Participants:
| Scene Title | His Demise |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Will be swift, and quiet, Raith promises Abigail after she comes to him with money and a hit levied on the head of Robert Caliabn/James Muldoon. |
| Date | May 15, 2011 |
A warehouse
In theater operations, the standard procedure for dealing with explosives, particularly mines, is to blow them up with more explosives. Assuming there's no structure that needs to stay intact. The warehouse along the railway that stands to soon become a new stopping point for the Ferrymen? It needs to stay intact. That means Jensen Raith has a much more difficult job when it comes to dealing with the explosives in the basement.
Each wire needs to be secured and traced back to its source without tension being applied to it. Then, the wire needs to be affixed in place while the housing of the trip mine is disassembled enough to get at its guts. The firing pin need to be disabled, or the detonator removed. Only then can the thing be safely removed and set aside for later use. Unable to really get behind them to work, the utmost caution is required. That means the going is slow; up to an hour to disarm just one of them. And he has how many left? This might be a several day long job, as he sits in the stairwell, staring down the next in the bunch, trying to figure out how best to attack it.
Rue was right: Being a soldier? Totally not cool.
Abby can be quiet, but even to Raith, she most likely cannot be quiet enough. Soft breathing, rustles of clothes, crinkle of paper bag. Indications that he's not alone. Who it is, she's sure he has his ways of finding out especially since she comes from the side as opposed to out of sight behind him.
A white paper bag dropped with a think, filled with some food for the head of special activities to consume if he's hungry. If he dares. Knowing Abby, there might be suspicion that it would be poisoned. Or rotten.
"How many more to get to the bottom of the stairs?" Southern sibilance, familiar to him, sinking her hands into her pockets and keeping a respectful distance after dropping off the vittles.
The rustle of clothes and paper was not enough to prompt the ex-spy to whirl around with a gun aimed up the stairs: Playing it cool and then lying his way out if necessary would've been smarter. But the thunk, and then Abby's voice? Yeah, no need to go guns blazing. Wearing a t-shirt instead of his more characteristic coat is as much an indication that the temperature is warming up as it is that, concerning this particular mess, the ice water in Raith's veins isn't quite so chilly. "A few," is his answer regarding the number left.
For the moment, he gives up on disarming bombs, turning his attention to Abby proper. "I pull an all-nighter, and we can probably move in here tomorrow, but since I prefer not exploding, we're looking at two more days, at least. Longer, maybe." A half-dismissive wave of his hand: Don't worry about how long it'll take. "I have the sense you didn't come here for my charming personality. What's up?"
"I think Sable has to still bring it before the council, and the other potential places. If they don't take it up, I'm sure the rest of the surviving Vanguard can take it up. Or maybe I will. Get off the Island" Set up shop. Who knows. "You look like you pulled an all nighter. Perhaps it's time to take a break, then go back with fresh eyes. It's not like this place is going to be filling up anytime soon" Not the tomorrow that he's been musing about in thought.
Abigail nudges the bag forward with her toe, sinking hands into her pockets since once more, she's devoid of baby in a carrier or stroller. "Brought something to eat, I was told that you were out here probably. Had a question or two that you could probably provide an answer for. I don't generally come to you for your endearing personality. We tend to be smushed together most instances"
Estonia, Ferry meets, meets with others that he tends to be present for. Speaking of presents, along with the pickled herring, long since cold boiled potato and eggs, there' a ziploc bag. Encased in that, a block of money wrapped in an elastic.
It's with a suspicious glance towards Abigail that Raith takes the bag to examine its contents. No spring snakes fly out. And hey, unlike some of the Remnant, he kind of likes pickled herring, or has at least convinced himself that he does. But that baggie full of cash catches his attention in a real hurry. He extracts it, removes the bills, thumbs through them quickly to get a general sense of how much is there, and then diverts his attention from them back to Abby.
"There's money in here," he says, as if she were unaware of this fact, "Why are there thousands of dollars in here?"
"Because last I knew, five thousand was your going rate for a job. If it's more than that, let me know and I'll see if what money I have, can bear taking a beating" Normally, yes, Abby's a quiet angry thing, with much dislike for Raith. Standing apart from him, eyes on the bag and then the man, she's just quiet. Serious. No snide remarks this time about him and his taking a job to kill her. Well, not intentional at least.
She shifts, then bends knee's backpack over by the door, running her hands along her knee's, wiping off her hands on the denim she's wearing, the long sleeve white shirt and light fleece vest.
"His name is Robert Caliban. I can provide you with a last known address, place of employment, his former residence before he latest one or other places that he might be found."
Too easy. And too… surreal. Even if Raith hadn't developed certain instincts regarding this sort of thing, only an idiot would accept it outright, unless they didn't personally know Abigail Cali…. "Waaait a minute." Even fi it wasn't too easy to be true, this is Abby. Last time Raith checked, she wasn't too keen on the whole killing for money thing. "Why, oh why, dearest Abigail," he begins in his most condescending voice, or at least what sounds like his most condescending voice, "Does that name ring familiar to me?"
"You know why, and I'm not your dearest. I'm only kasha's dearest. To Caliban, I'm just a doe eye'd little girl from Butte la Rose." there's more to it though, always one to wear emotions on her sleeves, plain for all to see. "I want him dead, and I want you to ask him why" No context given for the poor Remenant who's just been handed a request.
There was, not too long ago, an instance when Raith found himself where the same incredulous look he is now. Where his mind was racing to find some conclusion to what he saw in front of him. And where he found himself able to ask only a single question. First, of the supposed Magnes J. Varlane. And now, of Abigail M. Caliban.
"Have you lost your damn mind?"
'Well, I am in desperate need of sedatives to sleep and not worry about burning up my daughter and anti-depressants, both of which I don't have. If those two mean I am crazy, then I am, if not. Then no" She tilts her head, canting it a fraction so she can purse her lips.
"Robert Caliban's real name is James Muldoon. How or why, he came to be Robert Caliban, I suspect that somewhere, the real one is worm food. But he usurped Mr. Caliban's life and…" And wormed his way into Abby's heart and body. She has to breath in deep, in lieu of saying the last aloud.
And by now, those within the Ferry who know her, know of the name of James Muldoon and his association with Abigail Beauchamp. "And no. I didn't know"
Let's state a simple fact here: It is not characteristic of Raith to tell people he thinks they will be doing something that's not a good idea unless it might somehow affect him negatively. He doesn't snap, or bury his face in the palm of his hand, or anything to indicate exasperation. With eyes closed, the ex-spy simply pinches the bridge of his nose in between two fingers, thinking. Some addition here is coming up 1 short. "So, okay. James Muldoon becomes Robert Caliban. You bump into him one day, some amount of time passes, and then he marries you, and now this?" he asks. That's what's coming up 1 short. "If he's such an asshole, how did you even get to where you are right now, with the marrying and all that?"
"Calvin Sheridan or Calvin (insert that other last name here) and Deanna Cash. Told to me by the first, confirmed by the second when I confronted her. Jensen Raith, if you don't want to do it, and earn five grand, then I can take this money and I can… I don't know, offer it to Gabriel" Gabriel would at least get a pretty nifty ability out of the pot to boot.
A press of her palms to help her rise, Abby's turning away from the terrorist and former CIA agent. "You didn't seem to have any qualms against taking jobs before. That he happens to have shared his last name with me shouldn't make that much of a difference. I want him dead Jensen Raith. As a doornail" Hands on her hips, she's heading for her deposited backpack, kneeling back down by it, digging around in it's depths.
Abby does raise a good point about names. It's been said before that as long as there are at least two people left on earth, someone will want someone else dead. Maybe names wouldn't figure in to that either. For a few moments, Raith is quiet again, tapping the wad of bills against the palm of his free hand as he does. "Five thousand," he says finally, "And you owe me a small favor for insurance."
"What's the small favor?" She's found what she was looking for. The little box of bullets and the gun that it accompanies. carrying both carefully, the reverence she shows for her shotgun - should she still have owned it - she's bringing it over to Raith, holding them out. "I borrowed them from Eileen. You can give it back to her, I didn't use em"
"I like to think I know you well enough to have a sense of what does and doesn't sit well with you," Raith answers, "The small favor is, like I said, just insurance. A guarantee that, when you get around to regretting this decision, you won't so much as shed a tear. You give me that, and the cash…" A pause, not only for effect, but also to give Abby a chance to get everything lined up for the next bit, "And I'll go find him right now, before you have a chance to change your mind."
"I can't do it myself. I made a promise that I wouldn't seek him out, on the love of the little girl that I made mine, that I'm going to raise. If I couldn't, I'd do it. Just ask him why Raith. I won't cry. Not for the man who nearly killed me and laid in bed beside me and made a fool of me in front of John Logan and everyone else who will eventually find out"
She presses the gun toward him again. "And I won't regret it"
Another moment of consideration, and then Raith accepts the gun offered to him. "Quick and quiet," he says, "No one has to find out."
"Leave a note with his body. That his real name is James Muldoon, not Robert Caliban. That he's evolved, It was ability or biological detection. I never quite figured it out. But it's something like that." The gun is relinquished, sinking her palms into the jeans of her back pockets, dipping her head to Raith.
"Thank you. For this." For killing him. "Please don't disappoint me. This will probably be the only thing that I'll ever ask of you and I know that… I know that we don't get along but…" But one has pride, and she's offering hers up on a plate to him.
"Like I said, quick and quiet." And for the moment, that's all Raith has to say about it. Even given that, however, Abby may find great comfort in the simple fact that, whatever happens to James Muldoon, when someone finds out about it, it probably won't look like it was her hand that brought about his demise.