Participants:
| Scene Title | Conversation en français |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Art parties in galleries provide ample opportunity for some back door alley conversation in a different language between three very different people. |
| Date | October 4, 2009 |
Random Hoity Toity Gallery
Paintings!
He wasnt even sure who this event was supposed to benefit, sure they'd told him but who could remember these things? All those troubling little details, most of which failed to stick with Anton past his third glass of wine. Now he was on number seven, and finally starting to loosen up. He wasnt really -drunk- yet, but he certainly had a fairly buzz going on. Between the booze and the heavy cigar he'd worked at earlier, Anton looked a little rocked for certain anyway. Anyway the party's wound down by now, the real big wigs have already bailed but the free wine continues to flow so Anton can find an excuse or two to stay around.
Anyway at the moment he's not actually inside, he's standing in the doorway of a service hallway he likely wasnt supposed to be in. Cigarette dangling from his lips, and yet another glass of wine hung from delicate fingertips. Shoulder set lazily against the exterior door he was smoking out've, not that he cared where he smoked but you see his boss might if he set off the smoke alarms.
It's been a long time since Peyton has dressed up and gone to any sort of social event. Socializing lately means hanging out with criminals in Staten, or the rare night out with Wendy. Today she looks like her former self, in a strapless cocktail dress in a rich burgundy color, complemented by bronze strappy platforms. She was doing fairly well, but has had one too many glasses of wine. Her power begins to get a bit out of her control — her vision begins to change perspective — from her own to the bartender's, to one of the feature artists, and all while looking at this dizzying weird abstract art, none of which is conducive to getting her bearings. "Fuck," she murmurs, and heads for the nearest door, disappearing into the hallway that Anton himself lurks in, and slumping against the wall, her eyes closing. Too bad that doesn't help. She doesn't notice Anton for the time being.
Minea's a stress smoker. Little known habit really. Just now and then a desire for a cancer stick and with everything that's happened of late, when she see's Anton disappear and the knowledge of what people usually do when they disappear out back of affairs like this and the smoking laws in New York, she's following. Sequined dangerously low backed black sheath that shows frankly more leg than she normally displays as well as a litany of tattoo's that normally are well covered, Minea ends up joining Anton. «Can I bum a smoke off you?» The french flowing like she was born to the language as opposed to having learned it.
It's when she comes to a stop though that she see's Peyton and raises a brow. "Ms. Whitney. Do I need to call a car for you?"
Anton exhales slowly as he peers down the hallway at Peyton, he could be a nice guy but hey she looks like a bitch. In other words, like almost all American women. Great, now there are people here to -see- him be a prick. He just sort've eyes Minea in turn for a moment, before passing off his pack of lucky strikes. Then its a quick top of his wine glass, before dumping his cigarette butt inside. "Excuse me, Miss are you feeling well?" He has the good sense to at least use his 'inside voice' and keep his hands out've his pockets. His mother would be proud. "I think, the wine may have been served too liberally for some patrons."
"I'm not drunk," Peyton murmurs, perhaps surprisingly in French. Her eyes are closed as she breathes deeply, trying to get some control over her power. She opens her eyes, hoping that her vision will be her own again — and her pupils are wide; one might assume she's drugged. She takes a deep breath and deliberately shifts her focus to Minea's — at least she'll be seeing what's in the hallway with her, rather than bouncing around from one perspective to another of the last twenty people she looked at in the banquet hall. That's better. She takes another deep breath and focuses on returning her vision to her own, and suddenly her pupils constrict, the black shrinking until more of her brown irises can be seen. She sighs softly and then smiles, a little proud of herself.
She's not drunk. Which leads, in Minea's mind to frankly another option. «Focus on something, it should help. Talk french because it will help your mind to focus on one thing instead of that» Her ability. She doesn't say it out loud but Minea's helped her register and has a vauge idea, possibly, of what it might be.
The smokes are taken, one pulled out and then passed back to Anton. « Give her a few. She'll be fine. Lighter or matches? » She's not about to open her clutch to dig for a lighter and spill her gun and badge.
Anton stops dead in his tracks halfway between either woman, peering from one to the other for a moment. «Lighter.» he says simply, casually strolling back to Minea's side to produce the cheap bright red Bic. «Your French is quite good miss, your friend's is not bad either in fact. Have either of you been there, or is this merely an interest on an intellectual level?» uhoh, there goes the hands into his pant pockets. Suck terrible manners indeed.
«Thank you. I'm all right now. Just a little dizzy there for a moment,» Peyton says, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. Right. That's why her eyes were dilated like some demon in a WB television show. Her eyes flicker to Anton. She was told who he was, but does not know him. «I studied it in school, and have visited on holiday. It's a lovely country,» she says with a smile toward Anton.
Flick, flick, catch
The stick held in her mouth, clutch under her arm, she watches the two of them over the flickering BIC flame and inhales, letting the tobacco catch before the press is let go and the flame dies to leave only the glowing tip of the cigarette being pulled away so Minea can exhale. «Good. You could always ask for help you know, with that.» Offered to Peyton before the lighter is held out to Anton to take repossession of.
«Married a Frenchman, spent many years there in Cannes and Montpellier. Some in France. Do I call you Ambassador or just Monsieur Chevalier?»
Anton frowns broadly at being so easily recognized, and waves a hand dismissively. «For one I am not the ambassador, I am just an advisor. Beyond that my dear, I believe just Anton would be most sufficient for either of you fine ladies. I fear just the same that I've been put at somewhat of a disadvantage here, as you two ladies seem to know who I am but I don't know either of you?» He offers Minea his hand first, though his gaze is elsewhere for the moment. You see, Peyton's a little more interesting right now. «So is this a drug problem, or should we trade acid tabs about now?»
The younger woman frowns, her pretty face contorting a little, though she offers her hand anyway, a fake smile blooming on her face. "Peyton Whitney," she says quietly. That name could either reinforce his belief that her 'dizziness' came from a drug problem, or perhaps he'll recognize her name as belonging to the socialite who's recently been kidnapped for being Evolved. "Enchanté."
«Agent Minea Dahl. Homeland» She'll let Peyton brave the drug questions. «Ms. Whitney and I are acquainted with one another in the past. In a good way.» She assures the diplomat. The cigarette comes up to her lips again leaving more lipstick marks as she inhales then blows the smoke away to the side. God, she needed this.
Anton eases his frown before reaching to retake his cigarettes and lighter. «Oh, evolved. See well that simplifies things then, I suppose.» There are handshakes offered if either girl wishes to take them. «I heard you were held hostage, I'm not entirely alien to that experience myself. Right after Yugoslavia fell apart, I ran there to cover it for the paper I worked at. My photographer was taken hostage, I was fortunate and was not in. I know many friends who have been taken, I understand it changes one's view on personal security. I suppose it makes friends like Agent Dahl all the more comforting.»
Peyton's expression flickers a bit, from fake smile to a little bit of annoyance at being labeled 'evolved.' At least what he says after is not unsympathetic, or at least doesn't seem to be. She tilts her head; some words in the other language are not in her vocabulary, but she manages to understand the gist of it and nods. «Thank you. It's been difficult. Though Agent Dahl and I are merely acquaintances, though friendly ones at that.» She smiles at Minea and then nods to them both. «I think I should go back in, now that I've gotten my bearings. Enjoy your cigarettes.» She turns to the door that will lead back into the charity event.
«She's right, we're just passing acquaintances. No more, no less.» "Take care Whitney. You have my number" She's still sucking back on the cigarette, nursing it with the finesse of someone who's smoked her fair share. «Particular love of the city bring you here, or was it this or something else that got you a job in New York City as opposed to elsewhere?»
Anton turns back to offer his card, with a fleeting little smile. «Now you have my card Miss Whitney, I expect you to call it if you need anything. I am not a powerful man, but I associate with many of them alright?» before its right back to Minea. «Work. I'm the adviser on the Balkans and such, so I spend a lot of time at the UN. The concern now is over the evolved, but the worry over nuclear devices is still very real. So I am busy here, otherwise I would prefer to live in Paris still or maybe Sarajevo. Its a nice city you understand, but I am very far from my family.»
Peyton takes the card, glancing at it and giving a curious glance at Anton. She's not sure what he is suggesting she need help with, nor what powerful men he associates with that he feels she should need help from. «Thank you. Have a good night,» she says, with a more sincere smile before slipping back into the main room. This time, she will avoid the bar, or sip sparkling water. Still, she's learned how to regain her control once it's been lost — the momentary loss of control over her power actually taught her a valuable lesson.
« And what is France's stance on the evolved situation? Are they contemplating instituting a registration process similar to what is enforced here? Or will they be letting bygones be bygones and see what happens? Or there's always the Chinese options which is enslave them all and make em work for them.» The last is uttered by Minea more as a jest than anything else.
«To stave off revolution, even as the economy continues to spiral out of control and increasing police presence just serves to strengthen the public's hatred of the state. They will put off a decision for as long as possible, because either way the people will likely revolt. They waited too long, and now both camps are far too powerful for the government to dispel with a simple edict. So it doesn't matter, revolution will come.»Anton shrugs a touch, lighting a fresh cigarette before stuffing the pack away inside his jacket. «Things will not end well in France, I suspect.»
«At least then, you can learn from the mistakes of the US and between cushion the blow when it finally lands» There's some modicum of hope. Minea flicks the smoke to the ground of the alley and brings her heel down on the end to crush out the embers. «Did you ever imagine when you were growing up that it would be like this? To wake up one day and find out that your neighbor can make ice cubes and doesn't need the freezer to do it or that the woman down the street who seems to have a lot of cats, just might be able to converse with them?»
Anton just smiles a little bit «Human beings are born believing in magic Agent Dahl, what did you believe as a child? We are born kind, and wise. It is society which spoils us, and drives our hearts to unnatural places. It is not unlike swimming I believe, as you know infants are born able to swim. Later through conditioning, we come to believe that we must be -taught- to swim and so some of us feel as though we cant swim at all. »
«We're also taught with teh capability to speak any language that our hearts would so desire. But as we grow, we loose that possibility that spark that could let us master each language. Our lip, teeth and tongue don't work in concert with each other to produce the varying consonants and vowels.» The corner of the agents dark red lips turn up. «I believed that… everyone was good, that kisses could cure any wound inflicted. That my father was superman and that I would grow up to be someone important and change the world. Maybe win a Nobel prize. I believed in Magic once. Now.. Now I believe in Miracles and in a man who can see the past through a touch, and a woman can make something broken whole again. I believe what I can see with my own two eyes»
Anton chuckles a touch, despite how hard he was trying to be dour. «Believe what instinct tells you to be true, not just what you see. That's a very limited approach to life, you need faith. Faith that all men and women are born with equal standing, and the emotional constitution to do good and stop evil. Just because you cannot see the body in a grave, does not mean it isn't present.»
«I think, dear Anton, that you need to walk more than a few miles in my shoes before you think that I would not follow my instinct, or believe what I can't see. I once committed to a series of actions based on… and I swear it on my fathers grave, a package of information from the future.» She does go for whats in her clutch - not the gun - but lipstick. The weapon inside can be clearly seen. «And faith, faith is what kept me looking for Agent Ivanov weeks after he went missing.»
The cap comes off the cosmetic stick and through years of learning to put it on without a mirror, the red shade is slicked over lips, pressed together then puckered. One quick rub of the finger over her front teeth to make sure that she didn't get any on and she's tucking it away again.
«One day, we'll all skip down the yellow brick road hand in hand and I won't be needed to show up at scenes where someone with an evolved ability has opted to taked out half a block because they didn't like their toast that dark or though that having their ability gave them red carpet to take what they like. We can only hope that they're all as thoughtful as Clark Kent in the future, but this is the present and right now… It's not pretty and it's looking like it will get worse before it gets better.»
«Evil is evil, there is no greater or lesser degrees of it. Evil with a handgun, or a knife, or an explosive is just as damaging to society as a whole as an evolved with some devastating capability. If you want to make it better, you must ignore the body count and attack the root cause of the social unease. Things dont happen because of individuals, they happen because they are the symptoms of a sickening society.» He inhales sharply, pausing to ash before finally exhaling.
«In anycase Agent Dahl I fear you and I are about to descend into a philosophical discussion that will threaten to drown any chance of us being able to be social with one another. So why don't you and I agree that our viewpoints are of equal validity from where we're standing, and I can go back inside and continue to mooch off the acceptable wine they're serving here.»
«Or you can avoid the wine here, we can find some other far more gastronomically better if not delightful place and we can examine other views of our own philosophies and opinions. It has been a long time since I have been back to France and you, Monsieur are making me long for it. Besides, I've seen enough art in there enough as it is. My treat?» Minea offers her arm to Anton with raised brows.
Anton raises eyebrows right back, que the guitar. «Well, goodness. I dont think I can refuse such an offer, from a woman quite so beautiful. Allow me a few moments to gather my coat, and make an excuse at my supervisor before we slip away like young punks in the night?»
«Tell him your conversing with a Homeland Agent. Don't they love it when you make connections and sources of information? Besides, I have a coat to get too» In other words, go ahead, she'll be waiting near the front. She doesn't need to go ask permission.
