Not Expecting Company


huruma_icon.gif veronica_icon.gif

Scene Title Not Expecting Company
Synopsis Huruma finds herself on the receiving end of a Company attack of sorts.
Date November 17, 2009

Ruins of Midtown

Dusk in midtown brings with it a measure of haunted atmosphere; the sun breaking apart on the horizon leaks orange and gray past the ashen buildings, and the air whistling through the rifts of deconstruction lends each windy day a howl. The chilly November weather puts Huruma in a black woolen coat and gloves, a hood sprouting from the collar and lain over her head. The woman left Lucy's after only a short time there, taking off in a wander until she reached Midtown. There she seemed to regain her bearings and decide upon a particular path. After a while, Huruma's meandering can be tiring- she does not seem to be phased by the incessant movements- perhaps as she needs some manner of outlet when she has nothing better to do.

Eventually, the woman comes around to a run-down building near the other side of Midtown from Greenwich- the North side isn't quite as bad, but the damage has all been done. She does not go in, but seems to be waiting for something. Or someone. Only now that she has stopped to mill around in the near-dark, her features can be seen as quite alert, possibly strained at the edges.

Normally, Veronica wouldn't be too fazed by such prolonged wanderings; but the chilly weather seems to seep into her injured shoulder. It's mostly a surface wound, though some of the muscle was torn in the throw by Hana Gitelman. It's enough that she knows she needs to wait until just the right moment to shoot the tranquilizer gun at her target. Her aim will be slightly off, a touch lower — she's studied firearms enough to know just how to compensate for her slightly changed aim.

Huruma's wanderings seem to have worked in the agent's benefit. One couldn't really ask for a more remote, more private locale than midtown. The only problem is that the tall dark woman seems to be expecting company. Agent Sawyer aims but pauses, uncertain if she should shoot now or wait to see who else is arriving on the scene. She considers for a long moment, from her hiding place in the shadows.

Huruma waits for a few long minutes at first; her muscles have tightened, and her arms and shoulders are relatively pinned to her torso for keeping her warmth in. Her eyes are on the horizon that both women face, though under the side of her hood it is hard to tell how hard she may be looking. After another minute of apparent waiting, Huruma's lungs inhale a deep draw of nippy air, and it seems like she may move again. She does not. Not her legs.

"We mustn't lurk in doorways. It's rude- one might question your …upbringing." Whether or not the humor of the line strikes Veronica, the words are obviously directed to her- as Huruma has swiveled her head on her neck to peer into the agent's vicinity.

She's watched enough movies to know she shouldn't engage in dialogue — and above all shouldn't be lured into monologuing — but the hours of work and miles of air travel logged on the Monroe case make a retort simply too irresistible for the Company agent.

"That's funny. I find it rude to murder people. I suppose we all have our own personal brand of ethics, though, hmm?" comes the voice from the shadows. Still aiming with the tranq gun, though it's unlikely Huruma can make out more than a dark shadow, she adds, "Expecting company, or are you alone?" No pun intended.

"Well, now, my girl- don't b'so hasty. Especially t'judge." Huruma's tone points out 'you don't really know the first thing about me' without even saying so. "I was not expecting Company- but you have been following m'for a long time. Here? I am waiting t'meet someone." The woman lifts a gloved hand, stretching her fingers under the slick black fabric. There is the lightest of squeaks.

"If you d'not'ave a private issue with me- I suggest tha'you go elsewhere." This is not a threat- not really- and some part of Huruma's voice gets increasingly worn. The suggestion comes off as a little bit more detached- not distracted- just that she had been off and on with being lost in thought during the walk out into Midtown.

The thought passes through Veronica's mind that it could be Monroe that Huruma plans to me — part of her wants to wait to find out, but part of her knows she doesn't have the backup for such a confrontation. Especially not with Huruma at his side. "It's not my job to judge. Just to find." And with that, the hammer is pushed, and the trigger pulled, releasing the tranq toward the agent's target. She repeats the action, to account for Huruma's strongly built body.

If Huruma expected to be shot, she does not make the best of efforts to avoid being hit- the 'thwip' of the first dart dives through the cushion of wool on her bicep, and the second makes a clean miss as the tall woman moves full-tilt toward towards where Veronica is lurking with her gun. She says nothing, but her body language says most of it for her; Veronica is going to have to be rougher, or Huruma will very likely sink her metaphorical claws right in to her.

Damn winter clothing. Veronica isn't sure if the first hit or not, but the other clearly missed as the dart scatters across the cracked asphalt. The agent aims again, but this time for the throat — it's a chancier shot, if one wants the target to come out of things unscathed. The dart could hit the jugular or an eyeball or punch through the wind pipe, if close enough. She also whips out her firearm; 'any means possible' were the words given — alive is just a bonus, and Veronica doesn't care much about such bonuses.

The noise out of Huruma is animal, above all else- a growl that grows deep in her chest and escapes with a trailing hiss of air through her teeth. This time, she can be more certain when Veronica pulls the trigger; the third dart tears into her shoulder pad as she shifts her long stride- but it does not hang limp as the one on her arm now does. Which means that it has likely plunged into some kind of flesh. Then again, Huruma is still at a steady stride towards Veronica, pale eyes centering on the girl in the shadows.

"You must want something from me, hm…?" Huruma breathes inward again, letting out a long sigh through her nose, lip curled in displeasure. "Or perhaps all o'you simply wan'to keep me around for a day again in tha'sad little glass box." Huruma saunters to a halt still a fair enough distance from Veronica, hand lifting to her shoulder to pluck the dart out of her muscle. "But I trust I will not b'with you all for very long- I am not prison friendly."

"Nothing from you. Just you," Veronica says, hoping that one dart gave enough of its juice to slow Huruma down a bit. "And I don't think it's prison, but it's not for me to say. I trust your friend won't be too disappointed that you couldn't make the appointment." And she shoots the last dart again, again aiming for the throat, before her firearm is trained on the woman's knee, ready to shoot if Huruma doesn't begin to show signs of sleepiness.

"If anything, I suspect my friend will be …irritated." Huruma replies, moments before the fourth dart sinks just past the collar of her coat. She did not bother that time, to move. The third must have hit. "Just me, hm?" Her eyes scope the horizon on either side of herself, wandering back towards the adjacent building's dirty wall.

"Do me a favor an'make sure I fit into whatever backseat you wan't'try and shove me into. Anything smaller than a four-door and you've got a problem." Huruma's train of speech differs quite differently now- some days she would go after Veronica til her last drop of foam- and some, like today, she merely does not wish to be nursing more than puncture wounds. Sensible thinking, for the most part. The tall woman sidles closer to the wall near her, sinking her spine onto it and leaning back.

"Just you. You're special, Huruma," Sawyer says softly, watching the tall woman carefully. "Easily enough obliged," she adds, to the request not to shove her in the backseat of a VW bug or something. She keeps her gun trained on Huruma, while holstering her tranq and tapping a button on her ear to speak to the men in the van waiting for her to do so. "Ready for you," she says quietly. It won't be long: she's wearing a signal for them to track, and the van is only two blocks away, waiting to transport Huruma to the DHS facility that will hold her until her new mission is given to her.

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