It's Only Just Begun


audrey_icon.gif graeme2_icon.gif

Scene Title It's Only Just Begun
Synopsis Decidedly less by way of hospitality this time, the next three days will be interesting nonetheless.
Date April 6, 2011

Homeland Security Building

The hospitality that was shown Graeme last time?

Markedly absent.

But then, last time, Graeme was just a brave American who had helped to save a woman from being killed. Events over the last few weeks, sketchy actions, his noted absence from his home for four days during operations that went off and his connections to the people that have subsequently disappeared have left him number one on their list of people to look at re: terrorist activities.

Which is why when he finally came home, he wasn't in his door ten minutes and there was the polite knocking, the presences of Audrey all pinch faced and very unhappy looking, informing Graeme that he was 'invited' to the DHS offices for a talk.

No, really, it was that polite.

The dog in his possession shuttled off to a kennel of Graeme's choice since it couldn't be left alone and bringing it with him was not an option.

So this is how Graeme finds himself, sitting in a room similar to what he was in, but with far less comfort and when he's not in there, in a holding cell. The door swings open, admitting Audrey in her black suit and heels, pencil skirt and white blouse, blue eyes attempting to bore a hole into him as she enters with a permanent frown on her face.

"Mr. Cormac. Graeme, may I call you Graeme?" The door closes behind her.

For the most part, Graeme has been remarkably patient with this, although there's been several times of expressed doubt as to things. The holding cell didn't seem to bother him, and neither does the lack of hospitality. When Audrey walks in, there's a brief moment that he meets her gaze, level, calm, and perhaps overall bored with things so far, before he returns to attempting to adjust the sling that his arm is in.

And Graeme finishes adjusting the sling before actually giving her an answer. "Of course," he says. "You could also call me 'hey you' if you chose to, since there's no one else here you could be speaking to, but I suppose that calling me Graeme might be better, and perhaps markedly easier." There's a flash of a grin. Boredom is driving the man to be a little bit more cheeky than he otherwise might, and then his gaze goes back down to his lap, definitively sullen. If nothing else, he wants his dog there.

Unless the dog is a service dog, it's not coming here. "Please state your name, address and occupation please Mr. Cormac" Audrey lets a notepad and pen thump to the table before retreating to a wall, leans against it with arms crossed and watch the other man. Cheekiness, does not seem to get her goat.

Graeme's gaze darts to her again. "Graeme Aiden Cormac, born Graeme Aiden Fionn," he says. "502 Dorchester Towers." The address given not where he's actually been for the past two days, but it is in fact his address. "I'm a substitute teacher. However I've been on leave since the gala, due to my shoulder." The answers given, Graeme adjusts the strap of the sling once more, lips pursed as he waits for the next question.

"Where were you Graeme, on the evening of April second?" No move, just pinched lips and an squally bored look leveled back at him.

"With my boyfriend, if you must know," Graeme responds. At the moment, his gaze doesn't waver, doesn't blink, anything. And his tone of voice suggests that he treats the question as far more personal than he likes.

"And who is your boyfriend? We'll need to confirm that this is where you were. Name, address, you can write it down." In the arena of terrorism, there are no personal questions. If Audrey's look means anything.

There's a slight unhappy twitch at the corner of Graeme's lip. "Aric Gibbs. He owns and operates The Blue Moon? I'm sure he'll be happy to confirm everything for you." There's another pause. "I've spent the past several days there and with him except for when I went out to walk Odin." It's a simple answer, given in a fashion that would seem that Graeme wholly expects it to be a simple answer.

Whether the name or the name rings any bells or not, the agent doesn't give it away. Just pushes away from the wall and starts pick her way around the room, letting each foot fall and make a fairly loud - in this room - strike of her heels to the floor as she tucks her chin down, contemplating what question to ask next, arms crossed, lips moused out. "When did you last see Ygraine Fitzroy?"

The answer comes without hesitation, but Graeme seems rather bored, still, continuing to look at where Audrey was for a moment, rather than watching her as she walks. "Thursday evening at the gallery showing. Jaiden Mortlock put together an exhibition," he says. "Photographs from the Dome. The Waterdale Gallery hosted it."

"And Mr. Mortlock?"

"At the gallery showing," Graeme says, a slight chuckle from the fact that really, he seems to be repeating himself here.

"And when did you last hear from them?" She's still walking, moving to another wall to lean against, shoulder and elbow making contact, watching Graeme with that pinch faced disinterest.

The man is definitely getting bored of this. Or at least getting bored of watching Audrey walk around, because at the moment, Graeme just watches the wall directly ahead of him, once more adjusting the sling and then folding his other hand into his lap. "Several hours after the gallery showing. I called Jaiden to let him know I'd made it to my boyfriend's apartment, and I haven't heard from either of them since."

"Have you heard from Elisabeth Harrison?"

Fingers drum in Graeme's lap. "I last saw Elisabeth at the gallery showing," Graeme says, "and haven't heard from her since." It's starting to be a pattern, overall.

Fair and fine enough. Can't be seen with the terrorists, lest you get pulled in. 'Will your phone records say the same thing? Amazing thing these days. Evolved individuals like yourself, all these different abilities. Technopaths are by far my favourite. I mean, we can get text messages from databases at the phone companies. Hi judge, need a warrant, bobs your uncle and we're getting those, easily enough. But Technopaths. Hi judge, need a warrant, bob's your uncle once again and we set the technopath loose. Crazy isn't it" Audrey pushes away from the wall, the corners of her mouth up in a fond little smile.

"Telepaths, I love them, seriously. I mean, your sitting here, talking with me, and we could have one on the other side of the wall, because I know, and you know, that what a person says is not always what a person thinks. We all have these conversations inside our own heads. What do we say? Should we say that? Bend the truth. Is she going to want to hear this, or maybe this." Audrey comes to the table, standing beside Graeme, one palm on the table and leaning in.

"I bet it's an interesting conversation going on in your head Graeme"

There's half a chuckle from Graeme at the DHS agent, but really, the teacher is still bored with this. It's not even coming close to the level of annoyance that he finds bothersome. "My phone records should show me calling my boyfriend, and calling the kid I play basketball with, and the district, to make sure that my place in the pool of teachers is preserved for when I get permission to return to work," he says. "Interesting, honest, that you seem to think otherwise."

There's a mental pause, and Graeme's breathing levels, evens out, before he meets Audrey's gaze once more. "And since I'm sure you already know this, my erstwhile roommate happens to be a telepath. I learned pretty quick to keep my thoughts quiet. On topic." Or on the topic of how hot his boyfriend is, and rather large amounts of TMI. The times Liz teased him about Aric. The times Liz teased him about anything. Strip poker.

"Yes, we know that. She was pretty divulging about information. That and Harrison. Off the record doesn't exist when it involves terrorism. People seem to forget that" Both palms are on the table now, and Audrey hops up, slides her rear onto the surface, sitting well within Graeme's personal space. He can smell the soap she uses and shampoo in the short blunt haircut.

"Telepaths true, if you're looking for surface thoughts. You know what else I really like."

Audrey crosses her legs, swinging one foot. "Psychometers. Ever heard of them? The touch something, someone, can see it's past. What they've done, where they've gone, who they've talked to. Really, I have to say that for all that Evolveds have trickled across my desk more often now with some of the hideous things they've done and not so hideous things, they've also made it easier to catch and trap a person in a lie. Solve a case. I know, this evolved. You're going to love this."

Audrey lets out a laugh, leaning on the one palm.

"She talks to birds. Honest truth. Talks to them, makes them do what she wants. Likes to carry them around with her"

Even with the agent in his personal space, even with her obviously trying to bother him, he's really not seeming all that bothered. Not shrinking back more than a little bit, not moving the chair, and definitely not getting up. He might still even be bored, actually. Ability's good for more than one thing, it would seem, and he listens patiently as she goes on, with a raised eyebrow at the last comment.

"Birds?" There's a questioning tone, and a shrug, followed by a wince, muttering about how Aric's going to kill him if he messes up his shoulder more, and then careful adjustment of the sling for what seems like the hundredth time. "Interesting."


She leans back, still watching him. "Any big purchases lately?"

"I bought a jacket, and some more clothing to fill out my work clothes, and a fair number of ebooks, on Wednesday, late morning or afternoon? And a gift for my boyfriend, but don't tell him that, I haven't gotten a chance to give it to him yet and I'd like him to be surprised." Graeme says, after a moment spent drumming his fingers on his lap before he intertwines his fingers. "As well as some actual books. Jaiden was kind enough to drive me where I needed to go." There's a slight sigh. "As I kind of haven't been able to drive recently, and I don't have a car here anyway, and I try not to have to drive in this city if I can avoid it." There's a grimace that follows the drawled words. "Traffic's awful, you know?"

"I have blinking lights that tell people to get out of the way. Traffic is not usually an issue with me." Taxi's are. They never seem to want to move. Audrey hops off the table, leaving the notepad there, and the pen. "Can we get you anything to drink? Eat?"

"I'm sure it's nice t' be able to do that," Graeme responds, with a cheerful, less-bored smile. "The rest of us have to sit through traffic, or take the bus, or pay more than I make generally, just to get a taxi." There's a pause, and a nod. "Food'd be appreciated, really." It's easy enough for Graeme to slightly ignore his metabolism, but it's definitively a factor, and one of the other things he's been thinking about in terms of the entire 'being stuck' thing. And behind the small remainder of a smile is a small seed of doubt about whether there's going to be enough food, but it's left unvocalised, covered with a weak attempt at humour. "That is, if you're not intending to starve me."

"I don't torture." Which means, no, she won't starve him. Fingers tapping the table, Audrey starts off for the door, heels striking across the floor again. "We'll be back." Who will be back, who knows. But someone will be, as the next three days will be interesting none the less.

Before Audrey leaves, there is a small but perhaps still audible sigh of relief from Graeme. The food will be appreciated, eaten, and Graeme returns to the sullen, dispassionate silence that he'd maintained before the agent came in to question him.

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