Edward Nipplehands


brian_icon.gif elle_icon.gif

Scene Title Edward Nipplehands
Synopsis Brian and Elle spend more time bouncing off each other. They do eventually make some progress, though, in the form of Elle agreeing to join up with the newest scheme to take down Adam — and maybe supply more help, later.
Date August 15, 2009

Fort Hero - Holding Cell

Cold coffee trickles out of the cup into his mouth. He finally succumbed to the nasty taste and picked up the mug. No one else had brought anything tasty. So he was forced to drink the gross dark liquid. The mug is set down on the tray, empty. The eggs have still been untouched. He is still shirtless, his jacket and shirt laying on the bed. However a sheen of sweat covers him now. Exercise is the only thing to do in this kind of room. And it makes him feel like he's in a prison movie.

Pushing off the little bed, Brian wanders across the room to where he had overturned the single chair. Straightening it back up, he sighs and sits in it. Leaning back, the chair sets against the wall as he looks up at the ceiling. Booored.

It is currently that vague time of day where the distinction is fuzzy between late afternoon and early evening. Take your pick; one or the other. Elle, apparently, has chosen to to go with the latter— hence she is choosing to bring dinner in right now, when it is still a tad early for it.

This time around, it is not a loaded tray the blonde comes bearing as an offering, but a white paper bag with a red-and-green logo on it. Quizno's. "Hope you like this better than you liked your breakfast," is the first thing she comments as she works the lock open, slipping herself into Brian's cell without much ceremony and letting the door reclose by itself behind her. "There's doughnuts in the snack machine, too."

"Ooh. Quizno's." Brian says happily, his chair legs slapping against the ground as he pops up to his feet. He goes to shoulder the door close for her. Watching her as she brings in the food. "I like Quizno's." He says with a little smile. Then he gives a little 'aww' face, "You would buy doughnuts for me? How sweet."

Pushing away from the door he grabs the chair and goes to set it in front of the bed, to use it for a table. Going to sit on the bed, he taps the space next to him, indicating she should sit with him.

"Oh. If you use your power on me again. I'll use mine on you." Smile.

Sweetly meant or not, Elle pulls a mildly wry face as Brian actually shoves the door the rest of the way closed on his own, dropping the bag down onto the chair once he has it positioned where he wants it. Once this is accomplished and both her hands are freed, she moves to flounce onto Brian's bedding right beside the man, giving one leg a casual swing once she is sitting. "It doesn't hurt you," she explains matter-of-factly. There is a mock frown. She should know, really!, because she's the one who is doing it.

By impulse, she lifts a hand so that she can creepy-crawl it very lightly up Brian's upper arm, the touches of her fingertips as delicate as butterflies as they inch their way upwards. "Mmm. Are you telling me that's a threat?" Her voice is barely above a lilting murmur.

The next thing she does is— well, can you guess? A very thin, electric line ~darts~ from her forefinger into the bone of his shoulder.

"I lived on a ranch when I was young. I walked into an electric wire when I was little." Brian explains, frowning. "It's traumatic." Then her finger slides up his arm. His eyes go shifty and watch her fingers crawl up. "You better not." He warns, pulling his lips back.

But she does. Sadface. Flinching, Brian grunts and the next thing you know—

Turning to face her, one hand goes to grab her wrist, his other hand grabbing her other wrist. And then, two more hands reach out from his chest. Grabbing her shoulders the extra pair of hands shove Elle, albeit a gentle shove, into the wall, where he holds her. Tilting his head at her he crooks a brow.

"No more?"

If there is one thing that Elle has to say other than 'asfasfasf', it is lost in the utter weirdness and creepiness of being assaulted by an extra pair of waving appendages. She goes completely still, though, once she has been pushed up against the nearest wall by four simultaneously functioning arms. Her gaze stays trained upwards towards Brian's, still flat and coolly scrutinizing despite the tenser-than-usual rise and fall of her chest, one side of her mouth curling upwards in a smirk.

"You just aren't used to it yet." Her eyes flicker downwards, then back up again; she seems almost daring him to make a contradiction, despite her predicament. Is it going to hold her there forever?

The hands reel back into his chest.

Smirking back he gives a little shake of his head, though he hesitates there a bit longer his hands lingering on her wrists. Slowly his left hand releases. Going to sit down he opens the Quizno's bag. "What did you get me?" He asks sweetly. His right hand releases.

"Did you get yourself anything?" Winters asks as if he hadn't just shot out hands from his nipples to press her against a wall. Dumping the bags contents on the chair he goes to lean back. "Thank you." He smiles over to her.

No sooner is Elle free from all of Brian's hands, including that one on her right wrist ahem, thanks, does she mutter beneath her breath and rub at a spot on her arms where she had been held. "Testy, much? No. I'm going to eat later." Without bringing up another word of what had just happened, including convenient omission of the fact that she could maybe have just electrically exploded all over him, she watches him in a neutral, slightly thoughtful silence. Letting him discover the miraculous contents of the paper bag for himself. Go on; it's almost charming.

"You're a lot more grateful than the last prisoner I had to take care of," she notes breezily, offhandedly. Then again, she had never gone out and bought fast food for her last prisoner, either. Pft.

The sandwich is unwrapped quickly. "I told you I would use my power back." Brian says, smiling as it is laid bare for him to behold. "Can't not follow up on a promise." He glances over at her. "I wouldn't want you to think I was fickle, after all." Winters says softly picking up one half of the wonderful piece of food. "I'm sorry," He concedes. "If I hurt you at all. But I figured having naked me's sliding everywhere wouldn't be much of a come back." Shrug.

Biting into the sandwich he smiles warmly as he chews. Setting it back down he chomp chomp chomps happily. "I'm a nice guy." He explains over his mouthful. "You're a lot prettier than the last prison guard I was under." A little shrug. "Maybe that has something to do with it." Chomp chomp.

"So you had to see me before I leave?"

"Then I'll make you a promise too." Elle's own smile is smaller, subtler, and of a quite different feel than Brian's blatant one. "You -will- get used to what I can do. Not only that — I think you'll start liking it." With a closing and opening of her eyelids, there is a quality about her that smoothly melts its way into something more predatory, statement tapering off into a raised whisper. She is apparently not joking, if the half-smile still hovering around her lips is any indication. If he doesn't see now, then he will.

When she next speaks, though, it's at a relatively normal volume and level of easygoingness. The look in her eyes is still there; just, subdued by choice. "Before you 'leave'? Still stuck on that, huh. Care to tell me how?" She hasn't gotten word of Brian's earlier exchange with Len, nope, and she probably won't hear of it at all if she doesn't receive some form of the knowledge firsthand.

"Being released. Because I'm great." Brian explains gently. Glancing over at her, he frowns deeply. Then he returns to devouring his food. "You should have gotten some too." He murmurs over his full mouth. Picking up the other half he offers it to her. "Sure you don't want any?" He practically lets it dance in front of her. "It's gooood." He says in a sing song voice.

Whether she takes it or not, he continues on. "Cut a deal. Top secret." He gives a little shrug. "I know you really wanted to help me get out but.." He gives a fake pout. "I don't need you anymore. Sorry."

Stoppit. Being the singsongy psycho is her job, not his. The half-bitten sandwich is ignored; Elle doesn't even glance at it, but just stares over it at Brian's face instead. "Quit that, I don't want your slobber. You're being released?" Cut a deal, hm. There a slight curl of her lip; there are only so many ways such a thing could happen.

"What kind of collateral could you possibly—." Her eyes go wider. "Either you've got important info on somebody, or you're selling out your friends. I'm right, aren't I."

"I don't know who you keep thinking I am." Brian murmurs, placing the sandwich back down. "When you and the Boy Wonder stumbled on me. I was doing work. That's why you found a camera on me. I haven't been just sitting around since I left the Company." But he pauses, frowning a little bit. She doesn't want his slobber? Not that he'd expect her to, it's just mean to say so. He contemplates on this sadly for a moment. Before realizing he was in the middle of a monologue. "Information. I get a lot of it."

A little shrug of his shoulders. "I don't really have any friends to sell out, Elle. Just like you." A little smile.

:( Well that's actually not totally true — Elle does have a group of people she could sell out; they're just maybe not, in the strictest of definitions, friends. Right, she don't have many of those, so thanks for rubbing it in. The phrasing of Brian's words elicits a pause from Agent Bishop, anyway, and she takes the opportunity to regard him more closely — like he is either something really, really disgusting or something really, really interesting. Probably some of both.

"You really aren't who I thought you were, are you." She has narrowed her eyes just the slightest fraction. "You are the one who used to work here. Because you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"I thought I had been clear about that. When I was talking about how the Company killed my parents and yadda yadda.." Winters explains. He arches a brow about her. "I've been taking up my 'old self's hobbies though. Doing the business that he left undone. After Petrelli.." He makes a smooshing motion with his hand. "Killed him."

"But keep it a secret, kay?" He asks happily, not really expecting her to respect his wishes just for the sake of him asking. But more for the reason that she has no reason to betray his secret. "I have a little idea what you're talking about. I just don't care for the same people as he did. I'm more open to new things." He explains, splaying out his hands.

"Of course," Elle assures of the request with a warm, effervescent smile. "Mm. Peter killed your other self?" First Petrelli that crosses her mind. If Brian doesn't stop her, she'll reach out for one of those splayed hands to gently take it, lay it in her lap face-up, and absently trace one of her fingers over the lines of the palm. Her head is tilted. "You -were- more open to new things. That's why you came to work for us, didn't you. But when you found out about your parents…"

That sentence is left unfinished, let to trail off into musing silence. Dot dot dot. "Why're you helping us now? Just so you have a free ticket out?"

"Peter did. And his father, Arthur as well." Replication. Funny stuff. "Both killed him. Fulk." Winters explains. "Daddy finished what the son didn't. He killed all the replicates. Except for me." Hi! "He didn't know that our mentalities were separated. That we were in essence different people. Crazy stuff." His eyes follow his hand as they go into her lap. His muscles flex and brace as if expecting a shock any moment.

"Denton offered me help to get an assignment done." Winters tilts his head back. "For one of my 'employers'. Wanted me to steal from the Company." He smiles a little bit, his hand tensing just a bit under her grip albeit a gentle grip. "Now it doesn't have to be a real break-in." He's telling Elle an awful lot. His mouth snaps shut.

"But enough about me, let's talk about you…"

No shock seems to be forthcoming. Just more of the same; the next time Elle runs a fingertip over Brian's palm, it drags in an unhurried, swervy pattern that might tickle a little, if he's vulnerable to such a silly weakness. For a moment she doesn't speak aloud, just digesting all she had been told, as if saying anything would ruin the moment.

"No. You already know about me." She flicks her gaze from his her lap up at him. Forgoing the topic of the assignment, she asks in a lower voice, curiously, "How does it feel, being a duplicate? You said you're a different person. Ever get tired of having your life be so intertwined with the original?"

Hah silly weakness. Brian lets out a sharp exhale accompanied with a little giggle. Watching her hand trace his palm, he tilts his head. "Having fun?" He asks softly after a while. "I am the original." He answers, a touch defensively. "I'm missing some memories that the other guy had, because of what the Company did. But I am him, my experiences and my new choices changed me. I.." Hm. He's tried not to think about it too much. "Whatever."

His hand recoils at that, the touch of agitation flaring up in his voice. "I know what I've heard and guessed about you. Not much else." He retorts, eyeing her. "Do you play with people? Like poor little Magnet? You take a lot of pleasure in that?" He asks, for some reason a hint of anger in his voice as he tries to turn it around.

"Magnet liked it," Elle responds rather indifferently, imitating, too, Brian's nickname for the kid. Mags, Maggie Pie. Why hadn't she thought of that one. Noting the new defensiveness in his voice, she pauses mid-stroke, finally letting her own hand slip away altogether with a little sigh. "I don't get why it's so hard for you to understand. I don't hurt anyone," really!, "and there isn't that much here to do. Or there wasn't." That last part of said almost to herself. "Things were different."

"What've you guessed about me? Without even knowing me? That is something I'd like to hear."

"That you don't have any friends." Brian murmurs, arching his head at her. "I was right about that one, wasn't I?" Leaning back against the wall, he hugs his knees to his chest. "Or anyone you can really enjoy spending frequent amounts of time with. That's why you play with Magnet, isn't it?" He smiles a little at her. "Even though you think he's a little.." He knocks on his head twice. "Dense. But you probably think that of a lot of people." A shrug as he does his impromptu psycho-analysis.

"That's why you're spending so much time with me." He grins a little bit. "Not much to do." He purses his lips. "I'm always busy. Plenty to do for me." He brings one finger up to his chin. "I'm getting out of here tonight. And I know you're gonna miss me but.. I might have some things for you to do from time to time." He pauses. "But of course you wouldn't be interested in that."

Excuse me, but — "I'm not your little errand girl." Elle shifts her position, settling her legs a little more comfortably on the wood; she looks considerably less happy now, unconsciously shying away from a tiny movement of Brian's as though he is carrying a disease. "Don't try me. You don't even know what I've been through; you trying having a life when you're in one building for eighteen years."

She closes her eyes, breathing inward; when she opens them again, the look in them is cold, displeased, and sardonic. "What the hell do you mean, you have -some- things for me to do."

A light sigh squeezes out. "I'm sorry." He quickly admits, bringing his hands out, palms forward in sign of surrender. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm.." He waits for her rant to continue. Until she finishes. "I'm sorry." He adds in, giving her a level look. "I couldn't imagine." One hand slowly climbs up, going to settle on her shoulder, should she allow it. He begins to give a one handed shoulder rub.

"I'm sorry." Third time's the charm. "I realize you're not my errand girl. I'm just saying, if you wanted things to do. Things above the ordinary. I am involved in a lot. It's easy to be involved in a lot when you have my ability. And if you were so inclined. I could occasionally use your help."

In a case like this, there is little reason why Elle shouldn't simply get up from where she is, make an announcement of 'screw you' or something appropriately similar, and then leave the cell in a temper. Something stops her from doing exactly that, though, especially around the second or time Brian gets around to repeating his apology. She lets her gaze slant up to meet his when he looks at her, equally levelly. "Whatever. Not a lot of reason for you to -play nice-, here, anyway."

It's kind of a brooding observation. Some of the iciness in her posture does dissipate when he starts massaging her shoulder, and a slightly less incensed look creeps into her eyes. Slightly. "So. What kind of help do you think I could give you?"

Pushing her gently, more of a indication to turn, he turns squarely to face her back. Guiding her so that he can bring both hands up, and work both of her shoulders simultaneously. For a moment he ponders bringing out his nipplehands to help, but deciding that that might be too creepy, he continues to do it the old fashioned way.

"Well.. My work is.. extremely undercover. I go by a lot of different personas to a lot of different people. But I'm working a few large organizations. And trying to get into even more. So if I bring you in, I somehow need to know I can trust you. Or at least, count on you not to fry me."

Elle gives Brian a brief, relenting smirk, then adjusts the way she is situated so that her back is better facing him. "It's okay. You can trust me." It's hardly the first time she's told that to a person, though now, as with each time in the past, it seems to be both genuine and heartfelt beneath an outward layer of nonchalance.

Though she does not turn to face him, her eyelids go closed, her lips in the smallest of smiles. "You can tell me more about what you need later. But for now, rewind to what you were saying before. You're doing some kind of… fake break-in for the Company?" Prompt, prompt.

"I hope so." His hands continue to work her shoulders, though now that her malevolence is dying down, the fervor he had in his hands does as well. "I don't want the Company to know my every move. And I'm sure you don't as well. I'll give them what they want but I like to keep my.. Privacy. To a certain extent." Brian explains, shooting a glance at the door just to make sure no one was looking in.

"One of the people I pretend to work for is named.." Ready for it? "Adam Monroe." His hands pause in their rubbing, resting on her shoulders. "He's asked me to break into the Company and steal a few things. Which I will do. Only it's not going to be a Company building. I'll be bringing some of Adam's people. So they'll all know it's legitimate." He leans in a bit. "I could use some Agent resistance."

But there is nobody at the door, of course, which remains as solidly still as it ever had been. It is not as heavy as say, the slabs of steel found in heavier-security places, but it's enough. They'd hear a disturbance, and right now Elle is all ears.

"…Adam." What? Snapping open, Elle's eyes go half-lidded a moment later. Malevolence of a different, less personal kind takes ahold of her features; she twists herself around so that she is facing Brian again, the pleasantness of the massage forgotten. "Oh, my god. Why didn't you tell me before? I'll not only help you, I'll — " She stops herself, the line of her mouth going horribly thin. "…He'll be getting a little more than ~agent resistance~ next time I see him."

"Everyone here hates him a lot." Brian notes, his hands recoiling back to his lap. He smirks a little bit at her sudden eagerness. "Well. Looks like you're on board." He tilts his head at her with a certain level of amusement. "We have to go about this the right way though." He's been explaining this a lot today. "It's not a shoot on sight type deal.. Or electrify on sight. We take our time with him."

"Take his legs out from beneath him. Take away his foundations." His hands go to pick up his shirt as he starts to straighten it out. "Then let him crumble, wither and.." He'll let her have the last word.

"Die," she offers flippantly. She slides her legs off the bed, letting herself up so she can pace the floor front of it, arms folded across her chest. "Even though he can't, as far as I know. Don't worry, I get it," she affirms at the warning not to run into the place and start shooting things up right away. Ahem. Yeah, she's had a lesson or two in that, hasn't she. "You'll want me there to pretend like I'm guarding whatever it is you're fake-stealing. And then I can fake-attack you to make it look even realer." She quirks a brow over at him.

"Wow that's a really good plan." Brian says enthusiastically as she stands up, looking quite thrilled about this as if he had never even thought about it. "I wish I could have thought about it. Denton is going to have five guards out there. Probably won't even know why they're there. I'll deal with them non-lethally or skirt around them. I'll be stealing some fake lists, and some tranq guns. You can confront us when we get the list. Have an epic battle, which he barely escape from, and voila. Adam wants to be in my pants. Or something like it."

Standing up he offers one hand to her, his pinky coming up. "Deal?"

There is a definite pause. With an ironic expression, Elle slips one arm out of its folded position so she can return the pinky-swear, squinting at Brian as though she isn't quite sure whether he's mocking her or not. "Yeaaah. It works. So, when's all this supposed to happen?"

Taking the pinky swear, he brings up his hand and kisses his own hand. Customary of pinky-promises. "I'll let you know." Brian murmurs, going to release her pinky. Tucking his hand in his pocket he gives her a grin. "I'll be out by the end of the day. Better leave your number or something." Lifting one hand he goes to give her shoulder a pat before dropping it, and turning his tattoo-back to her.

"Nice talking to you, Elle."

There is no piece of paper Elle just happens to conveniently carry around in her pocket. She does produce a pen, though, swiftly recording a number— her cell number — on the outside of the greasy, discarded sandwich paper. "See you 'round," she rejoins a little scathingly, opening her hand to let the wrapper float back onto the floor. Turning on her heel, she lets herself back across the tiny floor area and out the door without another glance backwards.

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