Faulty Footwear

September 16, 2014: Hercules and Elektra have a chance meeting at Madison Square Garden. One of them thinks they may have use for the other.

Madison Square Garden



  • Random cat caller

Mood Music:

Returning to the scene of the crime isn't always the smartest decision. Only days ago, Elektra Natchios had a short chat with a fellow who then proceeded to have a heart attack in the middle of a demonstration in Madison Square Garden.

What brings her back today is another manila envelope. She flicks the envelope with her fingers as she leans against the side of the building and watches for her target. Her lips witch of the side contemplatively and her fingers drum irritably against the the package she carries.

She pushes off the wall and begins pacing in front of the building back and forth. Her red stilettos click along the cement. Her black pencil skirt and black blouse make the heels look that much brighter.

A stranger cat whistles from across the street, but Elektra doesn't look towards him. She takes a few more steps, only for her stiletto to break.

Who should observe this travesty but the Prince of Power, Hercules, Champion of Olympus?! Dressed in traditional Greek fustanella and sandals, bare-chested save for leather bands that encircle his broad shoulders, he stands out among the passers-by on the street. The crowd parts as he passes through, some stopping to gawk, some crossing the street to avoid him. His grin never falters as he moves along the thoroughfare.

"Hail, Maiden," he calls at the sight of Elektra's misfortune. Some distance away yet, far enough to have been missed perhaps, but his own keen eye for a well-turned calf means that Ms. Natchios could hardly escape his notice. "An ill fate, to be caught on the street in faulty footwear!"

Approaching her, he is an imposing figure, smaller than some, but clearly no mere mortal man. He extends a hand toward the fallen woman, his grin broadening as he offers her assistance. "Take my hand and rise."

Elektra's expression hinges on is this really happening as she takes the hand and 'rises' to her feet. She puts her weight on her unheeled foot and reaches down to collect the one with a heel still present. She snaps the heel off the shoe and shrugs before returning it to her foot. With both shoes now flat, she shrinks in stature and shoots the strong man and say smile.

"An ill fate to be caught anywhere with faulty footwear," she counters with a sparkle in her eyes. "But I always make do."

Her head cants to the side as she inspects him, a glimmer of mischief sparking into something more prominent as she slides towards him, "It's lovely to know that there are still gentlemen in this city."

There's a moment of awkwardness as Hercules, too, bends forward. Too close, and he straightens, takes a half-step back. When she straightens, he bends again to retrieve the broken heel and offer it in one open palm, beaming a smile. "Indeed," he agrees with a nod, his own eyes atwinkle to match Elektra's.

"Aye," he booms, "Men abound, but I am told that gentlemen are rare in this age. Let none say that Hercules," brilliant smile, "Was base, or ill-mannered."

Unable to fight the urge any longer, his eyes travel from Elektra's face groundward, but return along the same path quickly. "You seem vexed, or perhaps out of place," he observes, letting his gaze wander the crowd for a moment in an attempt to judge what might have set Elektra on edge. "Were you awaiting a date, perhaps? Some companion, to accompany you to a musical event?" Brightening further, he fairly interrupts his own sentence to ask, "Or perhaps it is basketball?"

"I was meeting someone," Elektra observes idly as she tucks her envelope in her skirt pocket. "But," she announces disapprovingly, "he seems to have stood me up." She shrugs. "Very ungentlemanly of him." With a frown she watches him carefully.

She forces a smile as she slides closer to the Greek demigod. Her fingers reach out to walk along his shoulder. "But maybe you'd like to join me for a coffee?" There's another sparkle in her eye. Her palm reaches out to press on his chest as she manages a rather flirtatious laugh.

"The base born cur," Hercules says, apparently taken aback at the news. His grin at Elektra's touch is positively wolfish, and he edges closer at the sound of her laugh. "I shall join you, Miss…" He trails off, frowning momentarily when he realizes they have not yet exchanged names. "My humble apologies," he suddenly booms. "I am Hercules, son of Zeus." He can't quite supress a hint of smugness as he adds, "As you may have perceived."

He waits for her to give a name, and that superhumanly affable grin returns. "I should be honored to join you for coffee," the son of Zeus announces, "Or indeed, for any repast that suits your fancy, be it appetizer, meal or mere confection. Lead on, fair maid." He shifts his stance to offer Elektra his elbow, content to let her choose their destination.

"Mmmm," she manages before raising her chin in an effort to meet his gaze. "Natchios," she purrs. "You can call me Elektra." She remains planted in front of him, her hand on his chest ass he notes, "I'm also Greek." As if this makes all the sense in the world as to why they should enjoy a cup of coffee together.

Her hand slides downwards, dropping to her side as she reaches out to link arms with him. "And what brings you to New York City?" There's a long pause as she notes, "And how is it that we're only just meeting?" The charm of his speech does actually merit a smaller smile, evidently she wasn't kidding when she said there weren't many gentlemen around.

Hercules grins at Elektra's nationality — an instant kinship! When she links arms with him, he reaches across his body to lay his free hand atop herss as they start down the street, turning to look down on her as they speak. "I came to New York City to visit family," he explains, measuring his steps so as not to outpace his smaller companion, "And perhaps to renew old acquaintances. On glorious Olympus, I have been plagued in recent months by…" His mouth starts to form one word, then quickly switches to another. "…Idleness."

"Perhaps it is time once again for the Lion of Olympus to test himself — the mortal world ever offers new trials, new foes, new champions to measure oneself against. And where better to begin the search than New York?" His brows lift, as though it were all very simple, and he nods. "And you? What brings a flower of Greece to this far shore?"

"Idleness," Elektra repeats quietly, and perhaps a little disapprovingly. "Sounds terribly dull," but her eyes flicker with amusement, "except Olympus is likely lovely every time of the year." Two dimples crater into her cheeks to punctuate her words.

She sighs, "My father, rest him," because Hugo Natchios is long since dead, "was a Greek diplomat to the United States. We moved here in my teen years. After he died," her throat clears, smile fades, and her eyebrows draw together, "I left for awhile." She sucks on the inside of her cheek. "I'm back for…" her lips curl upwards, "fate, maybe. The gods themselves willed me in the Unite States to encounter one of their own," there's an air of drama in her tone that teeters on teasing, and perhaps, just a hint of self-deprication.

"Dull indeed," Hercules agrees with a nod, his tone grave enough to signify that he did not catch on to her wry humor. "Though Olympus is as splendid as you imagine, I find I often prefer the mortal realm."

Mention of her father's death receives silent sympathy — a more serious expression, a squeeze of the hand beneath his — a rare moment of silence from Hercules, before her playful jibe about the will of the gods. "And so you took up the yoke of destiny," he asks, his teeth flashing white in another broad smile. "You would have it that we were placed here for this purpose, by the will of almighty Zeus? Or mayhaps another divine schemer — bright Apollo, or the lovely Aphrodite? If so, then we dare not waste their effort. In sight of gods and men, let us enjoy this night!" Humor wars with earnestness in his tone. He makes light of the thought, but nonetheless intends to enjoy himself.

"Well if Aprodite, then I might suggest this is a fix-up," Elektra quirks with a wry smile. "If it's one of the others, harder to tell." She squeezes his arm a little tighter. "And what, perchance, makes the mortal realm so enjoyable for you?" The lightness of her tone and vibrance of her eyes actually suggest that the woman wants to know, and isn't simply making conversation.

As the pair move, it becomes increasingly clear that despite her misbalanced now-flat shoes, she has a lithe of movement uncommon among most mortals — a sort of dancers motion with each step. She tugs him towards a Starbucks, this is a somewhat futile activity if he chooses not to move. "Do gods drink coffee?"

"I love the mortal realm for its unpredictability," Hercules is quick to answer, "And its scenery." The last is added with an unsubtle wink at his companion. No mistaking his meaning, there. At her tug, he veers toward the coffee shop as well, booming a laugh. "This god drinks coffee," he says with a laugh, reaching out to open the door.

Once inside, he leads the way to the counter, where he peers up at the sign, perplexed. The normal confusion that a non-Starbucks-regular is faced with on encountering the pseudo-Italian verbage of their menu, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he defers to Elektra, letting the woman order first and then adding, "And a second for me!" He even produces a wallet from somewhere within his fustanella, to pay.

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