Participants:
| Scene Title | Bellerophon |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Greek myth. Sent to die fighting the Chimera, Bellerophon triumphed against all odds (with the help of Pegasus) — but for his success (and the enmity of the gods) was condemned to wander a solitary life all the rest of his days. Agent Veronica Sawyer tries to persuade Hana Gitelman to turn from her goal of killing all the Founders. In the process, she finds out firsthand just how pervasive Hana's grudge is — and isn't. |
| Date | November 10, 2009 |
Roy Wilkens Park, Queens
Though the day is not too chilly, autumn has clearly chased away the last vestiges of summer. The cloudy sky above is reflected in the pond that Veronica has chosen as their rendezvous point; also mirrored in the dark water are the skeletal looking live oaks stretching up like gnarled fingers toward the gray canvas. The reeds and grasses are a dry gold in color. It's as if the usually-vibrant park has lost its primary colors, like someone took a photo and gray-scaled the sky, sepia-toned the landscape, at least in this corner that Veronica has chosen to meet.
Despite the bleak backdrop, it's clear that Veronica is trying to make good on the promises of the phone message — it is a public place, and while the pond is in a remote spot, it's not too far for cries to draw the attention of the families playing in the nearby playground, and a jogger or biker might come by on the path and see the two women at any given point.
Agent Sawyer waits, her hands out of the pockets of her light jacket. She wears a bright green scarf around her neck, a signal to Hana Gitelman that she is the agent to look for. Despite the overcast sky, she wears a pair of black glasses to shield her eyes.
Though it may not occur to Veronica, the green scarf is as much a signal that she's not the one to look for. Hana makes her wait, feeling no pressing need to arrive precisely on time; waits long enough for one last sweep with digital senses, even if she's been studying satellite imagery long enough to make her eyes cross (or would if she'd been using her eyes). There's enough people about with cellphones to make listening for those a minor headache, though the absence of radios suggests this may well be a meeting in good faith.
And not only will pigs fly today, the Company's going to start handing out puppies to orphans on the street. Right.
The Israeli herself suits the landscape — dressed in a drably sepia-toned jacket, jeans faded well past the color 'black' and into charcoal, she might as well be part of it. Her brown hair is tied severely back, exposing the planes of her face; she walks softly amidst the fallen oak leaves, coming up behind Veronica and stopping a more than comfortable distance away. The kind of distance that gives the illusion of being totally out of reach. Hana's hands are also out of her pockets, resting easily at her sides, fingers loosely curled.
"I can't decide if you have a lot of nerve, Sawyer — or if you're just foolish."
"Probably both," Veronica murmurs, turning around to see her adversary. Despite a few inches of height that Gitelman has on Sawyer, they look at a glance to be cut out of the same cloth — chiseled features, dark hair, dark eyes, lean builds. The shorter brunette opens her hands, palms up to show they are empty — good faith has been met. It doesn't mean she doesn't have a weapon at all — just that if all goes well, it won't be drawn. Veronica herself is certainly hoping not to have to pull her gun.
"We've placed you at the Pratt murder, as you've probably guessed. I know no one with a Company paycheck is your friend, but any particular reason you went after Pratt now, of all times?" Vee begins. No reason for small talk, but it's still a rather soft pitch — an expected question.
Hana doesn't bother to echo Veronica's gesture of good faith; she has no reassurance she cares to give the agent, and her hands aren't actually empty anyway. The question is expected; and it isn't, not in particular. The former agent regards Veronica steadily, expression cool. "Why does it matter, Sawyer? Now, later — she's still dead."
"You're speaking in blacks and whites, Gitelman. Dead is a black and white. But you know the Company works in the gray area. Motivations are important to us. I know you've got a grudge against the Company. It's probably an understandable one. Hell, I have my own grudges, to be honest. But the fact that you're killing Founders now brings up some questions." Like, is she working for Monroe? But Veronica isn't ready to ask that one yet. She holds that card for a little longer. "Do you know what happened to the kid? Is he dead too?" she asks, referring to Pratt's adopted son.
She doesn't sigh, doesn't roll her eyes, doesn't do any of the usual gestures that signify impatience. It's still tangible, palpable, adding another layer of coiling tension to the air between them. "Make your point, Sawyer; I'm not going to give you the whole fucking day." Hana's expression flattens at the mention of young Jared, a sure sign that she's not going to be forthcoming. "I do." And that is all the woman says.
Well, that's news. "He's alive?" Sawyer asks. "Is he being kept against his will? Why not let him go — if it's a matter of his bearing witness, well, we already know you did it."
In response to that, the Israeli gives Veronica a flat look. You know, that 'are you seriously stupid; you're trying my patience' look. It's about three millimeters shy of a glare. "If you think the child is any concern of mine, you are quite mistaken." In just about every possible interpretation of those words. Hana shifts her weight, precursor to walking away. "One more question, Sawyer — make it count."
Well, shit. She didn't know they were playing an abridged version of Twenty Questions or she might have chosen more carefully. While she is curious about the Pratt kid, he's not really her priority either. "Fine. You don't seem to deny the Pratt murder. The problem is, other Company founders have been murdered recently too. Not sure if you know that or not. It wouldn't take a company like The Company too much difficulty to find a way to find that you were involved in all of them." She lets the intent of that statement drop like a weight between them for a moment. "But there's someone else we're looking at — Adam Monroe."
Veronica pauses again, and looks up, her hair blowing away from her face for a moment. "Are you working with him? And, if not … would you be interested in working against him?"
Half-turned away from Veronica, Hana regards her obliquely. "Denton should already have that answer; I gave it to him once before," the woman states coolly.
I will not help you or yours.
Not directly, anyway — and indirectly? Not worth being concerned over. "You seem to have completely missed the point, Sawyer," Hana continues, her voice low and coldly grim. "If not for his poaching, I would have been involved in all of them." So that's not exactly an effective threat. Besides, what is the legal system going to do to her? Gitelman of all people is unlikely to ever see the inside of a courtroom.
She finishes turning away, starts to walk; as she does, metal glints between the curled fingers of her left hand, testament to her lack of belief in the Company's good faith. Her steady, albeit swift, paces and stiff posture don't quite betray the prickling between Hana's shoulderblades or the hair-thin line dividing intent to leave and intent to do unto first.
"Monroe is not my problem."
So Veronica's gut feeling that there was something in common with Fletcher's and Pratt's murders, in her mind at least, is validated. Monroe is a Johnny-come-lately to the Founder's murders. Gitelman is as much — perhaps more — of a threat to the Company as Adam. Grim news indeed. "Why did you come?" she asks, calling after the other, though not moving. "What did you hope I would offer you, what did you want to get out of this? You say I'm wasting your time — you haven't told me anything of value. Not that I expected cooperation, but I have to wonder why you agreed to meet me. You just wanted to get a look at your enemy, wanted to see who could be so stupid as to assume you might want to get out of trouble? If you took down Monroe — he was a Founder, too, after all — it's possible the Company could turn its back on the other murders." She's not sure, but pluralizes the word anyway.
Monroe?
Hana pauses, glances back over her shoulder at Veronica. "The Company may turn its back, Sawyer," she states, in that same cold voice. "But I do not so easily forgive what it has done." She doesn't resume walking, but remains statue-still, the agent caught in the edge of her peripheral vision.
"The Company is ever evolving, Gitelman, just as we are," Veronica says, watching. "You might find you're fighting the wrong war one of these days. I don't expect you to work for us, but shift your path a bit. Take out Monroe. Leave the other founders be, because you know that eventually you'll get taken. You don't exist, right? No reason for a trial. Just a black hole. I don't want that to happen to you."
There's a hint of impatience in the look Hana casts Veronica's way, and more than a little disbelief; they're on opposite sides of the field, known to one another by file at best. And something else, more subtle, more difficult to name; something grim and bleak. "Sawyer…" Her voice is quiet, quieter in these words than any others yet; not a whisper, but not far from it either.
"…Where do you think I am?"
One breath, two breaths, just enough pause for the words to sink in — and then that tail of brown hair goes flying as Hana spins around to face Veronica, knees bent in a slight crouch, both the dagger already in-hand and a second one launched towards the agent on the momentum of that motion. Her follow-through, however, is not to continue the attack —
— it's to disappear into the dull-hued background of the park.
As the blur of sepia and gray and flying steel begins to make sense, Veronica just has time to duck and spin away, missing the first blade.
Fortunately for the escapee but less so for the agent, Veronica had to choose a direction to turn, and that choice puts her right in the path of the second blade, which makes contact with her shoulder. She staggers back, giving Hana more time to fade into the sepia and gray landscape. Vee's hand goes up to her shoulder to wrap around the handle of the blade there. There's no point in chasing. The satellites are tracking her, and she's on the defensive right now. Of course, Gitelman is always on the defensive.
Veronica pulls out the blade, and frowns down at the coat and its new puncture, blood already staining the edges of the hole in the fabric. "Damn it, that's a new coat," she hisses, and turns to walk out of the park, to find the van waiting for her — her backup as useless as the meeting.