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[There's always a wrench in the machinery. There's always something to go wrong. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, like tonight, everything goes as well as Oliver could possibly hope. There's no body count - minor injuries, sure, but nothing the victims won't recover from.

And there's several large caches of weapons that will find their way into the hands of the cops within the hour, thanks to a phone call placed by one one of the thugs held at arrow-point.

It's going swimmingly, which is exactly what has Oliver on edge as he makes the roof of the warehouse, half-way to an exit -

And there's the wrench. Upwards of a dozen more armed men waiting, pouring out of the shadows like he didn't feel the air on the rooftop change when they started to move.

The first two are down before they have a chance to raise their weapons.

Lower the body count. Diggle keeps getting after him to lower the body count.

Oliver grits his teeth and ducks out of the line of fire, using the same shadows to get behind two others, stupidly close together. He looses an arrow between them, killing a third man and getting the two armed idiots to turn on each other and open fire.

He didn't kill them. They did it themselves.

Wrench half-way extracted.]

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[He blinks, caught off-guard again.] No. But she... knows me. Not everything, not.

[Oliver looks away instead of down.] This. But I trust her. You can too.

[He hesitates again.] My body guard is named John Diggle. If I'm not around, you can talk to him. About everything.

[And then he stands there, caught in that awkward silence he's become so acquainted with since the island. He knows he should say something, make conversation somehow, but he has no idea how to do it. There's no faking his way through it. Not at this point.] Who's your mother?

[It's out before he realizes that's probably a terrible thing to ask.]

[Now it's Cissie's turn to be caught off-guard. People he trusts, even with this secret. She thinks of her Oliver Queen, which his children and Dinah, and the Justice League... But no housekeeper or body guards.

It's an interesting, if subtle, difference and she's not sure what to make of it. But for some reason, it makes her feel a little better, knowing this Oliver has, for lack of a better word, people.

And then he asks who her mother is, and she's startled out of her thoughts. She blinks.] ...Bonnie King-Jones. Well, I guess she'd probably still be Bonnie King.

[She should have thought of her mother before this. But on second thought, she's really not sure she can handle her mother not knowing her.]

[He doesn't expect to recognize the name.] Archery. The Olympian. She took bronze this year.

[Oliver can't keep the surprise out of his voice. There's a whole lot to catch up on after five years out of the world, but one thing he has paid particular attention to (in private, in the warehouse where no one who doesn't know the truth will see) are the top archers and competitions, their gear and their trainers.

If someone starts copy-catting him, he wants to have a potential list of suspects ready to go.]

[Cissie doesn't even try to hide her surprise. At least it gives her some context, and maybe a little hope--maybe it's not that heroes don't exist here, but that they don't exist yet, or as much.]

This year? But that was... [Years before she was born.

Oh crap, what if she is in the middle of creating some kind of paradox that could erase her entire existence?

That would seriously suck.]

Edited 2012-11-16 05:13 (UTC)

[Ollie is not sure he wants to add 'sleep with 2012 Olympic medalist' to his current to-do list. But if he has to - if continuity requires it -

No, not thinking about that, not right now.

The sound of tires on asphalt saves him from trying to think of something else to say.] Cab.

[He doesn't quite dive for the door, holding it open like the proper gentleman he occasionally can pretend to be.]

[Cissie follows him out to the cab; she doesn't know what to say, or what to think, so she doesn't say anything. She'd like to turn her brain off so she doesn't have to think, but that's kind of impossible. She at least manages not to cry in the cab, even though every single possible solution she can think of involves people that might not--probably don't--even exist here.

She's lost in thought, looking out the window without really seeing anything, when the cab begins to slow. That's when Cissie clues in and starts to register her surroundings--and spots the house.

...He wasn't kidding when he called it an estate.]

You live in a castle?

The Queen estate. [He watches the building as it looms up over the drive, pensive, tensed. If he can get her upstairs without running in to any of the household's other main players, they can work out the details of a story without anyone to overhear. Given that it's the wee hours of morning, he's hoping the legacy of Queen family insomnia hasn't kept his mother and sister awake.

He gets out first, paying the cabbie with a chunk of money from the safehouse, and opens Cissie's door. He offers her a hand, voice low.] If anyone's up, I'll do the talking.

[A pause, and that damnable uncertainty again.] Please. I know what to say to get them to stop asking questions.

Edited 2012-11-17 05:28 (UTC)

[Cissie is still focused on the house. House seems like a such a wrong word for it; "estate" does suit it better. She thinks of her own Oliver Queen, and wonders if he had a family estate like this. She knows he lost his fortune years ago, but she's never really thought about what that meant, in any kind of detail. Maybe she should have.

She shakes herself out of her thoughts and looks at him skeptically.] Okay. Whatever you say, I guess. ...Who lives here?

Me, my sister, my mother and her husband. [He still can't say my stepfather, because as good a man as Walter seems, he hasn't earned the title. Oliver doubts he ever will.

The double doors swing open as they near them, and Oliver checks sharply, using the motion to hide the fact that he's stepped closer to Cissie, between her and whoever's coming out.

...And it's Tommy, looking back toward the house with a mix of tiredness and worry on his face. Which means one of very few things. Oliver closes his eyes.] Hey man.

[Merlyn starts, takes in the picture of Oliver and his companion, and nods slowly, eyebrows up.] Hey.

[Thankfully Tommy still knows Oliver well enough to read a please don't ask on the latter's face. Oliver takes a deep breath.] Cissie King-Jones, my friend -

[Tommy cocks his head, his tiredness replaced by a grin.] Your best friend.

[Oliver's smile is small but genuine.] My best friend, Tommy Merlyn. Cissie's a friend of mine - she's going to be in town for a while and I suggested she stay with us instead of downtown.

Uh huh. [It's not quite suggestive, for which Oliver is infinitely grateful.

He gestures toward the house, already knowing what Tommy is going to say.] Why the late visit?

Ah... Thea needed a ride home. She's asleep. [Tommy rubs the back of his neck. Oliver squeezes his shoulder, a silent thank you for taking care of their mutual problem sibling.]

[Cissie was surprised and startled by the list of people he rattled off; she had assumed his mother was dead too, like her Ollie's--she probably should have known better. Not only did he have a mother, but she was married? She did wonder why he didn't say 'my stepfather,' but then his friend showed up.

His best friend.

It took all of Cissie's instincts and dusty acting skills not to react visibly to his name; Merlyn. She pasted a friendly-enough smile on her face and tried not to reel too much. Maybe it wasn't the same man. Except she didn't really believe herself.

Then she gave herself a little shake and tuned back into their conversation. Thea. Thea was his sister, and she was seventeen--his sister is younger than me--and needed a ride home. Well. There could be a lot of reasons for that. Maybe.

In the awkward silence, Cissie cleared her throat quietly.] ...Hi. Nice to meet you.

[Except I know a version of you who happens to be a villain. No big deal.]

Likewise. [Tommy draws the word out, studying Cissie with the kind of suspicion a best friend would level at a girl he's never met who may or may not be preying on a friend who hasn't been himself lately.

[Oliver coughs.] Tommy.

[Merlyn looks Oliver's way, and the latter shakes his head. The valet, on cue, pulls up in Tommy's car.] All right man. I'll see you around - oh. Fair warning? The whole Thea thing kind of got your mom out of bed. She's not happy.

[Nngghk. Oliver hisses.] Right. Thanks.

[Merlyn throws a salute, snags his keys rom the valet, and swings down into the driver's seat of his car. Oliver watches him go, speaking to Cissie without looking at her, his focus on reformatting his plans.] Raisa is probably up with Thea, which at least saves us from the possibility my mother will try to shove you off on her and grill me for answers in the mean time. But she's protective of the family, and whatever state Thea is in, mom will see this as... A stranger coming into her territory while one of her cubs is vulnerable.

[The look he finally turns Cissie's way is somber.

God he's tired already, and they're about to walk in to the danger zone.] Please be patient with her. She's been through a lot recently.

[Cissie is a little thrown off by the looks and the warnings and the entire situation. She doesn't like or trust Merlyn, and getting looked at like that by him is... surreal. Even more surreal is what waits for them inside the house. An aunt that probably doesn't exist, and a grandmother she never got the chance to meet. A grandmother who is probably going to hate her just for being here, near her children.

It takes her a moment to realize she's somehow both jealous and homesick, but as soon as she does, she shoves those thoughts away and clears her throat, dropping her gaze to the pavement.]

...I guess telling her the truth isn't an option.

I'm sorry. [He means it, even if he's essentially saying 'no'. Ollie takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, managing ten whole steps inside with Cissie in tow. The grand stairways flank the entrance, and the interior is all dark woods, brown marble, and red cloth.

And one very thunderous-looking blonde woman bearing down on Oliver and Cissie, wrapped in a silk bathrobe over what looks like a pair of Walter's pajamas. At the very least they're too big for her.

Oliver stops, bracing himself with stillness, and Moira makes the opening volley:] Thank God. You can't keep doing this, Oliver, you aren't an irresponsible child any more. Where have you been?

Out. [The word is soothing. Oliver takes his mother's arms by the elbows, feeling the tension in every part of her like a bowstring with the arrow drawn back against it.] Ma. Relax. Is Thea all right?

[Moira exhales hard through her nostrils, locking on to Cissie over Oliver's shoulder and narrowing her eyes in an expression Oliver recognizes as suspicion about to be unleashed. He heads her off before she can say anything, voice still calm. He sounds a little like he's talking to a riled animal.] This is Cissie. Ran into her downtown. We knew each other, before the wreck. She's in town, airport lost her bags, the Claremont messed up her reservation, so I thought she could stay with us for a night or two.

[Oliver's mother looks at least slightly mollified.] Miss - Cissie what?

King. King-Jones, actually. [Better to go with the truth there, at least. Keep this mess as simple as possible. Oliver steps to one side, so the two women can get a better look at each other.] Mom. Thea?

[Moira pauses, then curls her hand gently around Oliver's wrist.] She'll be all right. Taking after her brother, unfortunately. And she's grounded again.

[A small smile lights Oliver's face at the last part, smothered just as quickly. Thea will pretend not to be happy about the restriction, but any attention from Moira is good, and that his mother is getting better at discipline is even better.]

[Moira nods to Cissie, very slowly.] Miss King. Or do you prefer King-Jones?

[Cissie decides her best bet for surviving this encounter in one piece is to stay quiet and try to seem as physically small as possible. She's listening carefully and paying attention to what is said and what isn't--the body language, the looks. She doesn't know what Ollie--Oliver--means by 'the wreck,' or why he smiles at his sister's grounding, but she can make some guesses. And it's clear his mother still thinks he's out being irresponsible instead of heroing.

Interesting.

And then her attention is on Cissie, and she is on the spot, and trying not to squirm.] Uh... Cissie's fine. [Wait. Maybe it isn't. Maybe she should let her not-grandmother call her whatever the hell she wants.] I mean, but King-Jones is--also good. Fine. [Oh god, she's a moron.] Thank you for letting me stay here, m-a'am, [she says, covering and managing not to call her Mrs. Queen. Not that she knew what to call her instead, but at least she didn't make that faux-pas.

Now if the floor would open up and swallow her, that would be excellent.]

[Moira's eyebrows twitch upward, and she glances at Oliver, a question in her look. Not your usual, Oliver reads, and is pleased he can still catch that much from his mother in a look.

She does, at least, offer Cissie a small smile.] Cissie. It's just as well, really. The Claremont is hideously crowded this time of year.

[Oliver relaxes a fraction. Cissie's accidental unpretentiousness worked in their favor.] She means you're welcome.

[Moira pushes Oliver's shoulder slightly, her smile coming a little more naturally.] You may call me Mrs. Steele. I would introduce you to my husband, but unfortunately Walter is out of the country on business.

[Oliver watches his mother carefully, noticing those little twitches in her face and stance that indicate there's more to Walter's absence than she's saying - but she's getting better at hiding them.]

Mother, if it's all right, I'm going to take Cissie up to the guest suites and help her get settled.

[Moira studies Oliver and then Cissie in careful silence, her face impressively unreadable at first. Then she nods.] I'm going to go check on your sister. Come speak to me once our guest is comfortable.

[Our guest. That could either be a very good or very bad thing, depending on the level of scrutiny his mother decides to level Cissie's way. He touches the latter's elbow gently, an indication to follow, and moves upstairs. The whole place, even with half the lights out and the staff asleep, breathes a history of wealth. Portraits and urns and mahogany. The clichéd trappings of status.

Sometimes Oliver feels like an insect in the nest of some other, bigger monster, unnoticed by his family's own legacy.] This way.

[Cissie is in trouble; she can feel it. She's already way more fascinated with Mrs. Steele than is probably safe or even rational, and she knows a large part of it is just that she hasn't had any grandparents since she was about three or four. But there's also just something about her that tells Cissie this woman is formidable and to be taken seriously. Cissie finds herself somehow simultaneously intimidated and fascinated by her.

And by the way she and Oliver interact with each other.

All Cissie can do is observe, and offer polite smiles and trail after Oliver when they finally escape and head upstairs. She looks around them as they go, taking in everything, and feeling... incredibly out of place.]

So. How badly did I screw that up?

What? [Genuinely surprised by the question is he. Oliver stops, half-turning, holding himself in that stiff way he unconsciously adopts, a posture that says he's not quite sure how to behave while standing upright and in the open as opposed to crouched in the dark.] You were fine. I know she can be a little... intimidating, but she's just guarded. It's.

[He pauses.] It runs in the family.

[A gesture toward the end of the hall, to one of the last doors, which he opens. The 'guest room' looks like a penthouse suite at a pacific-northwestern hotel.] Is this all right? I'll... We'll... Clothing won't be an issue.

Edited 2013-01-05 01:54 (UTC)

[Intimidating. Guarded. Runs in the family. Cissie makes a little noise that's maybe an agreement, and maybe amused. The way he described his mother might actually explain quite a bit about him.

She follows him down the hall to the guest room and steps in; she's almost overwhelmed. She's never really seen a room like this in a real house before (though calling this place a house seems wrong anyway). She can't hide her staring, or how overwhelming she finds the place in that first moment. She recovers quickly, but then he mentions clothing and she realizes... she doesn't have any. She doesn't have anything, because this isn't her world and the people she would call to fix this might not even exist and--she is definitely not going to cry right now.

She takes a deep, steadying breath and a few steps away from him, to look out a window and give herself a chance to cover her near-breakdown.] Thank you. It's--incredible. Really.

[That reaction leaves him fumbling slightly, standing in the doorway, not wanting to leave her alone but not sure what else to do.] I'm. Down the hall.

[He points, indicating the right direction.] Third door on the left.

[Nope. Still standing here.] It's.

[...He's not sure where that sentence was going to go, if anywhere.]

Edited 2013-02-06 05:50 (UTC)

[Cissie nods, taking in the information and wondering exactly what she was going to do and how she was going to get home... And also wondering what would possibly drive her to go down the hall to his room. His unfinished sentence and the fact that he wasn't leaving made her turn and look at him, though.]

It's what?

It'll be all right.

[He doesn't know how he can even begin to make that the truth.]

[Cissie looks back at him and manages, somehow, not to laugh. It's nice of him to try though, so she gives him a small, grateful smile.] ...Yeah. Thanks.

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