claire_icon.gif kellar_icon.gif

Scene Title Sympathies
Synopsis Claire Bennet rendezvous with a sympathetic party.
Date July 29, 2010

Verrazano-Narrows Bridge

It took some doing, but many things worth doing tend to. After shuffling through his little back rolodex, tracing any number of lines to their dead conclusions, making discreet inquiries of the most various sort, finally finally, Mr. Kellar made contact. A number, a name. And what a name.

Of course, they had to meet somewhere discreet. Discretion is a watchword for Claudius Kellar, it is a cherished thing, as it must be for all whose breath and bread is information, knowledge of who's and what's and wheres. This time, the where is the skeletal remnants of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, the what is a preliminary meeting, and the who, well… the who is the missing piece.

Mr. Kellar is always right on time when he has anything to say about it. It's as much a tactic as it is a matter of fastidiousness. Coming late, coming early, they both give something away, both communicate (at least in his mind) some position. Being perfectly punctual can be see just as that - punctuality. Neutral. Just as the grounds of this meeting are neutral. Kellar checks his watch. Right on time. His car will return to pick him up in fifteen minutes, which, assuming the young woman he is expecting is not late, should be just enough time to take the first steps. Goal in mind, purpose clear, Kellar waits, and wonders if (and if so why) the 'who' will be late.

The thick soles of combat boots crunch on the bits of debris laying about, the first hint that he is not alone. When one is wanted by the US Government, you must be overly cautious about who you are meeting. So while the 'who' isn't too terribly late, they are late all the same, taking time to make sure they are not being lured into some sort of trap.

"It's been a long time since I've seen your face."

Standing not far from the rich tycoon, stands a small petite thing. It's hard to believe this girl, barely out of her teens, is a killer — a suicide bomber. Dressed in all black, from her black combat boots, to her black jeans, and to the black leather jacket. Black lined eyes, study him from under partially lidded eyes. "You asked for me, so here I am, Mr Keller." The words spoke in even tones, covering the uncertainty she's feeling.

Claire Bennet tilts her chin up a bit, brows raising as if waiting for him to speak to her. "What can I do for you?"

"Yet time has not withered you, Miss Butler," Kellar says, moving forward and extending a hand, offering a shake. Petite, yes. Pretty, young… but not someone Kellar imagines will be swayed by gentlemanly flourishes. A killer, yes. Someone that must be approached as an equal in strength, in gesture and in words. He is older, his own height not terribly impressive, the pinstripes of his suit adding perhaps an illusory inch. "I imagine I still see some embers burning in your eyes. An indomitable will, driven to action."

His smile could light up a stadium in the dead of night. "I imagine you've remained active, yes?"

"That happens when you can't age, Mr. Keller." There is nothing smug about how she says it, despite the small tug at the corner of her mouth, the words are bitter. Such an ability is always as much of a curse as it is a blessing. She takes a step forward to grasp his hand, there is some strength to it even though she is doesn't look the part.

Hands slide into the pockets of her leather jacket as she listens to him, her head tilting ever so slightly to one side, brunette ponytail sliding across the back of her jacket. "I'm sure you saw the suicide bomber on the news." Again, she doesn't sound too smug about it. It was necessary… the man that died was a man that helped destroy her life.

"You could say I am still very active." Blue eyes narrow just a little as she asks a the critical question, "Why do you want to know?"

"Ah, yes, of course," Kellar says, with affected sorrow, "But this is what happens when people, people of passion, people of exception, are given no other choices. While I would never openly condone such actions, I, as a man who has known more than his share of persecution, can certainly sympathize." There is something theatric to his words - he's pointedly saying something underneath what he's actually saying.

Still, just for the sake of clarity, and in honoring a straightforward question with an answer in kind he, he folds his hands behind his back after the shake and meets those blue eyes with his own thoughtful gaze. "I would like to know how I might best show my sympathy. If you remember our past connection, however tenuous, you'll remember I have some various ways of indicating my support. I may be older, while you are not, but some things endure." Like bank accounts.

There is sudden interest in the old man's words, brows twitching upward, but then the small woman's face falls into uncertainty again. How much does she tell him? How much does she reveal?

One thing Claire isn't, is a leader. She's a soldier. The one to follow the orders, not to give them or make the important decisions. Such decisions have resulted in problems in the past. "In the spirit of our past association…" she starts softly, meeting his gaze "…I know of some people that would be interested in hearing about you desire to show your sympathy to our cause." Eyes are still hooded, even as she offers a small smile.

"That is the most I can promise you at this point." He's offered an apologetic smile, before her gaze drops to the asphalt surface of the bridge. "I'm only a freedom fighter, going where I am asked to go. The decisions are done by other within the group, Messiah." Eyes lift before the business man. "Should they wish to talk to you, you'll be contacted."

Messiah? Yes. Yes, that is what he was hoping. Kellar does not reveal the interest stirred in himself. He is much too guarded for that. Claire receives only a gaze of courtesy interest with a touch of the avuncular. "Freedom fighters are ever 'only' anything, my dear Miss Butler. Please, give yourself due credit for bravery. You may not fear death, but death is the least of what can be done to one, isn't it?" He says this like he knows - he might even believe he does, however inexperienced he may truly be.

"Of course, I would ask no more of you than was within your power and authority," Kellar hedges, dipping his head in deference to Claire's loyalty, her modesty, "I hope my past connections will serve as sufficient reference. Know that I make myself available at any and all times. I am… eager to be of assistance," he glances up at the remnants of the bridge that still hang overhead, "I'd like to have a hand in things. Invisible, perhaps," he breaks into a smile at this, for whatever reason, "But still… present."

His gaze descends to Claire again. "My car will be here shortly. I'd offer you a ride but I don't think that would be quite wise. Please, forgive my inability to be a perfect gentleman. But, if you have any further questions…?"

"Death is an end I've seen countless times. Your right. I don't fear it." Claire offers softly in agreement, head tilting down in a single and slow nod. "But death would be a blessing to what is coming down the road." Eyes narrow and she glances out over the water far below them as she considers.

"You helped us from the shadows before, so I don't see it being a problem. There are those within Messiah's upper ranks that were in Pariah as well. They will remember you, I'm sure." Booted feet carry her towards the edge of the bridge as she talks, watching the white shapes of gulls drifting on the breeze coming off the surface of the water. "That will go in your favor."

The toe of her boot scraps as Claire turns to look at him again, a smile touching her lips. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Kellar. I am certain of it."

Kellar replies with his own smile, its brightness restrained out of appreciation for the delicacy of Claire's expression. A thing of beauty must always be seen in the right light. And all communication is coded, requiring the appropriate reply. "Certainty from you, Miss Butler, I take to be fact firmer than prophecy. Such is my faith."

A dark sedan rolls into view on the nearby street, and gives a single blow of its horn, very short. A reminder, making no demands on Kellar's time. Still, Kellar makes as if surprised, and disappointed. "And that is my cue," he says, sadly, "But with your assurance, I'll leave you light hearted." He makes a small bow to Claire. "Until next time, Miss Butler," and now his smile swells into its full brightness, "Keep those embers alight."

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