Save Us A Mojito


elisabeth_icon.gif francois_icon.gif teo3_icon.gif

Scene Title Save Us A Mojito
Synopsis As everyone packs their gear, Teo's handing out weapons and talking about drinks!
Date Dec 24, 2009

Spektor's House

There's little time for the group to pack up for their various destinations, but there is time for a couple of small things. Elisabeth just got off Cat's cell phone to call home in person. He is livid, frightened for her, and demanding answers that Elisabeth can't give right now. But Abby's going home. She has just enough time to write a quick letter to give to the former healer before Abby has to leave. She pauses by the doorway to the room that Teo's (and Francois?) been using when she spots movement on her way past it, and she leans against the doorjamb — Katarina's still strict about the whole women's room/men's room stuff and Liz respects the woman's sensibilities. "Hey," she greets quietly from the doorway.

Five minutes earlier in the day, Teo was seeing about how cigarettes could work out of the newly-opened side of his mouth, because… because he's a boy, and yes his face is ruined, but it would be singularly hilarious if the new and improved expansion to his maw facilitated in the lung cancer process. While it was thoroughly— inextricably healed, the skin and tissue healed and matted with webby keloid, there was little available grip beside that of his exposed teeth and inadvertent gnawing just made the stick all mushy, so. He spat it out.

There's low laughter emanating from the room, now. "I don't know. I don't know," Teo's saying— in sort of a kind of a complaining voice, flapping an empty handgun to and fro, callused fingers noosed around the muzzle. "Shit, Caliban bribed this shit through customs, the Company didn't raise an eyebrow. And the carrier crew can't be that above-board if they're inviting the likes of you all over. You should take it. I'll have one, more stuff at home, you're going straight to fucking war…"

His voice doesn't sound any different, despite the new incision, and certainly not his mode address for Francois, half-hidden by the door. "Buona sera, Liz." Nor for the audiokinetic. He raises his head, squints out the door at her.

Francois is seated, legs folded, next to where his minimal amount of luggage has been safely secured, the last dregs of his life at the Spektor household packed neatly. The only thing he'd need to get on his way would be shoes, his feet clad in woolen socks instead and mostly hidden beneath this knees, on which his elbow rests. Back bends a little more at the sound of approach and then conversational inclusion, spying a slice of Elisabeth and giving her a nod.

Then, sticks out his right hand. "If you think I would fare better with it wherever I next go then oui, give. Just know there will not always be former Vanguard assassins to lever my targets out of windows on my behalf, n'est-ce pas."

Boyishly bitter about that — it's hard to shoot someone in two reasonably critical areas and somehow lose. A lot of stuff was one fire. His left hand is still bandaged and braced as if it weren't completely healed, the luxury of covering it very much unlike Teo trying to smoke through the hole in his cheek.

A raise of the eyebrow, and Elisabeth asks, "You all? So you're not going?" That sort of… surprises her. Elisabeth actually thought Teo would be all-in on this. The two men took far more injury on their run than Liz herself, and she studies them both quietly. Once they get home, she's figuring Deckard can help out Teo's ripped face — isn't that how it always works? It used to be Abby who fixed everything, now it's Deckard. Hell, the man put her brain matter back together after a bullet shredded it. "I'm reasonably certain that once we land on the carrier, weapons will be removed from anyone carrying them. Military rules and all." She hesitates and asks them, "How're you guys holding up?" She's dressed for the cold climes of Russia at the moment — black wool slacks, black sweater, black boots — she'll have to get lighter-weight clothing onsite if she needs it aboard the carrier.

Available evidence as to Teodoro's immediate plans seem to contradict one's normal expectations of the Sicilian whose superheroics had preceded his having superpowers, even. He's giving guns away. At least, generosity isn't entirely uncharacteristic of him.

The Glock: it exchanges hands. "No. Well, not right away.

"If they clear me to join up later, I might…" there's a beat's pause. Teo realizes that this choice of wording may not be paying the end of the world the proper recognition, but, "swing by afterward. For now, though, they have marines in much better shape than I am, and I figure I've spent my tank on the investigative shit, so I figure it's the practical thing, eh?"

Once upon a time, Teo used to retreat to practicality to get away from his personal life, but one seems like a pretty good excuse for the latter, this time. He steps back, drops himself onto his hindquarters on his bed, waves the woman in. "Your military doesn't like rules," he adds, footnoting, with a brief naw naw gesture at Francois to waylay any likelihood of the weapon's return. He's in wool and cotton, himself. Jersey of some unspecific sport and jeans, green and gray, rather than the sobriety of Elisabeth's chic.

"I'm okay. Ready to go home. I think Ethan is too; Kozlow's ability— what, coccooned the bullets in his body with… with tissue, or some shit, I don't know. The x-rays don't know what to make of it." Pale eyes swivel a minute gesture down at the Frenchman's bandaged hand, passing along the inquiry after his assessment of the former-Vanguard-assassin in question.

Francois' momentary pout had elicited a smile around the eyes, but Teo isn't about to remark upon the circumstances under which Ethan had literally saved his literal neck. He's alive. (IT'S WHAT'S IMPORTANT AFTER ALL. … :S)

… :S But says nothing of Francois' shooting skills, or to be generous, something of Kozlow's stamina. Sneaky skills, however, perhaps have some weight, and he's not about to hand the Glock back right away, turning it over his his hand and looking up only when there's a neat break in the conversation for him to contribute. The gun rests on bed covers in front of him, good hand dragging over his backpack for a temporary resting place for the sidearm.

The sharp zip sound of it opening preludes words. "I am well enough. I may not be in better shape than Marines— " He glances in apology to Teo. Not to undermine your decision or anything. "But then I don't have a home I'm eager to return to, either. If I do not see this complete with my own eyes than that sentiment won't change."

The gun is slipped in between folded shirts and denim, eyes on his task made trickier more by stiff bandaging than the injury itself.

There's a moment's pause as Elisabeth assimilates the information that Teo must be 'cleared' to join the rest. A faint smile designed to hold her bitterness at bay — sure, they offered to let her go back to New York for the holiday. And she's a bit torn about that decision in some ways. She'd like to reassure her father in person. But there's a job that needs doing…. and someone else out there for whom she wants to be onsite at their return. "Good," is all she says to Teo's intent to go home. "Abby will need the company. I'll feel better with you there to help her and keep an eye on her." She nods to Francois's mindset and admits, "They offered me the chance to go home for a visit… but considering that my co-workers all think I've been kidnapped, it seems more trouble to go home than whatever small comfort I might get from seeing my father. He understands." As well as any parent whose child is apparently kidnapped and then has said child call up and say 'I'm okay, I'm on a government mission to save the world, but if I vanish my friends will let you know' can possibly understand. "But apparently I'm under house arrest with Holden for the duration."

She smiles just a little at Teo. He knows that she's sort of freaking out about the whole situation, though she's holding herself together pretty well. "Wouldn't matter either way, though… I couldn't go home in good conscience. There's time to rest when we're done." It's become something of a private mantra.

Seated on the bed, Teo's expression changes slightly as he listens to his friend talk. She's told her father. This neither surprises nor confuses him, precisely, though he couldn't fathom reconnecting with his own parents on this event and, for a moment, becomes awkwardly aware of it. "Hey, if they let your old man and your fellow officers know you've been kidnapped, that's— an expenditure of resources, and a claim on their attention.

"More than I can say for a lot of the boys and girls in our line of work. You're not gone. Not like Helena or my aunt were. And I honestly don't think you're going to be." Hesitation wrinkles the fold of his arm for a moment, before Teo makes good on a reach at the belt loop on Liz's hip, giving it a tug. "Come back with with your shield, Spartan. No other fucking options."

It's either the little knight or the old ghost that has nothing to say about what he can or can't do on good conscience. Possibly, the adolescent, irritable, mutilated hybrid who's sort of a mathematical mean between the two of those quantities is merely being difficult. If they really need another blond mutant to throw at the next operational phase, they can stuff him in a burlap sack too. Fuckers.

"Abby and I will drink mojitos for you," he offers both of them. Making fun. They are allowed to punch him for it.

"Mojitos? In the winter time?" is what Francois fires back, lifting his head once more as he rejoins the conversation, swinging his legs back over the side of the bed to perch on the edge, lifting an eyebrow in Teo's direction and a quirk of a smile at his mouth. "You are all class, Sicily." No punch, not from this distance — would take effort he's not willing to expend, arms coming to fold around his midsection, tucking hands into the crooks of elbows, the blue sweater he wears generous in the folds of warmth it offers.

His words circle around the mission, as well as who should go and take care of Abigail too should the currently brunette Southerner require it. Francois hasn't expressed any particular objection to Teo's withdraw either — if made to admit it, he would feel the same as Elisabeth. "Should I see the end of this, you all will have to tell me about your line of work usually requires when it is not sight seeing and warhead finding."

Elisabeth snickers. "They didn't let anyone know anything," she replies tartly. "Felix reported me kidnapped when the alarm system in my apartment went off the day they grabbed me. I called my father from here the first day to let him know I was all right and have him pass that intel along to my partner — they can't officially take me off the missing persons books, which means a waste of resources, but …. my career's pretty much tanked at this point anyway, so." Now the bitterness shows. The silence field she has in effect around the whole room itself will keep anyone in the hall from hearing what she says to Teo and Francois. "I told my father everything a few weeks ago. He's … well, at the rate he's going, he'll be one of the first experts in US law and Evos. He's gearing up in case they decide to black-hole me. He's offered legal expertise to any of our friends who need it, Teo, so… keep it in the back of your head, okay?" She smiles at him a bit as he tugs her forward into the room and she wraps her arms around the silly Italian boy who is one of Hers.

"Save one for me. I'm comin' home, Teo. Hell or high water. Richard said the L word — there is no way I am not living long enough to take advantage of it." She grins as she hugs him tightly. Sure, she's scared to death. But she's… something about this run, having a set goal, having objectives. She's beginning to feel like she's finally in her element again. Like she's finally put back together in a way that makes sense.

Her blue eyes slip to Francois as he speaks and she laughs. "Uhm… my line of work usually requires tracking down stupid Evo assholes who use their powers to commit crimes. Go figure, yeah?" She giggles. "Or gathering intel to stop the next apocalypse. I'm not sure Phoenix or Richard have done anything else in the past eighteen months."

"She's a cop," Teodoro translates stiffly over the woman's shoulder, for Francois' sake. Not that the random vocabulary words she'd dropped in there wouldn't have supplied a good amount of context. Partner, missing persons files, resources. Cop-talk. Francois probably already knew that much about her, but the Sicilian can't actually remember how much any of Team Charlie know about each other; except that he probably knows more than anyone else.

"Was," he adjusts, after a moment. Was. Pale eyes swivel at the side of her head, discomfort concealed within the long lines of his frame, a shade closer to pale under his normally fair features.

He doesn't know why he's preoccupied, momentarily, with the eerie realization he wouldn't know whether Elisabeth would sooner have him Haitian her father or leave him to fight then see him otherwise silenced by anyone with the power to put her in a dark hole after all this. It annoys him, first, that he doesn't know what she'd want; second, that he's actually wondering about it. Not going to happen. "Yeah," he says. "Drinks are on me.

"And I'll figure out what else you can smuggle aboard a military carrier that probably doesn't officially fucking exist." Sicily, who's all class, extricates himself carefully from his friend's person, gives her a half-grin from his good side, and drags blunt fingers roughly through his hair. A blond strand comes loose between his knuckles, but Teo swats it away without really noticing. He cants a brief glance at Francois. "See where 'good conscience' gets you, and send me a postcard from wherever you end up, eh?"

As far as Francois is aware, Teo isn't a cop, and he did say 'our'. Another raised eyebrow before he abandons the line of questioning entirely, in favour of getting to his feet and picking up his backpack off the bed, slinging it over one blue-clad shoulder. Whatever has him pulling away is probably not to do with the excuse he gives them; "I am going to find Abigail— thank you for the pistol. I'll write you in return." Which could be just as facetious as the concept of postcards, a wry smile accompanying the words.

"I'll see you both downstairs," he adds, with a nod to Elisabeth, slight hesitation— as if there is maybe more to say in the face of the information she had included him to listen to, but uncertainty has him only offering a half-smile of sympathy before making for the bedroom door, sound hand touching on the frame as he goes.

There's a cant to Liz's head as she notes Francois's reticence. Well… clearly he's going to the carrier, so she'll have time to ask him en route what was on his mind. She looks at Teo and says quietly, "Be safe, Teodoro." She smiles at him, affection mingled with worry in her expression. "We'll be taking off shortly. I better go next door. Stop by before you go down to meet Abby? I want to give you a letter — one of you can drop it with my father, if you don't mind." She doesn't want Kershner and whoever else monitoring her contact, which is why she called via Cat's cell and now is sending a letter.

It's true. Since Wireless has been gone, electronic communications haven't been terribly secure; not for the wolves that General Autumn borrowed out of the terrorist ranks for temporary domestication, anyway. Teo's brow notches, briefly, and for that brief moment his profile, the clean side, looks as grimly engrossed as it did when he was twenty-six and pouring over answer keys.

"Non problema. See you later, Francois." The latter, Teo pitches out a little louder, pushing through the open door and the hallway that the former healer is making his way down with a casually audible shuffle and tick of footsteps. Rather abruptly, he finds himself — distinctly by himself; he cranes his head, peers speculatively out of the doorway.

Almost inadvertently, he stretches a tendril of astral projection after them, a brief flare of expanded perception out of the doorway showing him a blur of blinking and speaking voices reverberating through the chamber of skulls and throats that are not his own, that weird intimacy his targets are entirely unaware of for such a vast majority of the time. Teo blinks off the next moment and is left alone, almost, if not quite comfortably so.

Positive indicator for sanity. He blinks and jogs his hand restlessly at his hip. Powder residue stinks on his fingers. He goes to get tissue for that, and the welling of saliva in the side of his face.

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