Participants:
| Scene Title | Dr. Bianco's Drive-Thru Face Clinic |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Now with Haitianin™ |
| Date | February 17, 2009 |
Sonny's Apartment
A lot can be accomplished in a few short days, provided one has people and means. The Department of Homeland Security and the company known only as Primatech Paper to the public, as individual entities, have both. For the last few days, Solstice Condominiums has been carefully watched by a team comprised as a combination of these two entities, and these diligent individuals were, through this intelligence and other information, able to map out a schedule for Dr. Sonny Bianco.
It is for that very reason that at approximately 10:45 AM that Matt Parkman and the enigmatic figure known as The Haitian enter the building. Of course, to the concierge and desk clerk, they look like delivery men, and slightly younger than they actual are. Respectful uniforms and a large box get them waved passed, and the slight squint on one of the men's face - the only crack in the DHS agent's illusion - isn't even noticed.
Of course, such glamours are gone when the two men reach the Evolved surgeon's door, leaving them in their much more somber clothes. Flanking the door, Parkman gives the Company agent a curt nod before he lifts his hand to knock on the door, his other reaching into his pocket to extract and ready his badge.
Knocks on doors are very strange occurrences. Only neighbors do that. Everyone else is rung up from the concierge desk. Sonny Bianco stares puzzled at the door from where he stands in shirt and tie, coffee in hand. It's a very rare late morning for him. Usually he's long gone as the first fingers of light hit the city, but there was a late fundraiser last night and a light schedule at work, plus an evening nip-tuck for an important client.
He almost doesn't answer the door as he nearly convinces himself that it really came from down the hall. But then, cautiously he walks up to the door and peers through the peephole. Stranger still. They must have the wrong door. He pulls it open with the hand not holding the coffee cup. "Can I help you gentlemen?"
In his fashionable clothes, a long beige suit jacket, with a violet buttondown under it, the regal looking man is far more at home in his current uniform than the one he had been disguised as by his compatriot. The man stands like a silent statue at Matt Parkman's side. His hands clasped in front of him, he watches the door in silence before the Doctor finally opens it. His gaze sweeps over the man filling the door, his eyes remaining solid on him, his lips remaining tightly together. The other man will do the talking…
"Doctor Bianco?"
Parkman's badge hangs in the air for Sonny's inspection, but the agent soon launches into his little schpeal. "My name is Agent Matt Parkman, with the Department of Homeland Security. This," he says as he nods his head toward his companion, "is Agent Ramien. Could we have a moment of your time, please?"
Sure, it's a request, but like any and all law enforcement or government men, Parkman's tone holds that oh-so-subtle edge of demand. After all, not complying could be construed as obstruction of justice. That never looks good on a vita.
"Uh. Oh." Sonny's eyes widen. "Yes, come in. But this really isn't the best time. I'm about to head out to work." The doctor backs up and walks into his sprawling, designer-appointed apartment. Just what you'd expect from a rich boy. He sets his mug of coffee down and reaches for his suit jacket which he shrugs on. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" He peers at his watch for effect.
A quiet glance is flicked over to Matt Parkman, a glance that carries the weight of irritation. Ramien. But the weight of the Agent's agitation subtly shifts over to the Doctor Bianco at his declaration that the time these two men chose was not the best time. The Agent follows his counterpart in, one hand smoothly going to shut and lock the door behind him.
The man stays at the door, watching Sonny intently, hands clasped in front of him, allowing Matt Parkman to do what he came here to do.
Parkman steps in easily, taking a moment to survey the apartment even as he speaks. "The Department has decided to contract your services in regards to a confidential operation." There is a pause as Parkman searches for either his words, however scripted, or the will to say them. "Considering the sensitivity of this matter, the…operative needs a certain level of security."
Another pause, and then Parkman finally gets to the point of it all. "I'm to ask you to change my appearance. My face."
Sonny blinks and straightens his tie. "Well, Agent Parkman, I'm sure you've seen my file. I'm always willing to help the government in any way that I can. But usually I'm given a little more notice. I mean, I don't even have an ideal chair here. We could have met at my clinic after-hours."
His gaze flicks between the two men. He's old hat enough at this not to ask Matt why he wants his face changed. He knows he won't be told. "Do you have a specific appearance that you need, or is this just so you're not you?"
Another flicker of irritation passes across the smooth surface that is the Agent's face, his eyes flick to Matt, as if expecting something. Other than that, his demeanor, his stance, and his silence all remain unchanged.
Nuances are something Parkman has a perhaps unfair advantage with. His eyes narrow, not so much at Sonny but in reaction to the rising tension within the Haitian's stony shell. "Unrecognizable." There's moment of hesitation before Parkman adds in a somewhat off-the-record wishlists. After all, looking the part is as important as playing it. "Stay close, but I can't look like a brother or cousin either." Or sister. The thought isn't pushed so much as it is whispered across the river of thoughts.
Sonny wouldn't feminize Matt, no worries there. Unless he grabbed a template, it'd take him probably a dozen hours and leave him sick for a week. "Well, that's not too difficult." The suit jacket is shrugged off again and he rolls up his sleeves. He looks around and frowns at the lack of an ideal setup. The Haitian is eyed somewhat warily, but he presses down his nerves. He can't be nervous before he works these kinds of procedures, or he's apt to deform Matt.
"If you'll lie down on the couch." He picks up a chair from the dining room and carries it over. An end table is pushed aside and he sets the chair to the left. "If you'd put your head here and prop it up on this arm." Suddenly he's highly grateful that he cleaned up this morning. There's no obvious evidence lying around to suggest there's anyone living here but him.
Parkman complies just as easily as Sonny has this entire time, lying down on the couch once he's sent that heavy glance toward the Haitian. They've nothing to fear from this man, not really, but it never hurts to be careful.
Sonny's doctorly, professional fingers touch the side of Matt's face. It's like seeing a dentist. The agent gets the privilege of seeing Sonny upside down and looming in his field of vision. "Just keep as still as you can. Breathe normally. If you feel your nose is obstructed, say something or tap once on the couch. This will feel very odd, but it shouldn't hurt. All right?" Cool, professional. Sure, deep behind that veneer, all sorts of questions are swirling. But he grew up around politics. He knows when not to ask questions.
Then, Matt will feel a very strange sensation of losing all control of the muscles in his face. It's like he's been drugged, but there's no numbing of sensation. He can't blink or speak for a good thirty seconds. From the Haitian's perspective, the man's face has turned to putty. This only lasts for a brief moment before Matt's features have reformed in a slightly different configuration. A scant six or seven minutes later and Matt Parkman is a new man - literally. Similar facial structure to match his build, but no one could say this man was a relation.
"Here, hold still. This part's gonna sting." He sets a hand over Matt's throat. There is a warm, tingling sensation, then a sharp, sudden bit of pain like a really bad sore throat. Then it subsides. Sonny looks tired. "I just deepened your voice a little. Enough not to be recognizable."
Like any dutiful patient, Parkman lies still while he is "operated" on, only moving when the doctor gives the okay to do so. He sits up slowly, wincing slightly from the residual pain that he was well warned for. He stands, slipping a hand into his breast pocket to pull out a small mirror, likely placed there solely for this visit. He looks at himself for a moment, then nods.
"Thank-" there is a shocked pause as the agent gets a handle on hearing a voice that is not his own, but it passes soon enough. "Thank you, Doctor Bianco." A nod is given to the Haitian. Parkman's done here.
Black shoes move almost noiselessly across the floor until the Agent is right behind the good doctor. A nod is given in return to Parkman, as one solid hand goes to rest itself on Sonny's shoulder, and force him down onto the couch. The Doctor will find that once he finished with Matt's procedure, he would be very unable to use his power again in the presence of the Haitian. Once the doctor has been forced onto the couch, the man's other hand sweeps up to cover Sonny's mouth.
"Sleep well, Salvatore Bianco."
The strength would quickly seep out of the man, as the Mayor's son quickly falls into a state of deep sleep. While the strength floods out of him, so do the memories. And when Sonny wakes up, he will have no recollection of this visit, whatsoever.
Sonny knew he should have been more concerned about the silent man the moment the hand goes over his mouth. But by then of course, it's far too late.
At least they didn't shoot him.
 February 17th: Instead Of Miracles |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 17th: No Love Lost |