#draconisa | daenerys & the den | spiteful saviors

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Starter for @draconisa w/ the Den

    Personally, she thought it was overkill. If someone nixes on paying you for a job, what you do is... not do the job. Pilot doesn't even really remember how the conversation went that lead to them deciding to send a message, but she also hadn't been paying attention for most of it. As per the usual. Her job requires a lot less information than the rest of theirs do. So potentially she missed some information that explained why they were all going above and beyond, but fundamentally it doesn't matter. The Den came to a decision and she respected that.

Anyway, the girl is meant to be coming along any time now. Long night at the office. Smith declared that there was potentially going to be a hit on her life while she walked home, so Pilot is waiting outside her office building. Her car is parked illegally, but she's sitting on it so it's not like she's abandoned it. Clearly just waiting for someone, few cops would bother. Besides, it's an expensive car outside of a multibillion company -- they won't want to fuck with the driver of some CEO who has enough lawyers to give them paperwork for weeks. Then a woman fitting the description of Daenerys comes out, and Pilot walks up to her and tosses her a phone to make her pause while the human instinct to catch things thrown at them takes over. "You're about to get shot at." After all, the hitman probably would have waited for Daenerys to get somewhere more secluded and where they could get closer except now Pilot is an unexpected variable and they'll take the shot while they have it.

Probably, at least -- oh, no, there it is. Pilot grabs Daenerys when she hears the crack of concrete and sees the pavement behind them crack. Opens the back seat of the car and tosses Daenerys in before ducking into the driver seat. Her side gets grazed by a bullet, but that's it before the relatively-bulletproof car is closed and in motion. Pilot switches into second gear, skating through a yellow light. "Turn off your phone. Pick up when the one I gave you rings." Hopefully, Porter or Vaughn will call soon to explain things to her more.

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     Daniels lights up. "See! Told you." She pushes her chair away from the table, pulling off her grounding bracelets and tossing them haphazardly down on it somewhere probably too close to electronics. "Dany is such a cute nickname, oh my god. Maybe I should go by Dany."

"That get confusing, though." Smith gestured at Daenergys.

"Oh. Fair point."

Pilot takes out her phone to ignore everything going on. Vaughn sits down near her to grieve his expectations and hopes.

"Dany, then." Porter sends Dany an amused look. "Hate to bring down the tone, but we have reason to believe one of the members of your board is after your life. He tried to hire us to take you out, and given that clearly that has not happened, it seems likely that he is sending other people to do it instead."

"She got shot at." Pilot speaks up, not bothering to look away from her phone though.

"Ah." No need for the whole dramatic speech Porter had been preparing, then. "Well. In that case, you're pretty caught up. We think it's best for you to stay here while Smith tracks down who was hired and we take care of it and the proof your board member hired them."

These people... are not what she's expecting. There's a warmth to their interwoven existence, a comraderie that feels out of place. Or perhaps she's simply anticipating a more professional -- clinical -- setting, though she can't say it's a disappointment to find something different.

"Daenerys," she replies, the ghost of a smile flitting over her lips. It was hard to keep up civilities in the face of such exuberance, but she's never quite known how to let down her guard. A childhood spent knee deep in proper manners was like to do that to a girl. She casts a curious glance around, meeting each face ( even those who, curiously, seem gutted ) and there's an unusual pang in her chest. It's almost too obvious; they were family. She clears her throat, brushes sentiment aside. "But I suppose Dany is fine."

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Just a nod, no complaints about her reassuring security measures that all is fine. Only when she mentions sending an address does Porter’s expression go cold. “If that is what you require then I will call Pilot to return you to the front of your building. I alone would not make a difference if you were to return out in public, and I will not place my team at risk for the sake of a stranger.”

He does have an interest in preserving her life. He likes to avoid death when possible. They’re aren’t, after all, for example, some kind of assassin’s guild — how she reached that conclusion is beyond him. However, everyone in the Den is like family to him. Even Pilot. Their safety outweighs countless lives to him.

The two who are at this location the most frequently are Smith and Daniels, who are also the two least capable of fighting or even running away. And they’re there alone, just the two of them, often enough. Texting the address is just too dangerous for them. The whole Den will move buildings after this is all done, either way, but staying at a location when the address is so easily findable isn’t a question. Porter and Lovely wouldn’t be able to leave, they’d stay to make sure Smith and Daniels were okay, which means nothing would get done. The people going after Daenerys would not be dealt with. So they’d just have to all stay holed up forever. Not a worthwhile endevour.

“Which, by the way, is not a team of assassins.” Not that they’ve never assassinated anyone, but most of their jobs don’t involve killing. It’s a rather risky and drastic measure, after all. “Pilot’s a driver. I don’t think assassin guilds usually have drivers.” His expression has already thawed, now that he’s not actively thinking of any of his friends’ safety being compromised. “Although, I guess I wouldn’t actually know, given I’ve never been part of one.”

"Mm-mm. No.” She’s lifted up a hand, as if warding him off. “This is what’s happening: first, I’m texting my driver, because in another few minutes, he’s obligated to call my head of security to say I haven’t shown up.” She’s already pulling out her phone, regaining an air of natural command that settles about her like a mantle.

“Then, I’m texting my head of security this address. If you’re uncomfortable with that for some reason,” she says, brow lifted, waiting for some ‘super secret base’ speech, “then I suggest we have this conversation in a more public place, where I can’t be held hostage or ransomed by your assassin’s guild.”

She looks at him expectantly, fingers hovering over the phone screen, as if waiting for permission that they both know she doesn’t need.

“And then, if we’re in agreement, I’ll go inside with you, and we’ll discuss the clusterfuck of my alleged hitman,” a pause, and the slightest hint of her icy expression warming, “and maybe I’ll even find I owe you a thank you.”

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    "I will do my best to tell you everything you wish to know." In their line of business they didn't always know who was hiring them, not by name, but that is being worked on. Theoretically.

Porter sends Smith a significant look, who throws his hands up in defeat and mouths 'break over' at Daniels before returning to the work of trying to hunt down their would-be betrayer. Daniels 'oooh's softly like Smith had been sent to the principals office.

Okay. Anyway. "Pilot --"

"I know." A roll of the eyes that he can't see.

Porter sighs. "See you shortly, Ms. Targaryen." He hangs up, and Pilot doesn't make small talk for the rest of the ride. She just stays quiet, then pulls into a garage underneath an office-space building.

Porter is there, waiting to greet Daenerys, to avoid her having to interact with just Pilot as much as possible. "Again, I deeply apologize for... well, for Pilot. Honestly."

Pilot flips him off as she walks off.

"What would you like to know first?"

Daenerys has known this man for all of one minute, and she’s already completely certain she would have rather him done the extraction, too. Maybe there’s a vein of naivety left in her after all, swirled amid her steel core, but she’s even inclined to trust his words. They ring with true sincerity, and truthfully, she’s not immune to a little pandering from time to time.

It also doesn’t hurt that the background chatter cuts away at their assassin mystique.

“Hm.” Noncommittal. She’s not going to give anything away; words could be turned and used, and emotions could be manipulated. “I expect that, once I arrive, you’ll explain exactly what your motivations are.” An even stare. “As well as who originally hired you.”

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     Porter's back to relaxed entirely by the time she finishes saying good. He hadn't wanted to leave her to her own devices, so he's relieved she's understanding. With a soft snort of amusement, Porter gives a shallow curtsy in response to the command before heading into their scary assassin's guild headquarters.

There some stairs downwards, because the upper levels are almost all office space they don't use -- at first they were worried that not having electric usage be high enough do to the lack of computers would be an issue that could get them caught, but then they saw the first bill from Daniels' experiments and Smith's overpowered-computer and stopped worrying about it.

The group of people in the basement is electric, and there's a sectioned off part of the huge open space with a lot of singe marks and some questionable machines piled onto a table, but Pilot is standing at the back looking disinterested and there's a movie-star looking man who looks crushed upon seeing Daenerys. No one told Vaughn her age, and he figured a CEO would be either around his age or older. Majorly disappointed to find out she's, in his eyes, basically a kid. "Ms. Targaryen, meet the Den."

"Oh my god, have you been calling her Ms. Targaryen this whole time? That makes us sound so... pretentious." Daniels sticks out her tongue, not looking up from the wires she's soldiering. "CEO, any preferred name?"

The moment his face closes off, she recognizes that expression for what it is: loyalty. The unyielding line drawn in the sand, a protection loved ones are placed behind. Part of her hadn’t really banked on him agreeing to send the address out — and that part of her is glad he disagrees.

“Good. Then you take your security seriously.”

Because underneath the collected calm and polished veneer, she’s not willing to admit she’s shaken. Despite that the attempts on her life almost number more than her years, it’s not something she’s grown jaded to, nor is she ever likely. The moment complacency sets in is the moment they would get you (the deer needs to succeed every time; the wolf only needs succeed once). So she brushes imaginary wrinkles off her dress shirt, imbued with a confidence she doesn’t feel, and gestures to the space behind him. Into their lair, she thinks grimly.

“— Well?” The imperious arch of a brow, as if it isn’t her doing that they’re still out here. “Lead the way.”

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    Porter’s expression morphs into a grimace just long enough to say, “Because we had to send Pilot.” Before it’s back to his calm expression. Because really, literally anyone else in the Den would have taken the time to escort her with her informed consent. Porter has a feeling that Pilot shoved her into a car and locked the doors then just took off.

He has this feeling because he has worked with Pilot for several years and knows her very well.

Another soft breath. Porter re-meets Daenerys' gaze in the phone screen. "We found out about the threat on your life less than an hour ago. We had no time to plan a proper extraction, and instead simply needed to get you out of danger. Sadly, the person most adept at that is the sociopath currently driving the car. Right now you're headed to our location, because there was no time to set up a safe house either, which further required someone who could make sure you weren't being followed."

When he next speaks, he pointedly raises his voice so Pilot can hear. "If we could have sent literally anyone else, we would have, and they would have been at least humane. Ideally, I'd have been the one to extract you, but... again, time constraints dictated otherwise."

Smith is now pouting right next to Vaughn, although that's because he feels like he's being blamed for the whole situation as if it was just so easy to hack into really safeguarded and well-funded networks and track down murder plans. "Like any of you could have gotten that information any so--" Smith does not get to finish his sentence before Daniels interrupts with a, "Dude, shut up! Not the time!" And everyone falls quiet again.

Porter is doing his best to not react, even though everything was definitely said loud enough for Daenerys to hear it. He clears his throat softly. "I would like to sincerely apologize for your treatment at the hands of my co-worker. I promise you, once you arrive and we explain everything, you will be free to go if you wish. But truly, we are currently doing our best to prevent your death. For entirely selfish motivations, I won't lie, but strong ones. We want to protect you."

Truthfully, the berating has gone a long way in making her feel more compliant — though it’s likely much less than they’re hoping for. The lack of control is unsettling: for a woman who’s been raised as the proverbial queen of a corporate dynasty, she’s far more accustomed to being in command. How neatly her power has been stripped here. In the space of a handful of minutes, she’s been rendered all but helpless — and it’s not a feeling she’s comfortable with.

So they’ll need excuse the vitriol creasing her feature, in her tone. She’s not feeling particularly helpful tonight.

“I have several,” she starts, the line of her jaw rigid. Under different circumstances, she might appreciate the professional way the man conducts this conversation, or notice the calm tenor to his voice. Instead, she meets his eyes steadily, and they hold all the weight of her displeasure (there’s a fire starting under her skin, and his next answer is the kindling).

“But I’ll start with the most pressing: if you’re ‘rescuing’ me, then why does this feel like a KIDNAPPING?”

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    Pilot just rolls her eyes. If she stops the car, the people who are almost definitively now following them will not get shaken off. Besides, it is far from her job to calm down the scared girl in her backseat -- hell, usually the only people in the vehicles she drives are other members of the Den. Although she's one of the few of them that still takes some solo jobs every now and then, since being a driver is much safer on your own then the others tend to be.

"Someone tried to hire us to kill you." Porter responds, gently nudging a pouting Vaughn who is bemused that he's not being allowed to talk to beautiful rich girl. However, Vaughn's great for seduction and straight charming his way into places and Porter is much better at the straightforward honesty that'll be much more helpful. "Instead, we have decided to protect your life while eliminating them. One of our members had it on good authority you'd be attacked tonight."

Smith glances up at the mention of his work but doesn't interrupt. "If you could please put me on speaker so I can yell at Pilot, assuming she's explained nothing to you and probably been rude?" He waits patiently, understanding someone in Daenerys' position would be loath to easily comply.

Once he's on speaker, he lets out a soft breath. "I apologize for this, Ms. Targaryen." Then proceeds to yell at Pilot in the way you yell at one of your best friends for the same dumb shit they always do that you always have to yell at them for because it's basically a ritual now. Once he's reamed out Pilot for being unnecessarily cryptic to a young woman who just got shot at, he sighs. "Okay. Any questions you have, Ms. Targaryen, I will be more than happy to answer."

“What the fu———”

A sudden turn sends her drifting to one side, hand braced so she doesn’t fall. Adrenaline floods through her veins; time warps and stretches, a surreal quality that makes the moment feel more like a dream. Stop. Go back. What had just happened? She’d been held up late at work. Walked out of the building, heading for the attached garage where her driver would meet her. Then a woman exits a car. She’s catching something midair. There’s a crack, a snap of ozone, like sidestepping a lightning bolt but still reverberating with thunder. Then she’s shoved in a vehicle, tires screeching as they pelt off down the empty road.

(It still doesn’t make any sense.)

“Who the hell are you?” Shock gives way to latent fear, sparks of anger. “What is this? What just happened? Stop. Stop the fucking car and let me out, or I swear I’ll—”

The phone in her hands is ringing. Protests wither and die on her lips, but for a moment, she only stares. Debates chucking it out the window, but it seems like the weaker option. She grits her teeth, biting back the fury. Lists the phone to her cheek.

“— Start explaining.”