Participants:
| Scene Title | On The Same Page |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's the one that says, "holy shit." Brennan delivers information as promised in exchange for a favor or two from Uncle Sam. |
| Date | March 19, 2010 |
Underground had cement walls, no worry about technopaths getting signals down or surprise visitors with weapons dragging screaming blonde and pink haired girls off to be having their heads sliced open and whatever else it is that Pops and the others had told Liette would happen if the wrong people got their hands on her.
These days, Brennan's not even sure who is the right person. At the pre-appointed time, He's marched out from the garden and making no bones to try and think of sneaking out. Just dressed for the cold and went to a spot that he knew that was derelict of all technology still. Papers folded up in hand and staring out across the water, near a distinct outcropping of rock, Brennan waits for Vincent. The Garden isn't that far away and any commotion that might happen, he'll hear it in the early down stillness that permeates the air and the land.
Roads are clearer today, but not completely cleared; many businesses remain closed; postal delivery and other such services are delayed.
How Vincent manages to appear some ten feet away with a steaming cup of coffee in hand would likely be more of a mystery if not for the turn of helicopter blades raking at a low whirlybird hum over one of the less populated swaths of Staten Island that preceded his arrival by fifteen minutes. The chopper was approximately as black as his suit and sparsely lined tie: today he looks more the part of the federal agent (or funeral director) than clothes horse, if only by a narrow margin.
His coat's the same one Brennan's seen before, dark and stiff through the shoulders. Or maybe Vincent is stiff through the shoulders. Likely both.
In any case, he hardly has cause to look aside at snow, snow, more snow and Vincent Lazzaro until the shorter man has sipped his coffee and drawn in a long breath of air cold enough to make him wish instantly that he'd remained intangible. "Morning."
"And you don't bring one for me?" More of a polite joke than a true complaint. There's coffee back in the safehouse if he wants it and he's only been out here a little before that helicopter came. "Morning Lazzaro. I hope it wasn't too hard for you to come out here. I appreciate it. How is it coming along on your end?" He digs into a pocket to produce the folded papers for him, meticulous handwirting that doesn't seem like it come from a doctor. "I thought maybe this might help with things. Everything I've managed to glean from her in conversation during our travels. She's… secretive about some things and then out of the blue she just babbles and…" Says stuff.
"Her caretaker is one Doctor Jean Luis"
"Next time," promised the same brand of absent untruth, Vincent adjusts gloved fingers around paper cup and napkin before he ventures to trudge closer, dress shoes apparently more resilient to the cold and damp than they look like they should be. It's pretty, really — overcast cloud cover painted in pastel shades of pink and orange where the sun breaks robin's egg blue over the filthy water and even grimier land somewhere beyond that.
"You are my end," is all he has by way of news, apparently, black eyes cast down to the offered papers and then back up again to Harve as he actually reaches for them. Looks like a lot. Unfortunately, he has a poker face, and there's little to no reaction in his face or through the rigid set of his spine while he skims over page one and folds the rest carefully away one-handed for later review. "Once we can verify the truth of her statements to you, we should be better equipped to decide on a course of action."
The only evidence of any kind of inner Holy. Shit. might be read into the way he's taken to staring hard out at the sunrise while he speaks, eventually slicing a scimitar look sideways at Brennan to see how well he's being read, if at all as a kind of unpleasant punctuation mark on the paper exchange.
Brennan might have read him, might have not. "I figured. I thought I'd ask anyways. There's a man in the tunnels beneath Midtown. Gang with identity based around numbers. Leader of them is Mortimer Jack. Information on him is down in there. We moved because he was starting to try to separate Liette and myself. We should be good where we are for a while, unless this technopath can manifest out of thin air. I'm going to try and find out more information about him"
Brennan stamps his feet, keep blood moving. "She's missing home. Which seems to be a lab about a day maybe less, ride from here. Located in a city with underground tunnel access that runs from one end of the city to the other. Uhh multiple individuals, notably probably a high percentage of evolveds. She has a sister. From the way she talks, acted around my little ones that she's about the same age or younger. I think they both posess the same ability as well. But, A woman by the name of Doctor Catherine Chesterfield came yesterday to show Liette some pictures of some individuals that were in a painting. I recognized Dr. Luis. Liette identified all, but him. I asked her later, used his name and she asked me how I knew. She's .." There's a sigh through his nose. "He's the one she calls Pop. Ther's a lot of people that are looking for her, and looking for what she knows"
"If she is missing her 'home,'" unsigned airquotes hang in the air like Vincent's breath, distracted and maybe even slightly dismayed, "she may make a move to find it herself. Or otherwise make herself available to be found."
The rest of Brennan's information is taken in with a mute nod and a trail of silence that would probably be better occupied by reassurances that everything is going to be fine. Vincent's watching the doctor closely, eyes like obsidian and brow set against the situation as much as the cold numbing at the tips of his exposed ears. "If she is limited to a certain number of abilities at a given time — as appears may be the case as opposed to some form of time limit or conscious decision, I don't know — I must encourage you to attempt to cycle her through into a less threatening skillset as quickly as possible without disturbing her."
He says so very, very seriously, diction slow and carefully spaced, so as to prevent any mistake from being made in discerning his meaning.
"While I have you here, I also regret to inform you that a Homeland Security agent by the name of Ryans wants to question you about an unrelated case. An encounter you had on March the first, I believe."
"She possess an untold amount of them, cycling them out, not so much an option. Appears that time is the limitor for that, they fade but a genetic marker is left in her DNA pertaining to what she possessed. She's in posession currently of telepathy, pamnesia, aerokinesis, manipulation of flame of some kind. Blue flame, pain augmention and chemical creation within her own bloodstream at least. Could be others that she's managed to get in our travels. If I have to, I can negate her."
Agent ryans though, and march first. Takes a moment perhaps two. "Melted body in the alleyway" he nods his head. "I gave the cops answers to their questions, I don't see what else they could want from me. Unless they think I somehow don't have negation anymore and learned to melt people"
"I see," says Vincent after a broken kind of delay. The sound of brittle hope breaking over the snow is very nearly audible about him, and again, he nods only once. Enough to convey simple understanding.
Coffee in hand, papers tucked safely out of sight, he glances down to the cup and opts to latch firmly onto the change of subject he conveniently laid out for himself. All nice and neat. "I understand that, and I tried to tell him the same thing, but wasn't having it. He may want you to look at a photo lineup or — who knows. He just came out of retirement. He's taking baby steps. Walker steps, if you will. With the little…tennis balls on the end." He sips his coffee, disaffection returned to him all at once, like the closing of familiar curtains. "In the unlikely chance that his motivations lie elsewhere, I will be in the room with you. Whether he likes it or not."
"They must be fishing the barrel pretty hard if they're bringing out the retiree's" There's a sigh, breath curling out and he reaches up to scratch at his nose and look towards the general area of where he's staying. "find out what, and where and when. I can have someone watch over her for a few hours and come across to the mainland. The less I move around the better. His timing couldn't be any more shittier Lazzaro. Would a written testimony not suffice? Could he not just write down his questions and I can … " No, wouldn't work like that. Even he knows that partway through and so he doesn't bother stopping.
He wants to take the tire iron to Rebel for getting everyone into this position. "Do what you have to, i'll comply" He's more than willing. "There's rumor there's a vaccine. For the evolved flu. This true?"
"You have the option of not appearing, however," however, "I think it's in all of our best interests for you to appear on your terms rather than his, if he wants you badly enough to come looking." Another sip and Lazzaro sniffs against the cold clogging at his sinuses, free hand cupped mildly over his nose long enough for warm air (and some feeling) to filter back into it.
"It's true. I'm the cleanest special you're likely to find this far out."
"I'll appear" He agree's. best interest of all involved. "I'd almost say let her get a crack at your ability so she can come with me, but that may or may not work to the advantage. But the Vaccine is true and he looks at Vincent. "I'd like my wife to get. My wife and my children to be tested and if they are positive, then receive it. I'm having to put my life on hold and likely impact my business and I would greatly appreciate it if in return they're taken care of at least in that manner. I can get in line when it's made public and I'm not gone to ground with a young woman. I can understand if this might be impossible. But.." He had to ask. Vincent would understand.
"No."
Nooooo. No. There's that gravity again, nearly skeptical this time, and all just for the suggestion that Liette add invisibility and intangibility to the mix in one while in a facility full of federal agents. No.
"Doctor Brennan, this girl, 'Liette,' has no loyalty to you, your people, or your genetic makeup. She may like you, get along with you, even have affection for you, but if half the shit sitting in my pocket is true, she is a danger to anyone she comes into contact with. You've clearly had enough contact with her to perceive that her concepts of social morality are skewed. I want you to take care of her. Respect her, rehabilitate her, see that she's safe. But don't give me a reason to think that you will put innocent and unwary people at risk for her." This is a lecture. It looks like a lecture. Sounds like a lecture. Probably smells like a lecture, if lectures smell like coffee and cologne. This one does. He even finger jabs at Brennan's chest. Just once.
"In layman's terms, she may be adorable and fifteen and apparently homeless, but don't be an idiot. Do not be a fucking idiot. I'm literally begging you." There is eye contact. He points to it. It is very serious. "See?" he says, "Begging. I will see what I can do about the vaccine. I can't promise anything, but men in suits like these never can."
"Did I not take her away from my home and park us in a tunnel underground for ten days Lazzaro? Last I checked, I'm not doing this for my health. I'm doing this because there are people out there, who want what she has in her head, literally, if not the information that she possess. Right now, she has a theoretical working of the world around us. She's a three year old stuck in the mind of a fifty year old, with the weapons of who knows how many evolveds. I have no doubts that if she needs to actually escape, that she won't instinctively use something. I'm living in an off grid remote house because less people are inclined to come to this island because there's a federal facility not far from here and because it's a hell of a long drive, boat, or swim. Or one really short Helicopter ride."
He digs his hands into his pockets for added warmth. "Right now, right now we're trying to impress on her that the world isn't sunshine and daisies and that not everyone is good and kind and has her best interests at heart. I don't even know if the people we are with have her best interests at heart. THe last people didn't and there's not many places in New York to hide that doesn't have something that a technopath can't hack or street camera's or store surveillance, or someone walking by with a cellphone. I'm pretty sure i'm not your ideal person to be watching over her, but i'm the only person you got and you're going to have to trust me that i'm not going to screw this up any more than I already have. She's alive isn't she?"
"Okay," says Vincent, voice muffled by the raised edge of his covered cup on its way up for a longer swallow, "excellent. You're not going to be an idiot. I'm glad we're on the same page." So glad.
"The helicopter's a pretty good perk, I have to say," comes after a silence that borders upon awkward. 'Tense' is more accurate, but it's not the word Vincent would use, as it sounds altogether less promising.
"Speaking of which, I should probably get back to it before it's overrun by militant superpowered hookers. I will know by the time I get you in touch with Ryans whether or not I'll be able to get a few vaccines for you."
'Damn, don't tell Michelle there's those on the island. I might have to add to the list of people hunting us" Is brennan's whipcrack response as he nods. "For my family. If there's one for me, well, that's just gravy lazzaro. But a man needs to provide for his family first" It's not meant as a jab, it's just how he feels. "Till then" He offers as a goodbye before starting to head off in the direction of overgrowth and trees and likely towards the safehouse he's staying at.
"Until then," agreed peaceably enough despite the absence of a smile, Vincent falls away like the smoke streamer left behind by a rocket, vaguely holding a humanoid shape at Brennan's back for the second or two it takes him to recoil in upon himself and dissipate to nothing.
If it takes the helicopter an hour to depart after it only took him fifteen minutes from the landing site, who's keeping track, right?