Really, Really Sorry


mayes_icon.gif nadia_icon.gif vincent_icon.gif

Scene Title Really, Really Sorry
Synopsis Facing the music is not so simple.
Date October 17, 2010

Suresh Center: Psych Ward

It's been horribly boring here, with nothing but a window to stare out of, and a television. Certainly, the quarters could have been much worse; the little woman could have been put in jail just as easily. Nadia was lucky to end up here, really. She managed to pull strings with Dr. Brennan, and got him to bring a few books for her, as well as her art bag.

She's finished the entire Percy Jackson & The Olympians series, which were rather quick reads to begin with, but she feels strange for finishing five books in less than a week. Currently, the terrakinetic is seated in the chair by the window, quietly sketching a landscape of the city skyline from her window. It's no sculpture, but it's something to do while she waits to see what the higher ups have in mind for her.

She's also been as perfectly behaved as she can on this; she knows that she did something not-so-good, and that the folks at the DoEA are probably not too happy with her for omitting the earthquakes from her registration. The negation drugs have been taken gladly, though it makes her feel strange, not having that connection to the earth below. At the very least, it's helping her handle being on the second floor a bit better.

She's probably been waiting to hear this. The sharp clip of heels coming down the hallway, heralding snappy stilettos. Georgia Mayes, fortunately, has a good staff under her — after her little assassination attempt, she'd been spending time in Upstate New York with her husband, and it's been down to her underlings to wage the silent war in protecting DoEA favourites from the grasping claws of DHS. Or even the grasping claws of other branches with the Department, Lazzaro. The psych ward was a smart move.

Mayes will have to thank someone for that. Later. For now, she's shown to Nadia's room by one of the doctors of the Center, a muffled 'thank you' from the other side of the door before the white-haired pseudo-politician is shown inside. A sheath dress of tawny fabric clings to her figure, her slight build propped up in severe black shoes that match the clutch purse she has in her claw.

"Thank you," Mayes tosses over a shoulder before three's a company can happen, and she steps inside, pushes the door closed — though allows for a gap of room. "Well then, here we are."

As Mayes enters, Nadia's eyes raise up toward her. She's wearing much simpler clothes, a pair of jeans and a comfortable-looking red t-shirt with Han Solo and Chewbacca upon it, drawn in Calvin and Hobbe's style. On her feet, a pair of those footies that hospitals give out, keeping her feet warm. After a moment, she hooks her pencil in the loop of her sketch pad, and raises to her feet, setting the pad on the bed near her pillow.

"Mrs. Mayes—" She pauses in her greeting, and frowns to the woman, running a hand through her hair. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you. I thought it was going to be some scary-looking guy in a suit coming through that door." She offers a weary smile. "I heard about the attempt on your life. I'm glad you're okay."

The sketch pad is forgotten as Nadia moves around to sit quietly at the foot of the bed. "I— I'm sorry I didn't update my Registry. It was a very frightening time in my life, and I let my fears get the best of me, and I know it's probably going to look bad on you guys, and…I'm sorry."

"Yes, well. Probably." Mincing into the room, Mayes reaches out to drag a chair closer, sitting down and opening her clutch to take out a pack of cigarettes and a brightly pink lighter, setting about touching flame to end, filter gripped between teeth. By the time she's exhaling smoke through her nostrils in a steady stream, she's relaxing a fraction, enough to press a thin smile at Nadia as she flicks a few silvery locks from her forehead. "I'm quite alright, thank you. Fortunately for you, these are dire times."

A somewhat late glance around for an ashtray that won't be here, before she doesn't care enough to pursue the search. "And as they say, no publicity is particularly bad publicity — at least, not when you have a decent legal team and common sense. It's all a very terrible misunderstanding. I'm sure you didn't mean to cause extensive damage or perform some sort of— "

She flicks her cigarette in a twitchy gesture of aggravation. "Superhero citizen's arrest."

Nadia fidgets in her spot, seated as she is at the foot of the bed. One hand raises, tucking her bangs behind her ear. "Y— yes, it's all a very terrible misunderstanding. I didn't mean to cause the damage, I really didn't. I can even go back and fix some of it!" She fidgets. "Though I kind-of did mean to do the citizen's arrest thing." She frowns up at Mayes.

"He did that empath thing on some kids, Mrs. Mayes. I— I couldn't let him get away after I saw that. He was sitting there, smiling, while everybody was freaking out. This adorable little boy, he was terrified. Then it hit me, and…" She frowns. "When it happens, I feel like a switch has gone off in my head, one I normally keep my hand on to keep it off. If that makes any sense at all."

She lets out a soft sigh. "But I'm happy to do anything to make up for it. Anything you guys throw at me. I don't want people to think I'm scary more than they probably already do."

Vincent is already smoking.

This would be less impressive if he didn't resolve into the span of room at Mayes' back in a fluid churn of vapor approximately the color and consistency as soot.

It's probably no coincidence that the hard cut of his suit is the same deep, charcoal grey — olive green understated in the crisp crease of his collar and darker tie.

The rest of him more or less looks the part of a government guard dog: baldness close-shaven and aquiline countenance hard-set against flaws like 'sympathy' and 'rationalization.' Hands at a lazy parade rest around a file folder at his fore, boot black eyes unfriendly, he waits to be noticed without introducing himself. And certaintly without smiling.

The reconciling of vapour to flesh is not heard, seen, or noticed by Mayes. A leg kicked over the other, black stiletto dipping off her heel in a fidget of toes within the patent leather point, she listens to Nadia with squinted, steel-blue eyes and concern defined in the lines of her face, some amount of disapproval in her frown for all that she smooths it out again. "I think perhaps we need to find a way to stall out that 'switch' in your head. I'm sure the Suresh Centre has plenty of pamphlets on the subject."

Nadia nods quietly toward Mayes. "I'm more than happy to figure it out. I think— I think I just need to learn how to control it. I haven't tried as hard as I could, I'm sure. But Dr. Brennan was kind enough to offer me some—" She's cut off by something.

As Vincent quite literally materializes behind Mayes, the Moroccan woman's eyes widen, and one hand flies up to points at Vincent. "Behind you!" At the same time, she's scooting back on her bed at an unfortunate angle, which ends with her toppling to the floor on the other side of the bed with a thump. "Oh, ow."

"Hi." Says Vincent.


Posture deferred not at all to Nadia's backpeddle and plop, he watches her go over before he turns his attention down onto Mayes and her clutch. Especially her clutch.

Smoke spirals up from the end of his cigarette in a slack loop, over and over and over itself until he draws it away from his mouth and glances back to the open door. "Fancy seeing you here."

For someone who nearly got killed not terribly long ago, Mayes does good at not falling off her chair in immediate instinct. Both feet come to plant on the ground and she does twist with enough whip in the movement to have silver strands of hair stick into lip gloss, but it's not surprise that greets Vincent, at least, initial shock instead keeling into a sort of polite resignation.

"Ah. You."

Fixing her hair with a delicate sweep of her hand, Mayes picks her clutch out of her lap and gets to her feet, opening up the space for three-way conversation. "Nadia— get up off the floor, dear— this is Vincent Lazzaro, he's of the Department." Mayes deals him a glance, sidelong, and adds, "He has a medal."

Rubbing at the back of her head, which will surely have a knot in it tomorrow, Nadia rises from behind the head, squinting at Vincent for a moment. Then, slowly, she returns to her spot, peering curiously at Vincent. Finally, after a moment of long contemplation, she points toward Vincent once more. "You're the guy who saved Mr. Praeger!" She smiles, suddenly, though she's still rubbing at the back of her head.

Dark eyes switch between the two, and Nadia frowns slightly. "So…what happens now?"

"I ask whether or not you were previously aware of your ability to generate seismic activity." Direct questions do occasionally have direct answers, even here. Seeing as he is speaking to Nadia, Vincent looks directly at her — Mayes blotted from his line of sight with a practiced angle of his head despite her conspicuously polite endeavor to create an environment ideal for three way conversation.

"But yes. That was me. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, by the way," follows up slickly enough, the severity of his countenance lessened by a lift of one hand to scuff at the side of his nose.

Mayes' fingers make claws hooked over the back of the chair she'd been sitting in, fanning out and curling in with a musical kind of rhythm and sheen of a neutral shade of nail polish, clutch purse caught between frame and palm. The other hand brings cigarette to her mouth to take a dainty draw of smoke, blowing it away from the conversation and her displeasure manifests in these subtle fidgets and a small frown at the corners of her mouth.

She does not answer for Nadia, perhaps surprisingly, allowing the girl the floor to speak for herself with a judgmental cast of a stare that switches from Vincent's profile to the girl perched on the end of her bed.

The terrakinetic frowns, her eyes turning down toward the ground as Vincent asks his question, fidgeting in her own way on the bed, by wringing her hands together. "Y-yes. I did know about it prior to recent events. Back in— July, I think? I was in the wrong place at the wrong time…these guys were trying to force their way into this lady's house, and they shot me in the arm."

She gestures down at the somewhat wide scar on her arm that required stitches. "I'm the one behind the earthquake in Queens, back in July. I freaked out after I found out that I could do that…" She cringes slightly. "It was stupid of me."

Neutrality retained with the kind of conscious effort that stills whatever extraneous movement he'd been utilizing to break up the severity of his posture, Vincent is very still for the beat it takes him to recall that he was scratching at his nose. "I see," allowed once he has, he drums the fingers of his left hand once across the breadth of his (unopened) manilla file and leans into a step back so subtle it hardly registers. "Back in July. Well — I can understand why you didn't mention it. That must have been very alarming for you."

Another beat later, he takes another step, this time gesturing vaguely for the door. "I'll see about having your paperwork updated while I'm thinking about it."

"Hopefully," Mayes pipes up, steely blue gaze resting firmly on Vincent this time as smoke curls and loosens from gesturing cigarette end, "it will be on record that Nadia was very responsible with coming forward about this last incident, and has been admirably compliant in response. Behaviour that the Department forever seeks to reward — even your branch, I'm certain."

Another tap of ash, a shrug to Nadia as if to indicate that someone— not Mayes— will certainly clean it up, no worries. Just as clean as her record will be, obviously, if expectant silence is to communicate much more than desiring response.

When Vincent's reaction is more sympathetic and less severe than she expected, Nadia relaxes visibly, one hand reaching up to trail through her hair. "It really was alarming. I try to use my ability only to create things…sculptures, engravings, artwork. To learn that I could do something so utterly destructive was…shocking, to say the least. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but— well, I don't think anyone expects something like that."

She offers a faint smile toward Vincent and Mayes. "Thank you, both of you. I know that what I did could very easily make the Department look bad, and I am horribly sorry for it, for what it's worth." She runs a hand through her hair again.

The smile that works its way onto Vincent's face in a matter of slow degrees (to match a stall in his progress for the door) is genuine for all that it is also at Mayes' expense. Teeth white, brows at a distantly skeptical level, carefully kept stubble seasoned black and occasionally grey. It's the kind of smile you show someone when you suspect they're trying to be funny and don't want to make them feel awkward but aren't entirely — sure. That they are joking. Kidding. Joshing. Not serious.

"Well," he says, cigarette plugged briefly back in and tugged away nearly as quickly amidst a stream of acrid smoke, "she did say that she's sorry. Really sorry, from the sound of it. I mean," his brows lift, exaggerated in their consideration of exactly how sorry she is, "I'm certainly convinced."

"Ahh," Mayes says, with that same kind of glossy smile back, although it's one that is more a baring of canines before a bite than cynicism and uncertainty. "I suppose now wouldn't be an ideal time to ask exactly how 'sorry' that young man Anders was for his own transgressions before he'd stepped into DoEA employment. In the interest of staying on topic. Now go back to stringing misbehaving policemen up the American flagpole by their underpants, Lazzaro — I have this situation under control."

Of Nadia's appeal of sorryness, of making the Department look bad, Mayes doesn't actually afford her attention.

Nadia's brow furrows, the girl turning her gaze down toward the ground. She's wringing her hands a bit, scooting back on the bed and crossing her legs under herself Indian-style. She takes a few deep breaths, closing her eyes…then, she opens them, peering up at Vincent and Mayes. "If…if you think that I should be locked away…I wouldn't disagree with you. I probably should be."

She frowns, her posture drooping slightly. "I'm dangerous. I even scare myself with some of the things that I can do. If— if you want to put me away, then I certainly wouldn't blame you."

"We haven't spoken about it, actually." Decidedly level for all that that the crude oil of his glare on Mayes has increasingly taken on the consistency and texture of tar, Vincent takes another drag without blinking. "I'll have to ask him next time he uses his ability to put thousands of unwary citizens at risk."

Cigarette tipped more carefully away this time, now that it has a pillar of ash scorched precariously at its end, he looks to Nadia when she speaks. Patiently polite all the way down to the shady little lump of coal at his core. "Locking people away isn't actually my department, Ms. Ba'albaki — am I saying that correctly? Ba'albaki? Anyway, if you'd like to come with me, we can certainly discuss it in the privacy of my office as an option, along with anything else you feel may be appropriate under the cirucmstances."

Well, if she wanted Georgia Mayes' attention—

She turns to face Nadia with a schoolmarm's stare, smoldering cigarette now used to point at her by the time Vincent is done. There is a rare spark of temper— or not so rare, in that Nadia's seen Mayes on the phone before and taking this tone of voice; "The face of Registration does not get locked away. Don't be absolutely ridiculous. Bloody hell, it's a good thing we give you scripts." Cigarette lowering, there is a second where Mayes tries to assess what could be a tug of war, tossing a glance at Vincent before dealing him another thin smile.

"You can expect a call from my office very soon."

Nadia fidgets a bit, nodding slowly as she peers up at Vincent. "Y-yes, that's how you pronounce it. Why would you want me to come to your office, Mr. Lazzaro?" She fidgets nervously. Mayes' tone prompts a frown from the face of Registration, the woman nodding slowly and turning her eyes down toward the ground, fidgeting a bit more.

"I didn't know what you guys had in mind for me, is all. I really will do all that I can to make up for this." She frowns down at the ground again.

"The 'face of Registration' has made a mistake. And I commend her for having the fortitude to open herself up to the potential for punitive action accordingly."

Unlike some people, says the glance Lazzaro is slow to check sideways after Mayes once he's angled himself back at the door. Then he flips the file open, scopes the interior, and flops it more lazily shut again as he finally starts walking. "Nevermind about my office, sweetheart. I'll have someone sent out to see that you aren't bothered. Don't let her get to you."

The last sounds a little like an order, complete with a jab of the unmarked file just before a milder, "I'll be expecting your call," and a clean furl and fall to smoke. He's gone.


Mayes lets out a smoky breath as Vincent, in turns, smokes out. Flicking hair out of her face in a feline-like motion of aggravation, she hesitates before looking back at Nadia, and managing to offer the young woman a smile, this time. "Don't let him get to you. Flat-foot beat cop in a suit." There's a glance over her shoulder as if to check— and hope— that Vincent is listening, before nodding back to Nadia. "Come along, dear. Fortunately, you live at the Octagon.

"So I suppose you get to go home. Until this is all sorted out, I would recommend you behave yourself. Don't spend lengthy amounts of time off Roosevelt Island — certainly not overnight. They'll be watching for that sort've thing. Shall I wait outside while you gather your things?"

Nadia offers a weak smile in Lazzaro's direction, nodding slowly. "Thank you, Mr. Lazzaro. You have a good day." She tenses a little as he drops into smoke, her brows raising. That will take some getting used to, certainly.

Dark eyes turn toward Mayes, and the small woman offers a nod. She has no clue what just went on— it's rather obvious that she was just in the middle of a rivalry, though she has no clue why, or what the opposing viewpoints are. Perhaps it's better that way, for her to be the blissfully unaware celebrity.

"Yes, I'll only be a moment. I'll be glad to go home." She smiles. "I don't usually stay out overnight, in any case, so there's not much to worry about." That said, she begins to gather her things.

"Fantastic." And with the air of someone uninclined to hover as their underlings gather their effects, Mayes is moving out the door with that same clickclack of high heels on the hard floor, the promise of waiting for Nadia as dubious as the unfurling smoke still lingering in the air.

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