New Management


barbara_icon.gif lynette2_icon.gif vincent_icon.gif

Scene Title New Management
Synopsis Some days after the 8th has come and gone, Vincent returns to Pollepel Island with inside information to formalize his presence there. Also to push around the locals. They are only too happy to push back.
Date November 19, 2010

Pollepel Island

Word reached council ears that a certain vaporous Lazzaro was in the mood to chat. Which is how Lynette and Barbara ended up in this lonely little spot on the island that most others seem to be leaving be. Perhaps because it's a little spooky.

It's Lynette's voice that rings out, though, when the pair get close enough. "Mister Lazzaro? We come in peace," she says, her tone lighthearted and teasing, even. But after his reception at the meeting, perhaps it's needed.

It is. A little spooky. Dank brick and water runoff dabbling dark along invasive root systems. Late afternoon light filters in isolated shafts through holes in the bricking, green leaves rustling in the cool air outside. This is a tunnel that leads (or led) somewhere at some point. These days the low arch of the ceiling overhead looks like it could use some shoring up, but air circulation is decent and there's no stink of death or rot.

As far as clandestine places to meet go, it could be worse.

In any case, Lazzaro is listening.

He condenses in a pulse and twist of dark air, familiar features defining themselves near instantly in low light and long shadow. He's in a sooty grey blazer and lighter blue jeans, as neutral a presence as one could hope for in a former Department of Evolved Affairs operative. Former. "Hi."

Barbara stands with hands in packets as she walks behind behind Lynette, only coming to a stop when the other Council member does. It really is a bit spooky, and that mixed with the prospect of meeting a Department of Evolved Affairs agent, former or not, has Barbara feeling rather uneasy. Particularly after their new brush with authority just the day before.

But still, like Lynette, she is here on behalf of Eileen and the Council in general, hoping to get a better assessment of this. It's likely this that keeps her from showing just how worried she is at the moment. "Hello, Mister Lazzaro," she replies, stepping out from behind Lynette and up beside her. "I hope you don't mind us intruding." A poor attempt at a joke, given the situation, but an attempt none the less.

"I'm Lynette. This is Barbara. We hoped we could have a bit of your time. To check up on a few things." If Lynette is nervous about meeting someone who was, so recently, very official, she's good at not showing it. "I won't bother asking if you're comfortable. But have you at least gotten a chance at a meal?"

"Not at all." Introductions made easy, he nods to the pair of them without actually getting any closer, an unconscious buffer maintained in the form of uneasy distance. There are more bricks between them than there could be for easy conversation, his post some two or three arm lengths away rather than the more customary one.

And even if he is former and has lost the suit and wingtips to Levis and New Balance, he holds himself a little arrogantly upright in the castle bowels, broad shoulders lax and spine lazily confident in its set while he takes them in at a pause. It's the same predatory confidence with which hawks roost on fenceposts or poisonous snakes sink back into warm sand. Slightly unsettling. "I only just — re-arrived today, actually." Again there's a pause, this time while he mirrors Barbara to sink his hands slowly into his jacket pockets and looks between them. "I was hoping I could stay."

A nod of recognition is offered over from Barbara, her hands slipping out of her jeans as she looks over at Lynette, and then back towards Vincent. She makes no further attempt to move forward, but her posture does relax a significant amount. She wrinkles her nose when she looks back at Vincent, looking thoughtful. "I'm sure something can be worked out for that, without too much trouble. We'll… need to ask you some questions first, though."

"We're not the eviction crew," Lynette says and she glances over to Barbara, "We're too pretty for that line of work." But she, too, adopts a relaxed stance. Some in the Ferry may have bone to pick, but she isn't one of them. Plus, she likes his daughter.

"But the council is wondering whatever happened to the coffin. The Institute coffin. And given your… presence here… did you happen to be successful with what you were trying to do?"

Uh…huh. Warier now than he was scarcely a few minutes ago, Vincent looks from one woman to the other, brows knit as if he suspects he may've accidentally caught wind of something foul but isn't ready to point fingers just yet.

He's patient enough to wait until they've both finished speaking for that.

"…Seriously?" delivered with flat affect enough to fuel several dozen Ben Steins, he has to bite back whatever he was going to say next with a bristled clamp at his jaw and a boot black stare at Lynette. "I gave it to The Times. Look — no offense, but is there a manager I can speak to, or something?"

Barbara grins a bit, her arms crossing as she moves to lean against one of the walls. "I think management's what you could call us," she says with a bit of a shrug. "But we were asked to ask you about it when we found you, so you'll have to forgive the annoyance." A finger taps on her arm as she thinks for a moment, looking over at Lynette. "That sounds like more or less the answer we were looking for, though. I saw the Time report about Moab. Interesting, to say the least. Also appalling, but that's another discussion."

Lynette blinks there, a look coming to her face that may be offended. Or may just be confused. Or trying to pick between the two. "I don't know if anyone informed you, darling. But the 'managers' ran into a bit of bad luck that left most of them dead or wounded," she says, complete with quotation fingers, "So yes, you'll have to forgive the annoyance." Echoing Barbara there, her hands go to her hips and everything. She really had meant to be nice at this meeting, really!

Posture unchanging for all that the hinge of his jaw has gradually eased itself into a slightly sideways jut, Vincent looks at them from beneath his brows, taking in italics, quotey fingers and hands on hips all in the same stretch of brackish silence. He doesn't look amused. He doesn't look happy at all, actually, dislike written in unsubtle lines around his eyes until he manages to scrub out the worst of them with a timely scuff of his hand up after an itch at the base of his nose. "Sorry for your loss."

Barbara sighs, shaking her head as her feet scuffle at the stone floor. "Mister Lazzaro. I am sure you are unhappy about this situation as some of us may be, given your past affiliation." Pushing off the wall, Barbara sounds stern - probably the most so Lynette has ever heard her be. "We are willing to help you out, we really are. But if we keep bristling feathers at each other, we will go nowhere. People here are scared, and if you wish to stay…"

And the sternness drops, turning to a bit more of a pleading tone, "I would really appreciate it we can try and avoid that from here on out." A look is given over to Lynette too, as if to say this goes for us too. "That said, yes, it was quite a loss. We're still new to job, I'm afraid. But for the moment, I don't see any reason as to why you would not be able to stay here with us. Just… keep your past affiliations to yourself, if you can."

There is something to be said for the fact that Lynette does ease her stance, but she lets out a sigh before adding her own two cents. "And the council as it stands now has a lot of work to do, and we two have a lot of catching up. If you could be understanding of that, we'd appreciate it. But if you'd rather a more seasoned council member. Eileen is around here somewhere." She straightens a little, smoothing the shirt she has on and everything. "I, for one, don't care about past affiliations. If you need the Ferrymen's help, well. Helping is what we're sort of about, isn't it? But she's right. People here have a lot to be afraid of."

"Your people are already intimately aware of my past affiliations, courtesy of your man Ryans the night of the twelfth." Vincent does not have to outline precisely how unhappy he is about 'this situation' because it's stamped all over him, now, tone, posture and expression all suppressed but not quite enough. He hasn't finished bristling. It will likely be a long, long time before he does.

He is kind enough not to mutter a clearly at news of their newness, but an unfortunate Look between them conveys the thought anyway. A twitch of his brows downward at the implication that he needs the Ferrymen's help never resolves into outright argument.

Probably for the best.

"Okay," is what he says instead, level as before. "But that isn't actually why I wanted to speak with you."

To be fair, Barbara had forgotten about that part of the evening of the 12th in the wake of being appointed to the Ferry council. Oops. She closes her eyes, nodding. "This is true. Alright, then." She takes a deep breath, and looks back at Vincent, tilting her head to the side a bit. "What exactly is it that you want talk to us about, Mister Lazzaro? Nothing to… deadly serious, I hope. I think we've all had enough of that for the time being." She looks over to Lynette, as if looking agreement.

Lynette looks a little amused at that request, but there is a nod of agreement. "I suppose good news would be too much to hope for at this point. But please. We live in an open forum, Mister Lazzaro. Do tell, what is on your mind?"

"First," says Vincent, flatly now that they're all on track and not calling each other darling anymore, "I want to know where my daughter is. And that she's safe." There are no question marks or tell-tale lilts present when he says so, because he isn't asking.

For better or worse, Barbara is largely unknowing on the topic of his daughter or her safety, much less where she is. THis causes her to look uneasy as she takes a step back to the wall, looking over at Lynette with a face taht says please tell me you know something.

Whether or not Lynette knows something, her brow furrows and her arms fold as she looks over at him. "And your daughter is…? If we can find out for you, of course, we will." It's sort of like a promise. With caveats.

There's an odd beat where Vincent hesitates, tension borne of suspicion etched into the slant of his shoulders when he looks blackly between them for the third or fourth time. He hasn't actually admitted that he has one, before.

Not to these people.

"Tasha," confessed at length, he's too still not to be staring them both down for reactions, resistance, or the promise of incoming untruth. "Renard."

"I believe she's going by Tasha Oliver around here," Lynette notes, her arms unfolding. "She's checked in. She's with some other Ferrymen at one of the few remaining havens in the city. Last word that came through, everyone there was safe and healthy and there was no government activity in the area." There's a momentary pause, though, with the woman regarding him for a long moment, as if some internal debate were happening. "She stayed at my safehouse for a while. Your daughter. She's a special girl."

While Tasha Renard offers no recognition for Barbara, Tasha Oliver causes her eyes to move back to Vincent for a moment, considering him for a moment. "Ah, right." She'd heard the name a few times now, mostely paired with Nichols-Demskey. "She's safe," Barbara reaffirms with a nod, looking off and out into the distance a bit. "We can send off a word that you're here, if she wants to make her way over, but where she is is a… trickier matter." In parlance that might be more familiar to Vincent, he simply doesn’t high enough clearance for that information, at least not to Barbara.

"Alright," says Vincent. Not quickly. And not an easy agreement. For all that he's familiar with the concept of compromise, it's been something like a year since he's really had to employ it to make things happen for himself. His pride smarts, acknowledgment of the specialness of his girl passing at a glance. They don't sound like they're lying, anyway.

They just aren't telling the whole truth. Which is, unfortunately for them, a game with two player modes available.

"The government is running a blackout operation to funnel Evolved prisoners taken on the 8th upstate without trial."

And it seems neither of them is actually going to tell the whole truth right now, as Lynette doesn't add his daughter's location to the conversation. She's one of theirs. And Lynette doesn't really know what Vincent is just yet.

But when he lays out that bit of information, the blonde closes her eyes for a moment. Oh, that's not good news. "Oh, well. Fabulous. Hooray America," she says, rather sarcastically as he first reaction. But when she looks over at Vincent, there's actual concern there. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell us more than that?"

This news has Barbara's face literally finding her palm, a mostly mundane take on the action commonly caricatured throughout various media forms. "Ah, this is why I was much happier in Canada," she quietly remarks, only half joking. Grimacing, she looks back at Vincent with a worried expression. "Do you have any idea of when? Or how?"

"Yes." He does.

"But first," Vincent reminds, unblinking stare gone somewhat poisonous in low light — more gila monster than viper, slow and resilient when he untucks one hand from its pocket to point warily after them — "I want to know where my daughter is."

Lynette eyes him at that, her hands going back to her hips. "Oh, you know, I heard you were a sneaky son of a bitch, but I didn't want to believe it," she says, but she seems to mean it in the best way possible. Jovial, even. But she looks over at Barbara, her head tilted some as she considers.

In the end, she looks over at Vincent, not to really answer, but to ask, "What happened with you and the DoEA? Forgive me if it was in the papers, too, I was off the Times delivery list for a while."

Bargaining, at least of this nature, isn't something that fits in with Barbara's usual skill set. Her default position, for now, is to stay resolute and careful. Exhaling sharply, she rubs the side of her cheek, looking over at Lynette for a moment before she turns back to Vincent, quirking her lips side to side.

"It's… tricky, like I said. Your daughter, as far as I'm aware, is safe and has taken up in one of our most important locations. Somewhere I'm hesitant to give up without speaking with Eileen first. It is a- security precaution, particularly in these times. Nothing against you, Mister Lazzaro." She'll leave it to Lynette to try and explain that situation better, if she can. Heck, she may have said a bit much as it is.

"I was asked to resign and then chased out've a thirty-story window by Institute retrievers." Countenance approximately as emotive as the box of cigarettes he retrieves when his left hand draws back out into the tunnel's chilly air, Vincent takes his time lighting up, in his own world until the ember swells orange and he has a fresh nicotine rush to blunt his nerves.

"Consult whoever you have to consult. I want to speak to her, at the very least."

"Motherfuckers," Lynette says, rather emphatically. "Alright. Barb, you talk to Eileen and I'll see about getting a message out to Tasha and see what she wants to do." She looks back to Vincent then, her expression somewhat amused and somewhat curious. "Do you at least get along with Jensen?" Because the other co-head of their special activities unit… well, the whole castle already knows their status.

Barbara visibly shivers at the mention of Institute retrievers, shaking her head and mumbling a few choice words. "I'll get right on that, then. I-we have no intention of keeping you from your daughter." She gives a bit of a weary smile to Vincent, one of sincerity. "I know what it's like to be force away from family. But not even all of the Networks members know of this location. If nothing else, I'm sure she'll be willing to come out here."
Barbara has partially disconnected.

"I don't know him well." A name, a photo, a face. A file folder marked Classified and a trip all expenses paid to Antarctica. But the tilt of Vincent's brows suggests that he's willing to work with what may well be his only other available option. Considering.

"Whatever gets the job done, ladies." Llladies. He tips his cigarette up, curling smoke in a lazy line across his shoulder on its way back to a jut at the corner of his mouth. "Until then, that's all I have for you."

"Well, that's something, at least." Lynette tosses him a little, lazy salute at his last words, though, "You'll be hearing from us again, no doubt." And then she turns to head back toward the main parts of the castle. Reassurances, as it turns out, are left to Barbara there.

Turning to watch Lynette for a moment, Barbara grimaces. "Are you going to be around here for a bit?" she inquires, turning her head back towards Vincent. "Or would you like to come with me to find Eileen? I can hopefully get back to you before the end of the evening, if you choose not to.

Salute returned in hazy kind, Vincent watches Lynette turn to go before he checks the full of his focus back onto Barbara. "You two go and do your thing. I'll be around."


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