Don't Worry, Be Happy


felix_icon.gif griffin_icon.gif ziadie_icon.gif

Scene Title Don't Worry, Be Happy
Synopsis Ziadie and Griffin return to Felix's apartment to get rid of alcohol. It ends up as a much more eventful evening than anyone expected.
Date March 02, 2011

Hamilton Heights Apartments: Felix's Apartment

It's a pleasant, airy apartment, with pale hardwood floors and high ceilings. The front door leads into a little entryway with a coat closet on the right and the door to the miniscule kitchen on the left. It then opens out into a living room crammed with bookshelves - there's barely enough room for a plain entertainment center and a dark green couch. Beyond that a short hall leads to the bathroom and two bedrooms, the second of which is more an office and spare room, judging by the desk and the weight bench stored there.

Overall, the decor is spartan at best, with little by way of personal touches. The only decoration in the kitchen is an antique icon shelved high in a corner, where the Mother of God smiles benignly at the infant on her lap. A blue glass vigil lamp burns before it. Over the doorway to the back hall is hung an officer's sabre; no mere trophy, it bears the mark of long and constant wear. There are a handful of posters and prints - mostly landscape, though a few are fencing-related.

Ziadie's been grumpy, irritable, but overall quiet for the past two days that he's spent being well… watched by Griffin. And that has been two days where he's gone without access to any alcohol.

Now, he slips the key into the lock of the apartment. "Felix?" Ziadie calls out, not over loud, as Griffin follows him into the apartment. No answer, and Ziadie tilts his head to one side. He leans his cane by the door, takes off his peacoat, hanging it up. "Ivanov?" Still no answer, and Ziadie makes a little 'be quiet' gesture. "Prol' sleep or something," he says, to Griffin, looking at the younger man. After Griffin enters, Ziadie locks the door again.

Griffin has stood by his word. Ziadie hasn't had a drop of alcohol, and the telekinetic appears to have limitless patience for the old man's irritability. Food has been in ready supply, as well, and Griffin isn't a bad cook, by any means. He knows enough to make food that isn't too horribly bland. Nobody wants to eat bland food, right? That's Griffin's opinion.

He recognizes the name. Felix Ivanov? That's the FRONTLINE celebrity, right along with Liz. Liz, who isn't too bad. But then, Felix is also the only Speedster on the FRONTLINE NY team…thingie, isn't he? A speedster who Griffin Mihangle is familiar with, no less.

Well, this will be interesting.

Softly, he hums the tune to 'Don't Worry, Be Happy'. "Let's see the alcohol stash. This is a purging." He murmurs this in a low tone, his voice not betraying any hint that he's familiar with Ziadie's room mate. Instead, he removes his own coat, hanging it up along with Ziadie's coat, and his own cane goes next to Ziadie's.

There's a mumbling noise from the bedroom to the right where Fel sleeps. He must've been napping, and doesn't sound inclined to get out of bed. "Soup in the fridge," comes the slurred voice of the speedster.

"Right," Ziadie calls back. "Company, too." That's a warning, so that Felix isn't overly surprised by the presence of the other man who accompanies the older former cop.

His voice doesn't sound pleased, overall. He's very, very grumpy, and he glares at Griffin. But he does obey, and slowly, he walks down the hall to the spare room, opens the door, gestures to it. Shuffles inside, and gestures to a collection of bottles on the floor, across from the bed. There's several 6 packs of beer, three bottles of scotch, a bottle of gin, and a few miscellaneous bottles. "That's it."

Griffin quietly glances toward the bedroom that Felix occupies, brows raising slightly. This will be…interesting. For now, though, there is a task at hand. Mainly, getting rid of all of this alcohol. Ziadie might hate him for it, but Griffin is doing exactly what they agreed on. He misses the alcohol, too, but…he needs to sober up. Get away from the bottle.

So this is just as symbolic for Griffin as it is for Ziadie.

After a moment, Griffin's green eyes flash, losing their color and becoming a glowing white color. Quickly, bottles gather themselves up, even while he's gathering up his own armfuls of 6 packs. Then, Griffin is on his way into the kitchen, his goal being the kitchen sink.

All the while, he's switched to whistling that same song. Don't worry, be happy!

Oh, he'll be surprised, all right, when he comes out, will Felix. There's the sound of him rattling around in his bedroom, and then he pokes his head out. He's in sweat pants and his cosmonaut pinup t-shirt, bare footed - the nap of his hair is standing up in disarray. Musta been nap time. "Company?" He doesn't stand on ceremony, does Fel. He comes shuffling out, rubbing at his eyes.

Ziadie just glares. He's grumpy. "Yes. Not by choice." Well, it was by choice at first, when Ziadie was drunk, but sober, he's not seeing this as the greatest of choices. Plus, his head hurts, and the soup in the fridge is starting to sound like a good idea.

"Hey." Ziadie greets Felix, more than a bit relieved to see him. He looks about as bad off, though, as he has some times when he's been drunk, and he's staring in the direction of the kitchen, where Griffin is pouring alcohol down the sink.

As Felix is shuffling out, two of the bottles of liquor are pouring themselves out into the sink, Griffin leaning against the entryway into the kitchen with his hands tucked into his pockets. Still whistling that tune with a rather nonchalant look on his face. The rest of the bottles rest on the counter, waiting to be emptied. He looks relaxed. Comfortable.

Probably because he has the advantage in this situation. The element of surprise.

As Felix comes shuffling out, the whistling pauses, a grin forming on his face. His turn, now.


The whistling continues. Before Felix has any time to react, any time to switch to zoomzoom mode, the speedster will feel a pair of invisible hands wrap around his neck. Then, those invisible hands promptly lift him up, slamming him up against one of his precious bookshelves. Wood splinters against his weight, sending a large portion of that shelf's contents scattering to the ground.

That bookshelf needed to be replaced anyway, right?

And all the while, the telekinetic is whistling along to that cheerful tune he's had stuck in his head all day.

Even Mr. Speedy can be caught unawares. And so he is. Fel makes a horrible, strangled noise as the telekine's power grabs him. The back of his head catches one of the permanent shelves with a peculiar wooden *thunk*. It makes his head loll forward drunkenly. He flails against the grip, but without purchase on the floor, all it does is generate a whir of motion like a hummingbird's wings. No gun, no weapon, no way to fight back. He can't even talk.

Ziadie's reached under his leather jacket as Felix is lifted in the air. The look on his face is utterly, utterly shocked; it should be clear that he had no clue it was coming.

"Griffin," he says, tone a warning. The antique handgun is held in Ziadie's hand, not leveled at anyone, and his other hand is in his pocket, his non-dominant hand looking for the more modern handgun. "Put him down." Not that the former cop thinks he has a chance in hell of using the gun, not against a telekinetic. "Now."

Ziadie is…correct. That invisible grip wraps around the gun in Ziadie's hand, pulling it from his grip and floating it across the room, where it comes to rest atop the bookshelf across the room. "Mmm, no." This is Griffin's response as he stops his cheerful whistling. The two bottles, now empty, set themselves in the sink, and then the lanky fellow is stalking toward the hummingbird-man.

Using his grip on the speedster's neck to his advantage, two more invisible hands wrap around Felix's shoulders, pinning him up against the bookshelf. Then, blessed relief is obtained in the form of those hands loosening from around the man's neck, enough for him to talk, but certainly not completely gone.

"You see, Nocturne," He intentionally uses Ziadie's first name, "I have a bit of a history with your room mate here." Griffin peers up at Felix, in the helpless position he's in. "See, he arrested me back on the eighth of November. I spent nearly a month in a jail cell with no fresh clothes, no shower, no privacy, with an innocent young woman and an equally innocent teenager directly across from me. Food was thrown at me once a day. I was given no trial. I was to be sent to prison. Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

"Because I was taking steps to keep a group of cops from opening fire on innocent women and children who were only trying to live their lives. They were just trying to live their lives in peace, and your room mate and his allies were firing on them." Griffin's eyes gleam in the apartment, telekinetic hands briefly squeezing at Felix's neck once again. A warning. Don't try anything or your head might pop off.

"And I have no doubt that he would do it again."

"You're a wanted criminal. You tried to assassinate a member of the US government. You're a fucking terrorist. I don't care if you spend your spare time helping old ladies across the street and feeding homeless puppies. Don't pretend you're innocent, you're fucking not. You started using deadly force before we did. Don't try that bullshit innocent act on me, I'm not buying. What do you want? If you're going to kill me, do it. Don't monologue like you're some cut-rate super-villain," Felix is, despite his position, sneering at Griffin.

"I don't care if you and him were on the opposite sides of the Roman Legion," Ziadie says. His voice is level, and even. "You put him down." There's a click, but at the same time, Ziadie is tapping on the wall, louder than the sound of the gun from his pocket. "If you two are going to have this discussion, you can have it a day where my head isn't splitting inside out."

For the moment, Ziadie doesn't pull out the second gun. He doesn't want to shoot Griffin. But he will if it comes to that. Regardless of whether or not the man just spent the past several days helping him sober up. Unfortunately, now he's sober, and angry.

"And you, Ivanov? Don't do anything once he does."

Griffin sneers. "Not how I recall it. We were trying to escape. Your people were trying to stop us from doing so. Because people don't like registration." The man offers a slow shake of his head. "No…see, you're wrong." The man raises those glowing, pupil-less eyes up to Felix. "Well, you're correct on a few accounts. Technically, I am a terrorist, due to my involvement with the group known as Messiah, headed up by the persuader behind the eighth of November, known as Rupert Carmichael."

The man seems to calm, slightly, speaking in a relatively level tone. "Mmm, not letting him down, sorry, Nocturne. I don't trust speedsters. I'd rather he just buzz like a hummingbird up there where he can't do anything." Unbeknownst to Ziadie, there are a pair of vectors hovering above him, waiting for him to do something.

Then, his attention is back on Felix. "The attempt on the life of Georgia Mayes was intended to fail. We were told not to kill her." The man tilts his head to one side. "When I killed your friends? It was because they shot at unarmed women and children. They shot a woman who had just minutes before taken my hand, thanked me for helpin them move their things…"

Griffin frowns for a moment, shaking his head. "I'm not innocent, but my son is innocent. And the people I fight for? The people I do the dirty work for? They're innocent, too." His eyes narrow up at the man.

"I'm not your enemy, Felix Ivanov."

"Yes, you are," Felix insists, glaring down like a maddened falcon. Well, now we see why he never made it into the FBI's hostage negotiation unit. He's such a paragon of tact. "Listen, what are you doing in my apartment? And you're a fucking telekine, don't tell me you have to kill to disable, because you don't. You don't need to rip apart an armored man, you take his fucking gun. You get off on it. HF, Messiah, two sides, same coin," His voice should be able to etch glass.

Ziadie speaks up now. "He took it upon himself to pour all my alcohol down the kitchen sink, Ivanov," he says. "Didn't give me much've a choice once I was coherent enough to think of it. Seemed like a good idea when he was jus' a nameless stranger in the bar an' all."

"Helping your room mate with his drinking problem." Griffin raises a brow. "Says he has a job waiting for him, so I figured I would help." The man shrugs, speaking in a polite tone up to Felix, still quite happy to keep him pinned up against that book shelf. "I must apologize, I didn't realize that this was your apartment until we were just walking in."

He paces a bit before Felix, hands shoved into his pockets. Still keeping an eye on Ziadie. "When the option is to either rip the armored man apart, or be killed or captured, I would sooner take the former." The man lets out a soft hum.

"Tell me, Mr. Ivanov. If I really got off on ripping people to shreds, don't you think I would have done as much to Elizabeth Harrison when I first met her? Nice woman, by the way. Very level-headed. She deserves her position. Don't you think I would have ripped you and Ziadie apart by now? I didn't give those men I ripped apart on the Eighth much of a chance to talk. If I love killing people so much, why am I talking to you instead of ripping your arms and legs from their sockets?" Griffin tips his head toward Felix.

"I'm not your enemy. I'm a lot like you, in fact. I fight for what I believe in - freedom from oppression for my people. Your people. Evolved people like all three of us here in this room."

The man smirks. "I have a fiancee. I have a son. I have friends. I even had a sister, once. Want to know what happened to her? One day, she invited a man named Colonel Leon Heller into her home, and made him tea."

A pause.

"Then, Colonel Leon Heller shot my sister in the head. She had raised my son when I couldn't be there, you know. And that man shot her in the head in her own home. My son heard every. Single. Word." The man's voice suddenly drips with venom. "Want to know why he killed her? Because she was my sister. Because he wanted to get to me. She had her own candle business. Gave piano lessons. And that monster, the man who is in charge of FRONTLINE-OS, killed her in cold blood."

"I'm not your enemy, Felix Ivanov. Not unless you're a monster like Colonel Leon Heller."

"Then file charges," Felix says, inexorably. "We haven't gotten to the yellow star on the sleeve stage of things yet, last I checked, so that's still murder. No, you're not like me. The Suresh linkage is not a magical bond of unity. I'm even willing to believe your intentions are noble when it comes to Ziadie, here, but this is still my house. Get out. And send me proof of what happened to your sister. Or to a news office. Or the NYPD. But you've come in here and assaulted me, and really, that's kind of first and foremost on my mind, you know."

Ziadie is silent, impassive, and distinctly uncomfortable with the situation, and he tilts his head towards the door, before raising his hand to his forehead. This doesn't even need to touch on his ability, he dislikes arguments. "Ivanov, if he puts you down, you let him leave." The tone is that of an order.

Griffin promptly lets out a snort. "Sure. A wanted terrorist walks into a police station to file charges over a man shooting his sister in cold blood in the middle of Martial Law. That'll go over well. Oh, I go to the media. That'll go over well, too. They kill the reporter to get to me, then." At the request for proof, Griffin's eyes narrow.

Suddenly, he's reaching into his jacket, pulling out…a cell phone. It's missing its SIM card, no service, but there's still a few very important things on that phone. First and foremost, a text message is pulled up, showed to Felix.

Colonel Heller @ door. Asking 4 Griff. Owain safe. Scared.

Then, Griffin clicks on the phone again. What he pulls up next brings a truly, deeply disturbed look over his face. Anguished, even. The picture on the screen of the cell phone is blurry, but it isn't difficult to make out what it is. A woman's face, once beautiful and wide-eyed and innocent. Her nose is broken in the photograph, and half of her skull is quite literally caved in by the bullet that was shot into it.

The man's voice cracks as he speaks again. "She was beautiful. She was filled with love for everything. If anyone would turn out to be a saint, it was her. And he killed her. He did this to her." The phone is suddenly tossed away, as if it were a vile thing, skittering across the floor to show its picture to Ziadie, as well.

"You know damn well I only assaulted you because otherwise you would've had me in cuffs before I could blink or even speak." Griffin narrows his eyes up at the man.

Felix doesn't bother to deny it. It's the absolute truth, isn't it. Fel's expression is….empty. It's quite that cop mask, but something a layer or two beneath it. Whatever cold part of him that let him function as part of Homicide.

Ziadie catches the look from Felix. There was no wince from Ziadie while Griffin talked, either. No lies told. "Now," he says, making his way towards the kitchen with a bit of a grimace, "could we finish this somewhere civilized?" He pauses. "Like putting him down? I think we've established things enough for that, yes?" He gives a pointed look at both of them.

Griffin suddenly floats into the air, up to the point where he's looking straight into Felix's eyes with his own pupil-less white visage. "You look me in the eye and tell me that my sister deserved what happened to her. You look me in the eye and tell me that my eleven year old son deserved to hear the gunshots that killed the woman he called 'mom'. The woman who took him under her wing when she was nineteen years old and raised him as her own."

A pause. "I might not be innocent, but I only fight because I am forced to fight. Because if I don't fight, they will destroy my family. If I don't fight, they might kill my son. They might kill my fiancee. They might kill my friends. They might kill innocent women and children. They might kill me."

He floats back down to the ground, gazing up at Felix for a moment. Then, with a certain sort of finality, Griffin speaks once more. "I am not your enemy, Felix Ivanov."

And then, he lets the speedster go. Granted, it's a bit of an unceremonious toss to the ground, but…more a gesture of faith. The cell phone is shut off on its own, even as it drifts into his pocket.

"I don't think she deserved it, no," Fel says, quietly. And then he's dropped and he hits the ground badly, immediately crumpling to the side. That's one way to disable a speedster. Sprain his ankle.

Ziadie levels an even stare at Griffin, and then he crosses over to Felix. "Ivanov?" This time, it's a query, and for the moment the former cop is too concerned to continue being angry at Griffin. Except that he is, still. It's evident in his body language. And that's a benefit, he supposes, of being sober enough to consider all this. There's a grimace, and Ziadie drops to one knee, a movement that's creaking in it's slowness. "Hell," he mutters, worriedly.

Griffin flinches as Felix hits the floor a bit harder than he intended. Oops. He didn't actually want to hurt the guy that bad, save for banging him up a little and scaring the tar out of him. The man watches passively as two of the vectors busy themselves with the job they were tasked with before the little attack on Felix, dumping the liquor down the sink.

He's still sticking by his word that he'll help Ziadie quit drinking. Even if the old man is mad at him.

The other four vectors busy themselves with other matters. With a much gentler grip this time, they gently lift Felix up and onto the couch, setting him down almost carefully. "I— I'm sorry. I didn't intend to harm you like that." In turn, one of those four vectors gently assists Ziadie up, as well.

Once confident that the dazed speedster is safely deposited on the couch, and Ziadie wherever he needs to go, Griffin turns, making his way over to the door. He pauses there, hand on the doorknob, the vectors finishing the last of their work. It takes only a few seconds for them to finish their task, and then there is no alcohol in Felix's house.

When he speaks, his tone is slightly cold. "Don't become a monster like Colonel Heller." This is mumbled toward the other two men. Then, Griffin is walking out, closing the door behind himself.

He needs some time to think.

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