Clark Kent (
stands_for_hope) wrote2015-06-01 10:49 pm
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Clark and Karen | Continuation Thread
The problem with organized crime was that when a leader fell, all it did was create a power vacuum. Criminals were people as much as anyone else, and amongst them were people who wanted to climb to the top and others that desperately wanted someone to tell them what to do and how to succeed.
With the damage done by the Battle of New York and the 'war' that had been waged between the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the now-unmasked Wilton Fisk, the field had been left ripe for the picking in more than one way and the cream of the crop of the organized crime syndicates had noticed.
Bruno Mannheim didn't even try to play the philanthropist. No, he was there for one reason and one reason only: easy pickings. And that was why it was getting increasingly dangerous out there for the uniformed crime fighters... and their non-uniformed vigilante assistants. Criminals with guns that reminded them more of the kind of weapons the Chitauri had brought with them. Criminals with allies in other towns, alibis in other places. Nasty on all levels.
Which was why Clark came home that night and headed for his laptop instead of his favorite book. It seemed this journalist was going to have some work cut out for him after all here in New York.
With the damage done by the Battle of New York and the 'war' that had been waged between the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the now-unmasked Wilton Fisk, the field had been left ripe for the picking in more than one way and the cream of the crop of the organized crime syndicates had noticed.
Bruno Mannheim didn't even try to play the philanthropist. No, he was there for one reason and one reason only: easy pickings. And that was why it was getting increasingly dangerous out there for the uniformed crime fighters... and their non-uniformed vigilante assistants. Criminals with guns that reminded them more of the kind of weapons the Chitauri had brought with them. Criminals with allies in other towns, alibis in other places. Nasty on all levels.
Which was why Clark came home that night and headed for his laptop instead of his favorite book. It seemed this journalist was going to have some work cut out for him after all here in New York.
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Coming out to the living room, she spots him on the couch, walking closer, she leaned over him to grab the sofa blanket to pull over him. If he wanted to stay out here, she wouldn't wake him up.
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"I'm all right, Karen," he told her easily enough, "but are you?"
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Clearing her throat, she shook her head no. "What do you think?" She asked as she finished with the blanket that she had halfway pulled on top of him when his eyes opened.
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He breathed in deep and settled into the couch.
"Sorry I startled you. I... don't sleep very deeply most of the time. Don't need to."
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"It's fine, I guess it is good for the blood," she said lamely, trying for a small joke.
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"I didn't want to intrude."
He tipped his head towards the bedroom.
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His arms were there, carefully lifting to wrap around her in an offer.
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She was snuggling, that was silent implication that whatever he wanted to do was a-okay.
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And when it came right down to it, nothing he said or did would help her until she decided differently.
"All I'm saying is... I'll be here."
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"Want to go back to bed?"
Then he looked at the table.
"Or are you hungry?"
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And she was scooped up into his arms and carried to bed. He only slipped away a moment to bring her a tray and the covered plate from kitchen table. Then he tucked himself into the bed beside her without rustling the bed too much.
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[OOC did we wrap up the massage thread?]
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