hana_icon.gif vincent_icon.gif

Scene Title Extrajudicial
Synopsis A discussion of ends and means.
Date July 5, 2018

The Bunker

“We’ve corroborated the intelligence Pierce provided on the nature of Fort Irwin with our own investigation.” Robots, lightning, militia. “We believe there’s a strong likelihood that Georgia Mayes is directing operations from within the base.”

Vincent is saying so from a low sunk slouch in a seat before Hana’s desk in Rochester, knees wide apart, right hand crooked to support the ache of his brow over an armrest. His suit is blue. His socks are argyle.

He doesn’t smell like he’s been drinking, but he looks like he’d like to be.

“President Praeger has ordered a summary execution.”

Delivered as evenly as any other news, for her information and consideration. Normally there’s a file folder to accompany it — a briefcase or portfolio. Today he sits and looks at her like he’s considering ending this brief there.

“In addition to dismantling the operation, recovering hostages and neutralizing any hostile technologies we discover on site.” Obviously.

For her part, Hana does not slouch. Not even when being told things that aren't particularly surprising — much less ones that are. One brow arches as the word execution hits the still air of the small room, then settles back into neutral a moment later.

Seated behind the desk, her posture remains straight, hands quiescent in her lap. What opinion Hana might have on such extrajudicial action is reflected only in the sharpening of her attention, the slight lift of her jaw.

"Strictly for Mayes?" is all the major says, explicitly clarifying the bounds of this order. Obvious addenda need no reply.

There’s an audible scuff at that arch; Vincent scrubs against the grain of stubble along his jaw, chin sat up to rest in the crook of his thumb.

“Strictly for Mayes.”

He takes in the sharpening of her attention without any rise to match it, eyes cooled black between Hana and his thoughts. Whatever unhappiness inhabits his posture doesn’t read as disagreement, or any desire to disobey. This is something that has to be done.

“Her story ends at Irwin.” No trial, no appeal.

“You and I are the only ones aware of the order,” he adds, probably unnecessarily. “I’d prefer for it to stay that way.”

"Understood," is voiced with a minute nod. That single word, all three syllables of it, manages to touch every possible context at once: the secrecy, the limits, and assent to the order itself. Hana has qualms about none of these things.

Rather the opposite. If Mayes dies on the field, that's one less prisoner the system can potentially lose track of.

"Who all is being marshalled for this endeavor?" Obviously there will be briefings, and calls, and strategy meetings, but no reason not to ask. Knowing will help her planning, if Vincent has that roster to share.


Her assent settles into a beat of silence from Vincent’s side of the desk. He reaches with his idle hand to snake his tie out from its catch in a crease near his slouchy middle. Upon second thought, he hooks the knot of it loose under his collar while he’s at it.

“Wolfhound and Homeland. We’ll have military support to break defenses and corral civilians, as Fort Irwin is — fortified.”

He hikes a brow for more of the obvious.

“Benji Ryans has contacts with Evolved resistance groups out west who we may enlist the aid of as well. They know the territory. Once I have confirmation of their support I can provide you with a rogue’s gallery.” Of personalities and abilities, one presumes, at the very least.

“I’ll also be going in on this one.”

Fortified is worth an upward flick of her eyes, and it gets one, albeit brief. There is only so much stating of the obvious that can pass unmaligned, at least in present company. But while it's obvious, it's also an understatement, if anything.

Her focus resharpens at the mention of westerners, and Hana gives her visitor a contemplative look, leaning back just slightly. "If you're referring to the Guardians— " Who are at least the most known, in certain circles. "— I am likely familiar with most. We've worked together before, and keep something of in touch." The way people do when they live halfway across a continent and have differing interests and needs, however common their underlying cause. Which is not really very 'in touch'.

There's a momentary pause at Vincent's final statement, something that isn't really surprise and fails to resolve into any hint of opinion. After, Hana inclines her head again. "You'll want to be in the thick of things, I expect." For reason of Mayes, obviously.

“I am referring to the ‘Guardians.’”

Any contact Vincent might have had with them previously was more fleeting — the majority of his fighting was done on the east side, and they came down well apart on the issue of trusting law and government after the war. But a resource is a resource.

Nobody wants what’s taken hold in Irwin to spread.

He’s slower to answer for his own involvement, and even then, only with a nod, at first.

“If it’s not too much of a bother,” he says, as if it would matter if it was, “I’d like you to come with me.” For old times sake. For effectualty. To smother Colette with a pillow if she starts in on him about hypocrisy or what-would-Tasha-say mid-fray. For any of half a dozen other reasons obscured by the half-mask of his hand over his mouth, or eyes too dark for easy reading.

The subject of known allies behind them, she waits with equanimity until that nod comes, and the words that follow it. There's a twitch that isn't quite a smile at bother. "I'll be there," Hana pledges, the tenor of the words almost light, almost casual. Marked contrast to somber expression, to the focused intensity of her gaze. "All the way to the end."

Then it’s done, her stare met and matched. As it is spoken, so shall it be.

Somewhere, Mayes’ ears are burning.

Vincent breaks off first, tension bit up the back of his neck hedged with another scuff and a glance aside, before he steers himself back on target.

“I have more to tell,” he says, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to do it over a beer.”

No move is actually made to that end, her input sought first with a hike at his brows. He can sit her and drone it out for her in the standard format, if she so prefers.

“Nothing more dire than the usual.”

There's an arch of brow at Vincent's ventured opinion, and a breath of a huff at his assurance. "Which still spans a pretty wide range," Hana points out, tone dry. An open-handed gesture towards the door follows shortly after, eminently typical in the tacit acceptance it embodies.

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