adam_icon.gif deckard_icon.gif leonard_icon.gif niles_icon.gif

Scene Title Disjointed
Synopsis Leonard needs a drink, Deckard and Adam have business to sort out and Niles is starting to fall apart. Literally.
Date May 24, 2009

The Angry Pelican

It's early afternoon and warm without being uncomfortably hot. The sun filters down bright to the beachy, irregular arrangement of the Angry Pelican a ways back from the churn of brown water against a brown beach.

Deckard is less professional than he could be, considering. The white of his dress shirt is rolled to his elbows, slacks neatly pressed at least beneath the rickety plastic table he's seated at across from Niles. It's unclear exactly how long they've been here, but he's already made it through a couple of squat glasses of something amber and is currently nursing a beer while he squints out into the breeze. Nice day.

Niles has been more than a little bored lately. Being out of prison is turning out to be just as bad as being in it. Prison now is just a variety of safehouses. So these few excursions are a welcome relief.
He's just barely old enough to drink, though they didn't exactly raid wherever the Company kept his ID when he was broken out. He's legal, but has no ID. Good thing this is The Angry Pelican and not somewhere with class. Enough laws are broken around here that liquor rules are minor.

Which means the kid's a bit tipsy, having kept up drink for drink with the older man. He's got a cigarette pinched in his lips and squints across at Deckard. "So. What's to be done with me, then? How long am I going to be locked away for?"

Adam makes his way into the outside bar. He doesn't bother ordering any beers or anything, they won't have his cherry beer. Instead, he immediately makes his way towards Deckard and his young companion. He pauses a moment to tap his foot, then says, "Hallo Deckard. Can I sit?" he questions.

Well, the black-haired boy slouching in from outside can definitely sympathize. He's dressed in dark, drab clothing, but doesn't look to be too badly off. Not quite homeless. Just….sullen and truculent.

"Dunno. Until you're off the hook." For all that Flint has been pretty good at keeping Niles breathing so far, he hasn't really been all that great at answering his questions. Or asking questions of his own, for that matter. He's buzzing, the weather is fantastic, nobody is trying to kill him. He lifts his beer for a sip, tips the neck away, and lifts his brows to elaborate before he actually drinks. "Or until you get so sick of hiding that you're willing to risk death over another night in a box. Cheers."

Down goes a long swallow of beer, followed up with a vague gesture for Adam to pull out a flimsy plastic chair for himself as he so wishes.

Niles snorts. He looks the part of a sullen young man, floppy curtain of bangs and all. The young Brit takes a long drag off the cigarette and leans back, the plastic of the chair bending slightly. "I have to tell you that I'm nearly at this point. I didn't imagine I'd be going from one prison to - " Oh, hello strange man. His mouth snaps shut and his teeth clatter together. Adam is given a suspicious look. He glances to Deckard, then draws the pint closer to take a gulp from.

Adam cheerfully takes out the plastic chair and sits down on it. He glances towards Deckard and then towards Niles. He studies the youth quietly for some moments before he glances towards Deckard, "Who's your friend?"

It'll be pisspoor beer here, and not the first drunk in freedom. Not since Moab. But the first in relative anonymity. So Leo's here to brood over a glass, and ponder his options, or lack of them. He's humming to himself as he takes a seat at the bar, not far from where the others sit, and lifts fingers languidly to order a whiskey.

A level look is all Deckard has time to convey for Niles's admission, blue eyes clear until they flicker back over to Adam pulling out a chair. Beer in hand, he swirls the base a bit while he considers them considering each other, declining to comment until he has to. "His name's Al. He's my assistant." He glances sideways to the bar in search of prying eyes as he says it, which is a case of unfortunate timing if there ever was one.

Niles tries his best to not look suspicious (and likely fails) as he lifts up his pint towards Adam. His eyes are a little bit glassy and he weaves a little in his seat. Adam gets a grin that shows his teeth and a little nod. "That's right. Assistant." Smoooth.

"I'll get us another pitcher." He slaps his hand down on the table, then weaves over to the bar, bellying up just to the left of Leo. But the bartender's down the other end, yakking with a tough looking biker chick.

Adam looks at the interchange and the explanation with less then dubious eyes. But, he doesn't really care, "Ah, yeah, alright." he turns to Deckard and considers him for a few moments, "Out of curiousity, do you know Magnes?"

Mention of that name has Leo glancing over. Just a quick cut of the eyes and back, before he, too, is waiting for the bartender to cease his flirting and take his order.

"Still in the early stages of training," is Deckard's somewhat less-than-flattering amendment in the wake of Niles's grin, grey hair bristling away from the rush of a breeze up off the beach. Eyes narrowed after the cut of Leo's attention, he's slow to set his beer down. Also, slow to answer Adam's question. There's a twitch of familiarity there in that guy at the bar, almost not worth noting. Almost. "Curly hair, roller skates, borderline retarded?"

Adam nods with a chuckle, "Got himself in trouble with the Japanese. It's all over the news. I just know he's Abby's puppy dog and well, since you and Abby…" he trails off, "I just thought you'd know him."

"Oy!" Niles slaps a hand on the bar and lets out a sharp whistle. The bartender casts a dirty look his way and rather pointedly goes back to chatting up the biker chick. "Oh for…" Not that he looks like he needs anymore. He takes a half step and weaves a little. "Can you believe this?" he asks of the nearest random person, who just happens to be Leo.

"'parently it's against someone's religion to make tip," opines Leo, in a quiet voice, nodding to that, though the look he gives the bartender is baleful. His accent is odd, Brooklyn mingled with something else. "Wonder if it requires an offer of sexual favors to get any damn attention in here. Seems to be workin' for her."

"He's threatened to throw me into outer space a few times. I tried to get some of the guys at poker night to kill him, but no dice so far." Tone more appropriate for talk of vending machines getting stuck and refusing to give refunds than failed attempts at indirect murder, Deckard tips up a, 'What can you do?' brow and reaches for his beer again.

Adam chuckles a bit and shakes his head. There's a look at Deckard's that's all 'oh, you'. He leans in and quietly whispers to Deckard, clearly something only for the two of them, "I need a half dozen more assault rifles. And armor piercing bullets for the assault rifles, pistols and the sniper rifles. Also, I need five clean guns, can you handle that?" he questions before he sits back up to a more appropriate conversational tone.

"I think this is the wrong kind of bar for my sexual favours to mean anything." Niles' own accent is British, though watered down and tinged with some variety of New York accent himself. He focuses as best he can on Leo, though his eyes are fogged with several pints' worth of cheap booze. He flares his nostrils in irritation. Suddenly there is a very faint aura around him, enough to crackle the air and stand up the edges of his hair. Leo's close enough to feel it. It's like the sensation of almost touching extremely static-charged clothing.

His replicants sometimes crawl to get out, to expend their energy in a violent way. The fact that he's tipsy and irritated means he's not too far from having a burst of electrically-charged temper.

There's an arhythymic thump as Leo scoots away from Niles, and nearly tips over his stool in the process. It lurches upright again, in a way it frankly shouldn't be able to do. "Whoa ho ho, Sparky," he says, lifting a hand. "Careful there, will ya. And I agree," he says, with that sour twist to his lips.

Deckard doesn't get to talk business nearly as often as he'd like these days. He's distracted accordingly, eyes on Adam, good humor written stark into the fuzzy lines around his mouth. The buzz is more to blame for him deciding Leonard probably isn't too much of a threat, but the pair of them do get a few automatic glances after the swift movement of the stool while Monroe details his latest needs. "I can't wipe the serial numbers completely, but I can get you stock stripped out of Midtown. The paper trail on them should have died out with the bomb. The usual rules apply to the rest. I have a few armor piercing rounds put back already — I can get you those first."

Adam nods to Deckard, "Sounds good." though he seems a bit interested in Deckard's free talk, assuming he didn't try and make the conversation more private. Though, with all that's happening, it's not likely to be an easy hear for eavesdroppers either, so it's a mixed bag. At any rate, he says, "Quite good." he glances over at 'Al' and the other sullen boy and then turns to Deckard, "You're 'assistant' appears to be having some sort of episode."

Niles stares forward, nostrils flaring, jaw pinched together. When he reaches out to lean on the metal bit surrounding the bar, small sparks leap and ricochets down the length of the metal. It's not enough to hurt, but for anyone leaning on the bar, it would be quite startling. The faintest aura of blue glow superimposes over the young Brit, but remains simmering there for a moment. "I just want a bloody pint."

And again, Leo hitches himself a little further away, one, two, three, racketing along the bar -away- from Niles like he's Baba Yaga rowing herself along in her mortar. And in the spirit of 'you show me yours, I'll show you mine', the black-haired man extends a hand over the bar, and a pint of Newcastle (quite likely a fake, but hey) smacks into his palm as if someone had thrown it. "There," he says, setting it down before Niles, apparently to appease him.

Not generally one for whispering, Deckard's address was pretty clearly meant for their ears only nonetheless, low and quiet and contained. He nods at Adam's agreement, brows pressing down into a hooded knit at news of an 'episode.'

Aside from Leo's retreat and a raised voice, nothing about the situation at the bar looks all that terrible to him. That is, until more lively blue creeps into the white-washed pallor of his glare and sparks become evident, along with things like auras and all associated badness. HHhhshit. "Ahh…I'll be in contact." There's a pause there where he should probably think of some kind of convincing explanation for whatever's happening. Instead, Adam gets a muttered, "Excuse me," and up he goes, right hand reaching 'round to loose the gun muffled into a holster under his shirt at his lower back. "Hey, kid. Let's go for a walk."

Adam seems to find this all rather interesting. First the boy starts shooting sparks, then the other boy starts tele-lifting beer. What an exciting evening. As Deckard gets up to put an end to the madness, Adam leans back and crosses one leg over the other to see how this all plays out.

Niles gives Leo a long look at the trick, but it doesn't do that much to dial him back from eleven. He swallows from the pint a couple of times, like a man slurping water in the desert. Then Deckard's chiding him. His shoulders fall and he turns to fix a look on the older man. A kind of…jumping, fizzly look, seeing as he's barely keeping in a blue-white duplicate of himself. He slaps a hand against the bar and the whole metal front of the bar sparks, jumping to anyone within a foot to give them a surprising, but not painful jolt. He looks Leo in the eye for a long moment, head slightly cocked, then starts to pace for the door quickly, ahead of Deckard.

Well, that is just damned weird. Leo looks…nonplussed, to say the least. No comment, no need for it. He touches the metal of the bar with a tentative fingertip, as if to discharge any gathered static, and then leans back on it, in a very gingerly way.

Probably a good thing Deckard has a tab running already. As things are, the Angry Pelican has gotten really fucking quiet, and the less time he has to spend in here with his hand on his gun, the better. A vague, 'I'm good for it, don't freak out,' glance to the bartender later, he skirts out after Niles and…the other Niles, pace picking up into a hustling trot once he's out the door.

Adam just sits and watches it end, nothing happened except a little more information. He stands up and makes his way out of the bar himself.

Once they're outside, Niles lets loose with his replicant. The duplicate of himself surges towards a lamp post, crackles and sparks like a jacob's ladder and bursts the bulb. He lets out a howl of frustration and then slowly draws the duplicate back into himself. He looks frazzled and is breathing a bit heavily. He's not doing a very good job of calming himself, though it's clear that he's trying to.

And Leo just shakes his head, meeting his reflection's gaze in the bleared pool that is the mirror behind the bar.

Deckard doesn't balk until the replicant lets loose on the lamp post, shoulders jerking such that the gun makes it the rest of the way out, steely grey glinting bright in the afternoon light. The howl only serves to spook him further, but he doesn't go sprinting off, and he doesn't bring the gun around to point. Pointing's rude. He just fumbles a few steps back across sand and asphalt, semi-automatic directed down at the ground.

Adam comes out of the bar, but appears to have missed all the fireworks, though he does see the after effects. He frowns a moment and glances towards Deckard's retreating back and hears a howl, but decides this is one time that he's not going to stick around for info. Instead, he just continues along Staten Island.

Niles just did the Evolved equivalent of punching a mailbox. It takes him a second to realize that Deckard has pulled a gun. He eyes the man sidelong, and the weapon. He stares at it for a long moment, an odd calm sliding over his face. "Well." A beat. "Do you have orders to put me down if I get too unruly, then?"

"I don't have orders to do anything." Annoyance fills the vacancy left by adrenaline, clear in the whites of his teeth and eyes. He holds his ground a few feet away, gun still too low to be much of a threat in anything other than the fact that…it's a gun. "Something else I don't have is some kind of warning for whatever the fuck just happened."

"My power that you don't want to know about, obviously." There's a sour look on Niles' face. "I am…extremely frustrated and sick of being locked away. Now that my ability is not suppressed, it…claws at me. You can't know." He gives Deckard a long look. "If I don't use it, it builds up inside me. Until it's out one way or another." He looks from the street lamp down to the busted shards that lay on the sidewalk.

"I don't ask questions because I don't like it when people ask me questions, asshole. If you have information you think I should know, lay it on me, but I can tell you right now, this," he points up at the shattered lamp with his free hand, "is going to make going out difficult."

"And what would you do if I just walked away now? Because I tell you, I'm feeling much more like a prisoner lately than a protectorate." Niles eyes then gun, then looks up at Deckard, chin lifted, a certain youthful defiance in his eyes. "Would you shoot me?"

"Nothing." Deckard isn't going to do a goddamn thing, except maybe mix a little anger in there with pre-existing annoyance and mounting frustration. "You know what I do care about? You getting a second chance via time travel to avoid turning into a psychotic, murdering piece of shit and then threatening to piss it all away because you can't handle being in one place for more than a few days at a time. Grow up. Pull your head out of your ass. I know you've had a shitty time of things, but I'm not your daddy, and I'm not going to pat you on the ass and tell you everything's going to be fine." This is an exorbitant number of words from the scruffy crook, especially when you consider that they're consecutive and not slurring together. "You fuck with people I care about and I'll shoot you without blinking. You decide to grow a pair and be patient and we'll be okay for a while longer."

Niles's temper is flaring up again, but thankfully, no blue halos. Not yet. He keeps eyeing Deckard's gun, and that helps him keep a lid on it. "I have spent six months locked up in a tiny room with no rights, no lawyer, no explanation or justification of why they had the right to hold me. I'm just a little fucking tired of being told where I can go and told to sit tight."

Niles paces off and jams a hand through his hair. "I know I could be a murderer. I can feel it in myself. This monster that wants to roar off and short out every human being in the vicinity. If I don't let it out, don't let it go on something, then it starts to gnaw at me from the inside."

"I spent seven years in prison for blowing up a fucking barn. If you're looking for sympathy you're going to have to find another ear to cry into, Wight. My job is to make sure you don't get yourself killed."

And more and more, to make sure he doesn't kill anyone else either, from the sound of things. Lines carve harsh into the hard angles of Deckard's long face while he listens and fails to come up with answer. "Is that what you want to be?"

"What I want to be?" Niles laughs. It's a disjointed, sound. He turns and leans against the building, hand to face. "Fucking hell, I don't even know what I am, what this is doing to me. It's like fucking puberty all over again." Except instead of wanting to hump things, he wants to electrocute people. Fun times.

At Niles's back, Deckard rolls his eyes, more subtle irritation tugging soft at crow's feet while he reaches around to push his gun back down into its holster. Is this how Teo feels? All the time? Impossible, or he'd have shaken Flint off long ago. "Then do the world a favor and decide or stop whining. It's not going to get any better."

"Have you ever had an impulse so strong, so barely in your control? The…impulse to kill…it's." Niles bites his tongue and turns his head to the left. "It's not so much that I want anyone dead. I just want to release this energy, put it somewhere." And if anyone's attacking him or confronting him while he feels like that? Well, the replicant goes towards the source of his irritation, anxiety or other strong emotion. And then, more quietly, he murmurs, "Maybe I should have stayed locked away."

Deckard's jaw hollows at that question, grizzled bristle sinking in concave ahead of muscle and beneath bone. There's some quiet rustling while he works the gun up under his shirt and tucks the tail back in, haphazard at best. "Maybe," is agreed without much feeling when he glances down the street — blessedly barren at this hour. "Want to go get laid?"

Niles barks out a bit of tight laughter at that. "Oh. Well. That depends. Do you want to have to explain a dead hooker if things get out of control? Because I'm feeling quite close to the edge right now, Mister Deckard." He stares off down the street, gaze vague and unfocused. He rubs at the back of his neck.

"No." No, Deckard doesn't want to have to explain any dead hookers, least of all to the Ferrymen. "Want me to kill you?"

"Is that a serious offer?" says Niles, his voice hollow. "Put me down like a rabid dog. Seems a touch more humane than a lifetime of incarceration." He folds his arms around his body, then pushes off the wall and kicks at a bit of rubble in the street. "Just…take me back to the safehouse."

"If you want it to be." It certainly looks and sounds like a genuine offer, albeit disconcertingly casual while Deckard is adjusting the roll of his sleeves and the flare of his collar. No comment on the humanity of it. Back in decent order, he nods once a the request to take him back and starts that way, expression doomed to hold onto its stony, distant set for the rest of the way.

Once they're out of the main glut of people and on to an area where there's fewer, Deckard is treated to something of a fireworks show. Niles lets his duplicates out with an exhale of relief, lets them dart through metallic objects, blow out a lightbulb here or thre, throw up sparks or just dart skyward. There's six different Niles-shadows that play ahead of them while the young man walks with a considerably calmer expression on his face.

And then one by one, the replicants re-join him. The last one shines a blue halo above his head before it's absorbed into his physical body.

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