Take out Chinese food, a hot bath and one really long day later, Ophilia found herself back in the comfort of her overstuffed leather couch. The furnishings were simple but extravagant and the place was tidy. It looked more like a model unit than it did a lived in space. The light from the kitchen and her big screen TV were the only evidence that the quiet resident was home.

After days filled with divas, rock stars and DiSantiagos, she looked forward to relaxing and watching television in the sanctity of her home at night. She had resisted the urge all day to visit the boards where she knew that she might be able to find Nemesis. It was a combination of anger and stubbornness that prevented it. She knew that she wouldn't likely be able to resist the whole night, but for now, she had managed to leave her computer untouched.

An old episode of Friends was on the air and it sucked Ophilia in. She was grateful for the distraction and watched it from her curled up position on the couch. The show was stumbling through an awkward moment, a bit more serious than its standard fair, and she found herself wincing at the poor character's plight, when the rich sound of an unfamiliar voice startled her.

"I never liked this episode," came the voice from the open balcony. The afternoon's rain had left the evening air crisp, but not unpleasantly so. "I mean really, they were on a break."

Ophilia recovered quickly from her start and sat up slowly, peeking over the top of the couch to see who the intruder was. She knew from the rich timbre in his voice that it wasn't her brother or one of her cousins. She knew in the pit of her stomach who it was--her instincts ran deep when it came to people--but still, learning to trust them was a different matter. Besides, things like this didn't happen to her; she lived her private life, quite intentionally, by inviting as little drama into it as she could.

The figure standing there was definitely tall, definitely dark, but one couldn't tell if he was handsome or not. A full mask covered his head and dark blue goggles his eyes. His outfit was closefitting without being snug and appeared to be made of something not unlike a wetsuit. It caught and reflected light without giving away any details, except perhaps that the man had pouches and pockets all around his waist. That and he carried a staff.

After giving the stranger a quick once over, she knew for sure that this was indeed Nemesis. With effort, Ophilia kept the emotion off of her face as she stood to her very unimpressive height of five foot two. She crossed her arms over her rather silly Betty Boop PJs and cocked one of her eyebrows at him inquiringly.

"Was I 12 hours early or are you 12 hours late?" As usual, the PR rep was never at a loss for words, and a small smile escaped her with the question. Despite her calm appearance and the dry lilt to her voice, she could feel the unusual surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins. It elicited an interesting combination of uncertainty and excitement, and oddly enough she liked it.

Nemesis resisted the urge to let his eyes linger on the enticing image of a three-dimensional Betty Boop lingering above the slender arms of the woman before him. He was, however, impressed with how quickly she mastered her surprise. She was used to thinking quickly, obviously, and not easily impressed or startled. It was something to bear in mind.

He allowed himself a small smile that reached his voice. "Can I come in?"

It took her a few moments to respond, as visions of Lost Boys, began dancing in her head. She mentally chided herself that there was no such thing as vampires, and offered Nemesis a small smile of welcome. "Sure. I'll warn you, though, you had better be on your best behavior." Her smile grew into a grin as she said that half jokingly, her instincts assuring her that he was completely trustworthy, while her shaken faith in herself was leery to depend on them.

Again that slight nod of the head. He took several slow steps into the room, careful to appear nonthreatening, his staff tucked into the crook of his arm. He made a show of glancing around the room, though in truth he’d scanned it fully before revealing himself.

Ophilia watched him intently as he moved. It wasn't that she was worried about what he would do, instead she was watching him with the eye of a casting director. He was tall and had a very nice build, broad shoulders, and the echo of his rich voice sounded again in her mind. She wondered what color his eyes were and what he looked like under his mask, but for her purposes, or at least the camera's purpose it wouldn't matter since he was wearing a full face mask. She was already trying to figure out what angle she would use to approach him about his costume choices and whether he'd consider not wearing a full face mask, assuming of course, that he was as attractive as the rest of his features indicated.

As with any DiSantiago, she had already assumed her success, and before she even told him about the team, was thinking on how to accomplish the next task. Realizing that she was staring, she forced her eyes away and looked a bit sheepish. Even if she didn't have professional intentions, how could someone not stare at a man dressed like this when they landed in the middle of their living room.

“Nice place,” he offered. “And I apologize for earlier today. As much as I might regret it later, crosswords and coffee on a park bench wasn’t my idea of an ideal first date.”

"So, you were there. For future reference, I don't like to be kept waiting." She smiled up at him, obviously pleased with herself. "Please, sit down. She gestured towards a bar that separated her kitchen from the living room. Can I get you something to drink?" She let the remark about the date slide without comment, but she did find it amusing and liked his quick wit.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” he replied casually. Everything about him seemed casual, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. He pulled out the end chair against the bar and sat in it, his costume creaking faintly, and rested his staff against the next chair over.

“For the record,” he continued. “I wouldn’t ordinarily dream of leaving an attractive woman waiting for anything.” Was there a pause before those last two words? Difficult to say. “Under the circumstances, though, you didn’t really expect me to just waltz up and sit down, did you?”

"No. I don't know what I expected." Ophilia chatted lightly as she moved into the kitchen, seemingly unconcerned about her attire. It wasn't something that she would choose to be wearing when she entertained company, but at the same time it wasn't like he was invited. She opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of drinks, hoping he would indulge her eventually by removing his mask, small bribes couldn't hurt. She came back to join him, leaving the bar between them, as she leaned casually on her side.

"But...the visions dancing in my head did include you making an appearance, somehow. I am glad you decided to pay me a visit." She gave him one of her irresistible grins. They were a rarity for a while, but in more recent months she had recaptured much of her old spirit.

Luke had decided that there was little harm in indulging this particular fantasy. And really, there was no other word for it. Regardless of how else he might view the alluring Miss DiSantiago—a potential contact, perhaps, or a resource of some sort, or perhaps even the tip of something larger—the idea of a costumed vigilante visiting an attractive woman in her apartment was indeed a bit of a fantasy. He was rather enjoying himself, truth be told, and was reluctant to reach the business for which he’d come.

In a show of uncharacteristic trust he gently rolled up his mask from the neck, allowing it to rise to just above his nose before stopping. His chin and cheeks held a day’s stubble, as usual, but was otherwise strong and rugged-looking. He couldn't help but notice that Ophilia was watching him with open interest, and the smile still lingered on her face. He accepted the proffered drink with a smile and took a sip. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, then forged ahead with his raison d’être.

“It seemed the appropriate thing to do, all things considered,” he answered. “You obviously have sources of information I do not and seem willing to share them. I’m curious as to how you come by the information you do, though, and why you chose to share it with me.”

Ophilia crossed her arms in front of her and leaned lower over the counter, her eyes sought his out, as was her way. She was a very intimate speaker and had a way of gaining people's trust and making them feel how important that she felt it was to spend time with them. In the moment, most people felt a bond or connection with her, like they shared a kinship or were kindred spirits. Afterwards it could be unsettling, when someone thought that maybe they'd shared too much, or maybe they had told her something she didn't really want to know.

Unfortunately, Nemesis' goggles were in the way and she found herself a bit unsettled by that. "Would you take off your glasses first?" Her tone was hopeful but not insistent. Even before she knew if he was going to comply, he could tell that she was reflecting on how to answer his question.

Nemesis cocked his head to the side and regarded for a long moment before answering. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not to be impolite, but they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I’m rather attached to mine.” He smiled. “Maybe next time.”

"Maybe next time." She agreed dryly with a wry smile. It wasn't often that she was refused, as a matter of fact she couldn't accurately remember the last time someone had told her no about anything. Between being the baby of her generation, of the DiSantiago family, and the general power that her name wielded, very few people denied her whims. "I guess that'll have to do."

"I'm sure that you know a bit about me.” Nemesis nodded without comment. Ophilia continued. “I knew that once I gave you my name, assuming you believed me, that you'd have looked into me. My family's name carries a certain reputation with it that is rarely taken lightly, and I'm used to people being suspicious of my motives once they find out I'm a DiSantiago."

"But to answer your question, I found most of that stuff by myself. I'm rather gifted where computers are concerned and was able to crack into the Cabal's floating database. I couldn't get much, but apparently what I was able to find was enough to help you bring down some of Lady Cybra's crew. Yes?" She looked at him with her warm brown eyes and was quite obviously looking for a pat on the back, and yet somehow pulled it off without looking smug.

Nemesis nodded and gestured with his glass. “Ah, yes. The Cabal. Lady Cybra , of course, and her cybernetic enhancements. Doctor Prometheus and his genetic tampering. And Mister Macabre. Magic?” He pursed his lips and gave a small shake of the head. “Never been a big believer in magic, but I suppose anything is possible in this day and age.” He sipped at his drink thoughtfully. “Three disparate entities, three unique operations, three distinct masterminds, one terrifying goal: to provide superhuman abilities to anyone who can pay for them.”

"Exactly." Ophilia nodded her head, all business. It was nice to talk shop with someone, it wasn't exactly something you could talk about with anyone. "I'm with you about Mister MaCabre--I'm much more inclined to believe that it's dramatic flair and not actual magic. That's the kind of stuff that could make a girl not be able to sleep at night."

The vigilante set his drink down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “You cracked into their database, which means you knew enough about it to find it. I checked, and your family appears to have nothing to do with them as a whole. Oh, there’s a tenuous connection since it’s your pharmaceutical company that helps produce some of the treatment for restoration, but that’s little enough to go on.” Ophilia got the distinct impression that behind the goggles two eyes bored into her.

“So the question remains, how’d you find them? And, having done so, why contact me? Why not go to the authorities?” Despite his apparent casualness there was a definite intentness about him as he awaited her answer.

For the first time that evening, Ophilia seemed off of her game, and she had to focus hard not to squirm under the scrutiny of Nemesis' goggles. She considered telling him how unsettling she found his glasses, but decided against it. Instead she picked up her Sprite. It was in a glass bottle and felt cool to her suddenly clammy hands. She took a slow sip. Then it hit her; Nemesis was causing her unusual sense of discomfort, and she was immediately impressed with his presence. He had a way of being intimidating without being threatening. That reminded her of her particular task and reinforced the feeling that she had that this was the guy she wanted at the helm of the Conquistadors.

"I'm not going to give you the specifics of how I found all of my information. At least not yet. Maybe next time." She grinned up at him, her discomfort dissipating as she offered up the same answer that he'd given her. She allowed her voice to deepen a bit as she continued to imitate his words from earlier. "Under the circumstance, you didn't really expect to just waltz in here, sit down, and have me give you all of my secrets. Did you?"

Without waiting for an answer she pushed herself off of the counter and walked into the living room, busying herself with the task of gathering a small pile of papers.

If he made a sound standing from the bar she didn’t hear it. One second he was at the bar with his soda, the next he was standing just out of arm’s reach behind her.

Ophilia frowned a bit as she pulled a glossy packet from where it rested under her computer. Apparently he hadn't found those comments as amusing as she had. Just as the temptation of using her powers on him began flirting with her ethical values, she heard the sound of his voice.

“No,” he said, his voice low. “Not all of them.” He let that hang for a moment. “Okay, then. We’ll come back to that later. Let’s get to the ‘why me’ part.”

Startled once again, this time by his unexpected proximity, Ophilia nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning quickly to face him. She held the stack of papers between them, clutching them as if they would some how shield her. Her body reacted similarly and sent her heart on a quick trip to her throat, while her stomach plummeted. Her instincts remained steady though, insisting still that he meant no harm.

After her heart returned to its appropriate resting place, she was able to recover her composure. Her sullen brown eyes and the set of her face left little question though that she didn't like being startled. "If you would sit down and be still, I'll show you." She pointed to the leather couch that she'd been sitting in earlier and crossed her arms stubbornly over her middle, waiting for him to comply before she continued.

Nemesis smiled, a genuine expression underneath his unreadable—unseen—eyes. He moved around her and took a seat as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He crossed one leg over the other and threw his arm down the length of the couch, sitting at just an angle so as to see the majority of the room with a simple turn of the head. He again rested his staff next to him and gestured for her to do whatever it was she was going to do. The smile had never left his face.

The DiSantiago was less than pleased to see the smile on Nemesis' face. She hated to be caught off guard, almost as much as she hated it when people told her what to do. She swallowed her pride, a hard thing to do, and focused again on the matter at hand.

"Why you? I'm beginning to think that's a very valid question." Her lips turned up in a bit of a smile as she sat down next to him on the couch, realizing too late just how much room he took up. She found herself a bit more aware of his masculine presence than she would have liked and hesitated for a moment before she handed him the glossy bound packet.

Nemesis took the packet, his smile faltering somewhat. Looking down, he saw the title, Hudson City Vigilante: Risk Assessment. His smile fell away completely, to be replaced by a thoughtful grimace, as he realized what he held in his hand.

While he was scanning the document, Ophilia began talking. She'd rehearsed this a dozen times, but whether it was his proximity or her nerves she wasn't confident that it would come out right this time. "I've recently taken over one of my Family's endeavors. We are going to be creating a team of super powered crime fighters. As you can see, we've hired a marketing firm to do a study on all of the known, and some of the unknown vigilantes that operate in this area. They researched everything from the average citizen's reaction to the heroes, to the neighborhoods they frequent, types of crimes they typically focus on, appearance, reputation, internet presence and the general opinions of the local law enforcement and press."

She paused and took a deep breath, as she waited to see Nemesis initial reaction to the risk analysis.

* * * * *

[to be continued...]