Participants:
| Scene Title | Modes of Operation |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It seems they might have slightly different ones. |
| Date | November 21, 2008 |
Morning once, morning again. For Elle, the difference between yesterday's and today's is tiredness, for one, and a general impression of distractedness both around other people and by herself. It's the latter that is the case right now. No daring, cross-city ambushes today, but a boring office in Primatech - where she really should be. She's sitting upright in a chair in front of her desk, peeking over the top of her clasped hands at the darkened screen of a laptop. Her hair is down around her shoulders; apparel right now is a baby-blue turtleneck, skinny jeans, and slim little flats. For whatever reason, the door is sitting ajar a few inches. She'd probably forgotten to finish closing it all the way.
One second the narrow space between door and frame is empty. The next, it is very much occupied by six feet of Gavin Montag. Black suit, grey dress shirt, no tie, for some reason or another, with his brow hooded and cheeks hollowed, he looks unhappy. He simply stands there and watches her for longer than is probably polite, perhaps hoping to catch her slinking off again to play hero in the closed span before he presses his hand against the door and opens it the rest of the way. All the better to frown at her in full.
It takes no effort to notice the frown on her, though Elle does her best to ignore it at first. Tick, tick. When it becomes clear Montag is not leaving, she swivels in her chair, planting her forehead on two fingers so she's kind of facing the much taller man, but kind of not. Her eyes, which had been half-closed, suddenly flutter in irritation; there is a perhaps overly large sigh, and she darts a sideways look at Montag and back. "…Look. I can explain."
"Can you? Because I'm very interested in hearing what you have to say." Two steps bring Montag deeper into the office proper, and he glances to the door behind him before opting to leave it slightly open. He does not quite loom, but there is a certain unintentionally ominous edge to his gaunt presence across the desk from her, and he does not take a seat.
"They were /right there/. I'm /tired/ of crashing into them and not doing anything about it." The reply is sharp, at once prompter and more defensive than Elle had intended. She follows Montag's progress into her office with occasional dark, diagonal flickers of her eyes. If he won't take a seat, she's not going to offer one. "And I wanted to get them before they jumped ship again and moved."
"They are not stray dogs to be lept upon at every opportunity. They are dangerous, not to mention quite valuable to this institution. You are valuable. One unanticipated variable and I might be in here speaking to an empty chair. Unless, of course, you believe you can dissuade bullets with electricity." It is a lecture. One with genuine frustration behind it. A more controlled measure of anger hardens the line of his jaw as he speaks. It does not become him. "He is hundreds of years old. You are twenty-six. We are going to need more than hope and adrenaline to detain him." Montag pauses then, blinking away from her to study the wall before training his attention back upon her. "Good job with the cannibal, at least. I hope she stays dead."
And that lecture is taken, if not quite meekly, then at least sullenly and without interjection. There is another strained exhalation from Elle, who lifts her palm above her desk to let it ~flop~ back again. "Just like I stayed dead, you mean. —No, don't tell me. I've thought about all this." Might as well get that out of the way, too. Her full gaze is finally focused on Montag, and she watches him during that silence where his gaze travels towards the wall. "We've been. /So close/. I know he's as old as a vampire or something, but he hasn't been careful, and we've been lucky. There might not have been another chance like that. Ever."
Montag lifts a brow, resigned. Maybe hope should be allowed in the context where it allows for the possibility that the world is forever rid of at least one of its horrible monsters.
Tension lives on in the flat set of his shoulders and clamped jaw, but post-vent, he does not seem inclined to keep lecturing. He shakes his head a little in open disagreement, but doesn't speak until she's done. "He called you. He saved your life. We have more than a random chance because you intrigue him for…whatever reason."
"You're. That's worded all wrong. You want to know /why/ he saved my life?" Elle lifts her eyebrows at Montag, letting her breathing slow into inaudibility for just that one moment. "He didn't keep me with him for a month to sleep with me. I think I've already told you that. But— all that aside, I can see what you're saying." Because given everything, that four-hundred-year-old really doesn't keep his vengeful instincts in check any better than twenty-six-year-old Elle does.
The corner of Montag's frown pulls sidelong at that, and he fails at eye contact again. The desk becomes a point of interest this time. Eventually, he sighs. "I persist in thinking that there is something there. But. I am glad to see that you came away relatively unscathed, this time. Next time, I hope you will call me. I have ways of ensuring that people stay dead."
"I know, I know." There is the dull sound of swallowing in Elle's throat. Her gaze rests on Montag's face for a second more, than also flickers away to one side. "I…wanted to do this by myself. As stupid as that may sound, but—" She takes a small breath that attempts to incorporate an impression of mirth, but fails.
At last, one hand slides out to push down the top of her laptop with a click. "Yeah. No, don't tell me any more. I'll call you next time." The look she gives Montag then /looks/, at least, like it's filled with honesty.
The look Montag gives her is, in return, filled with skepticism. He nods anyway, rather like a parent pretending to believe that their kid is going to stop smoking for real this time, and takes a step back for the door. "There is nothing to be gained through recklessness in dealing with these people."
"There might be." is Elle's slightly cheekier reply. "You have to admit it got me pretty far. If there hadn't been a /sink/ where it was, I might've been able to get Adam, too."
"I'm not entirely certain that being outmaneuvered by a sink is something I would brag about to the others. Just between you and I." With that and a wink, Montag lets himself out, left hand trailing 'round the frame behind him.
 November 21st: Pulse |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 21st: To Peter, From Sylar, With Love |