windfield | iris and delilah

Iris Huntington might have been arrogant, a control freak, and a self-described bitch, but she wasn’t stupid. She learned from her mistakes - when they were truly her mistakes, and not just the world being stupid - and adapted. So her first robbery might have been a bust, landing her in CIA custody and forcing her to do some quick thinking to escape. But a few weeks later, after ironing out the kinks in her safecracker’s programming and tinkering with the ammo capacity of her guards, she tried again. Coast Star Bank might have been a bit less prestigious, but it was far enough away that the CIA wasn’t watching over it. Coverage of her first attempt had been a curiosity, tucked away in the third pages of newspapers that bothered to cover it.

The Coast Star Robbery, though? Put in the cash, the bonds, the savings, the jewelry and watches, and she had nearly half a million dollars. Now that was something worth reporting on. Front page, a photo of Iris sauntering out of the bank and to her car, flanked by knockout gas and gunfire. One for her trophy room.

She kept going - another few banks and museums, until they started shoring up their security in paranoia. The headquarters of Ford Automobiles during a shareholders meeting, mostly to tell them that their new breakthrough was crap. One day, she’d held an entire movie set hostage, primping and preening in front of the cameras, trying to get the actors to smile. She’d gotten bored and left - but really, that had just been for fun.

But the attention from the public meant attention from the Government, and the day came where her stream of luck ran out. Somehow, they’d found her hideout, nestled away in the Appalachians. Assembly line in an abandoned mineshaft, laboratory and a sprawling apartment on a mountainside, all powered by a series of nearby dams - it might not have been the glamorous retreat a Bond villain would have, but it was close.

And the best part, in Iris’ opinion? A complex-wide speaker system. So while she directed her troops (seventy soldiers strong) from her laboratory, she blasted the Rolling Stones so everybody could hear. Paint It, Black was such a damn good song, and she knew the words by heart.

“Come o~on,” she sing-songed into the microphone, cutting the music out for a moment. “Surrender and I won’t kill you.”

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She raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, then?" she asked.

But there was no winning here, was there. "I like a little of everything," Delilah said, though with a sigh. "What do you have?"

What did she want? The question honestly took her a bit by surprise. People didn't usually ask Iris what she wanted in a casual way. When robbing a bank, sure, when holding a Hollywood soundstage hostage. But not in a general, big-picture way.

She wanted - wanted to show off to somebody. Wanted to impress Agent Kaye, and, if she was being honest with herself, wanted to unbutton her. Just a little.

(Maybe a lot)

She didn't go out and say that, though, just plowed onward, ignoring the question completely. "Motown, rock and roll, blues. I've got some swing, if you're as old-fashioned as you look. Oh! Have you heard of the Wonders? They're new."

Delilah was a woman of the details, but in this case big-picture seemed like a good thing to learn. It might help her figure out what to do or how to get on.

But -- of course Iris wouldn't answer, of course it wouldn't be that easy. So she just shrugged and said, "I haven't. Not the best at keeping up with that sort of thing, though I'm not totally in the dark."

She turned away from the terminal for a moment, shooting Delilah an attempt at a charming grin. “You’re in for a treat.”

It didn’t take Iris long to key in the commands - have the automatic record player she invented select the correct record, bring it to the turntable, broadcast it through the lab. But it was a mechanical processing once she sent the order, so it was a solid forty seconds before the speakers crackled to life with the snare drum opening of the song.

“See?” Iris said, twirling around. “They’re great.”

This was an awful situation to be in, but damned if Iris' enthusiasm wasn't contagious. She was so happy, she seemed so innocent. And the song really was catchy.

"Yeah, they're alright," she said carefully, trying not to let her guard down.

"Wow," Iris drawled. "What an endorsement, Agent." She bounded over to Delilah, plucking the glass out of her hand and setting it on her workbench.

"Do you dance? Or is that illegal for G-Men like you?"

Oh, now Delilah had to scoff. "Hardly illegal," she said. "Doesn't mean it's something I do much of, but I'm not forbidden."

She wasn't going to give in that easily.

"Come on," Iris said. "It's not going to kill you, and I'm not about to go and blab away to your supervisor."

She reaches to grab Delilah's hand - slowly, no sudden movements, no ulterior motives here.

"Why are you being so nice to me, anyway?" Delilah asked, but almost under her breath, like she didn't really expect an answer.

But she made sure the glass was set down steadily and let Iris drag her out, regardless.

She didn't hear the question - with the music playing and Iris glancing down to make sure they wouldn't trip over anything, it went unheard.

"Admit it." Iris grinned, putting one hand on Delilah's waist. "You're impressed by all of this."

"I'm impressed by your not murdering me," Delilah countered. She hadn't forgotten that Iris might not have heard that, but on the off-chance that she was just being coy and vague there was no point bringing it back up.

The hand on her waist was also very noticed, but she wasn't going to fuss. Certainly not. Better just to pretend it wasn't happening, or something.

Iris groaned, rolling her eyes. “I told you, I don’t want to kill you, why are you so fucking fixated on that?” Honestly.

There song changed to the next track on the album - not as energetic, more of a ballad. Iris could have stopped for a moment, get just the right tune playing, but that’d mean letting go of Delilah. And honestly, she was happy where she was.

“So,” she said, starting to sway a little. “What does the CIA want with me, anyway?”

"Because, at the risk of sounding like a cliche, that's what a whole lot of them say," Delilah pointed out. "Trying to lull people into a false sense of security, that kind of thing. It's stupid, but it happens."

And, considering who she was, she was more than used to men who didn't try to be subtle or clever with her. She also wasn't used to women who decided to drop everything and dance with her in the middle of their evil lair, so.

"I'd think that was obvious," she remarked, swaying along easily. "You've been on a veritable spree."

"It is stupid," Iris agreed. "And I don't do stupid things, Agent." Foolish things, unexplained things, impulsive things, sure - but never stupid.

"Well, yeah," she drawled. "A man buys a new car, he's going to show it off. I build a bunch of robots, I want the same. But that's - " she shrugged a bit, barely messing a step, " - That's why the tabloids and gossip columns are interested in me. Not law enforcement."

She paused, considering. "Oh, I guess I did rob a bank."

"You realize that's also what most of them say," Delilah deadpanned. "Or at least that they're not stupid. That, I'd believe about you. But robberies and large-scale crime?"

She dragged out the pause. Clearly as a government agent she found that abhorrent and, yes, stupid, but she was also starting to just mess with Iris a little.

"You keep on doing those," she concluded. "And it's flashy, sure, but you can show off your new toys without wreaking havoc."

iris and delilah - ii

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oh my God I'm so sorry I lost this notification for so long

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