Participants:
| Scene Title | Like The Apron |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Doyle passes on information about Julie to Special Activities. |
| Date | February 16, 2011 |
During the early days of the Dome's rise, things at the Brick House were fairly quiet aside from the few who had moved in to start setting things up.
As it turned out, that time was well spent, because now there's more than a handful of refugees and others hiding in its halls and rooms. After sending off a phone message to a certain ex-Agent, Eric Doyle is busying himself in the kitchen puttering around trying to make a soup that's large enough for everyone without overly stressing the amount of food they have available. His days at the Lighthouse have proven helpful there, and he's standing over the stove mixing a big pot's contents with a large ladle, a comically small apron around his waist as he whistles with his work.
"Never thought of you as the Suzy homemaker type." The flat rumbled tones of Benjamin Ryans voice come from the hallway along with a sort of chill that the old man has brought with him from outside. "Like the apron." His mouth gives a bit of a twitch as he pulls the fedora off his head and combs down stray strands with his fingers.
Boots scuff on tiles as he slips into the kitchen, hazarding a glance in the pot as Ben addresses the portly man, his hat held in both hands. "What's up, Doyle? I doubt the call was for dinner.""
"You say that as if I don't spend half my time taking care of a bunch of kids," Eric replies — drawing out the ladel and pointing it at the other man, one brow arching upwards as if in challenge. Then he's stirring the ladel back into the soup, muttering, "Shut the door. I don't want this… getting around."
Hands are held up in a defensive gesture — the fedora in one still — a small smiling breaking the surface of the man's neutral mask. "Point in your favor." Ryans admits, with a touch of good humor, before moving to shut the door with a soft click. "Prefer it to the you behind glass."
When he turns back, he looks ready for business, eyes narrowing a bit as he studies the other man. "Alright. Talk to me," Ben says quietly.
"And now many've the rest of us could've been just fine if you didn't decide to lock us up like animals," Doyle asks rather darkly, the ladel thumping against the side of the pot as he stirs it around, then leaves it lingering in the pot as he steps away, turning to regard the man with an almost anxious expression. He chews on his lip for a moment, then goes out with it.
"I've got a— a contact, in the Institute," he says in hushed tones, leaning forward with eyes widening slightly, "She contacted me— she's in the Dome, at the Center— about Julie. One've the twins?"
The comment it left to hang, not chiming in his thoughts. At this point Ryans' views are obsolete and out of place with present company.
However, the name doesn't register right away, the confusion shows for a moment. "Julie?" Then it finally clicks and Ryans 'aahhhs' softly. "One of Raith's girls?" he asks, not completely certain. Something that he's heard about, but wasn't around for.
"Raith's?" Now that tidbit surprises Doyle, his brow furrowing a little, and then he shakes his head a bit, "I, uh— I guess? Anyway." One hand sweeps in a dismissive gesture, "She's, uh. She's sick. Apparently, whatever the Dome is… it's severed the link between them, and they're dying."
He grimaces slightly, "She wanted me to contact the Council and ask if they'd be willing to bring Liette here as soon as the Dome goes down, to reunite them."
"It's not exactly largely known," Ryans says, but then is quiet considering what is being asked. He doesn't say anything at first, head tipping down as if considering the fedora in his hands, a finger tapping against the felt.
"That is a hell of thing, this person is asking." Brows furrow slightly as looks up at Doyle again. Benjamin knows what he'd do, but that's not his choice. "I'll see if I can get a signal out, try and get a hold of someone." Raith needs to know, for certain in the old man's mind.
"I…" Doyle pauses, "She trusts me. If I told her that I was just going to— bring her in myself? She'd believe me. This might be a good chance to get Julie." Yes, Eric Doyle is kind of an asshole sometimes.
"That's my thought too," Ryans admits with a small nod. "But it's risking one or both of those girls." Even if the circumstances surrounding the girl's health are as dire as they sound. He himself seems almost torn about it and they are not his girls. "I'll talk to Raith, since he's the one who I think has the most say in it."
Lips press together as he considers it. "They might be seeing it as an opportunity as well." Ryans shakes his head a little. "We'll figure it out." He feels confident about it.
"Alright. Just— let me know, alright? I don't know how long this dome's going to be up," Doyle turns back to the stove, stepping over to stir the ladel through it, frowning down at the soup, "So… I don't know how long this opportunity's going to last. Let me know what you all decide to do."
A sideways glances goes the the door, thoughtful for a moment. "Alright." Ryans states firmly, looking back to the other man. He points to him with the fedora, "Save me a bowl. I'll head out now and see if I can lock down some communications with the outside." By the sound of it, he's done it before.
The hat is settled back on to Ben's head with a small smile. Hand reaching for the knob, he offers a nod. "I'll let you know what happens. I don't think it'll be decided today, but I could be wrong." He pauses midturn of the knob. "Anything else, while I am here?" Brows lift a little with the question.
"That's it," Eric says, slanting a look after him with a brow's lift, "No promises. The kids from the refugees get first soup, you know. Company apologists eat last." He's probably joking. Maybe. Likely.
That said, he turns back to making dinner, humming absently as he reaches for the oven mitts.
One can almost forget he's a multiple murderer, seeing him like this.