Participants:
| Scene Title | A Wrench in the Works |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Ethan and Nick get to know one another a little better after Ethan kidnaps the younger man. It goes surprisingly cordially. |
| Date | December 21, 2010 |
The smell in the air is disgusting. A hybrid of feces and garbage, mixed together with the ambience of rusting metal and trash. It makes quite the scenario to wake up to. It's been a long morning for Nick. Or a long day maybe. Whatever it's been, it would be harder for the younger cohort of this dynamic duo to recall recent events. Fuzzy memories piece together something of a boat, maybe a scuffle or two… But how did he get here?
Nick will find his back to a wooden post embedded firmly into the thick frost-mud ground below him. His hands wrapped around it with a rope connecting his wrists together. He's in what looks like an abandoned junkyard. Or at least a large compilation of trash. For a moment it seems like he's entirely alone until…
CREEAAAKK
A loud thud punctuates the noise, before there is another clang. The afternoon is cloudy, the lighting dim. But just a few yards away from Nick there is a large pile of old car parts, washers and dryers, and other things that simply have no use any longer. From behind the pile, Ethan appears. Nick's gun is gone, and his side will feel sore still. Who knows why that is?! Maybe Ethan was taking out some aggression on the way over, but regardless. The Wolf steps a few feet away from the pile. "Need your 'elp. Y'good?" The man asks conversationally as he makes his way towards the tied up man. A knife dangles in his hand casually.
One eye squints up at Ethan, the other still swollen closed and glued by blood and sleep from the bruise surrounding his eye and mottling his cheek, the laceration along the line of his cheekbone, another in his temple. Nick grunts.
"Yeah, bloody brilliant," he mutters, words thick in his mouth, tongue and lips dry. The American accent is gone — either he's lucid enough to realize there's no point in keeping it up (Though Avi and Raith would lecture him for dropping the cover) or he's still too far from total consciousness to make the effort to pull out the fake persona.
"'Elp with what?" He adds, shifting to try to dislodge his hands with a grimace.
"Left a car 'ere. B'fore the eigth. Some fuckin' fools got it all fucking strewth. Tried t'take the engine out but they did a 'ell of a job of it. I need your 'elp puttin' it back into place." Strolling the other man longways, he goes to approach Nick's back. Going into an easy crouch, the knife slides along Nick's arm smoothly. Reminding him that there's weapons involved here, before the knife goes to slowly free the other man of his bindings.
The knife disappears into the recesses of Ethan's jacket as he stands back up. Stepping around the other man, he walks back towards the pile and the beater of a truck that looms behind it. "I'll give you your gun back once we get outta 'ere."
ORDER: It is now your pose.
Rubbing his wrists, Nick nods his thanks to Ethan, then brings a hand to the side of his face, rubbing his eye until he can open it. "I don't know much 'bout cars," he says, moving his feet to push himself up into a standing position. To his credit, he only wobbles slightly.
He swallows hard and scrubs his hand through his short dark hair, turning to peer around at his surroundings, then back at Ethan. "I don't remember you. You knew Sophia?" He doesn't call her his mother.
"I know 'nough. Just do whot I say." Ethan leads the way around the pile back to the beater. He gives a light shrug. "'m your sisters father. I don't think sh'wanted me t'tell you that. But. I'm the father. I get to choose what to do." He glances over his shoulder at the younger man. "I don't think I 'ave any relation t'you. I think I fucked 'er only the once." He gives a light shrug. "But I did get drunk a lot more when I was younger."
Stepping up to an old red and white GMC with the hood already up, Ethan gestures to it. "I think I almost got it, 'ere. Just go in and push the gas." Once Nick goes into the car, he will see that a knife is shoved into the ignition. Placing his hands on the front of the hood, he glances over at Nick. "Y'still got a problem wit' me, boy?"
The information is parsed slowly, Nick shaking his head at the fact that Greg York isn't Eileen's father. If it's good news or bad news, if he believes it or not — his head hurts too much to make these decisions.
He moves to the vehicle, sliding into the car, setting his good lightly on the gas. At Ethan's words, he gives a doggish shake of his head, staring down at the steering wheel as if to try to make sense of it.
"No, sir," he offers quietly. "How long… how long's she known that?"
"I've known it about a few weeks. Always treated 'er like my daughter. For all intents and purposes, she was my daughter. But I guess that's because.. She really was." Leaning in over the hood, he tweaks a few things here and there. After a few minutes the engine sounds a bit more healthy. "Stop." He calls out, a little louder.
Stepping from out the hood, Ethan motions for Nick to come to him. His hands covered in his grease. "She's known longer. The old man set it all up. Arranged your mum to sleep wit'me. Was all set up." He gives a light shrug of his shoulders as he drags his palms across the hood in an effort to get the grease off. "Your gun's in the glovebox. But just remember. I'm faster than you." He says matter of factly.
Nick relents on the gas when told, sliding out of the car and leaning against its open door as Ethan speaks. He scowls a little and shakes his head. "The old man? Arranged?" he echoes, not following this logic at all, though he nods and adds a "Cheers," in regards to the information regarding his gun's locale. He leans back into the car, popping the glove compartment button to grab his firearm, sliding it into his waistband.
Slamming the door, he shakes his head. "What'dya mean?"
"The old man was a crafty mother fucker. Don't suppose y'know much of Eileen's past? Sorry Nicky boy. Don't know much o' your past. Know Eileen had problems with th'family. Problems wit' Sophia. Problems wit'.. Your father. She kept company wit' Kazimir Volken. My former employer." Ethan informs casually. The hood is slammed down violently. "You drive." He mutters, motioning to the drivers seat.
Making his way around the hood he goes to the passengers seat. Opening the door he slides in, gesturing for Nick to get behind the wheel. "Kazimir 'ad me get laid by Sophia. My father was an evolved. A precog. I killed 'im. Kazimir thought he could make his own puppet precog in Eileen by havin' me fuck Sophia. Then when it didn't work he thought he could 'ave Eileen fuck Amato…" Ethan pulls his hand to his cheek. "This dirty priest fuck… I broke 'is nose recently."
Nick's brows furrow at the direction to drive — he likely has a concussion, but he's driven when drunk and high, and he doesn't hold his life or Ethan's in high enough stock to worry too much, and climbs in anyway.
"Jesus," he says with a shake of his head, putting the truck in gear and glaring at Ethan through the corner of his eyes. "Can you just …"
It might be the first time Nick has felt compelled to tell someone to watch their language, but he stops short of that. He swallows and begins to drive, staring straight ahead as he tries to wrap an already foggy mind around the information Holden is giving him.
"I don't get it. He thought Evolved were evil or something, something he needed to wipe out — why would he try to breed them? Are you … are you from his time then? Kazimir's? Like that french bloke?"
"I'm the new breed. I was head of the Europe cell of Vanguard. Then took a 'old of the New York cell. And yeh. But y'use the best tools. 'is own personal courtesean was Salucci. The filthy 'priest'. " Ethan smirks a little bit. "Francois? No." Motioning for Nick to start the car, Ethan leans back languidly into the door, watching the junkyward pass by slowly.
"Whot all d'you know bout Vanuard Nickie? Bout Kazimir? Bout your sister?" His arms fold loosely over his chest as he watches the other man lazily.
"I fuckin' met Volken. I guess he saved my life," Nick says with a disbelieving shake of his head. "Amato told me some of it — about what the Vanguard was. Not anything specific, just the general idea, I guess. I donno what she did for Volken."
Nick swallows and closes his eyes as he starts the engine, then opens them as he begins to pull away. "You don't 'ave to tell me. I don't wanna know details. I know what they do now, and that's enough, right?" His logic might be selfish there.
Ethan screws up his features at the other man. "When did you fuckin meet Volken?" Leaning forward some, his elbows go to rest on his knees. "'e's dead." He growls. "And if you start to suggest otherwise. I will have a fit." THe Wolf pushes himself into the corner of the car. Watching the other man stonily. "I won't tell ya." He mutters, glancing out the window. "What y'got 'ere in town, Nickie? What do you do in America?"
"I know he's dead. I guess. I mean, I would assume, as I met him in 1941, I think it was. Maybe '42. Fuckin' time travelers." He shakes his head, glaring at the snowy road as he finally exits the junkyard.
"Where the fuck am I, where the fuck am I going?" he asks, glancing over at Ethan. "As for why the fuck I'm here… I got work. What work, you can ask Eileen, and she can choose to tell you or not, but she knows, all right?"
"Little place called Jamaica Bay." Ethan waves his hand dismissively. "Let's get goin' t'wards Brooklyn." Smirking a little bit, he goes to take one last cigarette out of his jacket. Pulling his lighter out he goes to swiftly light it and puff on it contently. "Tell me why you're 'ere, Nick. I ain't got nothin against you. Besides you bein' a little prick and all." He gives a hefty shrug. "I ain't got nothin' t'do right now. So 'umor me. What is your work?"
Nick shoots Ethan a look out of the corner of his eyes and arches a brow. "An' if I don't? I ain't tryin' to be difficult, Holden, but I don't know you, and my work's not just anybody's business. You may be my sister's father, but that don't make you anything to me. 'ow do I know you ain't gonna throw me under the bus or somethin' for whatever I tell you? What if you don't like the answer I give you?"
He holds out a hand for a cigarette, apparently expecting that he'll get that much, and hopefully not another burn to add to his collection. "Look, I don't got a problem with you, but there's a reason I ain't goin' by Ruskin. Eileen can tell you if she thinks you need to know, but I'm lit'rally putting shit in jeopardy if I tell you, all right?"
Taking a puff, Ethan hands the only cigarette he has left to the other man. They can just share. Passing the cigarette, he drums his hand on the dash idly. "I'll let you 'ave that this time. 'York'. You can 'ave your secret this time. But next time, you don't get to keep the secret. That's 'ow it works with me. And you can expect the same from me." He looks over to the man arching a brow. "Got it?"
"Yeah," Nick says, glancing at the cigarette and realizing it's the last one. "Nah, you keep it. I should fuckin' quit. I almost did, after your ol' man saved me. Figured I'd take a new lease on life and all that noise, but you know, November and December's kinda fraying on the nerves."
He drives in silence for a moment. "Sorry 'bout that back there," he says, nodding back as if Pollepel Island's behind the driver's seat. "It's just… took me for a shock, yeah? You talkin' 'bout Sophia an' all. Kinda not somethin' I like to bring up." He waits a beat, then asks the question that's been insinuating itself for some time: "Why didn't you take care of her? Take her away from Sophia?"
What doesn't get asked verbally but hangs in the silence is, take her away from *me*?
"Didn't know I knocked 'er up." Ethan sighs. "I got my own family. My own kids, and then they died."He gives a light shrug. "If I'd a known." He closes his mouth. He has no idea if things would be different up there. "You 'ave a temper. Can't be argued. I myself 'ave a temper that can't be rivaled. You got to learn to master that temper, my son. You master that, you might be as a bad as an ass as me some day." He shakes his head as he puffs on the cigarette. " Harness your anger, swallow your pride. And make a list in your 'ead. Every time, you feel like you need to punch somebody. You write it on your list. You make tallies. Then…" He bobs his head. "Deliver, when they aint ready. Deliver when you know you're in control. When y'know y'ave the advantage."
The younger man is quiet and nods, eyes squinting at the road, concentrating more than he normally might, given the fuzziness through which he sees. "I gotta do some work since we're 'ere," he says after a moment. "Check in with the bosses, check up on some projects, since I got waylaid at the island longer'n I planned. You can tell 'er to get in contact with me at the Brooklyn apartment, maybe, via her 'couriers,' if she needs me? We 'ad an appointment to make, but … well."
Nick shrugs his left shoulder, and chuckles wryly. "You kinda threw a wrench in those works."