Participants:
| Scene Title | IOU |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Adam rings up Elle to harass her while Montag lounges productively in her office. They are able to trace the call to Chinatown, but conditions there are unfavorable for an attempted take down. Such is life! |
| Date | November 10, 2008 |
Afternoon is the time of day where, for normal people, everything starts to wind down and ease into a state of relative calm. There's something final about the afternoon. And on Canal Street, a public pay phone is being put to good use by none other than Adam Monroe. Don't ask how he got the number scrawled neatly onto the post-it note he holds in his left hand - he's not telling. He cradles the receiver up against the curve of his shoulder after wiping the mouthpiece off on the front tails of his shirt, and then waits as the dial tone starts buzzing into his ear. He stands at his ease; to any passers-by, this looks like a totally normal phone call. Except for the fact that the call is being put through to a certain Fairytale Princess.
Bzzz. Bzzz. Elle jerks the phone up on the third ring, giving the number a frown before she flips it open and presses it against her cheek. From the sound of crinkling, it is apparent there is food involved nearby. Only dull background noise, though. Obviously, she is not caught out in the Great Traffic Mess is New York. "Yeah?"
It's equally obvious that the person on the other end of the line is, thanks to some particularly loud drivers who happen to whip by right after Elle answers. A smile curls its way up on Adam's face: "Hello, Princess. You never thanked me for that mocha. Did Bob never teach you anything resembling manners?"
There? Is only silence from the other end. Adam might have good cause to think he's been hung up on, except the office-level murmurs continue. The crinkling has stopped. "Adam."
Montag is not eating, but he does have a large styrofoam cup that likely came from wherever Elle's crinkling came from. Seated on the opposite side of her desk, he's got both legs thrown over the side of the chair he's in, suit today grey over blue, a file folder, and a large notepad. Listening only peripherally to the start of her conversation, he pauses at the mention of that particular name, and reaches for his pen. "SPEAKERPHONE??" is scrawled loosely across the pad and then turned out to her, along with a light lift of his brows.
Immediately, Elle obliges. Without a little tap of her finger - /voila/. Adam's voice is magnified to levels of lawl. Her crossed legs tap against each other, and the phone is set calmly down.
Crinkling or not, Adam is patient. With a lifespan like his, he'd have to be to keep from going completely out of his mind. Therefore he is perfectly content to wait on Elle's response. When it's just his name, he clears his throat and then chuckles. "I suppose not. But let me make this clear to you: if you find it funny to throw lightning at me you should remember that I'm no longer a guest at your charming facility. Knowing the Company I'd wager you've been assigned to look for me. They always liked to have the most eager hounds on the chase. The quicker you find me, the quicker you get a bullet between your pretty eyes." A pause. "You still haven't thanked me for that mocha. Planning on sending a card?"
“THANKS," follows SPEAKERPHONE, and Montag flips quietly over to a fresh page, not bothering to adjust his posture. Somewhere his second grade teacher is sobbing into her hands. Expression changing little while he glances to his watch and scratches down the time and date, he looks up again at the threat, first to the phone, and then to Elle. 'He bought you a mocha?' is mouthed silently. Then he waggles his brows. Helpful.
Plunk. Elle's forehead meets her fingertips, and her elbow presses against the table as the other hand reaches to ~grab~ her drink. Slurp. After only a second of this (plus a possible eyeroll), she decides to seize Montag's notepad instead. START CALL TRACE. THX.
There's silence from Adam's end for a moment, but it's probably because Adam is busy trying not to lose the connection. PLEASE INSERT COINS TO CONTINUE YOUR CALL—-
"/Bloody/ hell, I hate these phones." Clattering, jingling, attempts at finding more change, and then hasty ramming of quarters into the coin-slot later brings him back to the point of actually focusing on the conversation. "I know what year I'm in, princess, and I blame your bad attitude on the hip-hop. Look on the bright side! When you die next time, I won't bring you back."
Hey. Brows leveled, face long, Montag squints at the new message and rolls his eyes. Fine. Off the side of the chair go his overlarge feet, and he leans over for the computer to tap out a quick sequence with the spread of one hand. Click. Takatakataka. Taka. Click click. He tries not to let his brows rise through the course of the ongoing conversation, but it's a losing battle.
"Four hundred years and you're /still/ a clueless hack. I bet your mom's crying in her grave." What? Elle's ankle is still swinging against her leg. Her eyes go towards Montag as the screen begins to flicker through activity, but otherwise, she makes no move except to stretch her fingers around her cup again. "Does your fiancee know who you're talking to?" "
Congratulations, Elle: you have just left Adam Monroe speechless. "…My what?" This is not really something that he is wrapping his brain around, and so he just shakes his head with simple disbelief - and ends up juggling the pay phone's receiver after it slips out from its spot cradled against his shoulder. Eventually he gets it back up to a normal position, and then snaps at the person (people? that clicking is mysterious) on the other end. "Listening to you any longer will end up rotting my brain, princess. Hope daddy didn't get mad at you for losing me the one and only time you've had the chance to do your job. Bye now."
Gavin has moved on from the initial window to Google Maps, and he's using both hands now. A silent, 'Fuck,' goes out for the imminent close to this conversation. Sooner than he'd hoped.
Well, damn. Elle drums her fingers against her desktop, staring back at her phone with a suddenly grouchy expression. Her voice, though, is simply tired. "/Adam/. You poor little thing. You just don't get it, do you." It's worth trying.
Ahahaha what. Adam's finger stops right before depressing the lever that will completely cut off the call, one eyebrow raised even though the Fairy Princess can't see it. "Listen, dyejob. I'm interested in getting myself a late lunch, so you just toddle off and dunk your head in some bleach."
CLICK.
"He's in Chinatown." Google maps oblidgingly sweeps down into a street level view of the pay phone and the surrounding shops, Gavin pushes to his feet. "Even if he's long gone by the time we get there, we can check security cameras in the area to see if he has a car or anything like that." Serious business. Gavin says nothing on the subject of bleach jobs, but his eyes do go to the top of her head to look for darker roots when he's up.
With what's a real sigh this time- an exhalation through her nose- Elle's feet slip down towards the floor. The phone is flipped shut and pocketed with more snappishness than is strictly necessary. Montag will find /nothing but natural roots/, either; Elle is a Real Blonde.
Without waiting for her temporary partner, the electrokinetic slips a purse over her shoulder from next to her and heads towards the door of her office. "Hurry up."
"Hurrying," Montag assures at a mutter. Ctrl P PRINT. A pair of papers are snatched out of the printer, which is mercifully quick, and out he goes after her, long legs making up for lost time in Elle's wake. Hopefully she can drive.
As it turns out, Elle /can/ drive. Just…not very non-swervingly, though that might have something to do with the fact that she's trying to make up for as much lost time as possible as she barrels through the traffic lanes of New York. Zoom. Whoa. /Whoaa/. Her thumbs taptap the steering wheel at every forced stop. Hopefully, Adam won't be too far away by the time the little car jolts into a (completely illegal) parking space alongside a curb. That's alright, though. A small fine is preferable to losing the chance that they now have.
Dumped out onto the curb some distant short of Elle's illegal parking job, there is really not much about Gavin that says, "Company Agent," beyond, perhaps, the fact that he is wearing a suit. The slate grey of that isn't even all that dreary, and the blue of the dress shirt underneath is almost cheerful. Or, it might be if he was smiling and not completely pale from the series of near-death experiences he just endured at Elle's hand.
Thoughts of dumplings have been dancing in Adam's head ever since he wandered into Chinatown earlier today, and he's finally made good on his cravings by virtue of stopping in at a cheap Chinese food joint. It's the best kind: greasy in the kitchen and somewhat cluttered on the restaurant floor, but the place at least has enough dignity to qualify as a restaurant and not a hole-in-the-wall takeout operation. It is out the front door to this place that Adam, having finished his meal, steps at just the right moment to watch Elle's car skidding to a stop. "Bloody American drivers."
By some other purpose(she's not the biggest fan of greaseball dumplings) more along the lines of boredom in the face of either doing nothing or following Mister Monroe around, Huruma is literally right behind him; opting for the latter, here. Following the man around is far more entertaining, for a multitude of reasons, including but not limited to watching him have his little Culture Shocks now and again. Black is the name of the game, in terms of clothing, though overtop the tall woman is wearing a dark, blood red coat. It matches the color of her lips, no less.
SLAM goes the driver's door of that car, though it is another moment before the figure can work its way around to the other side - and into view of the restaurant's entrance. Elle is a long wool coat, orchid-colored, and black leggings beneath (she /had/ paused before leaving for at least the coat; the night is rather chilly). The telltale hair is bundled into a smooth loop at the base of her neck. Not conspicuous, exactly, but not really hidden, either. She moves to join Gavin on the curb, gloved hands in pockets - and only then does her gaze pierce outwards to where Adam and Huruma are ~strolling~. A small, grim smile touches her lips.
"Helicopters," says Gavin, who rubs his shoulder where the snap of his seatbelt saved him from crashing through the windshield once or twice. "Or even just…helicopter. One. Not that I'd want to be around you driving one of those either." Brows lowered when Elle smiles, he looks away from her for long enough to follow her attention onto…oh. Well, that's convenient. He straightens.
Adam pauses not two paces onto the sidewalk, lifting his hands to straighten the coal-grey jacket of his suit. His eyes haven't left the area of the badly-driven car (parked illegally!), and it's fortunate for him - because it provides a heads-up that he otherwise would not have had. "Huruma," he starts, turning his head a little to direct his voice behind him, "I think it might be time to head home."
Huruma seems to have something in her mouth, or her tongue is being restless against the inside of her cheeks. Her eyes have since followed his with a glance, peering back down at his shoulders when he speaks. "Mmm." She sounds quiet, those restless motions in her cheekbones slowing while she figuratively puts out her feelers to the immediate area. "If we wan'to stay unbothered, yes."
"Oh, Monty. A copter couldn't have taken us this close, anyway." And the gloves come /off/, shoved into pockets. This is talk made for its own sake, because Elle's eyes do not leave that spot; a glow flares up in the seat of her hand, where tiny spots of liquid blue have started to blob together. Too late for Adam and Huruma - she's already started to pace forward at a lean, easy trot, watching through her periphery to make sure Montag stays reasonably close to her side.
"Mmm. We could tail them to somewhere less…" Crowded? Combustible? Chinese? Whatever the case, Gavin drops his eyes to take note of that conspicuous blue light coalescing in her bare hands and is left to sigh to himself. He keeps pace, anyway, two steps behind and one aside. "I see. So. We're going for a more frontal approach, then." It's a good thing she thought to grab a coat, because there is suddenly a chill about them that has little to do with pre-existing weather conditions.
Silly Monty. If he knew Elle better, he definitely wouldn't have made that last suggestion. It's pointless! "Do we want to stay unbothered, Huruma? I'd rather not get shocked into delirium, but…" But. There's always a 'but'. In this case, it's a 'but I want to rip Elle's eyeballs out of her head'. The immortal reaches down to slip a hand under his jacket, seeking the unfamiliar weight of his shiny new present, courtesy of Huruma. It's not a sword, but Adam can handle a gun with the best of them.
Huruma isn't totally unarmed either, though in her case she refrains from making a move for it. No use just yet. Instead, her hand lifts in silence to the middle of Adam's shoulders. There is only a slight push while she speaks. First rule of thumb on these situations is often to relocate or retreat- but for having a lack of distractions to regroup more than fight or flight.
"If we find an advantage, w'can b'bothered allll we want. We'll see…" They may be the Hunted at this moment, but it wouldn't be the first instance where Huruma had to turn the tide. For now, however, the woman has nudged Adam along, turning herself to saunter away down the sidewalk, with or without him.
"Look, they've already seen us," is Elle's breathed answer. Her fingers clench a little, leaving a clear layer of space between the skin and her hovering, turning globe of blue. As she feels the chilling effect of Montag's ability, she draws her footsteps to a slow; the handheld ball abruptly pulsates much more angrily, as though trying to eat up the air around it. The element of surprise might be lost, but before either side can strike, it's important to take everything in front into account. Her eyes narrow on Huruma's nudging.
When Elle slows and Huruma turns away, Gavin stops entirely. Adam's inward reach is one he's seen before, and his attention swings immediately aside to take a measure of the sheer number of innocent passers by filtering along through Chinatown. "Elle," he says after a beat, "I don't know about yours, but I don't think there was anything in my directive about causing a massive ruckus in the middle of the city."
Surprisingly enough, Adam seems to be willing to go along with Huruma - at least for the time being. He spins to face the direction she's wandering towards and then joins her, walking at her side, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. "You'd think the Company would be a bit more subtle after thirty years of practice, wouldn't you? Bunch of bloody amateurs."
"You've known them longer than I'ave." Huruma gives off a short sniff in the cold November air, keeping those invisible antennae out to keep track of the agents' emotions. "Though from what I've seen, I woul'ave to agree."
Her hand has long been back at her side again, and now her fingers have begun to fidget, the tips of her nails clicking together in what may very well be impatience. Are those two going to do something, or really just let them walk away?
Another breath. This one shorter, an acknowledging snort. "We have them /right in front of us/—" Nevertheless, Elle knows Montag has a point, even if her voice is laced with frustration from that point alone. The hand is dropped - bare of electricity - and she actually turns her shoulder away a little to begin unzipping her purse.
"Yes, and we're right in front of them and about a hundred other people." Montag is mellow, eyes trailing after the pair with no evidence of the frustration in Elle's voice. "He called you. Unless you've some intelligence that he intends to blow up the world tomorrow I don't see any need to rush. Besides. He's got his dog with him."
 November 10th: Fixing It Up |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 10th: The Doctor is Out |