In fair New York, where we lay our scene
May. 17th, 2007 10:22 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
It's been said there are eight million stories in the Big Apple. Modern New Yorkers scorn this as an underestimate, though the more cynical ones will hold forth on the topic of how many stories are the same old, same old. Others will argue that every story is different, because New York makes them so. This surging, seething city: the hot spot of the American melting pot, where so many first set foot on American shores, where so many come seeking fame and fortune, where so many find only disappointment or despair or even death, where a few manage to hitch their dreams to that morning star.
"Every person on the streets of New York is a type. The city is one big theater where everyone is on display," said Jerry Rubin. All the world may be a stage, and all the men and women merely players, but who plays what? Who gets the leading role, and who will forever be stuck in the chorus line? Who will remain a stage-door Johnny, and who will be able to move from lead actor to director ... or the even more powerful position of producer?
Cast, crew, backers, and audience ... each one brings their own meaning to that granite beehive where people jostle and whir like molecules in an overheated jar.
New York City. Center of the universe.
If you can make it here, you'll make it anywhere.
"Every person on the streets of New York is a type. The city is one big theater where everyone is on display," said Jerry Rubin. All the world may be a stage, and all the men and women merely players, but who plays what? Who gets the leading role, and who will forever be stuck in the chorus line? Who will remain a stage-door Johnny, and who will be able to move from lead actor to director ... or the even more powerful position of producer?
Cast, crew, backers, and audience ... each one brings their own meaning to that granite beehive where people jostle and whir like molecules in an overheated jar.
New York City. Center of the universe.
If you can make it here, you'll make it anywhere.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 03:23 pm (UTC)You should've left a message, Peter, she thinks, and not for the first time. You should've let us know what you were working on. Parker's beat had been New York's Mafia, which meant the list of suspects was at least as long as Kat's arm.
As she heads through the lobby, like so many other staffers, she pauses for a moment in front of the memorial plaque, where the larger version of his picture is displayed, along with a small brass card engraved with his name and dates. At the dedication ceremony, his aunt had thanked everyone for their condolences ... and those who hadn't already contributed to the memorial fund had written checks that day.
No more time for nostalgia. Time to hit the street, and maybe today she'd get lucky with a solid lead on who killed Peter Parker.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 09:02 pm (UTC)It's pungent cigar smoke, but it's still a moment to breathe.
Glaring out the window of his ramshackle office, he looks down at the city.
A city that gave up on the notion of justice years ago. Now just a bunch of squirrels trying to get their nuts.
They won't get his.
Parker was a great kid, prime of his life, hell of a nose for news. The kinda nose that puts other people's noses out of joint. Important people. Nasty people. Murdering that young man might've postponed the revelation of the truth about what's become of the Big Apple, but come hell or high water, it won't be held off for long.
Not while the Daily Bugle can still report the truth.
(no subject)
From:Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
Date: 2007-05-17 03:36 pm (UTC)"I have been blessed," said Ms. Lensherr, "thanks to my family's hard work, with the opportunity to be a full-time mother. But I am the daughter of a woman who worked hard to keep her family together while her husband was overseas, and after my mother died, our foster parents worked just as hard to keep us fed, clothed, and sheltered until our father was able to bring us to this great country. Today's working mothers do not seek outside employment because they hate their children. Today's working mothers seek outside employment because they love their children. Any loving mother wants to provide for her children. Such love should not be penalized or ignored by employers who are unwilling to recognize the sacrifices their employees make."
Her remarks were met with great applause, and....
Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
Date: 2007-05-17 06:00 pm (UTC)His thoughts trail to the bottle of Jack sitting on his filing cabinet, but he's kept in check by the promise he made to his daughter that he wouldn't drink while she was in the office.
And there's nothing here to take his frustration out on. Logan draws a hand over his face, then reaches for the metal cigar case on his desk.
Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:Re: Excerpt from an article in the New York Times
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 06:44 pm (UTC)He opens the door and touches the brim of his cap to the curly-haired woman inside. "Miz Wanda. Hello, Master William and Master Thomas."
"Hello, Isaac." She smiles warmly at him as she unbuckles her seat belt and slips out of the limo, holding out her hands for her sons to take. "How is Miriam? I hope she's gotten over that cold. This time of year can be so bad for those."
He beams happily. "She's much better, Miz Wanda. You know she wouldn't let a little thing like a cold stop her."
"Definitely not," Wanda agrees, automatically straightening the lapels of Tommy's school jacket. "Does my father know we're home?"
"Yes, ma'am. I let him know myself, soon as we spotted you."
"Thank you, Isaac. Boys, what do we say?"
"Thank you, Isaac," chimes in Billy on cue.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 07:37 pm (UTC)He looks up at Isaac then, raising an eyebrow, before turning back to his mother.
"He's doing his job, Eema. I don't see why we must thank him for it," he says huffily as he gets out of their limo. He watches as a little dark-haired girl walks past and gives her a somewhat haughty look before looking back at his mom. "You don't say thank you when we get good grades."
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 07:43 pm (UTC)"It doesn't matter," he says to no one in particular. The staff have mastered the art of "paying attention -- but not too close attention -- to his brooding. And it's hard to say exactly what he's talking about. His hands are tight on the balcony's railing. His eyes flash red behind his glasses.
Thunder cracks in the distance, and clouds edge the skyline. But even the first drops of rain fail to dissuade him from his perch. Instead, he lets the storm brew around him.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 10:15 pm (UTC)Everything matters. It's all in how you look at it.
As always, she wears a grim expression with just a touch of amusement in her green eyes.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 08:27 pm (UTC)He had smiled to himself a little when he'd heard the story about Tommy not apologizing to Isaac immediately. He is too much like the grandfather he resembles so closely. Erik had to learn these lessons himself over the years, Tommy would learn once the natural arrogance of his talents was cracked a bit.
He kisses Wanda's cheek. She still has the flush of the fight with her son evident there.
"Grüße meine Tochter. I enjoyed your speech it was very much from the heart."
no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 08:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 10:21 pm (UTC)In one hand she grasps the handles of a few shopping bags while her free hand pushes her hair back out of her face.
She's moving quickly for the staircase. Just once she'd like to get up to her room without running into any of her immediate family, nephews excluded of course.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-20 01:42 am (UTC)"Aunt Lorna!" His snack from Aggie is left sitting on the table as he runs to greet her. The cleaning staff knows to give him some time before cleaning up after him, as more often than not he'll remember it and come back to finish eating.
"We had a spelling quiz in Hebrew today, and I only made one wrong! See?" He pulls out the folded paper from his pocket and proudly displays it to his aunt.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:The Golden Court
Date: 2007-05-17 11:02 pm (UTC)*We are displeased.* he spoke in his native tongue. The Mandarin knew many languages, but he would deign to speak only in his own.
Re: The Golden Court
Date: 2007-05-17 11:03 pm (UTC)"P-please Great Mandarin. I am certain the Governor simply needs more time. The political processes..."
Re: The Golden Court
From:Re: The Golden Court
From:Re: The Golden Court
From:Re: The Golden Court
From:Re: The Golden Court
From:Re: The Golden Court
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 02:36 am (UTC)A man can't turn down that kind of money. His wife would kill him. His son would help her. His thriving Brotherhood is eager to expand their territory outside Europe. If this goes smoothly, there may be more contracts with the Lensherr's in the future. And if not, well, he's fled New York once. He can do it again.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 03:07 am (UTC)He steps from the shadows of an alley, yellow eyes focused directly on his father.
"...exactly why you hate it here. I see nothing but opportunity."
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 04:24 am (UTC)Their numbers are few, but their determination, despite their lack of resources, is unfettered. There's a mild buzz of anticipation tonight, which is a stark contrast to their usual lackluster atmosphere, as one of the Avengers known as Clint "Hawkeye" Barton unrolls a map. Three spots in close proximity to each other are circled, and he pores over them with great interest.
"If this opium shipment tip pays off tonight," he says, "it'll be a big dent in the Lensherr's street wallet. What's the game plan, Steve?"
For years they've been reduced to little more than petty burglary busts and nabbing the odd dealer from the street, only to see them walk free days, sometimes hours later. This could be the break that marks them as a major thorn in the crime family's side.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 02:37 pm (UTC)The others at the table know just how much Steve wants Lensherr taken down. It was one of Lensherr's men, of course, who was responsible for the death of Steve's first partner.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 07:30 am (UTC)Some schmoe's whining about more time, more money, swimmin' in apologies. Same shit they always spout. They always think they're gonna find an angle.
Trouble is, when they call Mr. Fixit to solve a problem, the problem is solved. No two ways around it.
This time, the size of his mitt manages to muffle the crack of the limbs, so just maybe the six-year-old up on the fifth floor won't wake up to a sound he won't never forget.
The cigar burns out of the corner of his mouth, and the night casts shadows on his features, so the sap that tried to outfox Lensherr can't even see the face of his tormentor.
It must be a good hour or so that the man's just gotta lay there on the pavement, bleeding out with no functional limbs - with something else getting broken every time he tries to make a deal, to find some way out of it.
Eventually, the bulky mountain of a man grows tired, and picks his victim up and tosses him in a dumpster for the rats to finish off.
When you need somethin' broken beyond repair, Mr. Fixit's the man you call.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 07:42 am (UTC)Unless, that is, you happen to be the best hitman in the country, and you're spinning your favorite sidearm on your finger.
"I'm not making you nervous, am I, Roachie?"
no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 07:44 am (UTC)"Just play yer cards, will you?"
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:A Wonderful World
Date: 2007-05-19 07:53 am (UTC)I see em bloom..... for me and for you
And I think to myself.... what a wonderful world."
The music sounds tinny and the scratches in the aged vinyl are apparent. He doesn't care though. The record player reminds him of something.
What that something is, he can't quite remember... but all the same, he liked it.
Balancing a sandwich on a soda in one hand and in the other bearing a tray of assorted medical instruments, The Maker backed his way into the room. Devices and machines in the room began to come to life as he entered.
Setting his cargo down on a nearby table, he selects a cigarette and lights it off the near invisible one inch cutting flame emitting from his chromed pinkie. Exhaling a thick cloud of turkish smoke he surveys the room. The noxious smog is quickly sucked into vents along his collar bone and the air is left with a brisk 'disinfected' scent. His eyes click like camera shutters as they blink in calculated timing. A 'tch' escapes past the brown cigarette and over the silvered lips as he casually saunters to a bank of medical displays. A flashing red indicator gets a few swift raps until it changes to green.
Satisfied he nods cheerily as he takes another drag. Turning, a faint squeal of servos can be heard and he flashes his patient a smile.
"Hey, how you doing?
Ready to get crackin?"
He loves his job.
Re: A Wonderful World
Date: 2007-05-19 08:25 am (UTC)"I-I'm really thinking that this isn't a good i-idea."
Re: A Wonderful World
From:Re: A Wonderful World
From:Re: A Wonderful World
From:Re: A Wonderful World
From:Re: A Wonderful World
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-19 04:37 pm (UTC)He takes a last drag off his cigarette and tosses it down into the pit. "You shouldn't'a crossed the Summers, man. I gave ya plenty a' warning, didn't I? You didn't take the busted ribs or the broken legs as enough. You hadda come back and screw around in their business." He shakes his head. "But their business is my business. And you disrespected me by ignoring my warnings."
He shakes his head as he lowers the concrete truck's gutter. Liquid concrete begins pouring into the pit, over the immobile and screaming man. He's not just screaming for help, of course. Marko had to break both his legs and arms before he tossed him into the pit. "You did this to yourself, Jones."
He watches as the young man begins to be covered in concrete. In another few months, when construction is complete, Rick Jones will be part of the foundation of the new Summers Planetarium.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-22 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-23 11:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-07 03:02 pm (UTC)Someone has to keep the peace. It's not the cops. Their just serving the Summers and the Lensherrs or some up-and-commer who will get chopped down next month.
He's the gatekeeper of peace in this city and that's because he's given up on peace. Both sides have the weapons he sells them. He cuts out any competition and he sells at a rate that assures both sides have enough to destroy the city in moments, but knows they won't do that. Mutually assured destruction had made his father rich. Now it's making him even more rich. More famous. He could snap his fingers and get any girl he wanted from any side of the street - and he's perfectly safe.
So why is he one his 6th whiskey neat looking out over the city and aching for something more? What do you get the man who has it all?