Participants:
| Scene Title | Free and Alive |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Enviable attributes of Griffin Mihangle. |
| Date | December 2, 2010 |
Morningside Heights - Perry's Apartment
It really wasn't difficult to find Pericles Jones. While most of Messiah would be a bit more difficult to track down, with Perry it was as simple as looking in the phone book. Griffin was actually quite surprised by that much. The man is dressed in his standard business suit, complete with a heavy wool coat to counter the chill in the air, and his cane seems to be more of an accessory today than a necessary tool. Dark sunglasses mask his eyes from the rest of the world.
Reaching Perry's door, Griffin raises his hand, gently rasping his gloved knuckles against the door, before leaning back against his cane, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side.
Perry's defense would be that hiding in plain sight is one of the most tried and true methods of concealment. Nothing draws the attention of the perceptive like a thing hidden. If he explained this to you, you'd likely see the value of his argument. You might well find yourself agreeing. That tends to happen.
No defense, however, is demanded as of yet, and so rather than persuading us of his wisdom and wit, Perry is, instead, intently reading something titled The War of the Flea. He's in his room, two removes from the hallway. But the quiet that suffuses the apartment (the speakers rigged up in the corners of the apartment are silent) lets his ears catch even the soft sound of Griffin's knock. His book closes around his finger as he looks up from the lines of text. Carefully dogearing his page before sliding his finger free, Perry gets to his feet and makes his way to the door.
Next to the dapper Mr. Mihangle, Pericles Jones won't look like much. His stooped posture is in no way helped by his baggy white t-shirt, some tchotchke from a engineer's convention with a bland sounding company name printed in bland black font on the front. He's even wearing PJ pants - someone hasn't been out of the house today.
When muddy brown eyes find the canted face of the caller, Perry lifts a hand to adjust his glasses in a finicky little gesture. He's not, at first, sure how to react. But he makes up his mind quickly enough. The door is held open and Perry makes a funny little half-bow. "Pl- uh- please, come in. S- sorry about the mess."
A small nod is cast toward the shorter Perry, the lanky man making his way inside Perry's home with little more than a faint smile on his face. There's something in the air around the man, invisible yet extremely tangible, though nothing actually touches Perry. Griff is using his vectors to help himself walk today, it seems.
Once indoors, the man removes his sunglasses and tucks them into the breast pocket of his coat, which he straightens slightly. The eyes they were concealing are that unnerving, pupil-less white that only occurs when his ability is in use. "Perry, it's good to see you're alright after the…events that transpired nearly a month ago." His tone is formal yet simultaneously casual, as if he hasn't just been gone for the past month.
After a moment, he leans against his cane a bit heavier, and his eyes fade back to their normal green, trailing over the interior of Perry's home. "My apologies for my absence of late. I was a bit…tied up, after the Eighth."
The Jones residence is not so much a mess as a clutter, a place untouched by anything like aesthetic sense. Work surfaces, various projects sprouting wires like overgrown planters, books and printed pages. The kitchenette is spare, to say the least, and looks mostly unused. Of his handful of skills, cooking is not one Perry managed to fit into his grasp.
Perry seems mostly unfazed by Griffin's peculiarities - the strangeness of his mobility, his aura, the blankness of his eyes. He's been with this crowd long enough for shock to have been entirely replaced by simple interest. Griffin may well feel this focus, the dart of a brown gaze that seeks to find the visible marks of Griffin's vectors at work. If there is anything beyond curiosity, it is, at worst, envy.
"I was- uh- taken to understand that, yes," Perry says, nodding, moving vaguely towards his cook nook, "N- Nadira knows you're free now, yes? And- uh- and your sister?" His stammer is marked with a hesitation that is beyond his usual awkwardness. Personal matters amongst the Mihangles are, he knows, a little complicated
Perry's brown gaze will find no visible marks of his vectors at work; it seems that his eyes are the only indication of the ability being used. They are gone as his eyes fade, however, and that presence he held goes along with them. The man studies the younger fellow over thoughtful, after taking a good long gander at the place with a faint smile resting over his hawkish features.
"Nadira knows I am free and alive now, yes." He says this with a small nod. However, mention of his sister prompts a sort of stiffness to enter his posturing, and his gaze swings away from Perry once more. "Marjorie doesn't know yet, and I would very much like to keep it that way, until I have had a chance to handle things in my own right."
He frowns. "She won't be in the dark for long, but for now…I need to be sure she's not going to disappear if I'm discovered to be alive."
"That's your own business," is Perry's way of saying that he won't interfere, "I'm only interested in the- uh- the cohesion of our group." Implying, of course, both that there still is a 'group' formed out of what's left of Messiah, and that both Mihangles are part of it. Of course, this implication stands only briefly. "It's- uh- it's my hope that you'll resume the work. I've- I've met with- uh- the remaining members and we've- uh- agreed to move ahead. Though, obviously, in- uh- a new direction."
There's only one thing Perry knows to do when guests arrive - what his mother did when there was the occasional visitor to their home in Bangor. He fills a kettle and puts it on to boil. "If- uh- if you want to continue, as- uh- as Nadira and Marjorie both have chosen, then you'll need to- um- to make a sort of decision. About the kind of- um- involvement that interests you."
Griffin nods quietly to Perry, offering the other man a thankful look. He seems content to have the subject changed, however, nodding along with Perry's words, even as he watches the kettle as it's put on to boil. He steps in a bit further, settling into the nearest seat he can find, in order to get the weight off of his leg, which he rubs at slightly.
"I'll happily make that decision, then, once I know the details of the plans to move ahead, and what my choices are." He nods faintly, shrugging off his coat now that he's in out of the cold. "I haven't really spoken much with Nadira on the topic of our group, lately, for the sake of peace. She's…had a rough time of things." And he hasn't spoken to his sister at all.
The chair is not a terribly comfortable one. It's metal, folding, highly utilitarian, lacking even a cushion. Still, it's something to sit on, and likely preferable to many of the other seating options - milk crates and a stool. Perry turns towards Griffin, arms folding in front of him. "I'll get to the point," he says, his stammer falling away for the moment, "we have split. We're still one group, still with a common interest, but we have formed two factions. One covert, one public. Those who are going public are going to take legitimate political action - lobbying, protests, the winning of hearts and minds," to quote former president Johnson, "Melissa Pierce and your sister form the core of that fraction. Nadira, Lynette Rowan and myself are preserving the more radical and - I have to stress this - violent aspect of the group. Violence is absolutely necessary. Across the board though, we are keeping no more secrets, and there is no longer any hierarchy. Every member has equal say, and it will remain that way as long as our numbers are few enough to make it practicable."
The chair may not be comfortable, but it is much more favorable than standing on his bad knee. He relaxes back in the chair, sighing faintly as he listens to Pericles speak, his brows raised. After a long moment of consideration, Griffin offers a slow nod, rubbing at his chin. "Publicity is perhaps not the best option for me— I'm an escaped convict from Moab, I've used my ability offensively against cops and FRONTLINE agents, and I've just recently escaped from a convoy heading to a prison. The law knows about me, now, and publicity would likely result in my arrest."
Griffin's brows raise, the man tilting his head toward Perry. "And violence has always been a little more my forte, what with my ability. I suppose I'll have to go with Nadira, Lynette and yourself, and join the more violent side of our group."
"Could- uh- could you explain your ability to me?" Perry requests. The whistle of the kettle draws him away after this question, but it doesn't take long for him to turn off the heating element and set the kettle to one side. "We need to know what resources we have available to us. And- uh- basically that's what little we own, including ourselves and our gifts." Which latter Perry himself still has no notion of. "We need to consider ways to increase our resource pool, also. As an illegal group, that may call for illegal means."
Griffin offers a faint smile, as if that's just what he wanted to hear. His eyes flare, losing their cover in favor of the bluish red. Suddenly, right in front of Perry, the tea cups lift and the items for tea begin to assemble themselves, the tea bags opening and popping into the tea cups, followed by the kettle being tipped, pouring the water in the cups.
"On the most fundamental level, I am a telekinetic. My particular style has been referred to as 'vector' telekinesis. In other words, I am able to manifest six arms made of telekinetic energy, with reach far exceeding that of a normal pair of arms." The kettle and teacups set themselves on the counter to steep. "Each arm is about as strong as the arm of an average man. I can use my vectors as blunt weapons, I can quite literally rip a foe to shreds, or I can do much more delicate work, such as aiming and firing guns."
He leans back, his eyes fading back to green. "As for resources, Ashley Williams left me in charge of his armory. Within is an extremely large collection of weapons." He draws up his shirt, revealing a solid black vest with six guns holstered within, well concealed by the business suit. "Knives, guns, incendiaries, as well as heavy weapons can be found within."
Perry listens to the details explication with interest, though of course his eyes are busy watching the actual demonstration. He had a tea preference originally, but he's not going to worry about the differences between raspberry zinger and mandarin spice at this juncture. Telekinetic tea he'll take regardless of its flavor. He leans over to examine the cups - no damage, everything just as if it had been done by careful, physical hands. Only no fingerprints which… could be useful.
When Griffin flashes his equipment (no snickering, please), Perry's brows finally lift, expressing a surprise that was absent before. "I'm glad you're back with us," he says, "I w- would be in any case but," he smiles a little, "now, for practical reasons, even more. This is… ideal. This is just what we need. Once we secure- uh- cash flow, we should be ramping up to- uh- actual operational readiness."
Griffin tilts his head toward Perry, smiling faintly. "I should also add that, combined, I am capable of lifting up to 500 lbs, or so I've determined. Any more than that is pushing it." He tilts his head to the side. "I am glad to be back, believe me. You can only handle daily injections of negation drugs and showering in the sink for so long before you get worn down…"
He tilts his head to one side. "As for cash flow…I have many different methods I am able to use to procure money in certainly illegal ways." The first thought that comes to mind is actively liberating an armored truck of its bounty— something Griffin can certainly manage without being incriminated by fingerprints and visibility. "What do you know of armored trucks?"
"I- uh- know that they are armored, generally, to protect their contents, often valuable…" Perry says, checking the level of steep, the strength of the tea. Looks good. He removes the bags and tosses them in his trash can before bringing both mugs over, offering one to Griffin. "What do you know of them? I- uh- I am certainly open to robbery and larceny as means of- um- establishing income. Though I'd- uh- I'd rather our targets be chosen with some care. There are some for whom a loss of resources would be, in and of itself, a boon to our cause."
Griffin grins quietly. "I've never actually robbed one, but I know for a fact that the men who drive the armored car generally aren't armored themselves, and it can't be more complex than a set of keys, and perhaps a pin number." He chuckles. "I'll be certain to think it through before I do anything— I'm no thief, but I'm certain I can figure something out."
He tilts his head toward Perry. "Have we given any thoughts to working with the Ferry? I'm familiar with a few of their members— Abigail Beauchamp and Benjamin Ryans. They also rescued me from a convoy that was heading to a prison." He tilts his head to one side. "And I'm sure we can use all of the allies we can get."
"I've met with Eileen Ruskin," Perry says, taking a sip from his tea and adjusting his glasses once more, "and I will shortly be in contact with their- uh- Special Operations Division is what I think they call it. They- uh- they understandably view us with a certain- um- uncertainty, but I trust we can earn their trust. We do need allies. We need every last one of our kind as an ally. This is a universal struggle." He nods. "As for theft, I think we should have the whole of our fraction's membership, or at least a larger portion, present before we make any clear plans. I think there are skills and knowledges that you and I don't possess that might need to be leveraged."
The man smiles faintly, sipping at his own tea; sadly, it's only briefly that he sips at it, finishing the cup half way, before he sets it down. "Sounds like a wonderful plan to me. I will be certain to be at the next meeting. My prepaid phone is on now, so let me know." He nods faintly. "I'm not much of a thief…I'm more muscle." Despite his lean appearance, Griff is fairly well muscled, and along with his ability, that statement is quite true.
The man raises his watch, peering at it thoughtfully. Then, he's raising to his feet. His eyes flash white once more, and he steadies himself, replacing his sunglasses on his face. "I hate to cut our meeting short, Pericles," he murmurs, mostly using Perry's full name because he likes the sound of it, "but there is a man who is interested in my little sister, and I need to have a preliminary talk with him before he tries to take things further."
A smile on his face, Griffin moves lithely toward the door, once more using the cane more as an accessory than anything else.