Rupert Hunting


hana_icon.gif melissa3_icon.gif

Scene Title Rupert Hunting
Synopsis Hana and Melissa meet to discuss their current favorite subject.
Date October 24, 2010

Tartarus: Melissa's office

Another evening, another night in the office with paperwork. Melissa has got to start giving the paperwork to others to do from time to time. So she's sitting behind her desk, tapping away at the laptop, a bottle of water setting next to her right hand, a cigarette in her left. Paperwork is a trying thing. The office is comfortable, though, the chair she's sitting in large and comfy, and instead of chairs on the other side of the desk, there's a sofa, and next to Mel's desk is a mini-fridge. Ahh, creature comforts.

The abrupt intrusion of someone into her office might come as a relief, then, an excuse to set tedious paperwork aside — for all that the visitor doesn't bother to announce herself with so much as a knock on the door. Dressed in black slacks, a low-cut teal blouse with a tracery of silver glitter, and a short midnight-blue jacket, she closes the door behind her — and makes a concession to courtesy in that she remains at the wall beside the closed door, leaving Melissa her due space. For now.

"Pierce," Hana greets coolly, light application of makeup doing nothing to soften the angles of her face. Dark eyes glance at the laptop, then back to Melissa's face. She doesn't introduce herself, but… "Bit presumptive to declare a debt and ask for a favor in practically the same breath, don't you think?"

Melissa glances up and arches a brow. "Excuse me? Do I know you?" One bad thing about knowing a person only as a technopath named Wireless means that recognition is slow in coming. She does lean back though, closing the laptop and picking up her water to sip at while she studies the stranger in her office.

The Israeli smiles thinly, studying the younger woman in return with a tip of her head. "This is the first time we've met," she replies, folding her arms casually. If anything she does is quite casual. "Though I might think sixteen hours' descent into atmosphere leaves a lasting impression." Hana lets her arms drop, shadowed gaze level upon Melissa. "And do you ever owe me," she says, more quietly, as of a thought spoken aloud.

"Ahh. Wireless." Melissa nods. "Yeah, I know I owe you one. You hardly have to remind me of that," she says, tone desert dry. "Can't expect me to recognize someone I've never seen though," she says with a shrug. "Still, thanks for not leaving us stranded up there. I know I for one appreciate it. Space was hell. Literally."

"Expect? Perhaps not." Dismissive tone; although recognition matters as a prerequisite for getting that debt repaid, in and of itself it doesn't seem important to Hana. Maybe because she deals with so very many things remotely. Pushing herself off the wall, the woman crosses the few steps over to the desk, leaning her hands on its front edge. "Rupert Carmichael. Peter Petrelli." Letting the statements imply their own questions: what do you know about them?, or perhaps where do I find them?

"That's actually the favor I had to ask you, along with knowing what happened to Rebel," Melissa says with a small shrug. "A bunch of us, Ferry, Messiah and otherwise, are all looking for Rupert. Not just for what he did to me, or to Rebel, or to those of us in the shuttle, but also because he's going to be the cause of the November Eighth riots. I've got Eileen looking via her birds, and most people are looking the old fashioned way. I was hoping you could look in your fashion." A pause, then, "Richard Cardinal told me to tell you that D.Crypt could help or to get in contact with him or something along those lines."

Looking down at Melissa, Hana smiles thinly. "Oh, I'm watching," she says, deceptively softly, a lioness' purr — if such existed. "You can be sure of that." She nods as Melissa continues. "I spoke with Cardinal." Her gaze remains focused on the younger woman, unblinking. "And Petrelli?" Stubborn as she is, that topic isn't going to be allowed to slide so easy.

"Are you going to let me know if you find him though? I have a special desire to hurt him like I was hurting up in space," Melissa says, and her smile is one of promise, while the look in her eyes is cold. "What about Petrelli though? I don't know where he is at the moment, and he was as mindfucked as the rest of us. Worse, actually, if appearances are to be believed."

"Carmichael is walking carrion. When I find him," Hana answers Melissa, blunt and straightforward with fury held just beneath the surface, "he's dead." Pain isn't Hana's province — death, simple and abrupt, suffices for her.

"Tell Petrelli we need to have a little chat," the technopath states, straightening up, letting her hands rest at her sides. "I'll let him pick where — provided it's a place I can agree with." Possibly quite a concession, if unannounced drop-ins are Wireless' normal mode of conferencing.

"Then I hope that I'm the one who finds him," Melissa says, just as bluntly. "And I'll let Peter know as soon as I see him. Can't promise he'll meet though." Her head tilts then. "You haven't mentioned Rebel though. You mentioned, up there, that some security was probably going to kill him. Did it? Or is he alive somewhere?"

One corner of Hana's mouth quirks up; it almost approaches dry amusement. "I admit," she allows, "I won't be completely disappointed if you do." As far as Peter goes — "He doesn't want me to come after him," she observes. It's a statement of fact, not threat, although could be mistaken for one.

And then they're back on the subject of Rebel.

Hana looks aside, gaze hooded, lips pressed together in a bloodless line. No amusement now. "I took him apart," she says, so very quietly. "I don't know if I can clean up the code enough to put him back together — he had one hell of a virus riddled throughout." Lips pull back to bare teeth in a feral smile. "Probably courtesy of Carmichael." It might be apparent, here, that the only grudge Hana holds against Rupert is that — and it runs dangerously deep.

"I guarantee it's courtesy of Carmichael." There's a pause as Melissa considers something. "Rupert got on the comms while we were up there, just after Rebel started going nuts. Don't suppose you were able to trace his location then, were you? Might give us a starting point." But then she's grimacing faintly. "So Rebel's essentially dead unless you can repair him? Sorry to hear it. I didn't really trust him myself, but no one deserves to die because of Rupert's plans."

"Not from a brief broadcast like that," Hana replies. "Believe me, if I had a solid starting point, I'd be there." It is no end of frustration, that none of the three of them — Hana, Melissa, and Cardinal — have even a good lead. She pivots with what might be a growl, stalking towards the door, then abruptly reverses course and returns to the desk, hand sliding into a jacket pocket and back out again.

Despite the energy of Hana's movements, whatever's in her hand clinks only lightly against the surface, handled comparatively gently. "You have a way to deal with Carmichael's ability?" If you find him first goes unsaid; they've already come to that understanding.

Melissa's head tilts as she watches Hana move to the door, then back, and she glances at the desk, then up to the woman. "I've been assembling a team to deal with him. One of them will probably have negation. If not, then we'll have negation drugs or an audiokinetic or both. Trust me, I'm not leaving anything to chance when it comes to handling Rupert in person. He's already fucked with my head three times. I won't let him make it four."

Probably. "I don't trust probably," Hana says, eyes narrowing. She lifts her hand to reveal two gleaming metallic darts, red-plumed, a vial of liquid nestled at the center of each. Two shots. Two chances. "Take someone who's a good shot. I can give you this much."

The darts are glanced at, and Melissa arches a brow, lifting her gaze slowly to Hana's face. "Negation drugs? Or something worse?" she asks, extending a hand towards the darts. "Someone who's a good shot is already on my list. Along with a telekinetic, probably two, but definitely one."

"Negation," Hana affirms. "Homeland's neurotoxin. Be aware, it can be slower to act if you inject to muscle. Possibly by minutes." She nods slightly when Melissa continues, acknowledging her list's composition. "Good." A slight, grim smile. "And good hunting."

The benediction is also farewell, as Wireless removes herself from the office.

"You too. I'll let you know if I find him first," Melissa says, picking up the darts, then lifting one so she can study it more intently than before, with a mixture of disgust for what they can do, and grim satisfaction for what they will do.

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