Participants:
| Scene Title | References And Resumes |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Both are always interesting when you're a professional terrorist. |
| Date | June 10, 2011 |
It's been a while since Monica was on the island, but when you want to get in touch with people deep in the Ferry, where better to go? So after hitching a ride and dropping off a little collection of spices in the kitchen — she has a very clear memory of the food from last time — she was off to try to find Raith.
But it is a rather spacious place, this castle. Which is why she ended up here, near where the room are, assuming that most people will have to come by some time or another. It's a good opportunity to practice patience. And yoga. After all, focusing on not falling over when you're all twisted around yourself is a decent distraction.
Bannerman's Castle has no offices. The living quarters must double as such, and although it has been no secret that Jensen Raith has been spending less time on the island and more time on the mainland, he still comes back from time to time. There is work that can be done nowhere else. Monica does not have to wait long for him to appear, although he seems to only really notice because she is in his way.
"Not the best place for that," is what he says as he approaches from down the corridor, "What if there was a fire? How would all of us get around you after you tie yourself into a pretzel? I'd call the fire marshall if it wouldn't get me arrested and shot." The papers in his hands are probably of some importance, although they look nothing like the 'official' documents that a government man or soldier might carry. The small parts that do become visible to Monica look to be hand-written and drawn, and there is a non-zero chance one of them was done with a crayon. Not all that surprising, considering this is Raith.
"Oh, it's not as bad as all that. You probably wouldn't get arrested," Monica says with a smile as she unpretzels herself. "And I'd hope someone would think to pick me up and carry me to safety, you know, in a best case scenario. Which I guess, if there's a fire, maybe that's hoping a little too much."
There is a glance to the papers, but just a glance, as if trying to leave the man some kind of privacy. "I was looking for you, believe it or not. I mean, well, I guess really I was waiting at this point. How's things?" She asks, a hip cocking out to the side as her hand lands there, still mostly in the way.
It's sort of a strange question, Raith may think. The cocked eyebrow might mean that, if it doesn't mean something else instead. "Well, I'm on the most wanted list, the country is spiraling down the toilet faster than I can really believe, and I've come to accept the fact that Kazimir Volken was not actually crazy, but simply ahead of his time. Other than that?" A half-shrug of the ex-spy's ex-spy-shoulders. "Things are pretty good. Could be worse, you know."
"Yeah. That's all sort of why I'm here," you know, that whole list. Monica gets a wry look about her, though, nodding to those last words, "Yeah, definitely could be. In the spirit of trying to keep worse at bay… how do I sign up? Not just for the Ferry, but with the special division. I figure it's about time I make myself useful and they way I hear it… the Ferry's got some staying power." In the future, of course.
The cocked eyebrow goes away, but Raith's expression still seems to indicate that this is something of a strange conversation topic. It might be: There isn't exactly a line of people looking to join Special Activities. It might be fair to say that, given the nature of the job, most people look for ways to get out of working in SA. But at least he's not dismissing Monica. Or laughing.
"Well, there's the interview you have to go through, and I need to run your application past Ryans. But otherwise, asking is really all there is to it. Walk with me." And whether or not Monica does, Raith resumes walking down the corridor, losing interest in his papers for the moment. "It's harder to get into the United States Army than in Special Activities."
"Good thing for me I've had a lot of practice with job interviews. Although, references are gonna be a challenge, since the people I've done this sort of work with before are missing or, ya know… dead." Not her fault. Monica does turn to follow along, jogging a couple steps to catch up. "A lot harder, I imagine, since I've got that arrested and shot problem, too. But I never liked uniforms anyway."
"Then you'll fit right in." Part of the 'interview' is formality. Raith's worked with Monica before. Once. And never really got to see what she's capable of. "Age, occupational background, and ability. You've got some sort of muscle thing, I know, but I'm fuzzy on the details." It's only the start of a string of questions that Raith has. "Experience with explosives and demolitions, guerrilla warfare, NBC warfare, SIGINT, B&E, counterintelligence, and I'll also need a picture of you in a zebra suit."
Monica nods along with that list, right up until the end, when she looks over at him with a lifted eyebrow. "Only if I get to see one of you in a zebra suit," she notes, hands back on the hips there. "Age, twenty-five, occupational background includes waitressing, cooking, bodyguard, security, vigilantism and apparently some terrorism, but I like to call it freedom fighting. Sounds more noble that way. My ability is adoptive muscle memory, which lets me learn any skill I can watch. I have a nice library to pick from ranging from fruit sculpting to sniper experience. So far, no experience with demolitions except one time I was on the receiving end. They hurt a lot, is about what I could tell you. I'm not sure what all those letters mean, but I've mostly been the go to girl for miscellaneous skills that might be useful on any particular mission. I'm good with guns and martial arts. Sneaking around. Driving, I'm an excellent wheelman. Woman. Whatever."
ORDER: Raith Monica
"Impressive resume, good delivery." Delivery matters, apparently. "Muscle memory isn't going to help much with demolitions, but if Benjamin approves you signing on, you'll be learning. All the other skills you already have, I'd feel like I was wasting talent if we don't at least teach you the basics." Gradually, the ex-spy slows to a halt. It's not because of any apparent danger, or obstruction. Just thinking, it would appear. Two glances, one down each direction the corridor leads, and then he leans just a bit closer and whispers as if in conspiracy. "The Battle of New York, whenever it finally comes, is going to be the single greatest challenge we'll face. We're going to need people like you. Intelligent, skilled, dedicated. Especially with the tough guys like me pushing fifty."
"Thanks," Monica says, taking the compliment with a nod. "I'm willing to learn anything, really. The old fashioned way or my way, however works." She stops, too, turning toward him as he looks around. "I can believe that. And I've had people ask me to go get somewhere safe instead of sticking around for it. But ya know? I sorta feel like I was meant for this sort of thing. Fighting the good fight, all that. I'm pretty well determined to be in that battle one way or another and I'd feel a lot better about it being with people who're better at tactics than me. So. I guess I'm saying I'm in this for the long haul."
"Good." And that settles the matter? "Still need to run it past Benjamin, since I'm not running the show all by myself anymore, but all things considered, I don't think he'll say, 'no.' Gives you time to think about it, too. In case you change your mind. But if, for the moment, you will excuse me-" To emphasize the statement he is ready to make, Raith does raise up the handful of papers he is carrying with him- "I have poorly-drawn maps to look over and turn into legibly-drawn maps."
"Of course. I live on the mainland, most of the time, but I can get back and forth pretty easy. Not like I got a lot of previous engagements." Monica does rattle off a number, which is likely a throw away phone, but she'll have it around. "Otherwise, Liz Harrison knows how to find me." She gives him a salute that's more playful than serious, and starts to turn to go her own way, only to pause a few steps away, turning back to add one thing. "Thanks for this." And then she turns back, and finally stops blocking the hall.
"You're welcome," is a half-meant reply. Raith appreciates the dedication that Monica shows, of course. What is less certain is how much she'll be thanking him when shit gets real. No time to worry about that now. Just as Monica departs the corridor, so too does Raith, bound for his quarters- what stands in for his office- to pour over the documents in his hand. He has a lot of work to do.