Most Interested


cat_icon.gif vincent_icon.gif

Scene Title Most Interested
Synopsis An unlikely visitor has an unlikely favor to ask.
Date October 27, 2010

Cat's Kitchen

It's a Wednesday much like any other, given Cat is at home instead of off helping to steal Chinese spacecraft or hunting for persuasionists with dire and as yet undiscovered plans, and this Wednesday isn't so much different than the Tuesday which went before it by twenty-four hours. She gets up in the morning and does some physical training, then sits down to eat while concerning herself with the customary stack of daily publications.

Orange juice at one hand, steak and eggs before her, coffee to the other hand and a Moscow newspaper folded for easy reading in the space which remains, Doctor Chesterfield isn't the least bit expectant of visitation.

Vincent Lazzaro very much enjoys being unexpected despite his self-defining predictability elsewhere. In attire, manner and address, he's always much the same: dark suit, sharp lines, level brow — underlying attitude pressed black under leaden professionalism and detachment.

This is the way he is roughly 99% of the time, and this is the way he appears in a churn of umbral smog in Catherine Chesterfield's kitchen, a copy of the foremost section of the Times rolled in his left hand. One publication to her many. "Morning," he says, voice dry from its source standing across her breakfast from her. "I was hoping we could talk."

The brunette in workout gear is caught in mid-bite, the cause of no words being used to greet the man initially. Ever polite in her table manners, Cat chews her food slowly and clears her mouth before undertaking to speak, reaction coming instead from the lift of dark brows at his appearance and a projection of businesslike curiosity which indicates she's listening.

"Yes," she agrees when her voice can be utilized without the unattractive consequences of exposing hints of what's being masticated and risking expectoration of the same, "it's morning. What's on your mind, Agent Lazzaro?"

Whether it's remotely good or not is as yet undetermined.

"I have a favor to ask."

Directly to the point without so much of a hint of apology in his pitchy eyes (or anywhere else,) he glances to whatever other chair might be available for him to take up and remains standing instead, comfortable in a lazy parade rest. Newspaper and all. "One that I will need to remain between us."

"That's intriguing," the penthouse resident replies in a mostly neutral voice, "I'm most interested to hear what you desire. Confidentiality, however, depends on the subject matter." Cat gestures toward the eschewed chair, an invitation for him to occupy it, just prior to lifting her fork and coffee cup.

Agent Smoky's business needs have distracted her from the Moscow paper, but they don't pre-empt the continued partaking of her breakfast.

"It is," agreed without rancor in turn, Vincent seems reluctant to pull out the indicated chair for himself, left hand braced to the back for a beat before he resolves to pull it out for himself so that he can take a seat across from her. It's been a while since he's sat down and had breakfast with anyone. Even if, technically, only one of them is actually having breakfast.

He might be distantly jealous if he hadn't already had his coffee — dark, unsweetened stuff blended and dripped in the dry, decidedly lonely quiet of his own apartment.

"I'd like everything you have on Moab Federal Penitentiary. Satellite images, blueprints, records, photographs, GPS coordinates. Prisoner names. Everything."

Her brows lift a tick higher on hearing the request, it definitely intrigues Cat more that he would ask about that particular venue. "I can do that, Agent Lazzaro," she replies smoothly. "I'm quite curious as to why you seek it." Her fork is deposited on the plate, course reversed to arrive there instead of her mouth."

"It would take a matter of scant hours to assemble the materials and provide them. In most cases what I have are prisoner numbers and abilities ascribed to them, but in some there are more complete details. Many of the persons who were contained there remain fugitives to my knowledge, still others have been cleared for reasons including Operation Apollo."

"Hopefully my telling you that I do not intend to use it for evil is enough to satisfy your curiosity for now." Brows hooded low in turn, Lazzaro fails to show so much as a twitch of wonder or grateful relief at her reassurance that acquiring what he's asked for is within her ability. He doesn't look like he is in any mode or mood to negotiate, adeptly polite as he is apt to be.

"Specifically, anything you have on the methods of containment and restraint utilized by the system would be welcome. On which note," he pauses a beat to eye her — there is evidently more, "I'm aware that you are in possession of at least two Evolved containment devices. …I would like one of them."

"Persons confined to Moab were dosed every day with a drug which negated their SLC abilities," Cat relates, "it was administered by intramusucular injection beneath the chin. In effect, the drug was ostensibly delivered directly to the brain's vicinity. Unless they've had something done to remove it or an ability which involves some form of self-healing, each person contained there still has a noticeable mark from that process. In most cases it was found sufficient in neutralizing powers, there weren't general protocols for keeping persons under long-term sedation." A pause is taken there.

"I don't myself have a containment device, but I will advise some persons who may of this interest."

"You yourself do not, but the Ferry does." Confident on that account, Vincent hooks his free hand up over the bridge of his nose, thumb to index hooked to apply pressure across his brow for the time it takes him to apply new information to what he already knows. Smythe had a scar under his chin, as described.

"Do you have any estimates regarding the length of time the facility was in operation, or anyone who might have worked there?"

"It probably operated less than a year," Cat provides, "data are scant on people who worked there. I didn't exactly spend a lot of time getting to know them, and it wasn't critical to learn the names of prison staff other than the abilities involved with the security teams."

"Alright." Good enough. Probably.

The more probablys Vincent encounters in going from one step to the next, the less he likes to think about it.

"I'll be by again tonight, if you're willing to have the information you have condensed for me by then."

It'll be waiting for you, Agent Lazzaro," the brunette assures as fingers take up her fork again with the intent of resuming breakfast while she muses inwardly about his purposes. That he's investigating and doesn't want to be known as such occurs to her, as does the likelihood sources such as Sarisa Kershner are holding out on him for whatever reason.

Another thing in her thought processes is the need to invest in HEPA filters.

An acknowledging tip of Vincent's head also serves as a farewell. But he does make a point of saying, "Thank you," very evenly before he vanishes in the same manner in which he appeared: a turn and flush of viscous grey vapor that dissipates faster than it should, leaving no residue behind.

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