Participants:
| Scene Title | Our 007 |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Robyn Quinn is asked for some discreet assistance by the small but growing Clone Club. |
| Date | June 23, 2018 |
If life were a cartoon, the floor of the safehouse room would have a foot-deep, figure-eight furrow etched into it by the thick soles of Chess' converse. The young woman paces the room, hands in her pockets, as she waits for the guest to arrive. Aside from the fact that she doesn't do well with strangers or staying in one place very long, she has other reasons to be nervous.
Like the fact the guest is government.
Like the fact she hasn't okayed this little ploy with her half sister — knowing the woman would say no.
Like the fact that it means trusting a stranger with secrets that could be the difference between life and death for herself.
"Fuck," she says, suddenly, stopping and turning the other direction, reaching for her phone and beginning to type out a message to Lynette to call the meeting off.
But it's too late.
If Chess were closer, she might hear the elevator doors open as Lynette leads Robyn to the common room. She's already warned her that Chess is skittish around anyone official and begged some patience for the young woman.
She steps in the room first, giving Chess a reassuring smile before she gestures for Robyn to come in. "Chess, this is my friend Robyn. Robyn, this is Chess." She even manages to make that introduction sound normal, like her two friends just happened to meet instead of there being a rather stressful reason for this meeting. "Can I get you some coffee?" This is to Robyn. She gives Chess a look over. "None for you, though," she says with a crooked smile.
Such skittishness is why Robyn hasn't even brought her official ID in with her, or her service pistol - though she does have her personal sidearm openly on her hip. She's dressed rather officially, though, in one of many black pressed suits she wears, though at least it has slightly disarming lace accents at the ends of the sleeve.
The headband eyepatch probably doesn't help. Or lends her instant credibility. You never can be sure.
"Hello," is offered to the stranger with a weak smile. Normally she might be more hesitant about something like thiss, but it's Lynette asking. That gets a lot of leeway right there. "Sure," is a response to Lynette. "Didn't get any before my flight back."
Chess' fingers stop moving on the phone as Chess hears the two entering the room and sighs ever so slightly before turning to give Lynette and Robyn a weak smile. The coffee quip earns Lynette a slightly amused huff of a laugh.
"Sorry," she says to their host, with a self deprecating smirk, before she steps forward to meet Robyn more properly.
"Hi," she says, offering her hand to shake, then gesturing to the couch and chairs and moving to perch on the edge of one of the chairs. "Thanks for coming. I have sort of an unorthodox favor to ask — I don't know if you can do it or not."
Lynette smiles at Chess, giving her a gentle pat to the arm. What's clear to Robyn is that this is one of those people that Lynette has folded in— it's familiar because Robyn was also folded in.
"Coffee it is, then. My dad just sent some up from Mexico and it's really good." Better than most here in the safe zone. Definitely better than Fort Jay's offerings. And when she goes to pour some, she does get some for Chess, too. She's letting Chess lead this little meeting; she'll play hostess and social lubricant.
"Don't really have good coffee these days," Robyn notes as she awaits her serving. Coffee is second only to whiskey in her favourite drinks, and since that's certainly out of the question while she's here this makes for the next best thing. "It's shit at Fort Jay, and not much better in Rochester," she remarks very matter of factly. Not that she'd ever tell Hana or Avi.
Looking for a chair, Robyn moves to sit, legs crossed as she looks to Chess with a reassuring smile. "Been told little of what I'm being asked for," she admits, spoken very matter of factly. "Which I guess is why we're here." She's trying not to seem to tightly wound for Chess' benefit, at least. "If it's something I can help with, I'll see what I can do. If I can't, well. That stays between us."
At the small talk, Chess remains quiet, but then Robyn addresses her again.
"If you can do it without getting the attention of the whole agency as to why you're looking," she begins, before she picks up a manila envelope that she's set on one of the end tables and passes it over to Robyn. Inside is a photograph of herself, clearly done fairly recently at some sort of photo booth. The lighting is unflattering and she looks somber, like she might be posing for a passport with the explicit instructions not to smile.
Also in the manila envelope is a ziplock bag that contains a harder sheet of transparent plastic. Written on the label space is simply the initials F.L. and the word fingerprints.
"I'd like you to run facial recognition or my fingerprints through the system, to see if you can find anyone else that match them," she says. "My real name's Francesca Lang. From Denver. So if you find anything connected to that name, it's not what I'm looking for."
Lynette comes over, handing a coffee to each before she gets herself one as well. If they want anything like sugar or cream— well, there doesn't seem to be any around.
When Chess starts to explain, as thin as the explanation is, Lynette looks over at Robyn with a sort of amused expression. "You may need to let her know what you are looking for," she says, to Chess, "if this is something you can do, Robyn?" The agency part worries her, she doesn't want Chess to end up on their radar, but that's why she suggested Robyn. Someone who would be straight with them.
Robyn accepts the coffee with gusto, and wastes little time in taking a long sip -black, hot coffee doesn't seem like it bothers her in the least. With that done, she sets the coffee aside and opens the manilla envelope. Her eye narrows as she looks at the transparent sheet. There's a slight frown on her face for a moment, head tilting to the side a bit. Eye narrows, she leans closer to it, as if inspecting it, before sliding everything back in the envelope. She looks at the both of them with a weak smile. "Sorry. Hard to see them quite in this light." At least for her.
Setting the envelope aside, she turns her attention back to Chess. "I certainly can. Likely, I can slip it in alongside other work. I have reports and processing to do this week at Fort Jay as it is." She doesn't think anyone will think much of it. "Fingerprints might be less likely to raise any eyebrows than names. Can manage it discreetly, though. I'm sure of it."
But she doesn't quite slide the envelope away from her. "But." There's a distinct tone in her voice. "I trust Lynette wouldn't be getting me involved in anything that could get me fired. I won't ask you for much, but I value my jobn, Ms. Lang. Is there anything I should know you're willing to share?" She has to cover her bases as well, after all.
The item out of her hand, Chess leans back, then looks up at Lynette to take the coffee and possibly the advice. Her sip of the coffee is smaller, but she makes no face at the bitterness of unadulterated black coffee, either. She sets it down, then leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, dark eyes downcast as she speaks.
"It shouldn't get you fired," she says after a moment. "I don't know if you'll find anything at all. And I don't have any names, other than my own, to give you."
Chess examines her nails for a moment, short and painted in dark blue. There's no chips to chip away at today. Her eyes come back up. "This sounds a little sci fi, but basically I am wondering if you find anyone matching the prints — or the photo — that isn't me. I've recently been told that I may be one of nine identicals. The person who told me this isn't sure if I'm the only one still alive. So basically I need to know if there are any others and where they last were." She pauses, glancing at Lynette, maybe for back up, since she is pretty sure she sounds like a crazy person, then adds, "For their safety."
"I don't know why you trust that, I'm famous for my antiestablishment shenanigans," Lynette says, to Robyn, as she settles in a chair. She's kidding, of course, because she would not want to ruin Robyn's life or career.
She nods, though, to Chess' explanation and when the look comes her way, she turns back to Robyn. "It's possible that someone is hunting them down. To capture or kill them, we think. If we can find any others, we can help them. Warn them, at least." Hell, there are enough rooms in the Benchmark to house the lot, if it comes to that. "But nothing to get you in trouble. Not for taking a peek. But it is possible this is a hole that goes deep."
An eyebrow is quirked in response to Chess' explanation. She tries to remain entirely straight faced, to keep her unamused and unflappable, professional demeanor. She stares at Chess for what feels like a long moment-
Until suddenly, she can't.
Robyn breaks rather abruptly, and while she doesn't start full on laughing, she does turn slightly away, back of her hand up to her mouth to stifle the scarf that slips out. "Apologies. If it makes you feel better, that's far from the strangest thing I've ever heard." She thinks back, briefly, to the day someone who looked just like Magnes but wasn't showed up at her doorstep, waving a gun around. She clears her throat, regaining her composure as she looks back at Chess. "Alright. I'll see what I can find. My only other question is, do you think this involves the Institute at all?" Because that, she admittedly would probably get in trouble for not telling someone about.
But before Chess can answer, Robyn looks back over to Lynette amusedly. "And I'm famous for actively working to bring down the government," she notes, probably more seriously than Lynette had meant. But she cracks a smile again afterwards. "Funny how that works."
Chess’ gaze flicks to Lynette while Robyn stares, but then return to the agent when the question of the Institute is asked.
“Not Institute. I was born in China. I’m not sure if any of my…” she hesitates, before choosing the next word, “sisters made it to the US, so this might be for nothing. But if they did, there might be passports or registration paperwork. They most likely are all evolved, but genetics are weird.”
She’s quiet for another moment, before adding, “I’m sure at least a couple of them are deceased.” The words seem out of place, and she corrects herself. “Were killed.”
Lynette shakes her head indulgently at Robyn's reaction, but she gives Chess a more reassuring nod. Everything's fine. "From the outside, it looks like a hostile takeover," she says, given Robyn's previous activities and her new position. "No wonder people are worried."
The Institute gets a frown, as it always does. She looks over at Chess, then back to Robyn. "If it turns out they're involved somehow, we can escalate. But I doubt it. They had their own method for cloning." It was gross. "For now, we're just looking for any possible lookalikes and where they might be found. Or if they've also been killed. And how." Because she's pretty sure all nine aren't walking around, even if she doesn't say so.
Robyn offers a small nod to Chess, returning to a more impassive expression. "If the Institute was involved, I would be obligated to tell my superiours," she explains, leveling her eye with Chess'. "Just so you know." So that, in the event Chess has just lied to her, she knows to keep doing it. "I work directly with hunting down remnants of the Institute." She smirks. "Literally my job at the moment." A gross oversimplification that makes her look much more important than she actually is.
She spreads her hands in front of her. "If there are other assholes doing work to hurt people, I have no problems helping bring them to justice however I can." Which is to say, if it wasn't clear enough yet, she's in. "How do I get back to you with my findings."
A moment's pause, and she leans over to Lynette. "It was," she stage whispers. She's kind of joking, but in a lot of ways she's not wrong.
The corner of Chess’ mouth tips up at the implied message behind Robyn’s words, and she glances to Lynette and back to the agent with a nod to agree with all that’s been said.
“Here,” she says, reaching into her back pocket to pull a card out — it’s blank but for a phone number on it. “There’s at least one techno on the team that’s hunting us so be careful. I don’t answer that line and rarely use it for texting.” Even when she can get a signal. “But call and let it go to voicemail. Just say you’re looking for Maria. Don’t call from the phone you want me to call you back on, but give me that number now, yeah?”
After saying all of that, Chess barks out a breathy near laugh. “That sounds complicated. I guess you could also just come by here. Up to you.” She hands over the card anyway, but looks a bit sheepish. “I sound like a crazy person,” she asides to Lynette.
For Lynette, there was very little doubt that Robyn would agree to help. Still, there's a smile once she makes it clear to Chess that this is the case.
"I suppose it was fairly hostile," she says, as flippantly as she can manage. For effect. With the war over, she's free to joke about it. According to her.
She sips at her coffee as Chess explains how to contact her, cup hiding the hint of amusement. Because it is complicated and Chess does sound a little crazy, but Lynette knows that it's all necessary as well. Plus, she's in good company for it. "You both are welcome to use the Benchmark as a meeting place, if that would be easier. Or as a drop off, however you like your cloak and dagger." Chess is definitely too young to know what Cloak and Dagger was, so Lynette pauses a moment before she amends. "Your 007."
Better.
"Not at all," is Robyn's reassurance to Chess, re: potential craziness. She looks Chess in the eye, and with a straight face, cocks her head slightly askew. "Do you believe in time travel?" It's her typical counter back to this sounds crazy. It's not meant as a game of one-upmanship, but- yes. She's certainly dealt with crazier.
She listens to the rather overblown instructions, and just shakes her head. "I can provide you with a number. But cell coverage is too unreliable here. If I need to…" She angles her gaze up towards the ceiling, a curious look on her face. "I might be able to ask a technopath I know for help." Not that she would expect Hana Gitelman to help her of all people, but one good technopath means a possible need for your own, and it's filed in the back of her mind.
"No, I will leave drops here, and rely on Lynette to relay anything I find to you." She says this with a definitive nod - that's that. The cloak and dagger comment gets a look from Robyn - she knows the phrase, but not the source. She's not a secret agent with a license to kill - kind of - but she likes the idea of this being their 007.
“Sorry. I just can’t keep blowing up my cell phones,” Chess says, with a smirk, realizing the longwinded explanation is breaking the rule of keep it simple, stupid. “And that is how they were tracking me,” she adds for Robyn’s sake.
“Sure, time travel’s a thing. I haven’t met anyone myself with it personally but I know other people who have,” she adds with a shrug of one shoulder. She’s not impressed, Robyn!
Once everything’s settled, though, she nods, a new sort of tension settling into her muscles, visible as she bounces lightly on the balls of her feet and reaches for the cup of coffee to take another sip. “Just be careful. And I guess it goes without saying, the less people who know, the better. Even if you think they can help — I just don’t want to draw too many people into this mess.”
She takes a breath, glancing at Lynette, then back to Robyn. “I can’t do it alone but if I could, I would, you know?” She shakes her head, free hand reaching up to shove a lock of hair behind one ear.
“That is to say, thank you.”