[ he gives nat a slightly helpless shrug, ceding this mission to her. and what a mission it is, harassing a lowlife landlord for not doing his job. as far as missions go, he's done worlds worse. ]
No punching?
[ he's kidding. mostly. he rolls one shoulder and turns his gaze inward, listing off what he knows about the landlord. he's not a mysterious man by any means, and nat would likely figure him out with one look - bucky certainly did - but recon is always essential to every plan. ]
Phyllis Temberton, forty-seven, lives off-building, has a brownstone down the street with the second floor sublet to a mistress. Insecure about his given name, has two kids who won't talk to him, eldest is starting college this fall. Thrice divorced, twice bankrupt, charges rent 14% higher than the rest of the street. [ a pause. ] The building's access to the thoroughway is the selling point.
He's allergic to chicken. Late-onset diabetes, sciatica on the left leg.
[ this is like taking candy from a baby, if the baby weighs two hundred and four pounds. ]
[She gives him an amused look. It's clear that he's kidding. Sort of kidding.] We'll see. [Look, she's not above beating up a shady landlord. But if he plans to live here for at least a few more months, ultimately it's going to be better if they can put the specter of future escalation in the room with him.
Her brow arches when he starts to list off the information he has about the landlord, a glimmer of mischievous humor in her eyes when she realizes exactly how much he has. Could be that he's been planning something like this. Or that it's just part of the recon he's naturally doing on the people peripherally around him. Her mouth curls in a smirk at his final comment.]
He can try.
[Natasha almost feels bad for the guy. Almost. But a serial cheater charging jacked up rent prices simply because he can? He has this coming. Her head tips toward the door of his apartment.] Let's go. [She leads the way down the stairs and back through the lobby. Even though she's dressed casually, by the time they reach the door to the office, she's moving with a deliberate confidence that seems to say don't waste my time.
She pushes the door open and Phyllis looks up, startled. Natasha looks back at him, her expression skeptical. Stepping inside, she turns to Bucky and says in Russian.] This is 'Phyllis'? I thought he'd be a woman.
He might as well be a woman with those balls tucked high up his taint, frankly. Not even good enough for an old crone's rough hand, that one.
[ it's easy to fall back into the lyrical brusqueness of the Russian language, the syllables slotting against his teeth and rolling on his tongue like a warm mouthful of freshly made blini. phyllis looks up, first surprised at the intrusion, then annoyed at the brief conversation.
this isn't mother russia, pals, he grunts, waddling his way from behind his stout desk that does nothing to hide his beer gut. phyllis used to be handsome, which makes things sadder; his looks have gone, and with it any pretense of niceness to anyone who isn't him. what do you want?
he eyes nat with a wet eye, purses his mouth until it resembles more of leather crease than lips. looking at him sours bucky's mood further. he sends her a look, as though to ask can i hit him now?, but he turns his gaze to the floor right after. nat has a plan, and her plans often work without people getting hit.
[His response startles a genuine laugh out of her, and her answer comes with a smirk.] Wow, that was colorful.
[Her eyes settle on Phyllis as he makes his way around the desk. Even without Bucky's thorough assessment, it's easy to tell that she's got a read on him already. This man's actions have made him ugly - he's small and hard and indulgent and if she were still working for the Red Room she would have eaten him alive.
Instead, her hands come to rest on her hips, head shifting to a haughty angle as she literally looks down her nose at Phyllis. Who isn't looking at her so much as her breasts.] It would be in your best interest to make eye contact with me and not my chest, Mr. Timberton.
[His eyes dart up, a purple flush to his face at being called on it. It's Tem - Before he can finish, Natasha interrupts him.] I'm sure it is. Just as I'm sure that you know my client is a decorated war veteran that has the gross misfortune to have to live in your building. And you freely gave his key to a third party without his permission? A third party that doesn't actually know Mr. Barnes? [Phyllis opens his mouth to say something and - Natasha interrupts him.] I am not done speaking, Mr. Pemberton. As I'm sure you know, my client is protected by not only the VA, but inviolable tenancy laws that you are breaking. And if you're breaking these laws with Mr. Barnes, well, I'm sure it would only be a matter of time before I could mobilize the rest of your tenants in a class action lawsuit. So are you going to make this right for my client, or am I going to have the absolute pleasure of raking your ass over the coals?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
No punching?
[ he's kidding. mostly. he rolls one shoulder and turns his gaze inward, listing off what he knows about the landlord. he's not a mysterious man by any means, and nat would likely figure him out with one look - bucky certainly did - but recon is always essential to every plan. ]
Phyllis Temberton, forty-seven, lives off-building, has a brownstone down the street with the second floor sublet to a mistress. Insecure about his given name, has two kids who won't talk to him, eldest is starting college this fall. Thrice divorced, twice bankrupt, charges rent 14% higher than the rest of the street. [ a pause. ] The building's access to the thoroughway is the selling point.
He's allergic to chicken. Late-onset diabetes, sciatica on the left leg.
[ this is like taking candy from a baby, if the baby weighs two hundred and four pounds. ]
He might hit on you.
no subject
Her brow arches when he starts to list off the information he has about the landlord, a glimmer of mischievous humor in her eyes when she realizes exactly how much he has. Could be that he's been planning something like this. Or that it's just part of the recon he's naturally doing on the people peripherally around him. Her mouth curls in a smirk at his final comment.]
He can try.
[Natasha almost feels bad for the guy. Almost. But a serial cheater charging jacked up rent prices simply because he can? He has this coming. Her head tips toward the door of his apartment.] Let's go. [She leads the way down the stairs and back through the lobby. Even though she's dressed casually, by the time they reach the door to the office, she's moving with a deliberate confidence that seems to say don't waste my time.
She pushes the door open and Phyllis looks up, startled. Natasha looks back at him, her expression skeptical. Stepping inside, she turns to Bucky and says in Russian.] This is 'Phyllis'? I thought he'd be a woman.
no subject
[ it's easy to fall back into the lyrical brusqueness of the Russian language, the syllables slotting against his teeth and rolling on his tongue like a warm mouthful of freshly made blini. phyllis looks up, first surprised at the intrusion, then annoyed at the brief conversation.
this isn't mother russia, pals, he grunts, waddling his way from behind his stout desk that does nothing to hide his beer gut. phyllis used to be handsome, which makes things sadder; his looks have gone, and with it any pretense of niceness to anyone who isn't him. what do you want?
he eyes nat with a wet eye, purses his mouth until it resembles more of leather crease than lips. looking at him sours bucky's mood further. he sends her a look, as though to ask can i hit him now?, but he turns his gaze to the floor right after. nat has a plan, and her plans often work without people getting hit.
he's still relearning that skillset. ]
I've got complaints, Phyllis. This is my lawyer.
no subject
[Her eyes settle on Phyllis as he makes his way around the desk. Even without Bucky's thorough assessment, it's easy to tell that she's got a read on him already. This man's actions have made him ugly - he's small and hard and indulgent and if she were still working for the Red Room she would have eaten him alive.
Instead, her hands come to rest on her hips, head shifting to a haughty angle as she literally looks down her nose at Phyllis. Who isn't looking at her so much as her breasts.] It would be in your best interest to make eye contact with me and not my chest, Mr. Timberton.
[His eyes dart up, a purple flush to his face at being called on it. It's Tem - Before he can finish, Natasha interrupts him.] I'm sure it is. Just as I'm sure that you know my client is a decorated war veteran that has the gross misfortune to have to live in your building. And you freely gave his key to a third party without his permission? A third party that doesn't actually know Mr. Barnes? [Phyllis opens his mouth to say something and - Natasha interrupts him.] I am not done speaking, Mr. Pemberton. As I'm sure you know, my client is protected by not only the VA, but inviolable tenancy laws that you are breaking. And if you're breaking these laws with Mr. Barnes, well, I'm sure it would only be a matter of time before I could mobilize the rest of your tenants in a class action lawsuit. So are you going to make this right for my client, or am I going to have the absolute pleasure of raking your ass over the coals?