Participants:
| Scene Title | Man of Honor |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Getting an eyewitness to talk isn't all that difficult when said witness is 1) drinking and 2) still pretty pissed off about it all. Later it'll occur to Lexi to worry about the rank Colonel. |
| Date | December 27, 2010 |
Ambient lighting blankets the establishment in a soft luminescence, glowing in tones of appealing orange from the front face of the bar and low hanging light fixtures overhead. Old style brick walls given the pub an appealing depth, reflecting the tone of lights in a more amber hue down upon the lengths of the polished, wooden floors. The bar counter of lacquered dark wood stretches along the northern wall, the forefront for shelves of numerous liquors and the substantially sized LCD televisions spaced liberally behind it. The screens flicker with the latest games and news as the labeled spirit bottles wink from lighted shelves with a beckon of their own. Barstools and high tables welcome tipsy patrons to their support, scattered with throughout the barroom with a few wedge into the darker, quieter, and more secretive recesses. Over the bar are a few banners of sports teams, most notably one of English football club Manchester United.
The thick wooden door to the west is fitted with a single neon sign sponsored by one of the brews on tap, glowing in the door's center window to shed its light onto the sidewalk outside and summoning in new customers when the bar is open for business.
It's late evening at the pub. The lighting doesn't flatter anyone within the pub. Most of the people within the pub are Manc fans, they are also drunk and cheering about something. Sitting off to the corner is a man. He's in his 30's and his blue eyes seem to watch everything that is going on. He's got an abandoned plate of bar food and an empty glass of soda. The light over his booth must be malfunctioning as it seems dimmer or off. The man is wearing a leather jacket, jeans and worn leather boots. His expression is stoic.
When the doors slam open, there's suddenly a fairly good looking redhead making an entrance. She even pauses there a moment before actually stepping in and letting the doors close behind her. "I need a Guinness, luv," she calls out to the bartender, the Irish accent clear on her words. She peels off a jacket, taking a moment to look around for an empty table… which seems to be an impossibility at the moment.
It's possible that the glass of soda is what gets her attention over his way, a crooked smile coming to her face as she saunters on over. It is also possible she's already had a few drinks somewhere else very recently.
"Are ya someone's driver, luv, 'r do ya jus' have a weak constitution?"
Rainmayr lifts his eyes and watches the entrance with no expression, his eyes though do not leave her as she heads to him. He doesn't objectify her. Oh no. He looks her dead in the eyes. His lips twitch upwards a little and he gestures to the other side of the circular booth.
"I don't have a weak constitution nor am I someone's driver. Some time ago, I decided to not drink anymore. Though I still enjoy good bar food." He points to the plate of jalapeno poppers. He turns his eyes to the waitress as she comes over and pours for him another clear soda. "Thank you." He hands her a bill and grins warmly. She leaves and the grin dies. His eyes turn back to the woman.
"So, what is the reason you decided to grace my table over everyone else?" His voice is grumbly and deep, though there is a touch of dry humor in it.
"Really?" Lexi asks as if the idea of not drinking hadn't ever occurred to her. "How depressin'." She does lower herself into the booth, though, laying her jacket on the bench next to her, soon followed by her scarf. And then her gloves. And then she folds her arms on the table and looks over at him. Studyingly, even.
"Look around ya f'r a moment. One, it is damn crowded in here, luv. Mary was more likely t'get a room at the inn, if'n' ya follow me. So open seats, rare as c'n be. And it was this one, 'r o'er there with the… what're they after, anyway? Sports?" Which is not very interesting to her, apparently. "This seemed like the bett'r've the options."
Rainmayr watches Lexington sit and his blue eyes never leave her. "Actually, when I removed drinking it helped ease the depression to a bearable level." He takes a sip of his new soda.
He is not an easy man to study though she might pick out a few things. His back is straight and he's not leaning against the table. While his beard looks messy, it's well groomed and short. His hair is sticking up everywhere from curls not from lack of trying though. His hands are rough and usually kept in his lap. His breathing is slow and calm. Those blue eyes finally look back at Lexi.
"I appreciate being the better option." He offers a little upturn to the corner of his lips. "Manchester United. It's a footie team from Great Britain. Over rated." Some men turn to stare at him and he smiles slowly. "Chelsea is going to whoop the Manc's!" He yells towards them. A riot it causes while his expression goes to grinning playfully. Men are holding each other back before ordering more drinks for each other and insulting the PI for Chelsea.
"That is also depressin'. E'erybody jus' needs t'learn t'drink like the Irish, is all." Which she does, as her beer is set down on the table. She thanks the waitress, too, and takes a longish drink, certainly not a ladylike one. There is a glance over as he causes a bit of a ruckus, which gets the redhead to laugh goodnaturedly.
"I think I like ya right off, if'n' ya don't mind me sayin' so," she says as she turns back to him. A hand is extended over the table toward him, even. "Lexi," she introduces as her smile turns crooked again, "And ya bett'r be givin' me a name, luv, 'r I'll be forced t'call ya Chelsea."
Rainmayr smiles slowly and grins. "Tristan." He extends his own hand and shakes hers firmly. He pulls his hand back and looks at the men who continually bat their chest towards the PI. His smile becomes broader and he waves over the waitress and whispers something in her ear. She chuckles and nods. He keeps smiling and within just a few moments the waitress serves the large group of men their drinks. "Shirley Temples courtesy of Chelsea." She says quietly.
If one could have an evil smile, Rainmayr would exemplify it. He watches the men explode into another Riot, this time with flailing arms and loud voices. He sits there quietly watching them. His eyes turn to Lexi. "Lexington?" His voice low. His expression changes a little as if he's searching for that answer.
"Tristan. Tris. Nice t'meet ya," Lexi says with a broad grin through that shake. And when she takes her hand back, it's only so she can drink a little more. There is an eyebrow lifted as he whispers to the waitress, and then more laughter as those drinks are delivered. "Oh, lord above, don't get them sober," she notes with a chuckle.
It's obvious she hears his question, as her gaze snaps over his direction, sharper than her apparent alcohol intake should allow, but there it is. Her expression eases after a moment, though, as if just remembering that she was having a good time a moment ago. "You're the first that's e'er guessed what it's short f'r. Lexington, aye."
Rainmayr frowns a little. "I didn't guess it Lexi." He turns to her and puts his hands on the table palms up. He's not hiding anything and he's showing her he's not hiding anything. "I was told to find you and I have." He keeps his eyes on her eyes. "Some people are… concerned." He sighs. "I'm not here to hurt you. I am here to, I guess you could say, help you." He lifts his one hand and reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet.
He tosses the wallet to the woman and resumes his hands lying on the table palms up. In the wallet, his ID and his badge. Private Investigator. Detective. Also pictures of random people she'll never meet, money, a few credit cards. He's obviously attempting to be completely open.
"Ya sure know how t'make a lass nervous, Tristan," Lexi says, her brow furrowing as he goes on. There is a glance away from the table, judging how clear the paths to the exits are, no doubt, but she she doesn't bolt as much as she seems on the verge of it. "Help. I don't think I much know anyone willin' t'help without exchangin' favors."
She scoops up the wallet when it's tossed out, and she gives it a nice thorough inspection, as if it might tell her his dirty secrets. But in finding none there, she sets it back down on the table and slides it over toward him. "Maybe ya bett'r start from the very beginnin'. I hear it's a very good place t'start." His openness gets enough trust for her to keep sitting here, at least.
Rainmayr nods his head and puts his wallet way. "I moved here recently and my first investigative job was to investigate Col. Heller." He speaks very quietly. "Also to investigate the murders that happened on Nov 8th, I believe." He keeps his eyes on her. "I was told you were a witness to these murders and could give me a first hand account of them." He leans forward now. "I am not here to hurt you. If I was then … I'd be a horrible person and I'm not." He offers a little grin. "What happened that night?" His voice very mellow now.
"A Colonel. That's one hell've a first job." It doesn't take Lexington long to catch on to exactly the incident he's talking about, and there's a moment of silence there before she quickly downs what's left of her beer and signals the waitress for another. "Who told ya I could do all this f'r ya, Tristan? First hand accounts, whatnot."
Tit for tat, perhaps. She also eyes her empty glass for a moment before she gives him a more discerning look, "Are they payin' your expenses? Out've curiosity."
Rainmayr grins a little and nods his head. "Yeah, one that's likely to get me killed if I go about it in the way my employers want me to." He frowns a little. "Brad Russo." He offers the name easily. "Kristen Reynolds." He offers the other name. "They want to see justice done and they hope with my ability and their ability to broadcast then the truth will be out there." He sighs quietly. "Though I'm more a fan of secrets, this case does… tug at a place deep inside. Brutal Evolved killings. Random and senseless. It's the spin they are putting on it. They are paying for the truth and that is what I offer. My expenses in general are paid too, yes."
"Good, then the drinks're on their tab," Lexington sits back a moment, a hand running through her hair a moment before something clicks. "Wait. The Advocate. Yeah? That's Russo, right? They wouldn't want me t'do somethin' stupid like go on TV b'cause I c'n tell ya right now, I got enough trouble without Colonel Heller knockin' on my door. Hell, I don't e'en have a door f'r him t'knock on anymore, that's how much trouble I already got. Jus' so's we're clear."
Rainmayr sighs quietly and sits back watching her. "Very well." He mentions about the tabs. He nods his head. "Yes. The Advocate." Then he shakes his head. "If they do, I'll punch him in the throat. It's bad enough to be a witness let alone be exposed." He slowly crosses his arms and watches her.
His eyes look her over and he frowns. "What did Colonel Heller do, Lexington? What happened that day? What actually happened?"
There's a quick glance around, just to see who's close enough to hear, while she lets out a long breath. "Well… That day, she was bad f'r e'erybody. And I was in this parkin' garage that looked like it had bett'r days. Staten island. We were patchin' up people, ya know? I got a li'l experience with field medicine, see, so I was helpin' out. And these… kids came through. A couple older folk with them, sayin' they were in some've the action. One lady was real bad off. So we're workin' on gettin' bullets out've her, these others waitin' around." She pauses a moment as the waitress comes by to drop off her new drink, and she waits until she's well and truly gone to pick up the story again.
"So some military guys follow them in not too long after. And they give some feckin' excuse about terrorism 'r some shite like that, and jus'… shoot these two guys. Something about their scarves bein' red. Ya know how many people gotta be wearin' red scarves on any damn day around here? Shot them. Wounded, bleedin', didn't matter. And the head guy, I guess that's your Heller there, he's gonna go ahead and jus' shoot all've'em that came in. Just in case. Like checkin' the locks on your door, casual like that. Some others tried to talk t'them, I yelled I'm pretty sure. I tend t'yell…" She gestures to the red hair, as if that should explain everything. "Anyway, in the end, he picked half've them. Lined 'em up against a wall and shot'em right there. One've'em was a mother. Her baby got passed on t'someone else who jus' happened t'be standin' there. Ya know what I'm sayin'? There wasn't any arrest'r trial'r evidence'r anythin'. Jus' shot'em and walked out. It wasn't till later I heard about the martial law stuff, but that's what happened. When I pointed it out, that America isn't supposed t'be like this? Ya know what he said t'me? He said… 'This isn't that country anymore'. So maybe your TV friends bett'r get that message out. I'm pretty sure that's the kind've shite Americans're supposed t'get pissed off o'er, yeah?"
Rainmayr listens to the whole story. His face doesn't move an inch. He sighs when it's done. "Here's a question, what action? Are you sure the military wasn't just pursuing them due to terrorist activity?" He doesn't sound convinced but he's asking the questions. He frowns a little. "It's not be the United States in a long time, since the damn explosion. People have gone mad. You can't prevent or help that." He brushes his hand over his face and looks to her. "You were able to yell at him and he didn't shoot you in the head, that's a huge thing. There was a reason those people were shot… I need to know what that reason is." He leans forward and grabs a jalapeno popper and tosses it into his mouth. He hums quietly as he thinks. "Personally, I wouldn't have killed the mother, that would ruin the case for your side. Spare the mother and sacrifice the singles." He thinks through things slowly. "What was his reasoning…" He says outloud to himself quietly.
"Were ya here that day, Tristan? That day wasn't what the news says it was. They were kids. They were hurt. That woman was carryin' a baby with her. What they said was… they were tryin' t'get out've the city when the soldiers hit 'em. Soldiers with guns chasin' down kids. Tell me that sounds right t'ya and I'll jus' pack up and go on my way. They didn't question them, they didn't e'en ask who they were'r what they were doin', they jus' shot them. The first one, they shot b'fore they said word one. Sweet guy, too. Hobbled in on one good foot, had a head wound, promised me a dance later. After they said the red scarves meant they were Messiah. But like I said, what's a red scarf? I have at least three." Well, had, but semantics.
Lexi sits back again, trying not to show her upset, but controlling her emotions has never really been a strong point, so the upset shows in extra watery eyes as she glances away for a moment. "I don't know any more've his reasonin' than that," she eventually says when she looks back, "If he had more, he didn't share. But I c'n tell ya he walked int'that tent lookin' t'shoot someone. And I don't much think he cared who, so long as he could pin the terrorist label on 'em. And seems like he could pin it on any one standin' there. T'tell ya the truth, I was half expectin' him t'shove me o'er there, too, so I can't tell ya why he didn't. Luck've the draw, maybe. They did pick the ones they shot against the wall at random. Jus' half. Now, if'n' they really were all such dangerous terrorist types… why not all've'em?"
Rainmayr frowns and listens quietly. His expression gets more and more dark as the speech progresses. "On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character, or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions. I will always uphold the laws, my country and the agency I serve." His voice low. He looks back to her. "I am a man of honor. This … destruction cannot be let to stand or it gets stagnant." He sighs quietly.
He shakes his head and rubs his forehead. "Even mad men have reasons for things. It wasn't random. There was a reason more then their scarves. Though that is a good place to start. Like a bull he attacks red. Where these people part of Messiah? Where these kids actually terrorists? Probably not but that doesn't stop a paranoid man to think that." His eyes snap to her. "Count the stars that they didn't just kill all of you. Why leave witnesses? You are a witness and when this goes public you will be on the chopping block. I offer my home as a haven." He mentions quietly and pulls out his card and writes the address on the back. "Even within Marshal law, as an American citizen I have the right to defend my property. If you come to me for sanctuary and they follow, I have the right to kill them." He grumps. "Though killing isn't on my number 1 list of things to do…"
"Man've honor," Lexi repeats, trying to get her lighthearted tone back, but missing the mark, "I was so sure they didn't exist anymore." But he goes on and really, it just seems to puzzle her. So much so that she's sort of staring at him by the end. A moment of silence hangs before she realizes and shakes herself out of it.
"Don't worry about me so much, luv. Wouldn't be my first trip t'the choppin' block and Madame Guillotine hasn't managed t'so much as knick my throat yet. Irish're lucky," Lexi says to him with a smile. "Plus, I got this brother and a sort've blood sister, and she's nice and all, but he's smelly and loud and drinks e'en more than I do. You'd start t'wonder if the the IRA took o'er your place."
Rainmayr frowns a little. "I'm from Nevada. Drugs, sex and honor." He grins. Then he sighs quietly. "Seriously though, if you feel threatened at all, you get your ass to my place with your family and I'll do my best to protect you. That's not a request." He pulls out a pen and paper and starts jotting down notes quickly. "I have a meeting with Col Heller later this month." He mentions quietly. "I should probably wear kevlar." He purses his lips. "Probably pack a knife or something too." He taps his chin then goes back to writing. "Tell me Lexi, why do you think you were spared?"
Those first words make the woman's smile reappear, wide and amused as she looks over at him. "Now that I c'n get behind, see." But when he gives the order, that smile even softens some. "Alright, but I'm tellin' ya, I'm nothin' but trouble. And I can't promise I won't try t'get a drink'r two in ya, either. So keep up that willpower."
"Jus' don't go in lookin' like you're scared. Bullies always know." And that's what Heller is, apparently. A bully with authority. "Honestly? I got two workin' theories. One, tryin' t'avoid some international incident, what with me not bein' American and all. And two, two is that he's an asshole and wanted me t'see the display. Wanted the people there t'see it, see that arguin' didn't do a thing t'change what he came there f'r. Ya see what I'm gettin' at? I lean toward the asshole theory."
Rainmayr listens quietly and grins. "You can try to get a drink in me but it's never going to happen." He winks at her. Then they are back to Heller and he frowns. "Well, I have quite a few more theories. The one that's the most probable…
"You were not his target." He says that very heavily. "Military men follow orders. We have targets and we take them out. He might have seen himself not killing all of those people as a mercy. There is different wiring with those guys." He frowns some more and shakes his head. "You should meet my secretary. Her name is Della. I think you'd enjoy her. A little jelly bean of vibrant evil…" He says that so affectionately.
"It's like you're sendin' me on a quest, tellin' an Irishwoman ya don't drink," Lexi says with a chuckle. But when he voices his own theory, she tilts her head a bit. Listening and maybe even agreeing, but in the end, she points out, "In my theory, I get t'call him an asshole. A lot." That's her argument and she's sticking to it.
"Vibrant evil, well, now, that does sound like someone t'meet. Let me… see if'n' this pen'll write on the napkins," she says with a chuckle as she pulls one out of her jacket to jot a hotel name and a room number down. It's not a classy hotel. "We stay there f'r now. If we're leavin', I'll get word t'ya. I hope what I told ya helps, Tristan, I really do. If ya get the chance t'take that bastard down, give him a kick where it hurts f'r me."
Rainmayr snickers and shakes his head. "You won't get me to drink. Last drink I had was a Guinness for two after my best friends funeral. The last time I drank." He frowns a little and sits back. A sour memory. He finally looks up and nods his head. "Yeah, look her up. She'll appreciate friends." He grins slightly. He looks at the napkin and grunts. "Alright. Honestly, I think I have a clearer understanding of what happened which is always good when you go into the belly of the beast." He huffs quietly. "What is with womens and kicking in the balls?" He slides towards the edge of the bench. "It's not nice… and I'd rather kill him then do that…and I don't like killing."
"At least ya had good taste when ya did drink. And didn't ya e'er learn not t'speak in absolutes? I think I stand a fair chance, I c'n be very persuasive." And speaking of drinking! Lexi picks up her glass to take a bit of a drink for herself. "B'cause. Women learn t'fight dirty. Men're supposed t'be bigger, stronger, tougher. We gotta figure a way t'level things out a bit. Don't worry, luv, we all take oaths t'use our power f'r good and not f'r evil."
Rainmayr lifts a brow and chuckles. "I speak in absolutes as then there is no questions." He stands up and looks down to her. "You think you stand a chance? I don't know, gorgeous. I'm unmovable." He grins a little and straightens his jacket. He leans over the table. "Women might fight dirty but with the right man, it doesn't matter how they fight, it's never level." Challenge issued. He stands up again and grins. "Have a good evening Lexi." He looks over to the men who've settled down a little. "Mancs are wanks!" He yells over there. Riot…again. He chuckles as he heads for the door.
And if that smile on her face is anything to judge by, challenge accepted, too. Lexington lifts her glass to him in a silent toast in lieu of a goodbye. Goodbyes are back luck, after all. Of course, when he gets the crowd riled again, she laughs, the sound cutting through the insults here and there. But only until she settles in to finish her drink.