Participants:
| Scene Title | Watchkeeping |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The artist formerly known as Fedor Rochinikev is going to Pancratium with a change of plans. |
| Date | February 21, 2009 |
Exactly where land gives way to water at this point of the island's edge is uncertain — first because of the saltgrass growing everywhere, both on dry earth and in the shallows, giving the illusion of solidarity; second for the structures visible in the distance, drawing the eye away from the deceptive ground, suggesting its reach extends beyond its grasp. Even if the structures are still recognizable as ships, and nothing that ever belonged on land.
There are a multitude of them, abandoned hulls of salt-stained wood and rust-pitted steel, dying slow and ungraceful deaths as wind and water claim their dues. Some still appear to rest upright, braced upon the debris of older, lost relics below; others list to one side, canted at an odd angle like someone who just struggled to the surface in search of a desperate breath. There are no hands to pull these hulks from the water, no ropes to save them from drowning; each has been surrendered to the sea, left to the ravages of unmerciful time.
At low tide, some of the closer ships can be reached — not without getting soaked, but such is the price of daring. Never mind that the rotting metal and splintered wood are the stuff of nightmares for any germophobe, definite hazards to the unwary. The more distant ships are distant indeed, beyond the reach of all but the most bold — and are all but submerged besides.
Its a real head trip, getting back into things after all these years. Getting back into work,after Fedor had tried so very hard to leave it behind. he'd never admit it, but god damn did it feel good. He'd set things in motion after he got the call, so its hardly a surprise he'd popped in a few minutes early. Rather, she did. She couldnt be anymore than sixteen, but even with a driver's license there are plenty who'd doubt her age yet. She was young and pretty, easily one of the beautiful girls in her class anyway. Right now though, she was sporting black cargo pants, a skater's hoody and a knockoff fur lined parka overtop. Complete with beat up Vespa, and a stuffed backpack she could pass for a highschooler from anywhere.
The watch is an easy tip off, but shit so's the beat up S&W ballcap turned backwards and worn beneath a little beanie helmet. The big red and black Bell and Ross she wears on her wrist is hardly discrete the moment she peels back her sleeve to check the time. A characteristic roll of her shoulders followed by the lighting of her Cohiba should hopefully complete the image that Our poor Marry Anne was hardly lost, and hardly out of place out here no matter the hour.
No matter how the phrase goes— What's a girl like you, doing in a place like this? Really, anybody who knows anything about places like this knows that there are girls in all kinds of places. Especially places like this. Maybe because of what daddy did, or what mom didn't want to have to do anymore. There's always a demographic destined or doomed to grow up to be the next legion of fat alcoholic den mothers, all club fingers and caked eyeliner.
Which isn't to say Teo isn't surprised. He is. Really. And it's obvious, his eyes around and eyebrows cocked up in crazy, lopsided configuration on his forehead.
The sun beats his eyes back into a more nonchalant expression next, stinging them into a squint. A smile flares across his mouth. Behind him, the ships rot and the sea glitters, sawgrass sways. He's sitting on a roadside bench of slow-petrifying wood with an empty coffee cup next to him. "Nice watch," he calls out.
"Hey Sailor, you wanna date?"Her delivery is flat, eyes soft and pleading. Its perhaps predictably an uncomfortable moment before her thin little lips curl into a broad smile. "I didnt want to wear a shape that could have been spotted with you before, when I came over."She yawns, flicking her cohiba aside with a distasteful look. "Always tastes different at this age, anywho. How does the evening find you Teo?"
A new expression threatens Teo's eyebrows with blatant asymmetry, but he manages not to bust up laughing or anything like that. "You're good at that," he replies, even as he reaches down to pick up the coffee cup next to him. There's a click and rasp of paper as he crushes it between his fingers. "And that's probably a good thing, I guess. I'm okay. Tired, but not bored." Preferably than to the vice-versa, he implies. Teo cants his head down at the flat bars and planks of dessicated gray wood next to him, vacated by the beverage container. "And you?"
Fedor smiles broadly, wandering over Teo's way. "Hey I'm alright, it feels good to be getting back to work. I'll admit it I was afraid I'd lost my edge but, I dont know I feel very good. Just like riding a bicycle I suppose, so what was it you needed?"She unzipped her parka partially to offer a small cellphone your way. "Only I have the number to this phone, so no matter what my voice sounds like or what I look like this phone number will be our little passkey alright?"
The phone is grasped from the antenna end, gently tugged from the old man's — old man? — the old man's grasp, swiveled around so that Teo can study its interface. He doesn't know how he feels about this. "I have a cyberpath I might use as a relay point in case this unit is damaged or lost," he replies, after a long moment. "But I'll keep the number filed. Good idea." He glances up, pallid eyes flattening, before sharpening again. "I need you to infiltrate the illegal fighting ring that Sylar is employed at.
"Before you consider that and how it conflicts with the condition you mentioned— about killing Mr. Gray if you happened on the opportunity, you should know." Hesitation shadows Teo's jaw for a moment; he blows a sigh out, ballooning his cheeks, briefly, before he scrubs blunt nails up and down the nape of his neck. "He appears to be effectively immortal without special tools.
"He has some kind of bodily possession ability. He's also suffering retrograde amnesia. If an attempt on his life is what brings his memories back, I'm pretty sure… like I said." His lips find a thin line; he glances up, drops his hands to his lap. He doesn't want to say it again.
That Sylar might kill Fedor, and his godson too. "I also think that Phoenix is going to need him."
Fedor doesnt so much as blink"Those sound like operational requirements, Felix cant verywell ask me to do two things at once now can he? How, precisely would you like me to handle Mr.Gray then? Would you like me to get him untangled, and to your people or should I just blow him a clear path away from this fighting ring."Presuming of course that Gray's safety was the focus of this little operation, because plainly he she knew what was really going on Teo would hardly have to -ask- for her to destroy every one of the rat bastard motherfuckers. Preferably with a chainsaw, but thats a topic for another discussion.
Y—yes. It's probably a good thing Teo isn't a telepath in this circumstance, because the chainsaw thing would have stumped him. At least momentarily. "I'd like you to leave Mr. Gray alone, mostly," he replies, quietly. "Or monitor him, or turn him, otherwise. Just don't — alienate him, whatever you do? He has a few abilities that could fuck up your cover, if he senses something's up. Other than that, what I want is to find a man.
"Norton Trask. Evolved. Popular theory is that he's been kidnapped with a bunch of other fighters and forced to take part against his will. If he isn't there, I don't care that much about what you do with the rest. Feed them to Felix, whatever you like." Long fingers grope around the recesses of Teo's jacket before he extricates a photograph.
Officer Trask's face shows in its Aryan perfection, a curly crop of blond hair and pale eyes.
She doesnt accept the photograph, just stares hard at it for several moments. "I understand, and assuming Trask isnt there do you have any problems with violence assuming Mr.Gray isnt involved? How important is Mr.Gray, I would offer Teo that one man is a very simple affair. You would hardly need me if all you want to find is one man, finding a man and rescuing another however is a little more in line with my level of talent."Confident, yeah sure but its the sort've confidence gained through experience not just balls.
It's a small wonder that the photograph doesn't catch fire, stared at that hard. "No," Teo replies. "Vigilantism isn't our area, contrary to whatever the government likes to pin on Phoenix's shirt. As a concerned resident of New York state, I'd prefer justice to be served, innocents protected, and… all that shit, but we don't have the people or the time to spare to pick fights with organized crime. Not without a lot of help, anyway.
"If you can rescue him, that would be pretty fucking sweet. If you could get information on what else is going on down there before blowing anything up— who else they have, all that…" a shrug seesaws through his shoulders, and the corners of his mouth go up. "That could be a valuable commodity."
Fedor frowns just a touch"I'll need an address or at least a rough location for this fighting ring, and just one more question."she sniffles some, shifting perhaps just a touch uncomfortably. "Which is more important, Trask or Gray? I mean if this boils down to a plus or minus sort've thing, which do you want me to go for? I dont anticipate any great drama, but I'd like to have these decisions made ahead of time."She was, well for the first time in a very long time eager. It was exciting, and refreshing and being quite so young with this much energy was of course not helping much either to keep our favorite cannibal calm.
Fortunately, also, Teo has no idea about that whole 'cannibal' thing. Someone probably owes him a slap on the wrist or a few bullets to the head, his making the kind of friends that he does, so few questions and such grisly stakes. His mother would be appalled. He sits in the sun for a protracted moment, eyes hooded and jaw tight, thinking. Trask, Elisabeth, and God knows whom else, or Sylar, Gillian and Eileen? How is that quantitative comparison even possible?
"Trask, if you have to choose who to save," he answers, finally. "Sylar, if it's a matter of who to avoid pissing off. Trask first. Sylar peripheral.
"Someone else is working on him. It should be fine. I don't know about other variables. There are more hypothetical scenarios than I have braincells to count, eh?" He angles a glance up at the shifter, eyes going crescent-shaped with a rueful sort of smile.
Fedor just laughs, or rather she giggles. "Dont you worry none at all Teo, just do me a favor and look after my boat while I do this?"She bows her gaze, as nimble little fingers unfasten the big bell and ross around her wrist."And of course, hold onto this for me? I'd ask you to take care of my planes too, but I think we went over that before."
She wouldnt call herself a cannibal of course, as far as she was concerned there was a difference. She didnt have any emotional or sexual investment in her meals, it was all business. Never personal, never pleasurable. THe work she liked, but truly that singular aspect was entirely regretable. "Anywho, just tell me where I'm going and I'll get to work."
Out of Teo's pocket, another slip of paper emerges. There's an address scribbled there, block-lettered, black ink, the young man's normally immaculate copperplate only slightly marred by haste. "I'll check on your boat once a week. If something needs work, I'll let you know when you call or find someone. I'm not sure about…" His eyes fall to the watch proffered toward him, a worried knit finding his brow. "Are you sure?
"Wouldn't you rather have Felix keep that for you? Or a safety deposit box somewhere?"
Fedor she accepts the slip of paper without more than a glance, before its tucked into her parka. "I trust you Teo, both because I think your a good guy and because you know if you pawned my favorite watch I'd do things to you so terrible your mother would weep blood."says the like 16 year old 90lb girl. Anywho, past that she steps away without offering a wave. "I may not take that long, but watch my boat. I wont be able to move out of it, until I get back."She mounts her Vespa, hits the choke, stomps the kickstart once, twice, three times and then it finally fires with a raspy plea for an oil change. Then she speeds off, at like twelve miles an hour. Poor little vespa coughing and gasping all the while.
"Just follow the crowds," Teo calls after her. His tone sounds harsher with the susurration of sea air and crackling vegetation underneath it. He stands up, faces down the way the road stretches, as if that helps him project his voice over that of Staten Island. It had made him scowl, briefly— her assessment of 'good guy,' never mind his mother's haemorrhaging tear ducts, but he's incapable of providing absurd proof the next instant. Hands cupped around his mouth, yelling: "And be careful."
 February 21st: Avenues of Investigation |
 February 21st: Curiously |