Participants:
| Scene Title | A Drink With a Walking Stiff |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Felix calls Rami to say, hi, I'm not dead. Then the fed explains why exactly he went into hiding. |
| Date | January 17, 2009 |
Dave's Wine Bar
Rami's phone rings. It is a number that shouldn't be ringing, because the owner of that phone has been dead for six weeks. So it is…odd to say the least.
Very, very odd. Which is why Rami doesn't hesitate to answer it. He snaps the phone open and answers with a brisk, businesslike, "Hollingwood."
There's a breath's hesitation, before a familiar voice says quietly, "Hollingwood. This is Ivanov." Cue the music sting of discordant strings, because honestly, WTF?
There's a moment of silence, then, "Ivanov." A beat. "Well. That is an interesting turn of events. I believe there's a story behind that." Rami's voice sounds wry.
"The long and short of is that I needed to be dead for a bit, so I was. But my cover got blown to those I was hiding from, so that sort of fixed that." He sounds wry, as well, a little apologetic.
"Well. That is a fascinating story, Felix. Are you not in danger any longer, or are you just resuming your old life regardless?" Rami's taking this fairly well. He understands needing to be dead. He's never had to do it himself, but he's had more than one identity 'die' over the years.
"I am in danger, but there's no longer any point in disguise or hiding, so I am back in the saddle," he says, with a faint sigh.
There's silence on the other end. Then Rami's paranoia clicks in. "Do you want a drink?" It's not that he's a concerned friend. It's that he's an Agent and people threatening the FBI interest him.
Felix's voice is soft. "I would love a drink, really."
"Right. There's this wine bar on the bottom floor of my building. No one ever goes there." Rami gives the address. "Half an hour?"
"I'll be there," he says, unhesitatingly. And then clicks off.
It is very much like a hotel-type wine bar. There's one one bar, mediocre furnishings, low light. No reason that anyone would ever come there except for the convenience of it. The bar manages to stay open for just that reason. There's a large building towering atop it, so it's a captive audience of several hundred people.
Rami is seated at an old fashioned booth with red plush seats. The place looks like it should have a torch singer or a jazz quartet. There should be smoke hanging in the air and a piano tinkling. But the piano sits dusty, unused, and even if smoking's allowed, there's no one inhaling right now. The agent is nursing a martini in a two-piece suit, with hair immaculately combed and suit neat as always.
Felix is in his usual suit, beautifully tailored, though it hangs a little loose on him. Being dead has apparently agreed with him, however. He's lost some of the lines on his face, and his motion seems more graceful, less constricted, really. His expression is somber, as he takes a seat across from the other man.
"Well. You look fairly good for a corpse," there's the characteristic wryness to Rami's tone, and a quirk of a half-grin. The martini is raised and a touch of it is tipped into his mouth. "There's no waiters here. If you want a drink, you'll have to go to the bar. They tender is half-decent at least. They must pay him a lot to make up for the lack of tips." The Arabic man studies Felix with misty green eyes, as if searching for signs that the man across from him is an imposter.
He seems the same - pale blue eyes behind rimless glasses, light brown hair, rail thin. He looks oddly tired. "I feel pretty damn tired, but alive nonetheless," he says, easily. "One of Santiago's goons wanted to know about an informant of mine. I declined to tell her, so she had a triggerwoman play gangster and shoot me in the leg. When they realized I wouldn't talk, they left me alive but bleeding. It seemed an opportune time to have shuffled off this mortal coil."
"Indeed," British dryness, colour of his skin aside. Rami sets his martini down and considers Felix. "So. What are you going to do now? Wait for the people you were hiding from to find you? Fight? Live in paranoia and fear?" He seems genuinely interested in the answer.
Felix's smile is…odd. It doesn't fit his face well, being almost sweet. "Fight. That's what I was doing. They have found me - that's why I'm myself again. Santiago, Volken, whatever you want to call him - I cut his *head* off, and he didn't die. He's like something out of a terrible myth," he says, forgoing an order for the moment.
Rami nearly gets some of the martini up his nose. But he manages to regain his cool easily enough. "I'm afraid you've lost me somewhat, Felix. Care to slow down and fill in the blanks?"
Felix pauses, a little chagrined. He may well have given away too much. "What have you heard about Santiago or Volken?" he wonders, tone urbane, smooth, despite the restrained ferocity in his face.
"Now Felix. You should know I can't tell you that. If I in fact know anything." Bloody spooks. He's got a good poker face too. Rami knows he's being cryptic. He stands, empty martini glass in hand. "What do you want to drink, then?"
Felix smiles to himself, lazy, amused, the expression of a Cheshire cat. "Gimlet," he says, easily. "Same as always."
"Right. Never changing. An old drink for a man with an old soul, mm?" Rami's lips quirk into a grin. The lean man moves up to the bar and waits for the pair of drinks to be mixed. Then he brings them back and sets Felix's in front of him. "So. What was that about a man who won't die?"
"I think, for all working definitions of the word, Santiago is no longer human. ANd likely no longer even Santiago. The being now calling itself Kazimir Volken - his power is something like possession," Felix says flatly.
"Well. That is concerning." Putting it mildly, of course. Rami sips his martini and raps the fingers of his other hand on the table. "And you say this man is the reason you went into hiding?"
Felix nods, to that, firmly. "Yes. He threatened both me and those I hold dear. It seemed wisest to have that wound be a fatal one, if you see what I mean?"
"But you say he's not dead. That seems to be a hitch in your plan," Rami raises his glass to his mouth and tips a little of the liquid pas this lips. "And here you are, running around informing everyone that you're not actually dead. I'm sorry Felix. I suppose I don't quite understand your reasoning."
"I'm saying - I'm blown. Volken saw right through the disguise, there's no longer any point. The people I was hiding from know," Felix explains, sipping from the gimlet.
"Well, I suppose you're right about that," says Rami with a grin. "For what it's worth, I'm quite glad you're not dead. I haven't had any pie in an age."
The Fed chuckles rustily. "We'll have to fix that," he says, voice low, clinking his glass against Rami's.
Rami finishes off his martini rather quickly. "Well. I do hate to chug back drinks and run, but I've an early meeting. Keep in touch. Especially if you see spectres of this disembodied, mythical man. It sounds…fascinating." And he does mean fascinating. He's a man who enjoys staring into the abyss.
"It is," Felix says, without a touch of facetiousness. "Never had a case like it. Very X-files, really."
Whereas Rami has a desk stacked with files that could be called 'X-Files.' "Well, Mulder. Here's hoping the aliens don't get to you, mm?" He pats Felix on the shoulder after he stands. Apparently he didn't bring a jacket. But he did say he lives upstairs.
 January 17th: Walking Home |
 January 17th: Rumble On The Bridge |
