Participants:
| Scene Title | Ferry Le Flambeur |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Nick and Delia meet with Eileen for advice on Delia's living situation. |
| Date | August 7, 2011 |
The movie has already begun, the black-and-white images casting a silvery glow over the small theatre. There is no stadium seating, just a gentle incline to the back. The linoleum is sticky with soda and candy. It is the sort of place that runs on a skeleton crew; the theaters get cleaned once a day — if that. But then there are only two people seated for this screening, awaiting a third.
When Delia and Nick arrived, just a few minutes ago, wet from the warm rain, the young man in the old-fashioned ticket booth looked at them skeptically; of the three films being shown, Bob le Flambeur is certainly not the one he would have pegged the young couple for wanting to see, not when there are movies about mutants and ape uprisings to be seen. It also means more work, since the two so far had been the only ones to buy a ticket for the third theatre. But, it's "French Film Festival" month at the Greenwich Starlight Cinema. Even if it means less business, culture is important, or so the teenager has been told.
Sitting in the back row, Nick watches the aisle; after all, he doesn't have to read the subtitles to keep up with the movie, should they actually end up watching it. His hand holds Delia's, fingers interlaced, lightly on his lap.
It's an experience she may never have again, so even if it's not the movie they're going to see, Delia makes the most of it. A small bag of popcorn between her knees and a small diet coke sits in the little cupholder on her armrest. She's doing her best to keep up with the subtitles. It's difficult, because French people speak fast.
Raking her free hand through her frizzy hair, she tries to fix it as much as possible as it dries. Almost an impossible task in the humidity and the lack of proper hair products in Nick's apartment have left her tresses in dire want of styling. The rest of her ensemble is a mishmash of his and her clothing. Her jeans, his shirt, her boots, and no coat. She forgot it and didn't bother to say anything until it was too late to go back.
"What did that guy say? Does that really mean what the subtitles say?" Her voice is quiet, even though they're the only two there, for the moment.
The doors at the back of the theatre squeak open and admit a thin sliver of light from the lobby, followed by a slimmer silhouette that blends seamlessly back into shadow when the doors swing shut behind it. If there were more people in the audience than just the young couple seated in the last row, they might take notice of the woman moving down the aisle between the seats — some might even recognize her face from the wanted posters being circulated by the American military if they looked closely enough.
Eileen slides into the row directly in front of Nick and Delia and chooses a seat with the clearest path to the nearest fire exit. The screen illuminates the moisture clinging to her hair and skin, which she does not seem to mind. All the rain slanting down outside provides a welcome respite from the summer's sweltering heat.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she says without twisting around in her seat. "I had to take a second look at that fellow with the shield. Uncanny."
Nick sits up a little, squeezing Delia's hand when he sees Eileen; he glances down and through dark lashes almost shyly at Delia, a secret smile before he flashes a grin at the newcomer. Their seat against the back wall means anyone in the projection room can't see their faces, after all.
That, and he's not really good at this spy stuff.
It takes him a moment, his brow knitting and head tilting. "Captain America?" he says. "I donno who he looks like, but if he's fuckin' up Nazis, he's good in my book," he says lightly.
His free hand reaches to lightly pat Eileen's shoulder, without thought or worry. "Thanks for showing up, Lee," he says more seriously, glancing back at Delia for a moment. "Things are bad in Eltingville, like I said."
"He's something else…" Delia breathes when Captain America is mentioned. A blush creeps to her face and she stares at her knees. Nick’s jovial and casual nature when it comes to Eileen is new and causes her brows to come down in confusion as she angles her chin to look up at him. When he actually reaches out and touches Eileen, the redhead's jaw drops for a moment before she recovers with a cough into her hand. It spills her popcorn onto the floor in front of her.
She doesn't say anything, just eyes the two of them as though they were aliens, before it occurs to her that she should fill in some details. "They hung a woman, as an example to others. They told her neighbors that they couldn't cut her down." Delia's hushed voice is hurried, as though she's afraid of anyone else hearing. "Mister Logan said that dead meat was all the use she had to them anymore."
Eileen's shoulder muscles tense under Nick's touch. It takes physical effort not to flinch away, but she manages to succeed by pressing out a hard breath through her nose. Delia's explanation serves as a reminder that there are more important things for her to be worried about or take issue with than her brother's hands on her. "He isn't wrong," she says of Logan, rigid in her seat. Something with feathers rustles like damp paper behind the glossy veil of her hair.
"Last count we've four other Ferry operatives staying in Eltingville. I don't like the idea of even one of you there. Having eyes of our own inside Heller's camp was never worth the risk, and that was before he started stringing up people." Eileen touches the tips of her fingers on both hands together and eases them into her lap. "We can get you out if that's what you're asking."
Nick can see the tension riding on Eileen’s shoulders; it's not unexpected, though he isn't sure why, and he frowns, glancing at Delia and tipping his head at her with equal confusion at her reaction. He moves his booted foot to let a couple of popcorn kernels fall off of it and onto the ground, studying the spill.
He scowls at the name Logan, but blue eyes dart up at the last of Eileen's words, and he squeezes Delia's hand again. "She's worried Logan'll get in trouble if she disappears," he says coolly, suggesting that he doesn't care about Logan's fate, even as his cheeks color a little. "I didn't wanna just do it on my own — even if we didn't come back to you guys. There's … family and everything to consider." Her father. Their child, even if Benji is older than both of them.
"And he won't leave with me," Delia says further of Logan. Nick's hand is sandwiched between both of her own and held fast against her lap. Uncertain of how to proceed, she lets the silence get away from her for much longer than is comfortable. Something she remedies by letting loose a long sigh. "He doesn't want to owe you anything, he'd rather face Heller." The bitterness in her voice suggests that his reasoning doesn't suit her at all.
"They put a tracking anklet on me and took my housemate, Tania. He said that she was in Massachusetts now." Again she pauses, to glance at Nick and then Eileen, then her eyes flit back down to the floor instead of the movie that she was so interested in a few minutes ago. "I was going to ask Mister Lazzaro if he could smoke me out of the anklet but I don't want Mi— " a quick look at Nick "— Logan to get killed if I run…"
"If Logan thought there was any chance he'd be killed if you ran," Eileen says, "then he'd not refuse to leave." Nick's suggestion about family has the corners of her mouth making a rueful shape that goes hard and flattens out into something more neutral before it can form a real expression. Even in the dark, physical displays of emotion leave her feeling more vulnerable than she's comfortable with in her present company.
Delia and Nick aren't the only people with the network who have approached her about leaving it. This would be much more difficult if she didn't agree it was for the best. "I've spoken with the council about moving our operations overseas. I have a flat in Munich that I tried to convince Delilah to take, but home is where the heart is, and hers is with her friends and family here in New York City. It's large enough for two people to live comfortably — if you're serious about this, then it's yours.
"Regardless, I'll see what I can do for Logan. There's a way to get you out that'll make him shine. I've just not figured it yet."
That Delia asked Logan to leave with her has Nick stiffening; his hand might pull away if Delia hadn't sandwiched it within hers. "If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have that bloody thing on your ankle," he mutters, probably unfairly. But the moody observation gives way to focus on Eileen's words.
He studies her dark form from behind. "Thanks," he murmurs for her offer, glancing at Delia, then back to the small woman in front of them. "Would you be in Munich, too?" The question is hesitant but curious.
"He wasn't there, he was working," Delia murmurs low in Logan's defense. Looking away from the two of them, she clenches her jaw and releases, working it to the point of distraction. She keeps a hold of Nick's hand, tucking it into her stomach instead of letting it sit on her lap. Her eyes fall to her knees, then she slides out her foot to look at the outline of the cuff underneath her jeans.
She's taken to hiding it again, which might be for the best. All things considered, anyway. "Get the others out first, if you can. It'd be safer for you… because of this thing. I don't want to see them strung up a tree, the baby's too little— " She pauses to take a deep breath through her nose, mostly to hide the crack in her voice at the thought of her next statement. "The baby's too little to get hung— and I wouldn't put it past them to do it."
The way Eileen is going, she's more likely to be under six feet of earth or hanging from a noose herself than she is to be in Munich. She is quiet, then; if she's learned anything about leadership during her time on the Ferry's council, it's that people respond better to good news than bad even though bad news tends to produce more results than good.
"If Munich is what my heart decides," she tells Nick. "I haven't asked him lately." A hand braces against the back of the seat in front of her, and she rises from her row. "I don't imagine so.
"I also don't imagine that we'll be putting Walter in more danger than he already is. There will be no first or second if I have my way — only all at once. In the meantime, don't do anything to attract Heller's attention, but if you can meet with Sable and Delilah: do. It's important that they know."
There is a slight head shake at Delia's defense of Logan, but Nick stays quiet except for his free hand tapping a nervous tattoo on the armrest. He doesn't look happy with the plan, or lack of one, but he gives a nod finally.
"Let me know what I have to do, and I'll do it," he says gruffly. "Not just for Delia, but for all of you, Lee. I want you safe, somewhere, and happy. You don't deserve to be treated like this. Forced to hide, put into camps. Worse."
His fingers stop their nervous tapping, curling instead into a fist. "I don't want that for either of you."
"We have meals at the community center, I can probably talk to them there." In Delia's mind it's safer than if she went to their home. Since, rumor has it, that the soldiers are sussing out terrorist links. Delia just happens to have a whole bunch of them… known. "Or at least pass a message along. I haven't really been the best neighbor in that place. I sort of keep between work and home, most of the time."
Nick receives a small smile and Delia reaches over with her off hand to lay her palm on the top of his fist. It's just for a split second, as though the redhead is trying to dissuade the man from punching something and breaking his hand. Or worse, breaking some property that might land him somewhere undesirable. "If there's anything you want me to tell them I can… Oh… I can— Nevermind, I don't need to see them. I can just— " Use her ability. The fact that she's forgotten about its usefulness in that regard has her frowning a little. "Anyway, I'll let them know and tell them to be careful."
Eileen has nothing to say on the subject of what she does or doesn't deserve. Instead, she slices Nick and Delia a tight smile and mouths a farewell as she steps out into the aisle. Rather than climb the slope and leave through the same doors she came in, she lets gravity dictate her exit by drifting all the way down to the row closest to the screen before cutting across to the emergency exit glowing sickly green in the far corner.
When she presses down on the metal bar with the heel of her hand, the only sound the door produces is a rusty groan. It isn't rigged to set off an alarm.
Most buildings this old don't have them.
Rain striking against the pavement wafts into the theatre and Eileen is swallowed up by the misty August gloom.