worse than what his brother and sister do him."
Oliver glances over at Mari. "I think you and I could probably handle this," he suggests. "After that, you're welcome to be my guest anytime." There's a small smile, but it's clear his mind is on the matter at hand.
He takes a step back and holds his hands out in a gentle, warding motion. "Why don't you tell us everything you remember? Then you can bring Sammy and have the medic take a look at him if you want. He's an old friend of mine, if Sammy asks he might find out there's some Snickers bars in his medkit."
There's another quick glance at Mari, along with a tiny shrug. He's her guest here and clearly doesn't want to overstep. At the same time, he seems more comfortable and confident in the face of this issue. More genuine.
Mari nods. "Ollie's a friend, Bethany, tell him what you know. And please, bring Sammy and the others for a checkup. The weather is getting cold." She says gently.
"Not sure what more I can tell you, Oliver." Bethany is ringing her hands. "Sammy says he's seen these men around before. He said they have weapons that create a sound and cause damage. Anyone who gets in their way, goes missing but Sammy was too quick for them. I'm sure they're going to be looking for them."
"Sonic weapons …" Mari asides to Oliver. "… I might be familiar with the group that Sammy found."
"I'm worried they'll find Sammy and the others, Mis… Mari. And I know you and Black Panther come and patrol here. I was hoping …"
She was hoping they might go looking for the miscreants.
"Don't worry." Now Oliver's smile is directed at Bethany. It's a comforting one. "I have a feeling that by this time tomorrow, you'll have a lot less to worry about. When you come back, make sure to grab cell phones for you and your family so you can keep in touch."
The young man finishes his coffee and then runs a hand thoughtfully across his stubbled face. "Sonic weapons?" he queries, clearly surprised, but still a bit too comfortable with the situation. "I was thinking I could use a little exercise, but I'm not sure taking self-defense at the Y qualifies me for all that. I'll watch your back, though. Either way, I know someone who'll be paying a visit later tonight."
Mari smiles reassuringly at Bethany and squeezes her arm. "We'll check it out, Bethany, I promise."
"Thank you, Mis—- Oliver, Mari. I appreciate it…" Bethany nods and wanders off to collect the children and take them to see the medic.
"Mmmhmm, sonic weapons." Mari says quietly. "I'm not going after them now, they are very dangerous. These are the type of men, we go after loaded for bear. But, I will go and look at the area. These aren't nice people and they're involved in something … big. They're thugs for a man called Ulysses Klaue." That might be a name that Ollie is aware of. An international terrorist.
"I know of him." Ollie's green eyes narrow briefly. "Mostly by reputation. I'm glad I decided to temper my enthusiasm. Sounds like this would be better left to the professionals." He makes a sweeping gesture with one hand and inclines his head to indicate his present company.
There's a lot to take in. The simple, basic needs. The cravings for creature comforts. The loss of homes and families. And now the risk of violence. He pulls in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out slowly. When he's finished, he looks like an out of place playboy again. "Sorry. Guess all of this-" he waggles his fingers to indicate their surroundings and chuckles wryly. "-got to me. 'I'll watch your back.' Heh. Good of you not to laugh."
"I would say, yes normally but I got shot in one of our encounters." It's why Mari is updating her suit. It sounds like its going to get a work out. "I'll come in with Black Panther about 9pm tonight, if whoever you know wants company, I'll be waiting here."
It's really not unusual for their type to *know* people. Mari has a number of contacts herself.
"Why would I laugh? It was a genuine offer and you look able to look after yourself under most situations." There's a sad smile as Oliver gestures. "Why don't I show you some more of what we're dealing with? We can take a walk a little further in and we'll be safe … " ish. Mari can put the beat down on thugs if needed.