Participants:
| Scene Title | All I Ever Wanted To Do |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A French Socialite and a FRONTLINE agent meet up, and talk about their hopes and dreams (kind of). |
| Date | January 25, 2011 |
Everything about Piccoli's is welcoming. There's a large, cheerful neon sign mounted on the roof, the interior is brightly lit and spotlessly clean, and the old-fashioned decor is more reminiscent of mother's kitchen than a successful business. Since the doors opened in 1946, Piccoli's has been best known for pastrami, hot dogs, corned beef, and salami. The wait can sometimes be a little long, but the prices are reasonable and the food is always worth it.
It's been a long morning. Elisabeth has a mild headache from constant input of information and it's exacerbated by the realization that she forgot to eat this morning. So lunch is coming from Piccoli's, infamous for the sheer volume of meat they put in a sandwich. Standing in the line, Elisabeth orders a Reuben for here and a half-dozen other sandwiches to be wrapped to go. Her own, however, she takes to a table with a cup of soda to sit down and nibble at.
Phew. Long, long day— the girls are practicing for a new production, and she's been the one to show them all of the dances for Swan Lake. Lilly, the primary dancer, has never danced this particular ballet as the Swan Queen, so Remi's having to be especially critical of the girl in order to make the deadline of march work for an entire ballet, an entire troupe of dancers.
Being a choreographer is difficult, but a good job nonetheless.
Right now, though, Remi has the pointe shoes off, and the nice, warm knee-high boots on, along with a pair of jeans and a leather jacket lined with fur. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and despite the fact that she's been dancing (and sweating) all morning, she still looks good. A side effect, perhaps, of being trained to look good no matter how tired or in pain you are.
Remi quietly orders herself a nice vegetarian sub, grabs a bottled water, and makes her way into her seat. Thank god it's early and this place isn't extremely busy; it grants Remi the opportunity to relax her grip on her ability slightly, prompting the voices she always hears to become a bit more noticeable. Not that anyone else can see this; she's focused on opening her bottled water, which doesn't seem to want to open.
The black-on-black that she wears isn't particularly out of the realm of reason — this is New York City, after all. And everyone wears it! But the blonde at the table next to Remi's is not your average black-on-black wearer with a ton of make-up and too skinny to have boobs. She's slender but clearly has no issue munching on that Reuben in front of her. Her hair is caught back into a clip at the base of her neck, tumbling in loose waves to the middle of her back. Maybe it's the combat boots and the sleek look of her that draws the eye. Who knows? Elisabeth gives the outward impression of being at ease and casual, but her mind is whirling with a hundred fragmented thoughts.
Got to have the techs check Emerson's gear — she mentioned a loose clip on the exo.
Wonder how Abby's doing.
Dammit all, can't I even get 10 minutes to eat? Fuck! This last comes as she checks her phone for a text that apparently just came in. The mental running commentary continues with a bit of minor bitching and an amused if disgruntled, Fel, you keep sexting me, I'm gonna jack you up and cut you off at the knees, man. Fuckin' speedster metabolism. A return text is fired off and she's chuckling softly to herself. Lemme alone, Feeb! But there's the sense that perhaps the text did exactly what it was meant to — make her laugh — and she knows it.
Well, someone has a very busy mind. As Remi quietly eats her meal, she is unable to to help it when her blue eyes turn toward the blonde woman, her brows raising slightly as if the woman is of particular interest. However, she knows better than to let her gaze linger for too long on a single person while she listens in on their inner monologue, and those blue eyes drop down to her sandwich, which is also of particular interest. If only because she is eating it.
Still, she can't help but be curious, and her attention is on the blonde with the busy mind. Exo? Techs? Who knows what's going on there. Abby? No bells are rung with that name. And apparently, she has something going with this Fel / Feeb person, apparently. She can't help but smile faintly at that thought, taking a bite out of her sandwich.
Ah, the things you can learn about a person.
Shaking her head slightly, Elisabeth goes back to eating. And there's a massive to-do list scrolling through her head. Most of it has to do with this conference call or that. Names … high-profile names in local and federal government and unknown names too — aides of General So-and-so, a reminder to herself to find out when Dooley's drone is going to be returned. It'll make the officer happy. Which leads to unhappier mental bitching once more about fuckin' DoEA and their asshole programmers.
People should really not listen in on someone like Elisabeth's running internal commentary, cuz it's all over the map. Oh look, he has a cute ass. Not as good as Richard's, but hey…. ah well. Not enough time to see if it's even worth talking about.
Wow, this woman has an extremely busy mind. To do lists, recognizable names…probably works with the government. Difficult to determine what branch, but it's simple enough to deduce that this isn't a woman she should mess with too much. And she's certainly not going to tell the woman that she's tuned in to her thoughts like one would tune in to an interesting talk radio.
Blue eyes once again lift to Liz, then toward the cute ass in question. A smile forms on the redhead's face, as she silently agrees with Liz's appraisal of that ass. Pretty damn cute. Pinchable, perhaps. Then, she takes another bite of her sandwich, thoughtful.
After a moment, the telepath smiles. This woman is interesting enough that Remi doesn't mind engaging her. Dangerous, yes, but also interesting, with those thoughts of hers going at what seems to be a million miles an hour. What to talk about, though? How about that bag full of cold-cut sandwiches that Liz has? That should work well enough.
And so, in a garbled but smoothly flowing mixture of French and French accented English, Soleil Remi Davignon deigns to speak to the woman. "Mon dieu, zat is a lot of sandwiches, oui? Making an office trip?" She smiles across the booths to Liz, sipping at the water bottle.
As the bag is brought out and set on her table, Elisabeth looks up and thanks the person. She left her tip at the counter, and it was substantial. Glancing toward the redhead with the accent, the blonde shrugs with a smile. "My squad works hard. They deserve a treat once in a while," she says easily. She sips from her cup. "As often as I've got them on the run out there, I figure lunch is the least I can do."
Remi quietly raises her brows, tilting her head to the side. Squad. Run. Out there. Perhaps a military type; she certainly fits the bill, from the looks of it. Then, after a moment, recognition crosses Remi's face. Oh, yes! This is the woman who was awarded a medal a while back. She remembers seeing that on television. Shame, Remi, you're losing touch with the celebrity world.
Still listening in on the blonde woman's thoughts, Remi offers a smile over to her. "Zat is kind of you! You are Elizabeth Harrison, oui?" She tilts her head to one side. "Ze woman who got an award for protecting people, oui?" Her head tips respectfully in Liz's direction, as she takes another large bite from her veggie sub, washing it down with water.
In contrast to Liz, Remi is is a stick of sorts, thanks to the lack of body fat and the lean muscle development that is encouraged in ballet. It's not that she doesn't eat, as is obvious by how she's gobbling down her sandwich; it's more so the fact that she works so hard at her dancing that she can't even hope to develop much in the way of body fat or bulky muscle.
Elisabeth scoffs lightly. "I was just doing my job," she asserts mildly. And they either had to do that or admit they knew about the whole damn thing and did nothing to stop it. Gotta love the spin machine. "I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage," she offers. Remi didn't introduce herself. And unlike most New Yorkers, Liz doesn't seem to have a problem talking to strangers. She skims over the woman's form briefly, if only to catalog and remember her looks — a cop trick, making the stat sheet in her head.
Oh, now that is an interesting development. The government knew about those attacks and didn't try to stop them. God, some times she just has to love her ability— it's so damn easy to get information when people aren't aware that you're reading their every thought like a book. Outwardly, Remi doesn't react to that little tidbit of information.
"Ohh, but it takes bravery to go out and do zat, oui?" She offers a smile over to Liz, leaning back in her seat. "Pardon, I forgot to introduce myself! Je m'appelle Soleil Remi Davignon." Huh, she has the same last name as that famous fashion designer. On par with Gucci and Armani and the like, Davignon is another well-known name in the fashion world. She tips her head toward Liz, somehow managing a halfway curtsey in her seat. "You can call me Remi."
And it's entirely clear that Elisabeth is not involved in the fashion world at. all. She doesn't react to the name. "Remi, then. Nice to meet you," Elisabeth says sincerely, offering her hand to the woman. "At the risk of sounding like a cliche, Remi, … being a cop's all I ever wanted to do. Like being a teacher or a nurse, it's a calling not so much a career." She shrugs a little. "And now I'll get off my soapbox right quick." She smiles.
Remi can't help but laugh a little, both to herself and to the fact that Liz doesn't recognize her. Sometimes, fame is so annoying, so it's nice to not have to deal with it. "Oh, non, I know what you mean!" She flashes a brief smile. "I am ze same way, but not a cop." She chuckles softly. "I am a ballet dancer. Dancing is all I ever wanted to do. I love ze dance. Now, I 'ave been named a Prima Ballerina at Bolshoi in Moscow, Russia, and I am currently working at American Ballet Theater, as an instructor and a choreographer."
So what if she doesn't dance on the stage right now? Hopefully, the control over her ability will loosen, and one day she will return to Bolshoi— hopefully, this is just a temporary hiatus.
That brings a smile to Elisabeth's face. "I love seeing the shows that the American Ballet company puts on," she compliments. "I don't think I've ever seen them turn out a bad performance. Quite prestigious. Congratulations on being named Prima Ballerina. I understand it's one of the highest honors."
Ah, and a woman who knows some Ballet. "Oui. I 'ave danced a few times with American Ballet Theater, though it 'as been a while since I actually was a principal dancer." She likes it that way. For now. "And it is, oui." A bittersweet honor for her, when she is unable to use it due to her status as an SLC-expressive individual. Not that she goes into details about that. "I am currently 'elping our students learn Swan Lake— per'aps you should come and see it. It will be ze first time our Swan Queen has ever danced as a principal dancer."
"I'll see what I can do about getting tickets," Elisabeth promises, her thoughts giving away both sincerity and uncertainty — making plans that far in advance doesn't usually happen for her. "Unfortunately, my duties with FRONTLINE make it a little complicated to plan so far ahead," she adds regretfully. Wonder if Richard would even watch a ballet… hm. Yet another thing to ask the man about. Felix'd go…. and snore, I'm sure. Her mental tone is somewhat derisive on that thought, bringing a faint wistful smile to the corners of her mouth. Norton or Alec would have gone. Ah well….
A smile meets Liz's answer. "Don't worry about tickets. I am ze choreographer, I can comp you tickets! And why wouldn't I, after what you do for zis city?" Remi waves a hand to denote that it's nothing for her to do as much. "And if you cannot make it, you can try for another night, oui?" She rather quickly finishes off her sandwich, a slightly amused twinkle in her eye.
"Well…. I would love to," Elisabeth admits with a smile. Moving to stand, she holds out her hand once more. "It's been an absolute pleasure, Remi. You could have them left at the desk at Dorchester Towers, if they're available. And… thank you. Really." She looks regretful. "I need to get back to the base. I'm afraid things are pretty busy at the moment. And if they don't eat, my team starts looking like a pack of ravening wolves," she chuckles.
Remi smiles brightly to Liz, nodding quietly as she shakes the woman's hand. "Oui, I will do zat. 'Opefully I will see you around more often— I live in Dorchester Towers, as well." She offers a warm smile up to Liz, and taps her forehead. "'Ave a wonderful day, Madamoiselle 'Arrison." She crumples up the paper from her sandwich, throwing it into the bag as she finishes her water.
