4th Year Telepath


tracy_icon.gif matt_icon.gif

Scene Title 4th Year Telepath
Synopsis <summarize the scene>
Date July 23, 2009

Tracy's Hotel Room

Tracy Strauss knew that good-old-boy Mattie Parkman was coming by. He left a message with her secretary. She can only hope it's a social call - or the equivelant to a social call in this funky friendship that the two have.

She didn't go in to work today, in fact she's just now getting back to her hotel from being at the doctor's to get her stitches out. She still slightly cut up, and there will be one scar on her arm, but otherwise she's fine. In a day-skirt and sleeveless blouse, she walks up to her hotel door, sliding the electronic key into the lock and opening the door.

And there he is, sitting on the provided couch and reading a copy of the day's newspaper. When the door opens, Matt Parkman lifts his head and eyes Tracy with scrutiny, as if he hadn't believed what had happened to her when he heard it. At the same time, it's that characteristic squinted face of his, not that he half-expects Tracy to be off her guard in a home that is hardly a home.

For his part, he looks better than the last time they met. He's shaved, his hair is cut, and he appears to be in a suit different from the one he practically lived in for an effective month. And from the correspondence circulating through his office at a faster-than-glacial pace these days, it would seem he's replaced his nose on that grindstone.

Tracy is not that surprised to see him, in fact. People breaking into her home or living space or falafel resteraunt has become the norm in the past few months. "I need to put a sight that tells people breaking in to just knock. I'll let them in anyway." She says, smiling to her old work buddy. She tosses her purse and her card key on the bar, walking into the living room where he sits. "Did you at least have a martini and a massage ready for when I got home?" she teases, going to make her own martini.

"Who do you think I am," Parkman asks with a somewhat sly smile as Tracy enters, "your pool boy?" Glad his presence didn't cause her a fright, he folds the paper and lays it on the coffee table before he leans back into the sofa. "I didn't break in. A badge is a powerful thing, Strauss. "…Though I don't think it was exactly legal. Flash and ask, and if they screw up and let you in, it's not really your fault, is it?"

After another brief flash of a smile, Parkman visibly sobers. "But seriously. How are you doing?"

Tracy isn't really aware of what or what not Parkman might know, so she decides to remain vague for the moment. "Fine, as much as one can be in a hotel. It's really quite an inconvenience. By the way, if any reporters ask, I got cut up while trying to replace a window myself." Not really in character, but really, how else would Tracy get cut up? Turning, she carries two martini glasses, one for each of them. She offers. "Here," she says easily, moving to sit beside him. "And how are you and the little one doing?"

"Better," is Parkman's equally vague answer as he takes the drink and sips it. He's not one for cocktails, but politeness demands sacrifices. "It's funny, in a way. When I first… you know, when I found out what I could do? It was almost too much. But when you lose something like that - like an extra sense, it's like losing…well, like loosing an arm." Not that Tracy would know what that feels like. He squints again after the glimpse into this own thoughts and tries to pry into Tracy's head for more first-hand information, touching it off with a smirk.

"You know, if you're going to lie, you've got to come up with something better than that."

Tracy isn't even aware he just stuck his braing where it didn't belong. "There's a whole backstory if anyone asks me to go into detail. An ex told me I never did anything for myself, so I wanted to prove him wrong…so on and so forth." She crosses her legs, kicking her feet up on the coffee table - after all, it isn't hers.

"When is Primatcech paper going to be back online?" She asks, because never let their friendship not be tainted with business.

Parkman simply continues to watch Tracy over the edge of his glass for a moment, then, licking his teeth behind his lips, relaxes slightly. "Can't say," he says as he shakes his head. "So you were replacing a window, hmm? Must of really screwed it up if you got out of what you left behind with just a couple of cuts.

Tracy turns to Parkman, smiling as innocently as her body will allow. Which, truth be told, is not a terribly innocent smile. But it's the attempt that counts. "What can I say, when I go after something, I go after it rather fiercely." She chuckles, sitting back and sipping her martini. "Parkman…I hope you know." She sombers a bit. "I wouldn't have ask you to come back in to work if I didn't really need you. I think you understand that now."

"I'm not an idiot, Strauss," Parkman counters with a slightly offended squint followed by another sip of his drink. "I swore an oath when I took that position, just like every other person in that department. I'm not about to back out on it just because some other nutjob with a God-complex decided to play games with me and my daughter." He grumbles something nearly unintelligible as he shakes his head and draws another swallow from the glass. Something about "getting the chance."

Tracy smiles at him. "I know. You do deserve some time off, but….well as you can see." she gestures over her slightly cut up face. "I still really need some help. Windows and all." she jokes, even if it is somewhat dry. Tracy drains her glass and sets it aside, looking over at Parkman. "And, just for the record, you clean up rather nice. Compared to when you haven't cleaned up, anyway."

"Wait till you see me at a benefit," Parkman teases with…was that a wink? He polishes off his drink with the next sip, then sets it down on the coffee table and turns slightly toward Tracy. "I'm back, for what that's worth. Fightin' what there is to fight and all that. Why? Did you have something special you needed?"


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License