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| Scene Title | Ineffective Camouflage |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Magnes and Quinn are sent back to 2007 to ensure that Jensen Raith joins the Vanguard. One of them follows directions. The other does not. |
| Date | March 10, 2007 |
Although Cairo is the largest city in Africa and one of the most densely populated in the world, a sprawling urban metropolis, there are old neighborhoods that have not changed for more than half a century where the streets are still narrow and paved with cobblestones, flanked by Islamic architecture. It is in one of these localities that an open-air market has attracted a thick throng of natives and foreigners alike.
Bronze plates and glittering gold jewelry shimmer opulently under the light cast by glass lanterns of every size, shape and colour imaginable. Felt hats and silk scarves hang from wooden poles alongside gauzy cotton dresses and leather sandals. Fishmongers with buckets of fresh mussels, shrimp and octopus on ice haggle aggressively to compete with other vendors whose stalls are adorned with headless ducks and geese dangling by their feet and live pigeons in flimsy wooden cages while carpet salesmen attempt to lure market-goers into their shops with promises of steaming black tea sweetened with cane sugar and mint, and a sour, chilled drink made from tamarind for their children.
Candles burn brightly. The desert air has begun to cool after dark but is thick with a thousand scents. Sandalwood and rose oil, sizzling meat on scorched skewers cooked over an open flame, the shit of camels brought into the city from the Sudan in large caravans.
Cairo, Egypt
March 10, 2007
There are worse places that Hiro could have abandoned Magnes and Quinn. If they can locate an inn, they might even be able to put the money they were given toward a room tonight.
Magnes dressed for time travel and desert heat, first impressions with a Kazimir in the past. He's wearing a long sleeveless leather coat, so essentially a trenchvest, leaving his arms open so he isn't completely hot in such a thing, which isn't helping very much. He wrapped his hands up in generic white bandages that stop about five inches below his elbow, and wears a white t-shirt that says 'Do The Time Warp' in blue letters, visible under the open coat. On his legs are baggy brown cargo pants, and a pair of laced up army boots. "I'm delivering pizza in another part of the world right now." he says with his black backpack slung over his shoulder.
Egypt wasn't exactly what Quinn had been expecting, even with the little bit of research she had done the night before with Ygraine's help. Having been summarily abandoned by Hiro in the past had left Quinn feeling uneasy, hands slid into pockets of the bright blue skirt she wears - somewhat inappropriate for a mission, but good enough for blending in. Desert boots specifically picked out for this trip adorned her feet, the musician exhaling sharply as she looks over at Magnes.
"You realise you have t' be in charge here, right?" Quinn inquires as she hefts her bag back over her shoulder - filed with a few things, mostly a change of clothes, a taser left over, ironically, from the time she had journeyed out to Staten Island with Raith and Abby, the money, and a few other assorted odds and ends. "No one's going t' take me seriously, I'm a pale Irish woman." This notion doesn't help her feeling of unease. She does chuckle though, shaking her head. "And somewhere in the world, I'm? I dunno, probably in bed with someone. Lord only knows." Quinn rolls her shoulders in a shrug, and sighs.
"I know I'm in charge, I have to protect you. We're on an important mission and you're not experienced with this kind of thing. I had to sew my sword to the inside of my coat so we don't cause some sort of international incident." Magnes looks around while they stand around the market, eyeing the people who happen to have food, likely having various thoughts cross his mind. "You know, in our time, Egypt killed all the pigs. We're in an Egypt where pigs still exist. But anyway, let's go."
He walks through the market, apparently looking for something. He has no idea if they're just supposed to run into Raith, but there's no point in dwelling on a statistically unlikely situation. "Even though there's pigs alive, you probably won't find many being sold here."
"Technically, Magnes," Quinn remarks with a wry grin as she walks up beside him, "I think I'm the one here t' protect you. That's not what I was getting at anyway. I meant there's a lot a' sexism out here, still, an' they wouldn't take me seriously regardless a' anythin'?" Quinn trails off, not bothering to acknowledge the comment about pigs, she has something more on her mind at the moment. "I don't either, but I have a-" app on her iPhone. Which she didn't bring because 3G doesn't exist yet and it would probably be kind of useless. Besides, who would she call? "I'm sure someone'll speak English. People speak English everywhere now, so? there has t' be someone."
Magnes and Quinn pass a vendor with wicket baskets of overripe fruit — ruby red pomegranates, sweet melons and fat little figs the size of a child's fist — and a cart on wheels selling rosewater-flavoured candies coated in what looks like powdered sugar, stuffed dates and baklava cut into a variety of shapes and sold by the dozen. Newspapers, too, short stacks of them wrapped in twine, though this late in the evening there are only a handful of copies left this late in the evening.
Clearly visible on the front page is the date — March 10, 2007 — in English, should either of them care to look. Quinn's assumption is correct; Magnes does not need to speak Arabic to get by here.
"Sure, fine, you can peg him or whatever it is you wanna' do as soon as we find his dipshit ass and haul him back."
That certainly isn't Arabic being spoken in earshot, either.
Not far from where Magnes and Quinn are prowling the markets of Cairo on foot, there's a trifecta gathered beneath the awning of a restaurant, silhouette by light spilling out through the front windows where diners eat in a dimly lit romantic atmosphere. They are all, in a way, familiar faces at one point in time in 2010, some more so than others, admittedly.
Avi Epstein was a mainstay during Operation Apollo, distinctive in the way candlelight and the ambient light of signage on buildings reflects in the mirrored lenses of his aviator sunglasses. Khaki shorts, open toed sandals and a button-down white shirt make him look like a completely clueless American tourist, cell phone clipped to his belt. "But I'm gonna kick him once, square in the fuckin' balls for doing something as bug-fuck stupid as this shit…"
Sweeping one hand through his graying hair, Epstrin looks towards another familiar face from Apollo, a woman who holds a sigificant lot more power in 2010 than she does just a scant three years earlier. Dressed in loose and breezy white cotton pants and a matching blouse, it's the burgundy red scarf that is wrapped around Sarisa Kershner's neck and over the top of her head that adds a splash of color to the brunette's otherwise bland attire. Ink black hair falls in a ragged fringe of bangs over her brows, cold blue eyes angled up towards Epstein, lips contorted into a frown.
"If you ask me, I thin' it's a much better idea for us t'just sit aroun' here with our thumbs up our asses, waitin' for him t'show up. Yeah, that's fuckin' lovely. Didn't you say Khalid was gon' give us somethin' in the way of intel? He hasn't given us shit." That Sarisa Kershner also has a far more pronounced Australian accent that she is trying to shed is perhaps comical, bleaching her hair and straining to speak with a more American accent in her ascension up the rungs of power.
The third of this trifecta of CIA agents, however, really hasn't changed all that much in three years.
No, pretty much Adrianne Lancaster doesn't grow, possibly arriving on this early some fortyish years ago in exactly the same shape, size and attitude as she is now, and differences to payroll don't count towards much except that her plainclothes don't also have a kevlar vest involved. Sunglasses rest high up the bridge of her nose, a brownish tint to the glass and tortoiseshell arms, a frame only spanning along the top and glinting faux-gold in the light. Her mouth is set in a severe line, inevitably hawkish glare dampened by her shades, but the lines graven into her face communicate a stare that doesn't have to be seen to be felt. Sometimes.
"I say we just find the nearest prostitute and peg her spread eagled somewhere with decent visibility," Lancaster says, her hands laced behind her head. A loose denim jacket is worn despite the heat, possibly a left over from the 80s is how faded out it is, the tawny capris on her legs and a white mannish blouse beneath the faded blue, her feet clad in boots. "That's how they capture lions, even gay lions."
"I'm in charge anyway, you don't have experience with things like this at all. Time travel and weirdness is my thing, we're in my world right now." Magnes walks through the crowd, still wondering if he'll ever spot a piece of pork. They grow closer to the others' position, but still Avi hasn't been spotted yet. He'd definitely recognize that mysterious man. "We'll be fine."
"Magnes," Quinn starts, looking over at him with a bit of a glare. "Neither of us is 'in charge' like that. We're workin' t'gether on this. Okay? I don't care if you have more experience." Mostly because she thinks if she elts Magnes get it in his head that he's in charge, he'll start acting like it, and that worries her a little. She has yet to spot Avi or Lancaster either, letting out a long sigh as they walk. "I know we will." She glances over at a paper, frowning. "Man, March 07. I don't even remember." And then she pauses, looking back at Magnes. "Oh. I have it on good word that we need t' be care if we buy anything. People are going t' rip us off pretty readily."
"That's cute," Sarisa offers with a sneer to Lancaster, "real classy type you are, y'mom must be real proud've you." Blue eyes narrow and dark brows lower as Sarisa considers the Queen of Wands, then flicks a look over to Avi. "Look, why don' we just start back at square fuckin' one. We both know Jensen ain't dumb, if he thinks we're squattin' in this city lookin' for him he's bound t'dig his heels in an' not be found…" blue eyes angle askance to look at Lancaster, then back to Avi's mirrored stare.
"I dunno, I kind've liked this whole hooker idea…" There's no real humor behind it, just a dry and deadpan tone as he lifts one hand to the back of his neck. "Look, I don't… he doesn't want to be fucking found, I get that. He's gone off the fucking reservation, so far off the fucking reservation even the goddamned buffalo can't see him."
Avi's eyes close behind the lenses of his sunglasses and he pushes them up, fingers working at his eyes. "His sister's a fucking wreck," is said with a hushed tone of voice, "she needs— she needs her goddamned brother back." Letting the sunglasses slouch back down his face, Avi shakes his head slowly.
"His dad just fucking died, he had a bad Op down south," looking up over the frames of his sunglasses, Avi's brows knit together. "Maybe if we just give him some fucking space, he'll come back? I just… We push too hard, and we don't net him, we may never find him again."
"Oh don't be a pussy," is Lancaster's contribution, peeling off her own glasses and elaborately flipping them at him in gesture. "I can count on a pig's nipples exactly how many people we go after want to be fucking found. Sure, he's gonna be a damn sight bit harder for virtue of being a spy, but there's only one of him, and two and a half of us. At least. Maybe three when Crocodile Dundee here is having a good day, but we can't bank on that, and I for one recognise our limitations."
She scopes a glance out into the wider market place, steel-blue eyes focuses, briefly, on the pair of white faces nearby, but dismisses them ultimately as she adds, "Now granted, I have no idea what we're gonna say when we find him, but we can at least punch him in the face, and I say we don't get to get home until such a victory is squared."
While continuing to look around for a pig dish, Magnes' eyes widen in sudden surprise. Is that…? Alright, he's seen Doctor Who, he knows how time travel works. Fixed events and… other stuff. He should be able to interact safely. "Follow me, Quinn. And trust me." He starts running through the market, waving a hand, then suddenly stops about ten feet from the other group. "Kershner!" he says with almost casual enthusiasm, but doesn't add anything else. He wants to see how the group reacts, that'll determine how he handles the situation.
It's no coincidence that they've run into people they recognize, just play through it and their mission will fall into place.
"What? Where are you-" And then Magnes calls out to someone, prompting Quinn to look, her eyes wide. She doesn't know who Kershner is, but the man in the aviator sunglasses looks familiar enough, if not entirely placable, to have Quinn gritting her teeth. Wishing she were stronger, she stops dead and throws her hands on to Magnes' shoulders, trying to pull him aside.
"Are you daft?" She tries very hard not to exclaim it out, but doesn't totally succeed. "We're supposed t' be blending in Magnes!" She grits her teeth, more because she's accidentally managed to kick up what she ups is just sand. "I trust you, but haven't you ever seen Back t' the Future?" Because apparently, that's what Quinn thinks of when she hears time travel.
Over the sounds of the market, the noise of one man calling out Sarisa's name isn't quite enough for her to hear, though she does turn an eye towards the area of street that Magnes is on, though pulled aside by Quinn and hidden by the crowd and the anonymity that Sarisa wouldn't recognize either Magnes nor Quinn in a crowd in this year. Tensing up, the brunette furrows her brows and shakes her head, eyes shutting as she leans off of the wall. "Osiris," Sarisa exhales breathily, "we'll go back to the last place that we heard Jensen was and canvas the entire area again."
"The hotel?" One of Avi's dark brows rise as he looks to Sarisa, then lifts both hands to cover his face. "Fuck me, you know how much I hate canvasing anything." Pushing his glasses up his face, Avi rubs at the bridge of his nose and turns to look towards Lancaster. "How about you?" It's asked with the arch of one brow. "I mean, do you think doubling back's right? We don't even know why the hell he's out here."
Avi still seems intent on trying not to scare Raith off. The last thing he needs is for his brother-in-law to disappear off the face of the earth, and that's what he's trained to be able to do.
Lancaster's mouth twists in a grimace of consideration, pushing her glasses up to red on her head, severe blue eyes dancing from Sarisa to Aviators as she plants hands on her waist. "It's been two days since his name came up anyway near Osiris," she notes, lapsing into serious consideration with absolutely no change in demeanor or tone of voice. "If he knows we know that, we're not gonna turn up shit this side of Cairo, but it hasn't been long enough to confirm.
"And we've been careful. I say sure, but let's not waste a lot of time doing it. Dead horse otherwise."
From out of the carpet shop across the street from the restaurant, vibrant silk carpets in hues of rosewood, persimmon orange and palest blue hung behind the old, warped glass, steps a tall woman dressed in faded denim and a black silk blouse worn over a leather jacket, her long hair twisted back into a ponytail that sways behind her as she climbs down the short stoop that elevates the building off the dusty cobbles. She splits open a fig between her hands and, at the bottom of the steps, pushes it past her curled lips into a mouth of pale white teeth.
She doesn't belong here any more than Magnes, Quinn or the Royals do, tanned and dusky though her skin appears in the flickering glow of the lanterns. Her eyes are light and look like they might be blue, but this isn't a detail that's important. The way her gaze seems to gravitate toward Lancaster, Sarisa and Avi might be, however, as she wipes the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, hops down off the front step and brushes past Magnes and Quinn with a muttered, "Excuse me."
"Quinn, that's a movie. You don't understand how time travel really works. I mean, I was raised to be a physicist, take my word for this." Raised to be a physicist, a bit of weirdness Magnes doesn't mention very often. He starts walking again, squeezing through the crowds. He moves out of the way when the figure bumps past them, then continues again, and calls out rather loudly, "Kershner!" as he continues approaching the group, looking back to see if Quinn's following.
"Oh, you know what, fuck you," Quinn says with a roll of her eyes. "I bet you know how it works just as well as I do. An' please, say it out loud again. An' time travel's theoretical physics. Big difference." She thinks, anyway. The fact that she's already getting a little frustrated probably isn't a good sign. "Look, I don't think it's a good idea t' be gettin' people's attention as much as I don't think it's a good idea that we should start flashin' lights an' flyin' around, Magnes!"
Flashing lights and flying around is what Magnes and Quinn may have as well been doing, now that Sarisa caught him in the act of saying her name this time. "Motherfucka'," the brunette hisses as she leans off of the wall and looks up and down the street, turning to square her attention on Magnes.
When a spy has their cover blown, there's only a few options to try and recover. One; you can try and play it off as if you didn't hear the person blowing your entire undercover operation out of the water, but most of the time people are too persistant or ignorant for that. Two; you can try and silence them, in the hope and prayer that no one notices them, but that can sometimes cause a scene, especially when you don't know the whistle blower. The third option tends to be the most subtle, but it relies on the whistle-blower's compliance, which— nine out of ten times— just doesn't pan out.
"Shut," Sarisa growls as she clears the distance to Magnes, reaching out and snatching him by his bare arm with one gloved hand at the bicep, trying to tug him out of sight of the markets and restaurants and closer to the building she was leaning up against, "your idiot mouth. Who— " she looks him up and down, she's— wearing a leather trenchvest. This is a joke. This is Raith's idea of a joke. "Who put you up to this? Where are they?"
Rolling his eyes behind his Aviator glasses, Avi just lolls his head to the side and looks to Lancaster, sliding his tongue over his lips and exhaling a sigh through his nose. "You wanna' go get a falaffel?"
The force with which Lancaster's eyebrows go up shifts her brow enough for glasses to slip back down to rest at the tip of her nose, pushing back up into position with the back of her hand as she watches Sarisa storm on after the source of her name. "You can get those in America, but I could go for a Happy Meal. I bet they have camel burgers," is facetious backtalk as she watches, though she can't help but glance for where the other white person happens to be pushing through the crowd. "Man, what is today? We should make out to divert attention."
The woman with the fig pauses, a look steered back over her shoulder in Magnes' direction when Sarisa seizes him by the arm, and for a moment it looks like she might intervene, the fingers of her free hand flexing once, twice, but then her attention shifts to the open doorway of the carpet shop she just exited and the decision is ultimately made for her.
Because that's when the screaming starts.
It begins as a low moan, then rises in intensity, volume and pitch, escalating into a trembling wail of mourning that comes from somewhere inside the shop. Wordlessly, she pops the second half of the fig into her mouth, wipes off her hands on a nearby silk scarf hanging from a wooden pole, much to the vendor's dismay, and then disappears from view, folding herself into the crowd.
"My name is David Tennant, we're on a special mission from the US Government, a very high up organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. We require your complete compliance—" Magnes quickly turns at the sound, then reaches forward to touch Kershner's chest and cause an intense heaviness in her body so he can jerk away and start running for the shop. "Come on, Catherine!" he yells with a look shot at Quinn.
"G-Goddamnit," Quinn says, a brief look at Kershner. "I'm really sorry," Quinn remarks before she takes off after Magnes. "Don't you go doin' anything stupid!" she shouts after him, a hand up over her mouth. "If this goes all t' pot, I am blaming you!" She pauses, reaching down into her bag, searching for something - her taser, held in hand in the bag as she runs. And Catherine? Really? Couldn't she have at least been a Sarah or a Danielle or a…
Oh wait, there's screaming.
Shit.
The sudden expulsion of weight against Sarisa's chest sends the brunette agent hurtling back towards an open air vendor's stall a few feet behind her. The entire movement is disorienting, sending her crashing up against his wares, sending decorative ceramic vases and jugs falling to the ground and shattering, tourist-trap items designed to be sold to foreigners looking for a taste of authrentic egyptian antiques.
Staggering, Sarisa looks absolutely confused as she turns to look up and over to Magnes as he runs. Before Sarisa can even parse what to say, Avi is running in a full sprint. Not yet the tired old man who has let his physique go to shit, Epstein takes off after Magnes like a grayhound out of the track, sandals slapping against the ground, back straight, chin up and arms whipping as he moves, carrying him at a sprinter's pace.
"What th'— what th' fuck was— " breathing in and out heavily, it takes Sarisa a moment to realize what it is she just experienced, before exhaling back to Lancaster, "Avi watch out he's one've them!" One of them being somewhat subjective in this brave new world.
"Or we could do that," isn't caught by Avi as Lancaster is left standing, her attention fixed on where Sarisa is pulling herself out amongst the fallen stall and tourist trinkets. Their cover is so fucked, basically. Unless. Unless. In the light of the afternoon sun, something else happens just to add to the ambiance of the chaos — without warning, the sail-white awning of squat building with glassless windows flares up in fanning flames that curl wild in the air, breaking off pieces of ashy, flaming debris.
A sweep of Lancaster's glance gives a stall the same treatment, a stand of Cairo postcards sudden bursting into a small tree of fire, keeling over to lick flames up a table selling cheap copper and glass jewelry.
Ignoring the startled cries that follow, Lancaster then takes off after Avi, talons gripping into people in her way to forcibly push them out of her path as she pursues.
Inside the carpet shop, a wooden table and two chairs have been overturned and a clay pot broken, figs scattered across a wooden floor covered in ornate rugs more faded and frayed than the ones on display in the windows and stacked all the way up to the ceiling along the walls. An old man with threads of silver woven through his hair lays face down on the boards with a younger woman sprawled on top of him, her dark hair a tear-soaked veil plastered to her cheeks and high brow, fistfuls of his shirt in her hands.
Her mouth moves around thickly-spoken words in a language that neither Magnes nor Quinn will understand, but one that Lancaster and Avi know well. Brown eyes meet Magnes' when he fills the door frame, pleading. "«Please, do something— call the doctor. He's not breathing.»"
Outside the carpet shop, the flames spread to an adjacent awning to the one already on fire. Someone attempts to douse the blaze with a bucket of water that — until a few moments ago — a mule had been drinking deeply from. Unsurprisingly, it does not work.
One of the things he figured would give him an upperhand? Bringing a piece of technology that no one's seen before. The iPhone's only been around for a few months, who the hell even knows what a Droid is? That's exactly what he pulls out, holding it up for Avi to see. On the screen there's a SHIELD Logo, with 'Strategic, Hazard Intervention, Espionage Logistics Directorate' going around the circular ensignia. "My name is David Tennant, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, this is my partner, Agent Tate. Someone tell me what this woman is saying." He tries to keep calm and sound as official as he was taught in the police academy. Hopefully he can talk his way through this 'one of them' thing.
"You are crazy," Quinn says, even as she makes her way towards the woman and the felled man, eyeing them carefully. She doesn't understand a word they say, but she does understand that something's wrong, so she sets about digging into her bag for her first aid kit that she'd been supplied with, in hopes that something can help. She glares up at Magnes as he presents his phone - she hadn't brought hers for a reason, so seeing him pull out his makes her feel a bit like an idioit. "Let it go!" she shouts again. "Somethin's wrong here!" Obviously.
Like any good attack dog, Avi Epstein isn't even in the thinking business by the time he catches up to Magnes and the younger man is turning his phone around. For all that Magnes has been training physically, his posture and full-handedness didn't prepare him for Avi's full weight bearing down on him like an angry doberman. One hand is on Magnes' arm, another on the center of his chest, the phone-holding hand smacked against a wall and Magnes shoved back to the interior wall of the shop as Avi leans in, Magnes' expression visible in the reflective lenses of his aviator sunglasses.
"Where is Jensen?" Avi is of the same frame of mind that this was all some sort of joke, some last laugh that Jensen is enjoying from a rooftop somewhere while fire spreads from one awning to another. He also either didn't hear or didn't parse when Sarisa explained to him Magnes' genetic affiliation. While this is transpiring within the store, amidst the screaming of the woman clutching at the lifeless body, Sarisa is out on the street, trying to make heads or tails of whatever is going on. Turning to look back at Adrianne, helplessly staring past the blonde before pulling herself together.
As Lancaster gets inside of the store, Sarisa is straightening on the street, looking back to where they were, then turning to spy the direction of the brunette that had come out of the shop last. Curiosity says to follow the tanned stranger, but it isn't their job to care about this, and as Sarisa turns sharply on one heel, she's making a break for the shop as well, flats carrying her up the short steps and in through the door, spotting Avi trying to manhandle Magnes, then Quinn.
Sarisa occupies herself by tugging off her right silk glove where she stands in the doorway.
"Easy tiger." This from Lancaster, and it's pure coincidence that this is exactly the same thing she advised Magnes in February, 2010, when things got a little out of hand with a terrorist at a ball. Of course, right now, it's directed at Avi — a little hypocritical, seeing as by now, a gun is trained on Quinn, stolen out from the cuff of capris pant leg which only cost Lancaster a slight skip in her lope into the shop. Black, silver, and matter of fact, the black eye of the muzzle stares Quinn down while Lancaster's own gaze switches over the injured man with the lady draped over him.
Or dead man. It's difficult to tell. "Do your thing and lets get out of here," is advice tossed back to Sarisa. "«What happened?»" is more Arabic, directed at the teary-eyed woman.
"«I don't know,»" the woman bleats out through her tears, fear making her voice quaver. She was not expecting men — or women — with guns, and even though the weapon isn't being pointed at her, she instinctively tightens her grip on the corpse on the floor.
And it is a corpse. The absence of a pulse is the first thing Quinn will notice when she goes to check, assuming she even gets that far. "«There was a woman. American. She came to speak with us about a man my father knows. I left the room for only a few minutes.»"
"I'm looking for Raith too, that's why we're here. This is S.H.I.E.L.D business." Magnes is grunting against Avi's grip, but he doesn't move to use his ability. "Anyone who doesn't comply will be swiftly dealt with, now let me go before I make you let me go. Agent Tate, get my ID unit he so graciously made me drop. I know why you're all here," Well, he knows two of them are government and Aviators is some sort of MiB. "We're here on business involving a certain V word, and don't have time for screwing around."
He grins over at Kershner, only trying to add to his agent character. "I'm not used to hearing you with such a thick accent."
Quinn is in the middle of reaching to check on a pulse when she finds she realises that the blonde whoever it is that Magnes has pissed off has a gun trained on her. And really, all she wants to do at that moment is cry, because this is exactly what she worried would happen. "Let. It. Go," she repeats, directed over at Magnes. She probably should be playing along, but the gun in her face more or less totally eliminates her ability to act. Not that her high school and college level acting skills would probably get her that far anyway. The Irish accent, in all honesty, probably isn't helping matters either.
She gulps audibly, eyes cast over to where Magnes' phone sits. "I'm not going t' go anywhere while there's a gun pointed at me. I-I'm not stupid." There's a noticeable tinge of fear and worry in her voice even as she tries not to show it. Of course, she hasn't thought to pull her own hand out of her bag, still keeping a grip on her taser. For what purpose, she doesn't know at this point.
"If that girl moves, shoot her," is Avi's clear instructions to Lancaster, though he's probably bluffing — right? Sarisa drapes her glove over one shoulder, then slowly approaches where Quinn is held at gunpoint, blue eyes looking her up and down. Sarisa behaves much like a poorly trained housecat, rubbing its ass over everyone it meets and leaving fur everywhere. One bare hand comes up to cup Quinn's cheek, thumb brushing beneath her eye as a dark brow raises slowly.
Then, Sarisa's brows furrow, her lips part and one dark brow slowly rises. "She's from New York, they're here because of a man named Nakamura, they're looking for Raith. Some sort of point of contact, they're trying to ensure a meeting between him and a man named Kazimir Volken." Sarisa's brow lifts as she looks to Lancaster, then Avi. "They're civilians."
Avi 's mirrored stare shows only what Magnes shows, but his lips are a bit more cocksure in their smile. "A'right kid, who's Nakamura? Who's Volken? You tell me what Jensen's up to and why you're playing PoC for him and we'll probably let you go. Whatever he promised you, it ain't worth spending the rest of your life in the Gitmo."
The boy is getting questioned. The girl is getting history-raped. Lancaster is quite content in her role of holding a gun steady with steel-blue eyes reflecting not a trace of sympathy, even at the news of civilians. Outside, there's a bristling crash as something that sounds wooden and on fire crashes to the marketplace floor, gaining a tilt of the pyrokinetic's head but not much more than that, very focused. She halts her dialogue with the innocent bystander of the room, for now.
There will be sirens, soon. Smoke wafts in through the open door, but is not yet thick enough for moisture to bead in dry eyes or throats to clench up and close. Pieces of ash limned in red-gold and curling at the corners float past.
"Kazimir Volken," the young woman repeats, reaching up with a shaky hand to absently peel a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth, which is still feeling with tears. She hasn't stopped crying, and her voice hasn't stopped hitching. "«The man my father knows. He's a scholar, I think—»"
"You don't know who Kazimir is, or where Raith is? This is becoming a pain, Catherine. God, alright, I guess Kershner didn't always know everything. But they're not gonna kill us, they're all government, so calm down." Magnes looks up at Aviators, then to Kershner. "Answering any of your questions could lead to serious consequences that would impact the entire world. Raith has no idea we're here, it's just our mission to make sure everything turns out the way it's supposed to be, without fail." His gaze shoots to the woman, eyes wide. "What did she say? Ask if she knows Kazimir. If we find Kazimir, it'll raise the chances of finding Raith."
The weighted feeling Quinn feels all around her isn't any sort of gravity manipulation pulled of Magnes' God knows where. It's pure dread, likely palpable to Sarisa as she stands near the Irishwoman. "Can-Can I stand up now?" she asks, glaring over at Magnes. He's still trying to bluff them. This Kershner woman stood there and told him exactly why they're there, and he's still trying to bluff them.
"Will you just shut the fuck up?!" she suddenly blurts out in Magnes' direction. "Jesus feckin' Christ, are you listenin' t' anyone t'day?" The angrier she gets, the thicker her accent gets, it seems. "I- I- just…" Her head lands into her palms and she shakes it, not even knowing what to say next.
"Alright, let's find Kazimir." Avi says with a playful tone of voice, letting Magnes back from the wall but keeping a hand curled around the shoulder of his trenchvest, "Max Max here is going to show us where Kazimir is, because aside from being out of his flipping mind, he also apparently is a tour guide. Regardless, am— I the only one who smells smoke and hears screaming?"
Both of Avi's brows alight behind the lenses of his sunglasses, while Sarisa is sliding her glove off of her shoulder and back onto her hand. "«The woman who came in here, did she tell you where she was going? Did you tell her where this Kazimir was?»" Blue eyes alight to Lancaster, then look back down at the overwrought woman. "«We will find her if you can tell us.»"
If only Sarisa Kershner could remember this, the day she could have come face to face with Kazimir Volken, and not spent the better part of half a year hunting down the Vanguard after he was long gone and she was too late to do anything about it.
Irony.
"Keep your hands where I can see 'em and we're in business," Lancaster affirms of Quinn, gun steady even as she juts a nod in the girl's direction, granting permission to get on her feet. Glancing towards Avi, she sniffs the air, then bats bewildered blinks towards him. "Gosh I guess something must be on fire. Avi, be careful," she adds, "the guy you got is one of them. And it's probably not super persuasion or lyingkinesis, judging from the fact I am engorged with cynicism and apathy. But he threw Dundee across the market place."
She flashes a quick smile to Quinn, then adds to Crying Lady, "«The sooner you tell us, the sooner we'll take all the crazy people out of your place. That includes me.»"
The young woman shakes her head. "«She wanted to know who he was talking to this afternoon by the bird stall with his daughter,»" she says. "«We told her we did not know, or recognize the gentleman's face. Please—»" And she squeezes the corpse's shoulder so tightly that the blood drains from her knuckles, leaving them sharp and white. "«Help my father. He needs a doctor. He has a bad heart —»"
She's interrupted by an involuntary spasm that has her coughing into her sleeve. The smoke has started to thicken, coagulating in the room as smog. Both Avi and Lancaster can feel the heat of the flames washing over their backs, but everyone will hear the sirens in the distance. They have a few minutes yet. The streets in this neighborhood are so narrow that it will be a challenge to navigate a firetruck through the cobblestone labyrinth. "«They're supposed to meet for dinner tonight at Zitouni to discuss business. This is all I know!»"
"You're gonna get us killed Quinn. I know what I'm doing. You're my friend, but I don't know why Hiro sent you with me. You make me have to be too careful." Magnes sighs, then looks over at Sarisa with a raised brow. "If you guys know where to find Kazimir, we should go. And for future reference, Kershner, you shouldn't be flaunting that. Now let's get out of here before we all die from smoke inhalation. The last thing I need to do is get blamed for setting the past on fire and killing us all."
Despite her request, Quinn doesn't rise to ehr feet, at least not immediately. Instead she just sort of stares at Magnes, mouth agape with surprise and an incredulous look on her face. "You- I- what?!" Handwithdrawn from her bag in compliance with Lancaster's request, she practically jumps to her feet in a huff, pointing at Magnes. "You have some nerve!" she exclaims with narrowed eyes, a moment passing before her shoulders slump and she sighs loudly. "God, I wish I had my iPhone. Then maybe I could figure out what she's saying."
A glance is given to each of teh Royals, before looking down to the ground, her shoulders rolling. "I'm pretty sure that's exactly why he sent me. Because he can't handle-" mindingwiping an entire city is what she almost vocalises, before thinking better of it. She looks over to Sarisa, frowning. "Are we gonna get-" What's the word she always hears in movies? Oh right! "Detained or somethin' now?" Because there really isn't time for that.
"Sounds good, kid." Avi notes with a raise of one brow to Lancaster, "go on Sparticus, lead the way to Kazimir. We'll be right behind ya." Stepping aside for Magnes to walk past, Avi's brows furrow and the back of Magnes' head reflects in the mirrored lenses of his aviator sunglasses. Breathing in deeply, he withdraws a gun from the back of his shorts where it was tucked under his shirt, then winds up and cracks the pistol against the back of Magnes' head, the sudden and unexpected force of the blow sending Varlane reflexively crumpling to the ground, unconscious.
With Magnes cold-cocked, Avi turns around and arches one brow, looking back to Quinn as he fishes a handful of zip-ties he had been saving for Raith out of one pocket of his shorts. "Detained," he rolls around the word with a slow, bobbing nod. "Yeah, that's I guess one word for it. We're gonna let the local police scratch their heads about you for a while, keep you nice and safe in the lockup so that when we're done grabbing Jensen," one of Avi's brows lift over the frame of his sunglasses, "you'll be right where we left you."
Startling when Avi knocks Magnes clean out, Sarisa's blue eyes go wide and she takes a hesitant step back, one hand covering her mouth and brows furrowed. There's a short snort of breath exhales from her nostrils, then a look askance to Quinn, then Lancaster, followed by a helpless shrug.
Oh, Avi.
As Magnes drops— for all that he doesn't drop— Lancaster raises an eyebrow, eyeing the unconscious, floating form of the— the S.H.I.E.L.D agent, or whatever. It's not shocking so much as it confirmation of what was clear when he flung Sarisa across the market place with a titty grab, and she returns her attention to Quinn. "Hokay. You'll thank me for getting you out of bondage with Aviators, here. He never gets anything tight enough, and if you complain, he's all, that's what he said."
And somewhere in there, perhaps as punctuation, the butt of her own pistol is similarly used to arc around and clock Quinn over the head with a sufficiently efficient crack of metal to bone. Lancaster at least offers out an arm for the woman to pitch forward upon, softening her crumple and guiding it to fall.
"Come on, let's go."