Participants:
| Scene Title | Hatching Dawn |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In the smaller hours of morning, one baby Phoenix emerges into the clumsy care of one co-leader, and finds a familiar face in the ranks. They discuss a former Evolved high school student who landed himself in jail, The Ferry, super powers, Registration, Teo's lack of boobies, and related topics like that. |
| Date | December 28, 2008 |
The World of Cellular Technology
Though the specific celebratory days have hit a lull, between boxing day and New Year's, the holiday season is still in full swing. With crowds, children, the squeal of traffic hindered by blizzard runoff and mundane, man-made disasters. It may be hard for her to hear depending on where she is, the odd morning the call ring-rings into her brand new phone.
Anne's eyes open wide at the sound, though at first she doesn't quite recognize it. Her sleepy hazed brain registers that there's noise, of course. Then that it's a phone. But it doesn't quite sound like /hers/, and.. oh. "OH SHIT!" Bundling out of the bed, rolling really, she hits the floor with a thud, crawls over to where she left her clothes yesterday and pulls out the phone. By the time she answers, three signals have gone through and she's looking like a mummie, wrapped up in bedsheets on the floor and with her hair standing in every which way. "Hello?" …at least she sounds calm. That's got to count for something, when it comes to grace.
Alternatively, she could still be in bed. Teo squints at the mouthpiece. Vaguely remembers a time, a day when the appropriate hours of morning found him in bed and on the brink of waking. He'd had a job back then.
One with regular hours and a consistent wage. Makes him feel a little bad for disrupting somebody's rest, even if there's little in the woman's voice to indicate grogginess or irritation. It momentarily escapes his deductive powers that the rookie wouldn't want to betray such sentiments on what is, probably, one of the first phonecalls her disposable has ever fielded.
"Buongiorno, signora." There's noise behind his voice, though no discernible others; a brief tinkle of a bell. "I'm sorry," and he sounds it. "I just realized what time it is. My schedule is all tits up and ass over elbow an— uh. I can call back later, if you prefer."
Anne doesn't really want tired and irritated to be the first sentiments tossed over this phone, no. And adding to that she doesn't really know what kind of conversations are held over these phones. Is it emergencies only? Is it.. something different? She's a little paranoid to mess up as well, so it adds up to weirdness.
That said, she does still keep pretty regular hours. She just got off a dayjob, and is considering getting another. Though she's not sure that'll actually work, it kind of depends on how these things work out in the end. The whole secret organisation that do scary and dangerous things is new. "Bonjour," She replies in return, sticking to French herself since she knows it better. "No need to worry about it, though I'm struck with wondering at the geometry of that description." Focus, Anne, FOCUS. "But we can talk now."
There's a bit of a pause there. "..who am I talking to?"
"Teodoro. But I go by Teo," comes the answer, prompt as politeness entails. It's always a toss-up, fifty-fifty, whether he pronounces the short-form of his name with a long 'e' — Tee-oh — or short — Teh-oh; inevitably, Americans end up saying the former, even if the strict logic of shortening the Italian would indicate the latter. He's Tee-oh today, as deprived of accent as the rest of his sentences.
"Friend of Helena's." It leaves room for speculation; not every member of Phoenix necessarily is. "You're Anne, right? A breakfast person, by any chance?"
Anne, unfortunately, isn't really going to be making that long deductions this early in the morning. If a friend of Helena's calls on /this/ cellphone and introduces himself as Teo, that's really enough to know that "Breakfast sounds awesome, to me. Where'd you like to meet up?" Because if he suddenly starts knocking on her door she'll be spooked and horrified. And likely not around in her bedroom long enough for hom to come on in. But that's a separate issue, really. "Nice to hear from you, at any rate. And yeah, I'm Anne."
It might have escaped Teo's notice that 'emergency only' was on the table for Phoenix's phone network use. Or else, Anne's calm handling of the subject matter precluded the need to rid it of that possibility with hasty assurances. Demonstration works. Random breakfast call.
Terrorists do so terrify. "Hmmmm." He exhales with that thinking noise, so that his nose blows air whuffy into the receiver. "I'm in Little Italy right now, uh, embracing some cultural cliches," his tone dips sheepish, then reocvers. "I don't know where you are." Though he could as horrifically dial a number and find out. "Do you have a preference, signora?"
"I could be in Little Italy in two minutes, if you let me know where to meet you." Anne offers, quite simply. The smile is almost audiable in her voice. "And I am actually quite in favour of Italian foods, generally. Can't say I've tried a traditional italian breakfast, though.. don't even quite know what's supposed to be in one." The mummy sits up, finally, and the sheet falls down from her shoulders. She pulls her fingers through her hair and squints a bit, peering towards the light seeping in underthe blinds. And perhaps Teo could find out where she is, but.. that's one of those sneaky spy things she hasn't learned yet. Musical educations leave so many holes.
One of those Evolved trickie-things, no doubt. Having spent some of the better years of his life with a baby brother who could pull himself out of his torso thanks to some kind of weird tesseracty-math-thing that was more Romero's domain than his, Teo can put one and one together.
Or one and point-nine. Does she fly? Run fast enough to break the sound barrier? He has no way of knowing, but he's heard that smile before, experienced this odd nudge of curiosity.
"I'm at Bambino's Italian Cafe. Mostly, they try to make breakfast cultural by putting pesto on everything. Even toast. It's salty-sweet — some people like it. But there's also Italian sausage, and fritatta — that's omelettes with a variety of cheeses wide enough that they seem to think they're qualified to be arrogant about it. Other egg things.
"Coffee, some brea… breakfast risotto. If something sounds okay, let me know and I'll stop reading the menu out loud like a quasi-illiterate person," he says. Best spy ever.
"Always been a big fan of cheese." Anne replies with a hint of laughter in her voice. "I'll see you around in a spell, then. er.. How do I recognize you once I'm there? I don't think you've got TEO written all over your forehead. At least I hope not, thatwould have been a cruel and unusual joke played by your brothers or something." If he had brothers. She couldn't know that either. There's a bit of scuffling sounds heard as she starts going about pulling on clothing. Jeans. A purple sweater over her head. Socks. Important things, if you intend to go outside. Unless you want all kinds of starings going on.
Terrorists are pretty selective about when to get stared at. Making a public statement about HomeSec being a troupe of psychotic douchebags using C-4, all right. Day-to-day nudity, less so. It takes Teo a moment to realize there is a woman getting dressed on the line. Absurdly, he has the urge to pull the phone from his ear to allow her some privacy.
He can't answer if he does that though, so— so he keeps his ear to it, even as he hunkers his head down to see himself. "Ha! No. Fortunately, my brother's above that.
"Right now, I'm like one of three people in here. The other two have ti— female. They're women. I'll put a boat on the table." His tone remains entirely serious when he says that, then there's a slight adjustment of volume as he turns to and fro, possibly looking for a seat. Muted across the receiver, she hears a zip of his own; the sound of settling. "Rather sit by the window, counter, not care?"
"Why don't you pick somewhere you can start teaching me paranoia." Anne replies with a definite chuckle to her voice, as she pokes her feet into shoes. "I heard enough yesterday to know I need to practise. Anyway, see you in a bit, Teo." And with that, the phone is clicked shut. She hung up on him! Horribly rude, that. But then, in her mind, the conversation isn't so much over as it is on a brief afk. About a minute later, most of which was spent making sense of her hair and putting her jacket on and such, she comes walking around a corner and towards the door of the resturant. Black hair standing on spiky ends, leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders and a smile on her lips. She seems pretty relaxed, overall, and when she steps into the place and looks around? There are indeed mostly women to be found inside. So she aims for the male thing.
"Hey there. I'm Anne.. and unless I got my directions messed up, you should be Teo, right? I do hope I'm not late."
Little Italy — Bambino's Italian Cafe
The male thing is characterized by a slightly dishevelled mop of hair that is probably flat brown when it's any shorter, but length and sunlight — even the weaker fingers that the temperate winter comb down on him — have steeped his head in a dirty blonde that fits the blue of his eyes and his big Finnish nose, though his eyebrows remain a cranky Mediterranean shade of dark. He's fairly tall, and probably built judging from the minute disruptions of scars notched in his knuckles, calluses on the palm he offers her, the breadth of his wrists.
Young: not yet thirty. Apparently depises the cold, judging from the sweater peeking out from the V of his hoodie, over which he would have pulled on the jacket that's currently lumped over the back of his chair. They're closer to the counter than the window, watching the door, the route out through kitchen clearly marked by a sign that instructs patrons not to try anything. The walls are orange, the trimmings red, the coffee — one option 'bottomless' — the cheapest you'll find.
"I can't tell if you're being coy or setting up to explain," he tells her, with a wry grin: she isn't late. Not nearly. There is, in fact, a small toy boat parked on the corner of his table. It has a wind-up key in it, and refracts a silver winking in the light of early morning.
"Maybe I'm just a hysterically nervous person with tendencies to over apologize?" Anne suggests, but she's much to calm to fit that kind of description. Teo's hand is accepted and shook with a chocolate brown one of her very own. Less callouses on this one, fingers long and flexible instead, though they hold a definite amount of strength. Also, noticeably, her fingernails are very well kept. Strong things, manicured.
"Nice to meet you, and cute boat. Does it work?" She peeks around for a moment, and notes the place they're seated in, before settling down at the opposite side of the table. "I think I migth have to do something about that bottomless option, as far as coffee is concerned. It sounds awfully tempting. Along with a cheese filled omelette, of course." Best breakfast in the world. Calories and caffeine.
For whatever reason, Teo's cheek twitches visibly at that phrase, tendencies to over-apologize. It is indeed doubtful that she's the sort to do so, though; there's no malice in his expression as he looks her over, parses the way she moves, betraying little inkling that he's weighing or measuring or reading further than a young man ought to. On cue, he drops his gaze to the boat in question. "I don't know yet. I just got it last night — late Christmas present. I was going to check it out right away, but I got sidetracked.
"Few of our friends got a little fucked up in the blizzard a few days ago, you maybe heard." Of the blizzard, if nothing else. They don't have any friends in common, in the normal usage of the term friends, but he isn't about to go into gymnastics to press the point if it doesn't sink in. The first and most entertaining thing about playing terrorist is learning to speak in euphemism.
"I was gonna do the pesto toast thing. An adventure." Which probably isn't code-speak for anything interesting, considering the ruthless furrow of his brow as he studies the menu overhead: a young man's way of being attentive. It's important. There's time-pressure. The waitress is beelining toward them.
"I heard about the blizzard, but not about the other thing I'm afraid." Other than in an awful roundabout way. Which was to say, Anne was rather clueless. "They going to be alright, I hope?" She might not know them by faces and such yet, but it was none the less rather important. As far as euphisms go, she's right with him there on that train. One part of terrorist/freedomfighter that she doesn't have to feel entirely dropped behind the wagon about. Always something, always something.
When the waitress makes her way towards them Anne distracts her for a moment, giving Teo a couple of more seconds to decide as she orders her food. Omelette. Bread. Coffeeeee. Bottomless cup of Coffee. Give. She phrases it much more politely, though, in a deep melodic voice that almost has a soothing quality to it, even if she's just discussing foods. Maybe it's a good thing, maybe not, but she just doesn't scream 'Terrorist!' when you look at her.
"You're up, Teo. Adventure. See how much you dare." In a breakfast setting, that's not really too much. Unless you go for rare poisonous fish or something, but they're not common in Italian restaurants.
That's a rather suspicious salutation to greet the average civilian with, it's true. 'Hello.' 'Terrorist!' Teo couldn't see that going nearly as smoothly as this is, the waitress mustering a smile in spite of her obvious fatigue, the posture of her pen looking somewhat less like a stabbing weapon and more like a writing implement. "Special number three. Pesto with the toast," he says, with appropriate authority. "Peppers and ham with the fritatta. Grazie.
"I'm kind of coming up on the end of my workday and bedtime," he explains, as the waitress steps off in a clicking cadence of heels. "Or I'd be right there with you and your bottomless coffee." He moves to pick up his tin boat but his eye diverges from the reach of his hand — to hers, diligently maintained as they are.
Teodoro doesn't know how to ask about them, but he almost does; audible in the pause, the shift of teeth, before he answers instead, belatedly: "They're going to be fine, yeah. Manhattan has some of the finest medical practitioners in the world. Here's hoping you won't need a referral."
"I'd really much prefer if I didn't, yeah." Anne replies with a nod. "But hey, if I do.. now I know who to ask about it, at least." Teasing, a bit. He might know better doctors and her, and very likely more discreet, but. That wasn't really the point in this statement anyway. "And you run a nightshift, then? Ouch. Well, not that I've ever tried, to be honest. Late shifts, sure, but never a pure night one. Who knows, I might like it." Or not. "Nothing is impossible with enough coffee, though."
She carefully tugs her fingerless gloves off, hiding them in the pockets of her jacket, even as she keeps her eyes on Teo. She doesn't quite know what to say, at this point. Where to begin. How much to word. Little, she's sure. "Do you do any music, Teo?" Helena mentioned there were a few that did. Maybe he was one of them.
"Don't hesitate," Teo assures her with a half a grin. Which creases into a grimace the next moment, changeable as the mood of a child who finds a spinach casserole abruptly interposed between right now and chocolate for dessert. "Nah. My shift rotates all fucking over. You might get used to it eventually. I did. I think." His eyes cross momentarily; he shakes them straight with a wag of his skull.
"It's weird— living in Manhattan seems to give me enough nervous energy to function on thirty hour circadian rhythms, so it's probably better for my sanity." He's a little deadpan polishing off that sentence. Sane. Subjective, here. He sticks his tin boat into the recesses of his jacket, and has to agree: "Coffee helps." The cafe is picking up a little, as dawn recedes into recent history at the work day begins. More feet clacking outside, the bell above the door dinging another patron in. Then two.
Teo follows the shift in subjects with the curious acknowledgment of blue eyes, and blinks them when she says. "Not— really. I guess I used to sing. Football chants, you know: all gut, no talent.
"I'll introduce you to people who can do amazing stuff with their voices." His eyes crinkle: amazing. "Me, I used to be a teacher. Latin. Then my school blew up." There's a shadow of something, but he doesn't spend enough time on those words to let it settle. It was prologue to the triumphant deduction: "You're a musician? That explains your hands." That's unequivocal approval there.
"I wasn't aware my hands needed explaining." Anne replies, and there's definite laughter in her voice now, as she looks down on well manicured nails. Strong fingers without callouses. "You have to give me a hand, there, unless you mean the nails. But I didn't think such were /that/ unusual." More girls than her are careful with them, if for rather different reasons. Unless he was just that good, couldn't be too sure. "As for football chants, I don't actually think I've heard one of those. Not proper, anyway." Couple of faked things, but.
Football hadn't really ever been her thing. So sad.
"Being a teacher sounds awesome, though. Don't know that I could do it myself, except maybe for the flute.. but being one on one just doesn't seem to be the same thing as having a whole class of folks to be responsible f—- oooh. Cofffee." And also, food. But it's the former that has Anne brightening up in the wides of smiles, eyes crinkling and the previously mentioned hands wrapping themselves around caffeine goodness. Mmm.
Elisabeth has arrived.
When the door opens, it's sort of like 'speak of the devil' with regard to Teo's comment about 'amazing stuff with their voices.' Elisabeth Harrison steps into the cafe looking like this is not the first stop of the morning. In point of fact, it looks like she's been up all night and perhaps stepped in for coffee because it was convenient. She's wearing a pair of jeans and a pair of high-heeled boots under a heavy, warmly lined leather jacket. In spite of the outfit, it doesn't look like she was having fun doing whatever she's coming down off of. Even as she steps in the door, she's unzipping the jacket and heading for the counter to order coffee. The badge clipped to her belt flashes briefly in the light as she moves. "Coffee please," she says, her blue eyes skimming the clientele wearily. It takes her a moment to register some half-familiar faces.
True: it isn't the most unheard of notion, the Devil taking the guise of a woman in heels. Teo notices the cop entering in small part because he'd set up their sitting where they could watch the doors and sprint out the back if needed to be. He offers the woman a wave, though it's a mix of her brisk manner and a few interpersonal differences in recent history that prevent him from doing something more effusive than that. It'll pass.
Ordinarily, he has as few compunctions about shouting across a restaurant and standing on a chair as the next Italian. "I think I was a pretty awful teacher.
"It wasn't my calling. I guess I grew out of thinking everybody has one." He lets his shoulders slouch momentarily but it doesn't last, a lifetime of sailing and recreational athleticism pulling them back even as he lets the table take his weight on his elbows.
"You have strong hands," he tries to explain after a moment, face wrinkling slightly. "But not— you know, the rough-hewn man hands kind of… these." Sheepishly, he holds up his own categorically hideous appendages. "And it's like you focus tacility with your fingers instead of smearing your palm over things." A pause. He isn't explaining this very well; possibly because it's nothing. "English is my second language."
"With latin being your first. I see how it is." Anne nods sagely and studies those hands for a while. Strong. Calloused, yes, and with some scarring it seems. "Possibly tactile things being /your/ first.. when you look at those." It seems clear from his movements that he does do a lot of things with his body, as well. "But I don't know if I agree with you on the whole calling thing. Except, well. I don't think a person has just one, you know? And it might change over the years, too. What's true at one time might not stick around and be true forever." Things changes.
People too, sometimes.
Now as far as Liz's arrival in the room, that brightens Anne up further. She seems easy to please, in that manner. Quick to smile, holds on to joyful things. "Hey, Liz." It's not loud, but maybe she'll hear it anyway. Potentially. If not, there might be tiny pieces of paper tossed in the future, to catch the attention of the tired one.
Elisabeth retrieves her coffee with a smile of thanks at the waitress, and then she walks over to the table where Teo and … well, look at that. Anne. Dropping into the seat next to Teo and giving him a gentle bump with her shoulder, she grins at the both of them. "Hey," she greets easily. She looks tired, but glad to see friendly faces. "Didn't know the two of you knew one another," she comments mildly, her blue eyes skipping to Teo over the rim of her cup as she sips the hot brew.
Bundled up in winter clothes, Teo's terrific physicality looks somewhat temporarily retired for now. He's an ex-teacher waving his messy hands, recalling bygone football chants and trying to work up the courage to eat his pesto toast, which is staring at him with an uncomfortably green face from below. People too, sometimes. After a moment, he claps his mitts on the side of his head. Mostly because the moment's gone, and the new one brings Liz with it.
He uses the grip on his skull to turn it and face her, the corners of his mouth marching upward with easy sincerity, however tardy. The password exchange is just as brief this time; without ceremony. "Hel hooked us up," he says, then. Euphemismic language for the win. Stil caged in his hands, he nods his head toward Liz and explains for Anne: "She's one with the voice."
Which euphemisms right back, and well. Er. Yeah. Ahem. Anne motions towards the coffee in her cup. "This stuff is great. And it's good to see you again, Liz. You're the one he's been talking about, then. The one with the amazing voice.. and here you tried to downplay it with me the other day. What is it I hear, here?" There's a bit of a glitter to her eyes again, before she starts in on her omelette. Cheese and eggs. Mmm. There are some other things in there too, but honestly. She's doing it for the cheese. Horrible, horrible woman.
Also. For the second time. Anne blinks a little at password exchangings. Takes some getting used to, that.
When the password exchange happens, there's a very subtle shift in Elisabeth's demeanor, and a different kind of shift in the atmosphere. Teo'd recognize it as Conrad's silence bubble — everything outside our immediate vicinity mutes to silence, or so it seems. Everything said at their table stays within the confines of the small bubble. "Really?" she says mildly. "Welcome to the club," she tells Anne with a curious look. "Good to see you, too." And then she smiles faintly. "My amazing voice, huh? I think he's talking about the ability to crumble walls and shatter glass and hypnotize people, not my singing. Although that, too, is passable." More than passable, though Teo can only know that if he stood outside her classroom when she had the chance to teach music.
When Conrad's silence bubble — apparently no longer exclusively Conrad's — emerges around them, Teo lets the hands that had propped his head up fall back to the table, an eyebrow hitching with mingled admiration and surprise. That fucking rocks. "Demoiselle Saugnier mentioned your singing," he is all he offers for her ability to carry a tune, though nothing in his manner indicates he sees fit to question the former French professor's judgment. She had been a woman of various talents. "Conrad's a good teacher, eh? I've been thinking about asking him to help somebody else out.
"A girl. She isn't a sound manipulator, but I think he could figure it out. She's having trouble with control." He lapses into a brief silence, gauging Elisabeth's fatigue inobtrusively, before he swivels back at Anne with a half a grin, jugging a thumb at the invisible demarcation of the silence bubble's circumference. "Safe to talk now. Do you mind me asking: how do you know each other?"
The acoustics just went haywire, and in the same moment they do Anne's face gets a fresh wrinkle in her forehead. That's.. wrong. A few moments later, the pair by the table start sprouting out things that sound best left a secret, and really. The frown seems to be there to stay for a while. Then she relaxes again, when Teo gets to the next part. "Isn't it a little bit suspiscious that nobody will be able to hear anything from this table then? I mean, like we can't hear what's outside of this thing? The I don't know the technicalities exactly, but it should mess up the way sound resonates through the room…?" Shes
The acoustics just went haywire, and in the same moment they do Anne's face gets a fresh wrinkle in her forehead. That's.. wrong. A few moments later, the pair by the table start sprouting out things that sound best left a secret, and really. The frown seems to be there to stay for a while. Then she relaxes again, when Teo gets to the next part. "Isn't it a little bit suspicious that nobody will be able to hear anything from this table then? I mean, like we can't hear what's outside of this thing? The I don't know the technicalities exactly, but it should mess up the way sound resonates through the room…?" She's a music geek. It kind of comes with the territory.
The rest of this conversation is very interesting, though Shattering glass. Hypnotizing people! … people she doesn't know. "Who's Conrad?" The rest seems to be things she can catch up on by paying attention, but. Appereantly both knew this otehr person.
Elisabeth laughs softly. "Actually, unless you stand up and start shouting, no one really notices that they can't hear you," she says easily. her fatigue doesn't seem to be related to the bubble or her power… at least not per se. She nods to Teo's information about Demoiselle Saugnier… the woman had been somewhat in awe of Elisabeth's range of sound, though Liz herself has always merely thought of her voice as an entertainment and not paid much attention to the notes she can hit. Sipping from her coffee cup, she explains to Anne, "The bubble, the way Conrad taught it to me anyway, is basically a reflection of our own sound. It doesn't seem to really modify the acoustics of the surroundings too much. Sound sort of flows around us the same way air flows over a wing, ignoring us. Now… if it were larger than the table, they might start to notice, but…" She shrugs. "Being as I'm all registered and such these days, I guess if I want a bit of privacy, they can get off my fucking back, hmm?" Her tone is casual, but that's probably the first time Teo's ever heard her sound quite as brittle as the words imply she's feeling. "Conrad's another sound manipulator that you'll meet eventually. Ex-con, but good people generally." And to Teo's question, she replies, "Anne and I met a couple of days ago just hanging at the Nite Owl, that's all. She met Cat too."
This mandatory registration thing puts people in moods. Teo's made a sociological study, which mostly consists of trying not to get his head snapped off by women chagrined by the pressures of society and practical strategies for living within it. He's guessing Elisabeth did it to join SCOUT; that Abby's doing it to be the best EMT she can be. He'd seen what became of Al, formerly a cop and known telekinetic; what Claire became after HomeSec forcibly Registered her for her own utterly harmless healing ability.
Things could be worse. Ninety percent of the human population could be dead, its remainder ruled by Kazimir Volken. Shit happens. Some shit is worse than other shit.
Ergo, he thinks better than to fuss a lot of words about it, offers his sentiment on commensurately simple terms, a frown on: "Sorry about the trouble, signora. Congratulations on the new trick, though." There's a slight nod of his head at the blonde woman as he looks at Anne with a duckling's wide, expectant eyes. Speaking of superpowers. "What do you do?" He begins to shred his pesto toast.
"Oh, me? I play the flute." Anne says with the most innocent expression ever. Then she turns and nods a little to what Elisabeth said about meeting her and Cat the other day. "Yeah.. I figured at least she was involved with something like this.. and probably you too." There had been many eyes and mentions of meeting on a 'ferry' and such things. Combined with the other details it made for a pretty clear indication. Nothing akin to proof, mind you. But still. Something.
Then she breaks her serious face and smiles over to Teo. "Teleporter." She answers him, simply enough. It didn't break all that many things, but it would explain how she got to the breakfast place so quickly!
In truth, Elisabeth's opinion on forcible Registration is low enough, but it rarely puts her in this kind of mood. "Not your fault, Teo," she says quietly. "Not sure if you had him in your class, but … Jimmy Fairfield was hauled in this morning." She grimaces a bit. "It was a long night." She missed whatever reference to a 'ferry' that Cat may have made, and she's surprised and visibly alarmed to learn that Anne connected her to Phoenix so quickly. That's a Bad Thing <tm> for a cop. "I see," is all she says to it all, though.
Pesto toast turns out to taste pretty fair, from the expression on Teo's face. Insofar that he isn't pulling a grotesque one the chug of his molars. He stops chewing when he hears Jimmy's name. "Well, shit. Didn't, but I heard the others talk about him," he says. Leaves it at that. It does nothing for his appetite, remembering that some of the other teachers had been assholes, not even — especially because some of those assholes are dead.
He'd rather grin at the flutist when he hears she's one, squint when when she turns out to be a teleporter, too. He is slower to alarm than the cop is— which makes sense on a number of levels, up to and including the one where, you know. He isn't a cop. He does know the Ferry, though: once worked with the Ferrymen more than he had PARIAH, and it doesn't surprise him that the teleporter had crossed paths with them.
The Ferrymen have a lot to do with Evolved and the paths they take. "How do you know about the Ferry?" he inquires.
Elisabeth blinks and looks even more surprised. "I didn't even know what the Ferry was until you basically just explained it. I knew what the Ferrymen did, though. Glad they got your family out of here." She jus shrugs at the being alarmed. "I'll have to mention to Cat to keep it on the downlow. If I get pegged, they'll toss my ass into Gitmo or something." It's an exaggeration, but given the problems she's having with her boss right now, she's not so sure how big an exaggeration. She slants a glance at Teo and says quietly, "His dad found out what he could do and was in the process of beating the shit out of him when the cops busted in. Jimmy got his hands on some asshole rookie's gun and held his dad and the cop hostage. My old captain knew I'd popped back on the radar, so he called me in to help out… turned out to be good, cuz I knew Jimmy, and I think that helped him. Poor kid." She shakes her head. "He'll get in trouble for the hostage thing, but the public defender he got landed with is damn good — he'll get off with probation or something for the mitigating circumstances." She sighs. "All because the kid can freakin' change the colors of things. He'd be a hell of an interior decorator or a painter if he wanted to be. Damn shame his dad's a complete asshole."
And then she remembers who she's talking to here and sighs again. "I'm sorry. I don't usually bring work with me anywhere I go. I haven't slept and I'm all kinds of feeling drama queen today. I'm gonna get out of you guys' hair." She smiles a little. "Anne, if you want to play a little with music, lemme know. Since you know what I can do now, maybe I'll join you and Cat or something sometime."
There's a sharp jab of an incipient headache in the side of Teo's head, then. Scowling slightly at no one, he sits back in his chair, wipes crumbs onto a napkin before setting his knuckles against his head and blinks hard, once. "Cat's been having a hard time," he says, with a vague approximation of sympathy for everybody involved: from the lawyer with the sledgehammer tact to the musician fielding the drama, and the cop whose cover was rattled. He's responsible for that, he knows: for Cat having a hard time.
Casualties. At least Jimmy got out of his before somebody died; at least Jimmy has one Officer Harrison. He nods at her, acknowledgment: he heard her. He understands. Poor kid. Poor fucking kid. "Glad he's going to be okay." There's a quaver-beat's length, a look at Anne.
"And your family. Thank you for coming to us," he says, because he can't imagine it was easy to leave them, not the way she'd said that. Even if she hadn't done it for Phoenix. His eyes click back to Liz and he hunkers low on the table, ignobly beseeching the way a well-mannered dog is. "I'm going to head out for bed in just a little bit, too. You could stay until the dayhawk's tired of both of us."
 December 28th: Darkest Before the Dawn |
 December 28th: If These Walls Could... |