Participants:
| Scene Title | Everything You Know |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Everything he knows might just be enough for Graeme to give Liz a start on looking into things. |
| Date | February 21, 2011 |
Queens, former border of The Dome
By late morning, Graeme Cormac is doing what he's been doing every day so far since the Dome came down: helping. There's a vague worry eating at him, but he's been hiding that in the hard work of clearing through rubble, clearing snow that has trapped buildings, and other such necessary tasks, with an occasional pause to step out, accept a cup of cocoa or coffee or whatever gets handed to him. However, this is the first time he's been able to check his phone, at least … the first time he's checked his phone since paranoia led him to text Liz about the morning's events, rather than just simply reporting it.
And paranoia has him occasionally glancing with a worried glance over his shoulder, pulling the heavy sweater he's worn for this work so far a little tighter around himself, as if to have some mind for the cold. But he's been good so far, keeping warm despite that he's less likely to notice if he gets too cold.
Elisabeth got the text. think something happened to my half-sister. not sure. working @ queens edge of dome today.
When she can extricate herself from the squad she's working with in recovery efforts, the blonde officer heads for the block that Graeme said he was working on. The Horizon armor, sans helmet, still garners a lot of attention. Some of it negative but most seems merely guardedly respectful, at least from the soldiers. They know exactly how hard the suited team is working to help recovery efforts.
Glancing around, Liz stops a man digging at the bottom of a pile, and she's directed further up the street. She starts walking and then pulls out her phone to text Graeme. Standing on 10th and 41st, near the park. Where are you?
Graeme looks up. His phone buzzes, at the very time he's checking it, but he doesn't have to look far before he can spot Elisabeth. His answering text is pretty short, really, and then he shoves his phone back into his pocket, raises a hand in greeting so that he's more easily spotted. Your eight oclock, 400ft.
Glancing at the text, Elisabeth immediately turns and spots him waving. A faint, weary smile quirks the corners of her lips in greeting as she approaches him, but there's a frown between her brows. "What's up?" she asks, both in lieu of 'hello' and in getting right to business.
Graeme purses his lips. Instead of answering, though, he pulls out his cell phone, taps at the screen a few times. The picture that comes up is low quality, but definitive: Keira, recognisable albeit with a hand holding a white cloth on her face, and that that hand seems to be armored. He turns it, so that Liz can see. "I'm not honestly quite sure."
Elisabeth peers at the footage, squinting to try to make out what little detail is available. And an armored arm holding the cloth looks…. well… bizarre. Her jaw clenches. "Tell me everything you know, okay? Start with where this was taken, tell me about your sister and what she does." She hands the phone back. "Is she Evo?" she thinks to ask. Because if she was just snatched by the Institute… God help her.
Graeme shakes his head. "Her name's Keira. Keira Fionn." The words are hesitant, and worried. He flicks to another picture of Keira, a normal picture, one he'd surreptitiously taken the first time they met. "We'd had breakfast this morning. The Nite Owl. Figured it'd be a good place to avoid potentially having a gun pulled on me. She apologised for that, too," he says. "I'm not sure too much of what Keira does. She said she runs weapons," there's a grimace, "but not much else about what she does. I didn't push the subject too much, honestly."
The name doesn't mean anything to her, but she says, "Send that image to me." Elisabeth pauses her brows pulling together. "She's a gunrunner," she says flatly. "Wonderful." Shoving a gauntleted hand up as if to push her hair back, the blonde aborts the movement in favor of rubbing the back of her neck. "I'll look into it," she promises. "But if she's a non-Evo gunrunner, I'm … at something of a loss to figure out what the DoEA or the Institute would want with her."
And the only other possibility…. well, that hits her square in the solar plexus. Elisabeth's good enough at the poker face to not give away her own concerns — if it's not DoEA's Staten squad or the Institute's personal squad, well… there's only one other person out there that's not specifically on her own team in possession of armor. But that doesn't make so much sense either. Still, it's a possibility.
Tap tap. Graeme sends Liz both images, actually, and then speaks. "I didn't … manage to get an image of it. But I'm pretty sure that whoever it was? They moved right through the driver's seat, after. Like … darkness, incorporeal or something. Was a bit hard to tell, but." He pauses. "Thanks for looking into it. I …" he bites his lip, trailing off into silence.
Motherfucker. Elisabeth manages — barely — not to sigh aloud. Well… at least she knows where to go looking. "Any small bit of information will help. It's not really my jurisdiction, but considering that the person in the seat appears to be wearing armor, I think it best if I go ahead and look into it personally," she promises in a tone that holds a hint of grim to it.
Graeme nods, quietly. "Thank you. I … I don't have any delusions that whatever it is, was probably provoked by something she did. That much … well. But still." He bites his lip, a little, and looks at Liz. "If it hadn't been for the armor, and well, the disappearing into darkness bit, I'd just have gone the normal route to the authorities. But hey, call me paranoid if you must."
Elisabeth snickers. "No. No, I don't think paranoia is what you're suffering. I'll look into it, okay? Not promising anything — if the DoEA picked her up or something, I'm not going to have any pull. But we'll see if I can find anything useful." She shakes her head. "I need to get back to the clean-up crew. Call me if she turns up, okay?"
"Yeah, I should get back, too. I don't need the breaks so much, and there's a hell of a lot to do," which is why he hasn't taken any real ones until now. "Thank you, Liz. And I will." Graeme pulls a pair of heavy leather work gloves out of his pocket, ducks a nod, and bends to pick up the axe and crowbar that'd been resting at his feet, turning to go and find out where he's needed next.