Participants:
| Scene Title | Do Tell |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Liz and Abby visit Anya to ask her questions — this time, primarily about their opposition. |
| Date | December 21, 2009 |
A Company Medical Facility in Ryazan, Russia
It's far easier to keep her arm in the sling than it is to try to use it. And since using it right now anyway is being frowned on by the medical personnel in the building, Elisabeth has the limb slinged as she enters. She has left Anya pretty much to herself up to now due to the other woman's own injuries, but now is the time, she thinks, to actually speak. She knocks gently on the door and opens it to come in, not loud enough to wake the Russian woman if she's sleeping, but loud enough to let her know if she's awake that someone is coming into her space. Dressed in sturdy Russian-made warm clothing, the blonde American looks thoughtful as she studies Anya's injuries. There is regret in her eyes for the fact that the woman has suffered so greatly on their behalf, but there's a part of her that she cannot bring to feel any kind of sympathy at all — Anya has been Vanguard, by her own admission, for half her life. So it's not as if she is innocent. Noting the woman in the bed is awake, Elisabeth pokes her head back out the door briefly to ask for a translator. Her Russian is still pretty basic, though she can converse in limited fashion thanks to Felix's tutelage for the last month.
"«Hello, Anya.»"
Translator on the way, Abigail in tow behind the individual who's around for being the intermediary between the non-Russian speaking members and the injured Vanguard. Even if it's probably not, per se the primary job of the translator. "Hey." Offered to Liz as Abby round the corner leg up to her knee encased in white beneath a long skirt. Bare toes peek out on her left, warm boot on her right. "Hello Anya." Painkillers and a non-stone foot make for a perky Abby despite looking like she got clipped by a bus by the name of Ethan. Anya looks far worse she's sure, beneath the snowy white medical supplies. "Translator is… here." The crutches are leaned to the side as she slides into a seat to let the person ahead do their job. "Lemme know if we need anything or anyone?"
The woman shakes her head a bit at Elisabeth's questions. The question of her comfort doesn't concern Anya; it's the latter to which the negative gesture is directed. "«It is not sudden. I did not speak to others — my life would have been measured in minutes if I had — but it is not sudden.»" Her one unbandaged eye focuses steadily on Elisabeth. "«I do not expect you to understand; all of you are young yet.»" Anya's gaze shifts to Abby. "«Even very young.»" And though there is disapproval in that last, there is no scorn; it is a statement rather than a judgment. "«What is the longest you have spent at one single thing, Elisabeth Harrison? Five years, perhaps?»"
The twist of her lips is wry as Elisabeth replies. "Not counting the two-year hiatus due to … let's just call them 'Evolved issues', I've been at my current job for ten years. It's not as long as you've been at yours," she acknowledges quietly. "But it's long enough to … be able to see how things change, sometimes not for the better." She tilts her head. "So in this case, it's more a matter of seeing your opportunity and seizing it. Are you willing to tell us what we need to know to take them all the way down?"
Even very young. Abigail grimaces at that when the translator speaks Anya's words in English. Yes. Young. She gets it. She still sits regardless, listening to the conversation and with the hopes of knowing what it is that Anya wants.
Anya regards Elisabeth for a moment longer before laying back down, letting her eye close again, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. "«I could not even if I wished,»" she replies, implicit message that Anya's desire isn't to see the Vanguard taken down. "«If you can take Zhukovsky, Koslow, and the young Volken, perhaps the remainder would blow away like chaff — but it is hard to judge, and I think this is not your mission in any case, is it?»" The woman pauses for a moment, perhaps gathering her thoughts. "«You might say that I owe your people, Harrison, and it would not be wrong; I know this. I will answer what you ask, so much as I can, as the payment of that debt.»"
There's a faint shrug to that, and Elisabeth says candidly, "My mission is to stop Munin, Orlova. Since Zhukovsky doesn't have it, there's been quite a lot of discussion of whether to bother taking out your little cell of Vanguard." She pauses, puzzling through several things. 'The young Volken'? Well… doesn't that explain a few things. "What did you mean 'you couldn't tell me what I want to know even if you wished'?" she finally opts to ask before going further in her questions.
Abby's hung up on Little Volken too. There's Kozlow, Zhukovsky, and… "The blonde? The one with half a face?" Not that the others here had seen beneath the scarf, but Abby had. Long ago. She'd even offered to heal the young woman. "When you woke up and I was passed out. There'd been a blonde. She was the Rusalka but she was someone I'd met la… last year. In Central Park. She can't be Volken's daughter though, not biologically. Francois would have known."
Anya levels a sidelong glance at Elisabeth. "«You asked how to take them down,»" the Russian replies. "«It is a simple question but — not a simple or certain answer. I did not say I couldn't tell 'what you wanted to know'.»" A moment's pause. "«Although if you want to know about any other cell, then no, I cannot tell you much at all. But Munin — perhaps.»"
The translator also relays Abby's words in Russian, and Anya waits to let him finish. "«Yvette Volken, yes. I do not know her story, but Grigori gives her the respect due his daughter, and all others follow.»"
Elisabeth nods slightly, remembering Abby mentioning it as she was coming awake — babbling something about having seen the blonde before, though Liz had thought she was just confused. Now, though, the comment about having seen the woman a year ago? It's making Elisabeth grimace. "Yeah, I'm pretty much betting the blonde is who she's talking about," she says in an aside to the query even as Anya answers it. As she listens to the information being imparted here, Liz contemplates what intel is going to be useful here and nods slightly. "Any information you can offer on Munin and Zhukovsky's plans should he NOT get hold of it would almost certainly be appreciated. In terms of keeping the whole damn world from getting blown up and all… " She smiles faintly, though it's not really in amusement. "You're welcome to consider it a case of enlightened self-interest."
Well. Now the things she felt at Yvette's hand, so to speak, made total sense. You wouldn't like the person who killed your dad either one would guess. Abigail falls silent, glad that Anya's helped them out. One can idly wonder what Yvette would have done to Abby if they'd remained there much longer.
A sideways, self-deprecating quirk of Anya's lips meets Elisabeth's final words; an expression not too dissimilar from that of the detective, for all that the thoughts behind it likely are. "«For Munin — it was never, you understand, a part of my responsibility; it was one of Zhukovsky's closest secrets. I do not have details. But I know of it, and the Vidar file, where the information you want is kept.»"
And that bit right there sparks interest in Elisabeth's blue eyes. "Do tell," she invites quietly. She's not going to jump up and down with excitement over it, but it's obvious that would be the thing she was looking for, right?
Abigail's got a few questions of her own now, it's seen on her face, but Liz jumps first and hers is more relevant frankly at the moment. So instead, the brunette gets up, hopping about on one foot to pour some water for the woman in the bed and securing a straw in case she might need to moisten her mouth.
Anya accepts the water from Abigail before addressing Elisabeth's request; she has been talking a lot. A nod is given to the young woman prior to the resumption of speech. "«Zhukovsky's files — the ones not meant for any to stumble upon — they are kept concealed in the western tower. The catacombs are used, not the monastery; and that tower above all is proscribed.»" She reaches for the water again, her grip on the cup not as strong as it could be. "«The monks' library is on the third floor, there.»"
Leaning back against the wall as she listens, Elisabeth purses her lips quietly. She's content to let Abby handle the water thing, and though she doesn't want to tire Anya too much, her sympathy is still limited to Anya's physical situation. She waits while Anya has a drink and gets settled once more. "How many operatives does Zhukovsky actually keep on site? And what kind of protections are in place in that tower?" she asks calmly. Because if all the best stuff is hiding there, one has to figure it's not unguarded either technologically or by personnel, if not both.
"«Normally? Around thirty. He will have called others in now, though — I expect they know you brought me here alive, and will have the information from me one way or another.»" Anya has no illusions there; even if Team Charlie doesn't, the Company who owns this building no doubt will. "«I cannot say for certain that I know all of his security — the motion detectors were obvious, but he may hide anything from inquisitive eyes. The doors are bolted, unlike most in the building.»"
Oh good. Thirty to start with, plus…. call it twice that just to be on the safe side. And we've got…. Five people willing to shoot, plus Abby. Plus Ethan, though by now Elisabeth is not expecting anything out of that one. Plus whatever small contingent the Company here in Russia can pull together for us. Ten to one odds; five or six to one if we can get four to six Company agents, Elisabeth calculates rapidly. A faint smile quirks her mouth, rueful amusement as a voice in the back of her head bellows 'Never tell me the odds!' It's barely a moment, something that even if the women catch isn't long enough to require explanation. "How many of the current Vanguard contingent are Evolved?" Elisabeth asks.
"How do we keep from succumbing to Zhukovsky's illusions? Is there some sort of trick to seeing through it, other than bringing along a negator?" Not that they have one of those in their pockets. "The same for Kozlow. Their weaknesses, if you want to call it that." This from the woman holding Anya's water.
"«Sev— »" Anya cuts off the immediate, reflexive reply, and shakes her head. "«Six, now,»" she amends. Pausing for another drink, and then leaning back against the pillow with her eye closed, the woman also addresses Abby's questions. "«I know no way. You are subject as he chooses, and exempt otherwise. If you know what is true, you can ignore them; it is what I have learned. If you do something, use something he does not expect, perhaps — but his ability can show you anything he wills it to.»" Anya pauses again, quiet for a brief moment. "«For Kozlow — I do not understand what you ask.»"
"It's our understanding that Kozlow's ability is some form of healing — with an aftereffect of some kind. Is that not the case?" Elisabeth watches Anya as she speaks. "What are the power sets of the Evolved he's got working with him? Obviously we know his. The Volken girl seems to have some kind of empathy power, does it have the ability to incapacitate? What of the others?"
The woman on the bed dips her chin without reopening her eyes. "«He heals, yes. It is — I imagine he could heal a person cleanly if he chose,»" Anya replies, lips thinning. "«It is not in his nature.»" Yvette. Mental gears shift. "«I do not know the extent of her ability; so much as I am aware, she has used it only to communicate.»" Looking up, Anya goes for the water again, drinking more this time than before. "«There is an electrokinetic, a negator, a canine telepath with the ovtcharkas.»" Her voice wavers, the woman laying back once more.
So they had a negator. That might be really… disconcerting for others, and worrisome. "She's tired, Liz, it's time to rest I think," the brunette cautions. "We'll leave you be Anya, thank you for your patience."
Log of RP goes here.