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| Scene Title | Spotted |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Wade has no idea there's a secret Technopath Spidey-Sense. Unfortunately for him, Hana does. |
| Date | June 1, 2009 |
Charity and fundraising events have always been common in New York City — there's simply too many people for the case to be otherwise. Seems like there's always someone running something, somewhere out there. After the bomb, however, such things became even more commonplace, necessary — and personal, to those who lived through the Manhattan Explosion.
Hana wasn't one of them, but she still finds herself at these things all the time.
The tall woman is dressed, not in her usual stark attire, but in faded blue jeans and a lightweight crimson jacket, one that isn't too heavy for the warm late-spring afternoon. Just because she isn't wearing black and leather doesn't mean Hana hasn't brought along her usual arsenal, and jackets help conceal that from civilian view. They tend to get unnecessarily freaked-out when in proximity to knives and guns.
Not that the Israeli could use either at this precise moment, as she carries a box over to the table intended to receive such donations, her slightly taller blond companion placing a second carton beside it. The woman behind the table smiles her gratitude at them, but it's an impersonal regard despite its sincerity; she must also do the same for the person waiting just behind their heels, and the one after that, and the other behind him.
Hana merely inclines her head to the woman in return, a hint of polite smile on her lips, before turning away and walking over the swathe of greensward that is this edge of Central Park. In addition to the tables and banners advertising the donation drive (money and goods alike), there are a few musicians and buskers scattered in the surrounding area, presumably for the same purpose; people loitering and chatting, brought together by curiosity and goodwill; others jogging, walking, playing with kids or pets, and otherwise carrying out the same springtime park activities that occur every day.
On the other side of the park, Wade Quinn walks. He was hand selected to go — drawn out of a hat at random to bring down the money collected from those in his office and distribute it to the different donation locations.
One though think for someone calling himself Robin Hood that this would be right down his alley. But in his 'analog' form as opposed to his 'digital' form, the giving just isn't as satisfying. Especially when it's not being taken from someone who really doesn't need it.
He walks by one vendor and slips an envelope into her hand, exchanging greetings briefly before he turns and steps to the next booth. He is going to check some of these folks out — not that he doesn't trust them — well, okay, he doesn't trust them. Too many fraudulent charities have popped up in the wake of the bomb. He might be a criminal to most, but he's not that cruel.
The fact that there might be another technopath in his path ahead doesn't not cross his mind in the least. He doesn't seem to quite have that particular part of his ability trained — in fact, it's not even something he's aware that he could have or he'd have found a more suitable body donor sooner.
It's the sudden intrusion of presence that distracts Hana from her intended departure, the review of messages sent to Wireless by her associates, the mental composition of replies that is nearly as automatic as breathing after living so closely with her ability for so long. Presence, however, is something that text messages and cellphone calls, IMs and emails, lack; they are written by computers, transmitted and relayed by computers, those simple machines that are in some ways so comparatively lightweight. This — this transmission could only come from another technopath, and he's right here.
Casual, the woman pauses by one of the musicians, a man who isn't exactly bad with his guitar but isn't great either. Alistair, following in Gitelman's wake, picks up on her cue and drops a couple of bills into the open case. He tries not to look askance at Hana; doesn't manage to really mask his perplexed curiosity. She ignores it, listening to the music, dark eyes idly scanning the groups of people scattered about.
Her gaze passes right over Wade, but that's not the same thing as missing him. Not in the least.
Glancing at his watch, Wade continues towards the next charity booth. He has a date in a few hours, and he hopes this doesn't take him too much longer. They've already had to postpone for over a week, but tonight it looks like it's finally going to be a go.
Then — something stops him. He tilts his head to the side and glances around. It's like someone is watching him, but as he scans the area — there's nothing. A chill runs down his back and he shivers, then steps to the booth and offers them an envelope. He glances behind him again and sees nothing out of the ordinary.
Turning back to the person accepting the envelope who thanks him, he offers a ingenuine smile and moves on. If his eyes passed over his watcher, he has not a clue. But this feeling that is tingling his spine is something he's not felt before.
He moves on to the next booth, eyes going everywhere.
She tucks away the details of his appearance, the short dark hair, the features of his face. There will be searches — later.
Nothing now to give her away. Hana turns back to her companion, the tilt of her head, a flicker of dark eyes, indicating the not-so-distant youth. Alistair looks at him; looks at her, arches a brow. He's interesting? Huh.
Alistair wanders over to the booth Wade is at, the man behind the table greeting him personally, having worked with McKeon before. "Alistair! Thank you for coming. It's good to know there are always people we can count on."
The blond man, older than Wade, smiles back. "Spent enough time looking at the wrong side of the streets not to chip in." Blue eyes look to the youth beside him, and Alistair smiles, conversational amiability, a pleasant expression that is genuine without any attempt at intrusive or presumptuous. "Don't see too many of the younger generation out at these things. Good to know some of them think about others."
Turning his head, Wade is currently dressed somewhat professionally — even if casually so with a jacket and a collared shirt with a loosely tied purple tie, the top button of his shirt is undone — something he does everytime he leaves the office unless it's business related.
He turns to look at the older man, with a smug grin. "Oh, on an errand for the office really. We collected donations from everyone and I got tagged with delivering the funds." This was his last booth anyway, so he has no more of the cash on him. "Honestly, I don't tend to do these things in person." He sneaks around the internet to issue out his funds. Well, not his funds literally.
"So, yeah, that's what I'm doing down here. Not staying too long as I have a few plans for later, but wanted to at least get this taken care of while this was going on down here."
"Well, even being stuck with delivering counts for something," Alistair remarks, grinning amiably. "'What goes around, comes around' is a saying for a reason. Isn't that right?" The question not given to Wade, but to the man behind the table. Alistair smiles at him, nods to both of his current companions. "You have a good evening, both of you." And taking his leave, the Ferryman departs — not back the way he came, but moving on, setting his feet to a path and heading for the street.
Hana has already disappeared from the small gathering around the guitar-player.
As the man leaves, Wade is left wondering about that strange sensation he felt. It's gone now, but.. odd. He has a date to get ready for so he nods his head politely to the man behind the counter and begins to trek back out of the park in order to hail the next cab home.
