Participants:
| Scene Title | So, Did I Miss Anything? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A prodigal returns, to be hugged and asked about a cactus… and to reveal perhaps more than he should to an 'innocent' bystander. To quote the latter: "owfuckingnegators". All in all, it's a relatively normal day at the Wench. |
| Date | March 22 2011 |
A punk rock pub through and through, The Surly Wench is dim, cramped, and incredibly popular. It's a small, rectangular venue with a bar bordering one entire wall. Despite this, ordering a drink on a weekend can be an exercise in line-waiting and rib-elbowing. There are a few small tables ringed with high stools for seating, but these are prime real estate. The majority of the patrons are forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder on any given night. Almost half of the cramped interior is devoted to a low stage for live music. There's no dance floor. If you feel the need, you'll have to thrash in place.
Within the Wench, it is, as ever, hard to tell quite what time it might be in the outside world. 'Quiet' is not exactly a term often associated with a bar of this kind, but attendance is presently sparse - a couple of men of indeterminate age hunched over a corner table, deep in a passionate discussion punctuated with frequent hand-waving; a pair of young metal-heads poring over the jukebox; and a woman who would be unusual just about anywhere else in the city, but here arguably fits in. Over-the-knee boots, tight black breeches, and a backless top that displays a startling tattoo - covering almost all the exposed skin, it depicts a pair of dragons, one red and one white, twined around each other in Celtic or Anglo-Saxon knotwork. The colours are impossibly bright, and the detail and quality of work startling.
Hunched forward over the bar, she has one arm resting upon the surface, hand toying with the end of her blue and black braid of hair, while the other arm is secured in an immobilising leather sling. Before her, a large mug of coffee steams gently.
Trask comes in, the man has a thick dirty blonde beard that completely covers his face in a grizzly adams fashion. He wears a leather jacket and carries a satchel over one shoulder. His hair is long, falling all the way to the shoulders and a bit tangled looking. He heads toward the bar pretty directly, his eyes scanning the room as he does.
For a few moments, Ygraine simply remains hunched pensively over her coffee, her gaze apparently attempting to bore its way through the bar. Then, vaguely aware of movement to the side, she gathers her thoughts just enough to glance around, giving the newcomer the sort of idly, dully curious look that one can usually get away with in a quiet place.
"Here you go Mr. Harrison" The bartender hands over the mug of Guiness that was ordered as he swipes his card. "Please it's Cameron" The man speaks with a think latin American accent as he collects his drink.
'Cameron Harrison' certainly doesn't ring any bells with Ygraine. Not in this portion of this timeline, however delighted another version of her might be to meet him at some point in the tangled web of possible paths. As a result, the Briton lets her gaze drop, returning to the pensive, worried, wound-hurtingly tense efforts to think through how on Earth to handle the latest problem in this utterly fucked-up, horrendous year.
Handling things that are utterly fucked-up is one of the reasons that Graeme's showing up this evening, if only to keep Ygraine company, and to decompress after being grilled, over and over again, by one Audrey Hanson. Even if he won't actually drink anything besides a soda or two while here. He spots ygraine, wanders towards her, with the same general alertness he usually has. "Hey," he murmurs. His gaze rests on Trask, for a moment, before he looks at the woman he's come to meet, a soft bit of a smile on his face.
Hunched forward over the bar, she has one arm resting upon the surface, hand toying with the end of her blue and black braid of hair, while the other arm is secured in an immobilising leather sling. Before her, a large mug of coffee steams gently.'
Trask collects his mug and takes a nice deep drink, "I've missed the wench" He smiles behind thier beard, his accent still just as thick. He slowly looks around the room and his eyes fall on Ygraine, it takes him a moment or two, his eyes narrowing…before he realizes just who it is. He wanders toward a table near her perch at the bar, settling into a seat trying to be unnoticed.
It's not that much sooner than Graeme's sat down and greeted Ygraine than Trask comes over, and the normally calm man winces, curses under his breath. "Fuckfuckshitdamnowthehell." The exclamation is pretty sudden, and perhaps startling for Ygraine, who saw that even when Graeme had been stabbed he didn't so much as say a word. Graeme braces his free hand on the counter, looking around. "Fucking hell ow," the cursing continues.
And then the realisation sets in, the shifts in his state of being slightly familiar. Negation. Still braced on the counter, Graeme looks around, trying to figure out why, where the source is. "Owfuckingnegators."
From his position close at hand in the cramped seating area, Trask has a fine view of Ygraine's brilliant tattoo (among other things), the Briton still perched at the bar. He also gets to see some further effects, as the dragons ripple in response to her sitting up, part-turning, offering her companion a thoroughly startled look - followed quickly by an expression of deep worry.
At the last, she hastily looks around, scanning the bar… before her gaze settles on the bushy-faced man with the Scottish name and the South American accent..
Trask winces as he hears the man yell out, he then takes a couple steps back, a little over 3 yards from Graeme he stops, he meets Ygraine's eyes and after a moment, he winks and says, in a totally different Russian accent. "The first rule of interrogation is to make the subject feel comfortable."
Graeme's hand, splayed in the counter, pulls into a white-knuckled fist, followed by a long breath in as Trask steps back. There it is, everything fading fades back into the distance and the pain is more like a slight annoyance again. He looks over at Trask, and offers the other man a grim smile. "Sorry. I …" There's another breath, Graeme trying to centre himself. "Much better." He looks over at Ygraine. "Alright, I think I'm okay." His tone of voice is much, much more level than it had been when he was cursing.
Dark-lined eyes stare at the fuzzy stranger, the worry-lines creased into the brow inverting as Ygraine looks thoroughly startled. Then her head cocks slightly, as if seeing the man from a fractionally different angle might help things… before she offers a low chuckle, burgundy lips quirking into a ghost of a smile.
"You better have looked after that cactus", she informs the man.
Trask smiles softly, "It enjoyed the rain forest quite a bit I think." He nods to her companion. "I'd offer a hug, but I have a feeling he would rather I didn't come over there right now.
It's taken another breath for Graeme's breathing to return to stable, from the ragged pain, the short period of time it takes him to mentally recover from the terribly strange sensation of being negated. He looks over at Trask, and nods. "Yeah, if … that's your ability doing that, I … I'm sorry. It's nothing personal, really." He shifts on his chosen stool a little.
A low laugh, and Ygraine slips off her stool, flashing a smile to Graeme before looking back to Trask. "Me, I'm relying on pharmaceuticals to deal with my pain", she announces, before striding over to deliver a warm embrace - albeit carefully, her own immobilised and bandaged arm an awkward presence between them.
Trask smiles and hugs her tightly, he is careful about the arm, he has had a few of those after all. She may notice he has put on a little more muscle then before, not that he was ever flabby. "So I miss anything?" He grins softly.
Graeme gives the woman what might be a glare. "You know exactly how much I like taking anything more than maybe ibuprofen," he says, grumbling almost. And she does. Since being stabbed, Graeme's stubbornly refused to take the painkillers except to sleep, and that only when he's accompanied. "I still don't know what they do with my metabolism and such anyway." The last statement is a petulant excuse, really.
For her part, Ygraine is a good deal curvier than she was when first she met Trask - though there's evidently still a great deal of firmly-toned muscle in place. "Oh… just the world going to shit", she quietly informs him, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards though the tension around her eyes returns.
Glancing around, she then nods to the far end of the bar. "That speaker's out. If we head down there, it should be quiet enough for the three of us to talk without Graeme needing to be close enough to be in pain. Or we could make him take his prescription drugs and spend a short while finding out how the rest of us cope, of course." Softening that last proposal, she fires a wink at the man in question.
Trask nods and heads to the place Ygraine pointed at taking a spot against the wall and then letting Graeme come to him, or stop where he thinks he feels safe, if Graeme does come within about 12 feet he will raise one finger as a warning.
Graeme oversteps, missing the warning, but just as quickly figures out that if he steps backward he'll be out of range. "Oh." There's a slight deadpan amusement to his voice. "That's why you did that." He pulls out a seat, settling. "Thanks. I swear, it's not personal. Just, my ability's sorta my coping method." Obviously. He grins at Ygraine when she sits. "I figured you should know, by the way," he says. "The HomeSec agent was particularly interested in both Liz and Richard, when they came up."
Ygraine moves to position herself between the two, her own back to a wall, the coffee carefully set before her. "Graeme Cormac, meet Mr Cameron Harrison", she says dryly, arching the nearer brow at Trask to invite him to give a correction, should he wish to. "New friend, meet old. Each category frankly seems to be an endangered species at the moment, so you had best get on."
Trask nods slowly, "Liz and Richard, we talking about Blondie and Red bird?" He asks softly, pitching his voice low enough to be covered by the background noise much further then where Graeme is sitting.
Ygraine purses those burgundy lips, then delves into the top of one boot - lifting out a small device that is likely to be familiar to Graeme. Depressing a button lights up a green LED, but has no other immediately noticeable effect, as one of Spy Shop's portable white noise emitters comes into play. It's then tucked back into her boot.
"Yes. The… situation in question is an incident in which two Sylars turned up, at least one of them bent on killing Graeme's room-mate - and my current boss, whom I was there in part specifically to protect. Fortunately, I'd also let one of our mutual friends know that there was a risk of a problem, and had drafted him in to assist. A Sylar attack, however, was not exactly the kind of thing I could prepare for. We… avoided fatalities. But Remi was impaled through the thigh while being carried by Graeme. His wound is the over-penetration from hers. And as of today, HomeSec took charge of her at the hospital where we - and some of Liz's FRONTLINE troopers - had been guarding her."
"Pretty damn sure we are," Graeme murmurs in response to Trask. The white noise generator brings a bit of a sigh. There's a hint of both his eyebrows raising, and he looks at Ygraine. "You know I pick up on little things like that, right? Whatever it is." It being Trask's name, apparently. He's not annoyed, or anything, more amused, with a wry smile although his words are delivered in almost perfect deadpan. "And I think I can get on, 's long as I don't have to go near him."
Trask perks up a little, he apparently rarely worries about being listened to. I guess when telepaths, precogs and even people with super spock ears can't listen in you worry less about normal methods of being spied on. "So let me get this straight, I've been in town less then 2 hours and Liz has already been kidnapped? Is that a new record or what?"
Graeme looks over at Trask, and chuckles a bit. "No, no, Liz is fine. My roommate, on the other hand, got stabbed through the leg by the fucking midtown man. While I happened to be carrying her. And now, the government's shuffled her off to somewhere apparently more secure. Which means apparently somewhere we don't know."
A low laugh, and Ygraine shakes her head. "Not Liz, no. So far as we know, she's fine." For a second, the Briton's gaze goes distant - I had my brains blown out by Humanis First - then she shakes her head and determinedly refocuses upon the present. "It's a woman called Remi. Soleil Remi Davignon. Daughter of the founder of the Davignon fashion house, though her famous mother died in the Bomb. She's a ballerina. Former prima ballerina, in fact. Now works for American Ballet Theatre as a choreographer. The party we were at on Thursday, where the two sodding Sylars showed up, that was the launch event for ABT's season of Swan Lake. So… she got stabbed through the thigh - her femoral artery was nicked, but not severed - a day before opening night. Then got a HomeSec guard contingent today."
A slight pause, then she chuckles faintly. "Though if you want someone else to feel sorry for, this poor bastard's a candidate. He got stabbed by Sylar on his birthday."
Trask raises an eyebrow, "Two Sylars, that has to be twice the fun. I've never been stabbed by him myself, Shot seven times by telekenetically redirected bullets, zapped by laser beams, hit in the back of the head by a shovel from him, Punched in the face, had my head bashed in against steel bars during a cage match, and on one memorable occasion saved from a rather pissed off Arthur Petrelli…but never stabbed.
Graeme winces, instinctively. "Yeah, loads of fun," he says. Still deadpan. "I'd been having such a good birthday, too." Definitely still deadpan as he explains to Ygraine. "My sister called me. And we spent at least half an hour saying absolutely nothing except that she apologised for if I hate her now, or something."
Ygraine stares rather blankly at Graeme, then sighs, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Neurgh. Right. Away from your family troubles, since I'm not at all sure if you want those discussed with someone you've only just met… and back to you."
Focusing upon Trask, she offers him a look mingling sympathy with incredulity. "Christ. And I was worried enough about seeing him in action earlier this year. I got barged into by one of the Sylars - that's how it all kicked off. I responded, and reached out to the invisible thing moving rapidly towards Remi. Stuck it to my glass. When it hit the deck, well… he lost concentration, dropped his invisibility, and turned out to be…. Oh, merde. I'd best get off to a registration office and confirm they've upgraded my listing. I told the truth, some of the truth, and nothing like the speculated truth about my ability when I Registered so they'd let me back into the country at all. Since then, I had to reveal a bit more than I'd have liked publicly, and got in touch…. And I'd better check that it has been updated before I talk to DHS, so they don't have anything to charge me with…."
Trask nods, "Registration…thats right…they made it mandatory now…forgot about that. So is there still any fire birds, or boat men around I can talk to. I think my id might still be on the watch list."
Graeme nods to Ygraine, and although Trask's query is not lost on him, particularly, he doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrow again. "Finish up with your Registration updating, before you go talk to them," he says. "They're already hunting for things beyond the up and obvious. Fishing for things that I'm pretty certain aren't pertinent to the actual investigation. We don't need to give them another thing to pick on." And then he stares off a bit, brain working at trying to put more of the pieces together in his mental picture of things, simply listening.
"Oh, yeah. It's been compulsory for you citizens for a good while now", Ygraine grumbles. "And they got around to closing the loophole that had it referring only to citizens. Simply to get through customs, I need a card confirming that I've gone through the DNA checks and had my ability assessed…."
Pursing her lips, she sighs and nods slowly. "By no means everyone I know is part of what we were involved in while stopping the Vanguard back then", she cautions Trask. "Graeme, here, hasn't yet made the mistake of trying to directly save the world."
Trask nods and leans back against the wall, "I see….sorry if I have already said too much then. I will keep my head down. I would rather you keep my return under your hat for now..if you could?
Graeme snaps back to alertness with a few blinks. "Yet," he murmurs. "I've made enough mistakes recently that I'm not wholly ignorant," he continues, with a bit of a petulant nod. "But that's for another time anyway. Not while I'm still being bothered by the DHS."
"Quite", Ygraine says dryly. "There are more than enough potentially troublesome things we could say without spreading the worry…." Shaking her head, she offers Trask a smile. "It's all right. I can try to fill you in on what's happening with a few friends… but are you sure you don't want me to tell anyone you're around? I can give you current numbers for at least one or two, if you want to give them a surprise yourself."
Trask noddles, "I'll take numbers. If you need to I won't stop you, but I would rather find out what is going on before stepping back into the lime light right away. I understand a certain Russian ex associate of mine has been working for this institute of yours. I want to find out what that is about before making my comeback.
Ygraine doesn't appear to know quite what Russian in particular Trask might be talking about, her brow wrinkling slightly, but she sighs and nods once more. "The Institute appear to be very bad news indeed", she murmurs. "I… think we should probably sit down and have a chat. About what people are up to, and whom you might want to surprise. But… where on Earth have you been?"
Trask says, "Brazil most recently. Apparently there are some south american drug cartels who think that evolved are the perfect breeding ground for mules and strike troops. Some pretty horrific camps down there. A lot less now though.""
Ygraine winces sharply, shooting Trask a rather worried look. "Bloody Hell", she mutters. "I'm glad that things are improving, but… we know from this city, too, that the criminal syndicates will make use of people. But… camps? Well, I suppose that the administration here have to be getting inspiration from somewhere…."
"That's too often the way that it works, Ygraine," Graeme murmurs. "And unfortunately it works just as much with the bad things, camps, warfare styles, as it does with the good things, like the desire for freedom of speech and democracy spreading." He grimaces a bit.
Trask nods, "I am afraid its all true. This is not the only place where things are like this…this isn't even the worse place in the world. I kind of wish it was.
"It's still one of the worse ones", Ygraine says ruefully. "I can fill you in on some of that, but… heck. It's good to see you back. I… honestly thought I probably wouldn't, ever again."
Graeme leans back a bit, against the counter behind him, silent for the moment. "Yeah," he muses, quietly. Then he bites his lip. "Enough's sucked today, I don't need to let my train of thought go to conclusion. I thought the DHS agent would never stop," he says. And then there's another thing he had meant to mention to Ygraine, and Graeme pauses for a long moment before speaking again. "Also, amongst other things. The DHS agent, she was there at the party. I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure she came in originally with the one who was disguised as a woman, the one Jaiden tried to drown. I tried to be politic and not mention it while I was making sure that she thought me much, much less than I was."
Trask hmmms softly and nods, "Any one I should avoid in particualr?" He listens to the comment about the DHS agent not sure who could be being talked about. It's bad to be out of touch so long.
Ygraine groans softly. "Blonde, right? I can't say I remember much about what happened, and I've no idea who she was with - but I remember a blonde trying to arrest the Sylar I'd pissed off as I was starting to get the heck out of Dodge. That'd certainly help to explain her being in a vile mood, and being keen to find scapegoats. Or leads. Or people who can serve as both."
A sigh, and she attempts to get her thoughts back on track, taking a long drink of her coffee. "Mmmm. Varlane. Since last I saw you… he signed up for the NYPD. Staged the Shibuya Incident. Apparently joined the Company. And now works with the Institute. And those aren't necessarily the worst items on his curriculum vitae. For some reason, some people still trust him. I've been warning that he's insane and desperately in need of help for… quite a while. But I'm something of a Cassandra, I fear. And I know I'm just a touch paranoid. Otherwise? Probably easier to say that those you'd have trusted with your life before are probably going to be as pleased to see you as am I. Be careful about who you talk to. And be aware that some people we used to see even in here are now… personae non gratae with the administration."
"Blonde, yes," Graeme says, nodding to Ygraine. "She also said 'looked like the midtown man' everytime I said 'midtown man', pretty much, and I got the impression that she very much wanted me to think it was anyone else." He grumbles under his breath. "Magnes Varlane?" Graeme makes a face. "Entirely and totally got in the way when we were trying to get out of there. Definite god complex, even from what I could tell." Then there's a tilt of his head to one side, and he falls silent again.
Trask checks his watch, "I am afraid I should be getting moving…" He slips a piece of paper over to Ygraine, "Catch me on that number, it should be secure for at least a week. Get me some contact lists and I will see who I can surprise. I think it might be better then the look on your face in 2019." He winks.
Ygraine looks startled, pauses, then laughs and shakes her head at Trask, barely even registering the paper. "You, too, huh?", she asks with a rueful grin. "How about I try to grab you for a coffee tomorrow? At some point when we've both got time to catch up…."
To Graeme, she nods. "Yeah. That guy. Got himself a job as pianist at ABT. Just happened to begin work there, right before Remi became a primary target for Sylar. Whom I kind of doubt was working on the theory that she had 'consensual tactile telepathy' while targetting her so urgently that he was willing to strike at her in such a public place. Wherever Varlane appears, trouble follows - if he doesn't start it himself, then he's tied to people who do. But… that's a worry for another time."
Pushing herself to her feet, she moves over to snare Trask for another hug, holding him as tightly as concern for her damaged arm permits. "It is a huge relief to see you again."
Graeme looks up at Trask. "I'd shake your hand or something, but you and I both know that probably's a pretty damn stupid idea," he says. "But it was nice to meet you." And he means it. There's nothing particularly personal about Graeme's overall distaste for the other man's ability, after all.
Trask nods, "Let's just say you aren't the only one that doesn't like to be near me. Claire gets down right pissy when she punches me and her hands bruise, and Elle…well lets say she has this thing she does with electricity when she likes a guy…and well…she gets kinda ticked when she can't show her feelings." He nods to Ygraine. "Give me a call, we'll do lunch…maybe you will buy for a change."
Ygraine sticks her tongue out at Trask, but laughs - before looking to Graeme. "You might want to clear out of the way for a moment", she advises the wounded man, then cracks another grin at Norton. "Here's hoping that the DHS don't stop my boss paying me. But yes, I think I can stretch to lunch for you. I'll give you a call later to sort it out."
"It just sort of feels like I'm cut off from myself, more or less," he says. "You know, besides the things actually hurting like normal people feel them instead of like annoyance." Graeme looks at Ygraine, looks over at the door, and realises that he's pretty much in Trask's path to get there, and stands, and almost hurries to be out of the way. There's a worried glance at Ygraine. "Hopefully we won't have to cross that bridge. I mean, I could probably set you up to live off the disposable income from some of the investments I hold, but that'd screw up all our taxes, really." There's a nod offered to Trask as the other man leaves. "Again, um, nice to meet you."
Trask nods and rises, he gives Graeme a wide skirting before heading for the door, stopping to leave a tip on the bar on the way.
Having watched Trask depart, Ygraine then closes her eyes, permits herself a sigh, and then looks to Graeme. Gesturing an invitation to a chair at her table, she reclaims her own seat, taking a long sip from her coffee.
Graeme nods, threading his way back over to where Ygraine is. "You have interesting friends," he murmurs, reaching with his free hand to rub his forehead.
Ygraine laughs softly. "As do you", she assures him. "However many secrets there are, that doesn't alter people's care for you. I am by no means aware of all your friendships, but… in all honesty. With even the flighty and commitment-phobic Remi seeming to sincerely care for you and want to make you happy, you're doing rather well."
Graeme chuckles a bit. "Well actually, you might, or at least come pretty damn close," he responds, trying to think. "If only for the fact that there I really and truly don't know that many people overall, and I'm not precisely a social butterfly or anything like that." There's a faint smile on his face. "Really, it all makes a lot more sense now, though. Shaw's insistence and pressure and everything."
"As I had to tell your landlady recently, there are secrets that aren't mine to give. But… I know a lot, in outline though rarely in personal detail, of events relating to the… underground wars for control of the Evolved. And this country. Liberty, however, I swear is above-board and utterly legal. My knowledge is part of the reason for being so careful to make sure it is. And to dissociate from me. And to make sure that even if Liberty goes down, the trust fund survives and the help for the court case stays out there."
There's a nod at her words, and Graeme lets his free hand rest on the table. "Alice Shaw didn't point me at you for Liberty. Well, she did, but as I think I've said, it wasn't the whole reason. She seemed much, much more interested in having me ask you about the sailing club, but since then, I hadn't been able to put the pieces together, and things came up that meant I simply forgot to ask you about it beyond the mention." He pauses. "And like I said, I know how to pick up the clues, there've just been enough missing that I've felt like I was looking at a book with every third page ripped out, and words missing." He grins.
Ygraine shoots him a very curious look, one brow raised… then chuckles softly. "Manipulative old cow", she says, though without rancour - perhaps even a bit of admiration in her voice. "She's far from omniscient, I'll warn you. She had no idea that Remi and I previously knew each other. Nor that Remi had invited me to the party already. But she was keen for me not only to pursue a closer tie with Mademoiselle Davignon - which duly resulted in my being hired as her PA last week - but also that I specifically 'support' her event. She wanted me at the party, in support of Remi."
Graeme nods again. "Right," he responds, thoughtful, leaning back in his seat slightly. "Still, it is starting to make a lot more sense now. Knowing I didn't know something and not being able to put my finger on it has been driving me minorly nuts." He pauses, and shrugs a bit, right shoulder barely moving, and then there's a faint wince.
Ygraine can't help but laugh again, then ruefully shakes her head. "I know that I'm here partly for the memories. But there's less reason for you to be here. Welcome. This is the Wench. If you want to head back to the suite for some peace and quiet, I'm happy to finish off the coffee then go, if you like. I might suggest that we wait for a big and serious discussion until after we've sorted out current… issues. But to some extent it's up to you. I can give you some answers if you want. But the longer you remain without them, the safer you are while HomeSec and others are still poking around."
Graeme shakes his head. "Trust me, I'll bother you for answers eventually. Not tonight, though. Let me figure some things out still for myself, tonight," he says, distracted still as he thinks. "You're probably right, what with the alphabet soup, and such." He smiles. "I think some peace and quiet might be good. Though I swear, I'm going to get sick of just laying down. But yeah."
"C'mon. I can get you home to the suite. Spare you the public transport or a taxi", Ygraine offers, before downing the remainder of her coffee. "And I'll give you what answers when I can when you ask for them, I promise."