Give It Another Go

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christian_icon.gif peter2_icon.gif

Scene Title Give It Another Go
Synopsis Peter attempts to mend Agent Buckley's operational relations with Christian Powell, this time using more official channels.
Date November 14, 2008

Abandoned Nation Guard Post, Upper East Side

Before the bomb, the Upper East Side offered some of the most expensive real estate in the United States, which the upper-range of residences reaching upwards of 70 million dollars. In the wake of the bomb, the economic collapse of New York drove property values down through the ground. This was only compounded by the southwestern portion of the neighborhood being in direct proximity to the blast aream causing rampant fires that destroyed dozens of blocks of residential and business areas.

The Upper East Side has the privelidge of being on the border of ground zero, with a barricade of one story tall concrete blocks forming a barricade around the ruins of Midtown. Entrances into these regions are protected by Homeland Security checkpoints reinforced by national guard. It is this jagged blight visible on the horizon of the neighborhood that has been a grevious scar on an otherwise well to do region of New York.

Despite itself, perhaps, the Upper East Side has done as good for itself as can be imagined in the wake of the disaster. Much of the western portion of the neighborhood has dropped so significently in property values that it has become residential shelters for refugees capable of affording a living. The northern-most regions of the neighborhood though are beginning to thrive again in the wake of economic stimulus thrown into the area following modest reconstruction efforts. Private and public donations to rebuild the region has resulted in a recovery to some of its former grace, but the damage done by the waves of riots and arson following the bomb may never truly be recovered from.


Years ago it had been a luxury apartment building, but since the bomb the building in question had served as a red cross substantion, a national guard outpost and now merely as a testiment to the past. During its time as a NG outpost it had been heavily reinforced along the ground floor with a mixture of sandbags and timber, making entry appear entirely impossible lacking a sawzall. Round back though, between a chainlink fence and an overturned dumpster there was a way in. Just like the ISA had instructed, there was a loose flap of plywood on something of a crude hinge to offer entry. Upstairs, in room 544 was supposedly the site of contact. While the hallways had been cleared of any large debris, there was still the occasional crunch of glass and of course the fact that it was dark as a closet in the building certainly doesnt help.

Upstairs Chris waited, checking his Luminox impatiently before rolling his gloved hand back down to the pistol grip of his Leonidas. Normally he wouldnt be bothered with such foolishness, the more people knew he existed the more people that could rat him out. Priority tasking had come down though, so despite the fact that Moto GP practice was on the tube he was here. Waiting like the spook he truly was in a dark creepy derelict apartment building."Jesus Chris, no wonder you cant get a mawfuckin date" came a whispered thought aloud.

The sound of footsteps in the otherwise silent building are the first clue that someone else is here. There wasn't the sound of a vehicle approaching, or even the back door opening. Only the abrupt presence of footsteps already inside of the abandoned structure. They don't sound right, something off about the way they carry, flickering from one part of the building to another. There's footsteps down on the first floor, then a jump to the third, then up in a hallway on the fourth, then finally just a few steps outside of room 544. It's when the sounds are this close that the offending target has winked into "signal range," but comes no closer.

For a few beats there's silence, but the ping of one single person within Christian's senses doesn't move. Then, with a few solid raps on the doorway, comes a voice, "Anybody home?" The agent outside of the door curses inwardly at the idea of code phrases and passwords, never really having a head for them, or when they should be spoken or offered. His lips purse into a distasteful expression, head lowering as he brings one hand up to rub at the side of his head, lindering outside of room 544.

Peter's voice finds only silence. While every other place in the complex seems to have had its doors nailed shut this one is slightly ajar, though at the moment it promises only darkness beyond. There are no footprints, no light flickering inside or any other sign that indeed somone is inside.

But, somone is indeed inside. Chris takes a knee and brings his carbine up to shoulder,he felt Peter far before he heard him of course. Swiveling his head too and fro a touch to hone in on the signal, to pinpoint precisely where peter was standing at the moment. For now of course, Chris had to keep quiet and still. Peter would have to come inside for their fun little spy game to begin.

The silence is met with uncertainty, and Peter hesitates as his hand comes towards the door. He purses his lips, eyeing the nearby wall for a moment, then giving a click of his tongue in frustration. Unable to phase anymore, he finds himself at an empasse of having to go the direct route. There's a pause, brief and hesitant as Peter inclines his head to the side, brow furrowing as his thoughts extend outward, listening beyond the door until he feels it, the presence of a thinking mind. His eyes narrow slightly, brow tensing further as he sweeps around the room, finding only the one mind. He hesitates for a moment, not brushing more than across the presence of thoughts. He's seene nough minds that are better off not having been delved into, Hana Gitelman's being one of many.

The door is pushed open, not with a hand, both of them are keps down at his sides. Instead his focus is on the metal of the doorknob, a distortion in magnetic fields enough to push the metal away and out, swinging the door slowly ajar enough to slip through. The wood of the floor clunks and thumps underfoot. Thorugh the dim light filtering in through slatted blinds in the room, Christian can make out a single man that matches the ping on his senses, dressed like a federal agent would be expected to. Though his appearance isn't that of Agent Petrelli, it's that of one Agent Woods. Short cropped blonde hair, thin figure and weak chin, wide and nervous looking eyes.

He steps into the room fully, "Mista' Powell?" A British accent, "Anyone in particular?" Even adopting some of the Agent's mannerisms in his shapeshifted form, taking them up like a method actor would, letting himself think and act like Woods. There's risks to courting a federal agent, when Homeland Security is gunning for you.

"Halt, stay where you are. Do not turn around."The voice is low and cool, twinged with just the very slightest hint of a southern accent. Chris's movements are silent only because he's had time to sweep the floor of his planned track, which indeed he does smoothly tread across. His rifle raised and centered perfectly on Agent Woods before Chris even rounds the kitchen corner and gets normal line of sight on the agent. "I need to see your papers, immediately."

There's a bit of a sigh of relief that relaxes the tension that had very quickly risen up in the agent's body on hearing a familiar string of words. Blue eyes cast to the side, towards the sound of the voice, "I left them on my desk…" Then, with a start as he had forgotten the remainder he quickly adds, "On my desk — at home." The jerky way it's said is a bit indicative of his nervousness, hands every so slightly raised into the air. It's hard to say if it's Peter's anxiety at play, or that of his facade's personality that he so quickly adopts. In his mind, a display priovy only to Peter replays key moments of his interactions with Woods, recalling through the use of one of his more under-used abilities the British agent's particular quirks and tics.

"Can we get down to business now?" His eyes dart from side to side, playing up the part of an average man, unknowing what Christian had felt on his approach into the building. "I'm about bloody tired of this whole cloak n' dagger thing, yeah?"

Christian sniffles as he lowers his carbine"So am I, and in the future I should have to ask you refrain from using whatever it was that you were doing out there if we're to meet again. This location is -not- secure, and with evolved sentiment the way it is such a visible display is likely to bring undue attention."He doesnt get too close still, keeping Agent Woods at a good ten or so feet. "How can I help you then sir, I was notified that this was in reguards to a missing person affiliated with your organization."he doesnt say what organization though, purposefully leaving his new associate to wonder if Chris had been told.

Lowering his hands, Peter cranes his neck to the side, then works his shoulders up ad down. Woods is a good couple of inches shorter, and the added density being packed together to compact Peter's form down to Woods' size is playing havoc with his muscles. "I'm just playin' second string batter, Chris." One hand waves flippantly towards the empty room, "S'a nice place you got yourself here, must be great for pickin' up the ladies." There's a wince, eyes quickly closing shut. Too much Woods.

"Er, n'ermind that." Another click of his tongue, and he's finally turning towards the sound of the voice. "Yeah, me mates are just a bit nonplussed about your refusal to help them before. We've got someone — ain't privy as to who — that needs a bit of a pickin' up, but the rub of it is she's real good at stayin' hidden." It's a glove that is one size too tight, and the stress from it shows as Peter takes a few more steps into the room, meandering about, letting one hand trace across a derelict desk, leaving a long and thin line of cleanliness in a thick layer of dust. He voices no concern about the additional attention that Christian had raised, as if it were a non-issue.

"I 'ad some people jump through hoops, dance in line, you know the drill. Paperwork's in the process of bein' processed an' all that. So really, what I need from you is mostly just compliance." He flicks that finger, sending the clump of dust collected on the tip drifting through the air. "The two fellas who talked you up before are the ones with the details, yeah? If you're all fine with this little arrangement, I'll go let them know t'get in touch with'ya an…" His eyes wander the darkened room, "Leave y'to yer business?" One blonde brow raises slowly, blue eyes settling back on Christian finally.

As Agent Woods wanders around, Chris is careful to dance. Keeping himself roughly the same distance away at all times. "You are mistaken sir, your the first member of your agency to contact me. If there was paperwork left to process, you would not have been given the codeword. You are cleared for immediate priority tasking, of course if you dont have the required information on hand then theres nothing I can do to help you and you've wasted both of our time."His voice stays cool and measured, a tactic he learned early in his career for discussing differences of opinion with various officers.

Brows raise slowly, followed by a click of his tongue. The agent tilts his head to the side, breathing in a deep breath and then exhaling slowly as one hand reaches upto rub down his face, "Right," he strains the word out slowly, "That would've been the bloody case, wouldn't it?" His eyes close for a moment, and he turns around and takes a few steps away from Christian, the fingers of on ehand coming to pinch at the bridge of his nose. They work there for a moment, trying to relieve the discomfort holding this form causes him. "It'd probably be best for you if'n you didn't question that little memory lapse of yours."

Turning to look back over his shoulder, he offers a bit of a grimacing smile. "In my very brief time with my agency, I've gone t'figure out tha' just because someone's assigned to a particular project, it ain't always gonna' mean they'll do the job. Consider it a courtesy question, I know you ain't too find of people stickin' their noses in the business of others," Lips purse to the side slightly, "Most certainly your own. So I'm askin' you, one gent to another, do you want the assignment. If you ain't keen on workin' with people who 'ave a bit of an odd way about their job, I'll let it go here an' now. Jus' because I got paper with a signature on it, ain't gonna mean your 'eart is in the work."

That hand finally lowers from the bridge of his nose, left to motion towards Christian. "So, balls in your court. If you're good, I'll give you a contact number. Ain't gonna hand out any sensitive information 'ere." Espescially when he doesn't have a scrap of it himself.

Memory lapse, memory lapse. What the fuck was this guy talking about? "I'm not doing it for the money sir, if I didnt believe in what I was doing I'd be flipping burgers. If my command deems the goals of your agency in line with my own, then I am happy to help. Your not the only one with a missing team member right now though, as it seems the badguys have recently got quite the hardon for government personel. So yes I am happy to help you find your person, but that doesnt mean I have to enjoy the spygames that comes with this line of work."

Still the issue of memory lapse was starting to worm in his ear, had somone inside the government hacksawed his braincase to get information on Felix? Had he contributed to the capture of his comrade, no this wasnt going to be something he could let go."and for the sake of our mutual, operational security you need to explain to me -precisely- what your talking about with memory lapse. If somone's crawled around inside my head, then I am of absolutely no use to anyone in the field. I would need to cease operations immedietly and relieve myself of operational control."

Peter hesitates, wincing inwardly at the last moment. He looks back over his shoulder to Christian, making a slow and lazy approach with a languid turn of his body. Maintaining this form was laborious, and doing so under the guise of not being as anxious as he truly is even more so. "I'll put it in simple terms, Mister Powell." His eyes divert to the floor for a moment, "You already met my fellow agents, but they have a way of not leaving much of an impression on someone." One shoulder raises in a half-hearted shrug, "Nothing inside that noggin' of yours was comprimised, of that I can be pretty flatly assured." He hopes so, anyway, "It ain't how the power works. You just… forget." One shoulder raises again, as if it were a common occurance. "I ain't privy to what was said between you three in the first meetin', but it's obvious that whatever it was didn't go over so well. So they sent me in to smooth some bits over. I'd make one point of advice — Don't bring up that you an' I had this bit of conversation. It'll make your days a whole lot more 'appier."

Christian drops his shoulders, visibly relaxing before he steps foreward. "give me phone numbers, email accounts, landlines, fax numbers. Everything, and I'll see what I can turn up. "he lifts his left hand and offers a business card. "for being on the level, a little honesty goes a long way these days. If you need somone outside, or somone found. Call me and I'll see what I can do. Now who am I looking for, how long have they been gone, do they have any children or close relatives? Did they leave, were they abducted, do we know? The more you tell me, the faster I can do my job. You wanna be straight with me, cool I'll be straight with you. Give me everything and I'll try."

Peter slowly raises one blonde brow, head tilting to the side. For the first timein a long time, honesty was the best policy. "All that ain't exactly my place to give." He reaches inside of his breast pocket, stuffly, producing a small and thin card. "This number will get you in contact with a gent who has all of those answers and more. But I'll say now, this lass they're lookin' for is a bit of a top-secret affair. It boggles the mind 'ow important one girl can be at times, you know?" He does let slip a little, than it's a woman, though whether or not it's intentional is hard to say. But then, with his brows furrowing, Peter's eyes divert down to the ground to consider something.

But quickly, the thought is discarded, too dangerous and too personal. "His name is Agent Bryan Buckley." The card is offered between two fingers, "Call him whenever you're prepared to start, odds are he'll be dragging you out the moment you get on the horn with 'im." There's a bit of a smirk, "That pretty much concludes my end o'this little arrangement."

Christian and indeed, with Chris honesty opened all doors. "I understand, I'll take care of it."he takes the offered card, slipping it into his jacket before fixing his gaze on Peter/woods/whoever. "You know, if you arent hung over your overworked. Go sleep, your not used to your people when your all torn apart. You look like shit dude, you need to take care of yourself. We're all working for the same thing here, and we're loosing too many to enemy fire. It'd be a shame to loose even more by burning them out, yaknow?" and with that, business is concluded for Christian. He steps back, tucking his rifle into his shoulder before slowly striding back around the corner. Bootfalls slowly diminishing until they cease altogether. Nevermind going out the way Peter came in.

Raising one hand to his face, Peter lets out a sigh as his body shifts beneath the clothing once Christian is out of view. he fills out the suit much better now, with all of that density released and musculature returned, "Burning out?" He mumbles into his palm, giving his aching head a bit of a shake, "Guess everybody knows me, don't they?" Then, with a faint rush of air filling the void he once occupied, Peter vanishes from teh building, and from this neighborhood of New York entirely.


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November 14th: Make Me a List
Previously in this storyline…
Schroedinger

Next in this storyline…
Bump in the Night

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November 14th: Jamie Chambers
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