Left This Behind


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Scene Title Left This Behind
Synopsis Husband and wife reunite, but not without a job to do.
Date March 5, 2009

Staten Island Docks

The docks are one of the best places to catch rumors. Which is why Hugh is currently standing in that little pool of men looking for manual labor to do, smoking a cheap cigarette and talking idly with the half a dozen or so other men. No ships've come in, so it's a cold and barren hour, at least for now. He's in ragged clothes, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Shakti Haddad's been out of work for some time. Even though the world's a violent place, the Indian woman's been laying low of late, at least until she heard of the burgeoning prospects of Staten Island, USA. Her ride dropped her off very early this morning, and rather than rush headlong into anything, she's taken her time, observing the inhabitants of the island, until as such time as she's ready to start making inquiries. At least, until she sees a familiar face.

This is old hat to Gwendolyn. Walk. Look ahead, look intent on getting somewhere, just enough to be believable, not so much as if you have a goal. Get into his eyeline, make sure he sees you, but don't whatever you do, look at him.

And Hugh responds in a way he'd never, ever dare back home. Which is by a piercing wolfwhistle, and a crotch-grab. Ah, your husband has such class, Gwen. It's quickly followed by a whole series of catcalls from the men he's with, but it's only Hugh who peels out of the pack.

Gwendolyn stops. Looks sidelong. Oh No He Didn't. Turning, she saunters up to him. "Leeds." she says with a tight, sharp smile. And then she slugs him.

He sells it as even worse than it is, but doesn't come back with a blow in return. There's only that devil may care grin. "Is that who I am, love?" he wonders, in a short, clipped English accent, utterly unlike his usual questioning Edinburgh lilt.

"You owe me." the woman insists, expression angry. "For Amritsar. And I don't take kind to those who don't split honest when it comes to work."

"I don't remember," Hugh/Drake says blithely. "Now, how much is it I'm supposed to be owing you?" he says, still grinning insouciantly, even as he gingerly puts a finger to a now split lip.

Gwendolyn eyes the others on the dock. "I'm not talking figures out here." she says. "But you'd best suggest a locale where we can talk, before I take you by the ear and toss you into the wet."

Zuleyka gestures elaborately to the paths that lead away from the docks. "There's a lovely and fairly clean Chinese place not far from here. I'll even buy for you," he says, bowing low.

Gwendolyn snorts delicately as she watches him. "Fine." she says. She'll not turn down free food. "Lead on."

It's a damp, water-scented warren he leads her through. He doesn't drop persona, save for a muttered, "So glad to see you, darling," in his usual accent, cast over his shoulder, before they emerge in the relative clarity of the path before the Chinese place.

"We've an assignment." she says, all business. She doesn't bother resorting back to her own very posh London girl accent. It's still Bristol by way of Mumbai.

"Indeed. The disappearance of Knutson. An Ethan Holden. My longlost twin brother. Any news?" he says, opening the door for her.

Gwendolyn slips inside and shoots him a look. He wants to discuss this in a public place, surrounded by people?
There's a nod of acknowledgement to that. And there's nothing but banter for the next little, as he places their order. To go, apparently.

Gwendolyn has no place to stay, and so is willing to go wherever 'Drake' is willing to take her for some privacy. But once they are in some private venue, and the room has been adequately searched for monitoring devices, then she bothers to drop her face, and give him a kiss - none too carefully, despite his split lip.

It's frankly a flophouse, but the walls are sturdy enough - a little faded room in what was once a decent motel. The kiss is returned with both gratitude and passion, though not without a wince. "Been too long," he says, with a sigh. "Fancy a shag?"

Gwendolyn smiles at that. "Get us into trouble, not keeping our minds on business." she murmurs. "I'm wanted here to make an extraction, and for you to assist."

Hugh gives her an exaggerated pout, complete with big blue eyes, before sighing regretfully. "Ah, well," he says, and is instantly all business. "And who's the target?"

Reaching into her jacket, she withdraws a folder, offers it to him. "Eileen Ruskin, Avain Telepathy. Apparently she's aquainted with Drake Leeds. Your twin brother, was he? That'll be an interesting story from your mum."

"Well, genetically identical. And Eileen, eh? That's some bloody luck, 'cause I ran into her earlier this evening. Pulled a gun on me," Hugh says. "My mum swears I was a singleton. All I can think of is that someone cloned me, somehow. Or switched babies in the hospital, or somewhat," He takes the folder, runs an eye over it. "Little slip of a thing."

Gwendolyn cocks her head. "He looks awful like you. Can't be a switch so much as a swipe. Does she believe you're Leeds? Goodman wants her."

"Thus far, I think she does. Amnesiac, but yes. Well, hm. Idon't know where she's laying up, at the moment, but if I put out the word, can't be long until I do. Alive, I take it?" Hugh spreads his hands. "I know. Dismayingly like me."

Gwendolyn nods her confirmation, stepping closer. "Alive, unharmed. If we can set up another meeting, then perhaps I can bag her? We'd have to be careful of her birdy friends, of course."

He looks grim at that. "Aye. I've seen that Hitchcock movie," he says. "Not sure….a shotgun, with the proper gauge. That we'll need. Or just knock her out."

Gwendolyn smirks. "I'm thinking knock her out. I've brought adequate tools, I think. I might want to establish Shakti a tad here as well, though Goodman wants to extract me with her."

"Wise," Hugh agrees, settling himself on the bed and making the abused mattress creak.

Gwendolyn frowns down at him, perching on his lap. "We didn't sign up for this. I thought we left this behind."

March 5th: How Was Your Day, Dear?
March 5th: One Sided Conversation
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