That's What I Said

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Scene Title	That's What I Said
Synopsis	Casey and Elle chill in the former's van over glasses of wine. They discover they have something in common! As it turns out, though, Elle is not terribly keen on having her head pried into.
Date	November 30, 2008

Somewhere along the Hudson river

If someone told you that your friend lives in a van down by the river, you might accuse them of making a bad SNL joke or just being plain stupid. As far as Casey Broussard goes, though, it's true - as Elle has the opportunity to find out this winter evening. The dark blue van in question has been driven down to the banks of the Hudson near the seaport, and its back doors are left open so that the agents have a place to sit. Inside the van at the foot of Casey's bed is a large carton of wine, and several glasses have been produced from somewhere within it and have been generously filled, and two large dogs - shepherd mixes - are also piled on the bed. A third dog, much smaller and fuzzier, lies on the pavement at Casey's feet while his owner sips at his wine and watches the ~sunset~. It is all very romantic, except for that Casey is completely not a romantic sort. Elle probably isn't either.

Who knows what the younger of the two agents is thinking right now? Seeing is believing, though, and after a /very/ suggestive eyebrow raised the first time 'van down by the river' had been mentioned - well, now here Elle is. Besides jeans and stilettos (oh, Elle and heels), she is in a black blazer pulled over a low, navy-blue undershirt. Thin gold hoops are threaded through her earlobes, and they glimmer briefly in that oh-so-romantic sunset as she turns her head thoughtfully. Her ponytail resettles on her shoulders as she does so, and she gives the rim of her wineglass a light tap with a finger. It's still mostly full, though she /has/ been sipping. "…You know. I still can't believe you were serious." It's more conversational than actually incredulous.

Casey has not been sipping. He has been doing the rough equivalent of 'guzzling with manners attached'. Since he's no longer working, the cajun has slipped into a more comfortable striped camp shirt and a pair of jeans. As for shoes, well - barefoot is the way to go when you're not actually walking around. He scratches his chin with one hand, a small smile stamped on his face. "I don't make a habit of lyin'. You should obviously take what I say more seriously." Casey moves his left leg, sending his toes down to wander along the top of the smallest dog's head. The dog stirs, but doesn't rise. "Ain't no rent or landlords."

Elle's eyes drift towards the top of the dog's head when Casey's feet come into contact with it. "Have you always had them?" she wonders aloud in a question-to-answer-an-answer, not disguising the fact that she's watching the little thing with innocent curiosity. "Your dogs, I mean."

"I've had this one-" Casey taps the animal's head again "-for a few years. Marie is a little younger, an' the shepherd is new. Just about two." He doesn't really seem to acknowledge or notice that Elle is giving his precious dog a look, instead reaching back into the van to grasp the neck of the nearest opened bottle. "Drink up, darlin'. It's not like we're going to run into somethin' here."

"You seem to be doing good enough for both of us," is Elle's observant answer. Nevertheless, she does obligingly raise her glass towards her lips, only to pause when it's right below mouth level. "I've never had a dog before. Or any kind of pet, really." That part is understandable, since she probably would've fried them all to death at one point anyway.

Never? That's somewhat surprising. Casey tips his head back and finishes off his glass, pouring himself another serving of wine almost immediately after. "Maybe you should get yourself a hermit crab. It'd be a good starter, and you'd be able to drop it down Sabra's shirt."

This at least draws a breath of a smile from Elle. "Those are the little things you find in -bins- in pet stores, aren't they? I hope I'd get something more exciting than that." With her free hand, she reaches towards the top of that dog's head, palm hovering guardedly. "Can I pet it?" she asks in only a /mild/ sing-song, eyes slipping sideways towards Casey. Will it go bitey?

Casey glances down over the rim of his glass. He's only able to see the very tip of the small dog's fuzzy ears, but that seems to be enough. "You can pet him, yes. Jacques is friendly. And I'm not really sure you're the best choice to take care of something more exciting."

The smile on Elle's face extends. It's /angelic/. Really. Her slender fingers descend atop the scruff of the dog's crown, scritching with slow, soft experimental strokes if the animal will let her. To avoid spilling, she sets her wine glass down by the shadow of the bottle. "Why do you say that?" she says almost musingly, gaze still hovering full on Jacques. "I've never been given a chance with one."

Others might be fooled by Elle's innocent demeanor, but Casey would consider those people morons. He watches as Jacques lifts his head to sniff at Elle's hand, cold nose bumping against it several times before he gives her palm a few slow licks. Blue tongue! "I say it 'cause it's true, and there's probably a reason you ain't been trusted with anything alive. I've heard about what you've done with that Monroe fellah."

"You've probably heard a lot about me." There is still fascination in Elle's face, though a harder edge creeps into her voice even as she cups the hand that isn't being licked right behind Jacques' ears to scratch. No zappages. Not an inch of blue. The eyes narrow. "But there's still a lot you /don't/. If dad trusted me enough to make me an agent, then that should be good enough. You heard about what 'that Monroe fellah' did to me, too?"

Pff. "Can't say I have, but if you so much as spark my dogs I'll give you a shiner that'll stay on your pretty face for a month." As he speaks, Casey leans towards Elle to bump his shoulder into hers, his wine sloshing around in his glass. "So c'mon, tell me what he did."

Elle gives Casey a /look/. "Quit that moping," she answers finally, giving Casey a bap with her fist on that same shoulder, completely matter-of-fact. "I promise not to do anything to your puppies. There, good enough for you? And as far as Adam. Tell me you noticed when I went missing for a month."

"Ow." The expression of pain is spoken flatly and without much 'oomph'. Casey is probably not that pained by Elle's little terrorist fist-jab. Regardless, he ends up rubbing the shoulder in question for extra sympathy points. "I didn't really notice. You're not sparking bright enough 'round me to get my attention." Snap.

What was /that/? Up go Elle's eyebrows, her mouth curling as she reaches a forefinger for Casey's farther cheek, attempting to turn it so they're facing each other more directly. Her heeled feet shift beneath her to facilitate this motion. "Oh, Casey," she murmurs quite frankly, and there is a ~crackle~ of sparks right at her nails. Passive as the electricity is, it's actually kind of pretty in this natural lighting. "What are we going to do with you." Because it is obviously /his/ eye problem.

Casey doesn't offer any resistance when Elle turns his head, the agent just landing a distantly amused look on the woman beside him. His gaze soon flicks down when the little trails of blue start crawling over her fingers, calmly refusing to react to its presence. It's not his problem unless she actually starts shocking. "I don't think we're gon' do anything with me. Not until we've got at least another bottle done." See? Casey can make innuendos too. Sort of.

Well, now. It isn't like Elle's making a display of her ability for /herself/. Her hand slips free once it's at Casey's shoulder, palm upwards and fingers curled. Free, that is, before she suddenly turns to poke the same forefinger right at that shoulder with a playful and searing ~zaap~. There is a smile. "Maybe we'll just let disco boy rest. You might figure it out if you start paying attention."

"Ow," Casey repeats, speaking more clearly as if it would make Elle better understand the 'zapping hurts people' concept. "Maybe y'all should start being attention-worthy." With that searing comment, the cajun swings his legs and scoots a little further back into the van, using a downturned hand for leverage.

On the contrary, monsieur - even that little reply of disapproval seems to have pleased Elle in some sense. "I'll bite." She briefly tosses her head so the the longest of her bangs are out of her eyes, but it doesn't have an effect for very long. "Soo. What does 'attention-worthy' mean to you?"

Casey gulps down a few mouthfuls of wine before responding, leaning back until he's reclining on the floor of his van, feet hanging out the side. "Taller."

This should infuriate Elle, and her eyes do a roll downwards before she speaks again. "Not all of us can be beanstalks, Caseface." she informs regretfully, turning so one foot is twisted and tucked beneath her, the other dangling. "I think there's health risks involved."

Casey pokes Elle in the side, just beneath her ribs, with one finger. "Y'all still aren't drinkin'. Wuss." Clearly, 'Caseface' has a way with words. He looks up at the woman, showing a bit of teeth in a half-formed grin. "Jealous wuss."

Ow. "… Why're you so eager to get me to drink?" is Elle's reply even as she dolefully rubs at that spot. "And no, I wouldn't be jealous of looking like a deformed -windmill- every time I fall over."

"But I don't fall over." In this, Casey feels that he has a valid point. He sets his glass down and leans back with a loud sigh, his arms folding behind his head and neck for support. "You're wastin' wine if you're not drinking it."

"/You/ don't need to fall over." Elle gives the dangling foot a swing, leaning over to pick up her own vacated glass and cup it with both hands, cradling it idly. "My stomach isn't a -bottomless pit.-" Like somebody's. Also, it is probably safe to hazard a guess at this point that Bishop hasn't done much drinking. Ever.

Mister Bottomless Pit is not the type to pick fights when he's drinking, which is why he hasn't risen to any of the on-off baiting. "Maybe you just can't fit a lot into your short self." Yeah, that's right. Casey says Elle's tiny. "So how's things going? Still failing to find Monroe?"

"It's less /finding/ him than finding a way to bring him back without fuss." Kick, kick goes that leg. "I've actually /found/ him a couple times. Or, he's found me. Take your pick."

It's the kicking. Casey can't take his eyes off of it, and it's driving him nuts. The agent suddenly sits up, reaching out to grasp Elle's knee with one hand. Stop that. "Uh huh. You're just bad at it."

That gives Elle a startle, and she injerjects with an annoyed "/Hey/." As she brushes Casey's hand away, her eyelids flicker once with irritaiton. "Fine. I'll resign. /You/ try bringing him back, if you think it's so easy. And it's only been a few weeks - some of them take /years/ to bring in. You know that."

Casey throws up the hand that Elle moves, giving it a wave as he comes forward to lean on Elle, hooking his free arm around her shoulder. "I ain't stupid. If you wanna die, that's your business." That might be teasing! Because he is soon poking Elle's side again.

"Been there. Done that." The arm-round-the-shoulder is received with a blink, this one wider, but Elle warms up to the draping fairly quickly. The displeased expression doesn't vanish entirely from her face, but it is with a slightly less pouty glower that she makes a mock shove to push him away.

"Don't be a jerk." Casey wobbles here and there thanks to Elle's shoving, but more or less doesn't move. "What's it like, bein' the boss man's kid?"

Elle's calm gaze stays on Casey's face a little more steadily than the man seems to be holding himself. With an inhalation, as though she's thinking — "Well. I wish I could say it's a piece of /pie/, but it really isn't. I. He expects a lot."

That brings a small smile to Casey's face again, though it's fleeting. "An' I'm sure you've always delivered. You're the type. 'Cept when you get shot."

"…Luckily, it doesn't happen /that/ often." The flattery is responded to with a wry, thoughtful thinning of Elle's lips. "Yeah. Thanks. Sometimes it can get hard to tell." It's a quick, vaguely resigned snip.

Her thumb and third finger curl themselves into a 'C', tips of nails rubbing into each other, though her attention remains elsewhere. "Where were /you/ before the Company snapped you up, Casey?"

"Louisiana. Foster care with cops." And that was a total cakewalk. Casey leans a little more of his weight onto Elle, scooping up his almost-forgotten glass again. "Why d'you ask?"

Oof. Elle doesn't really make a move besides to set her hand down. "Oh, nothing. Just curious." Just curious as to what kind of dysfunctional childhood /Casey's/ had, that is. "…You ended up /detained/, though, didn't you."

Casey lifts his hand, using a few stray fingers to futz with his hair. "I did. Danger to society or somethin'. Too many people left behind me with brain damage, I think." This actually draws a chuckle from the man, whose hand drops to give Elle a pat on the cheek.

Elle's eyelids flicker hard; it's hard to tell if she appreciates the movement. She does, however, delicately pick a thread of fuzz off Casey's upper arm afterwards, casting it off to one side. A small smirk quirks onto her lips. "That's what I thought. Sounds familiar."

Awwww. Elle is a lint-cleaner! Casey likes that in a woman, even if she is short. He shakes his head with a smile. "Familiar? What do you mean by that?" 'Familiar' can mean many things. Familiar with Casey in particular, or with the line of his story - who knows.

Don't get used to it, yo. Elle might just do the reverse and fuzz up that nice jacket all to hell. At first, she offers no further insight into her statement than a faint smile. It actually seems as though she's pleased with herself, because she suddenly shifts to reorient herself into a more comfortable sitting position in order to tell. "You thought you had it bad staying like that for - one year? Two?" Her eyes are full of that earnestness which should be so familiar. It's as if she's recounting a casual incident at the mall. "There /is/ a reason I haven't been trusted with anything alive."

"And why's that? I think two years was a long time." And it certainly was, to a person as young as Casey was when he was detained by the Company. A few long years of boredom before recruitment were tantamount to hell. "Daddy don't like his prisoners to be Kentucky fried, mm?"

There is a sound from Elle halfway between a giggle and a more normal chuckle. "I think I have you beat, cajun butt. I'm not even sure /how/ long I was in there. But they put me in a holding facility when I was nine." Her features go flatly serious then, as though daring Casey to make a reaction. "I threatened to kill 'em for doing that to me."

"You probably should've." It's difficult to faze Casey Broussard. "They deserve it for lockin' us up. You think I ain't thought about killin' our coworkers? It'd be dumb, though." So he doesn't. But there are definitely murderous feelings. "It's better to leave 'em cryin' without their memories." The man's hand turns down to grasp Elle's shoulder a little more tightly, giving it a squeeze that might even be reassuring.

The touch seems to suck away some of Elle's restlessness, her right knee knocking slightly against her left. Her slim hands stay clasped in her lap. "It was thanks to my dad that I actually got out of there. Must've saw something in me, I dunno." Elle's eyebrows arch in silent consideration of what Casey had said, and she smiles a little bit. "Can't do a lot of good to wipe memories, can it? I mean, then they don't /remember/ it, and that's no good."

Casey shakes his head. "Not if they know you've taken 'em. And there's somethin' nice about just getting rid of everything someone ever loved." As he speaks, Casey turns his hand again to brush his knuckles fleetingly against the other agent's cheekbone. "You ever loved anything? You seem the destructive type."

"Well. If I'm not telling you so you can take it away." It's mildly joking. Said all in a breath. "—This." The upper of her interlinked hands turns over, still resting in its low position, and for the second time a glow gradually crawls into existence. Unlike last time, it really is a single, coalesced glow that simply rests in Elle's palm like a firefly; soft blue light illuminates her face. "I know it's basically why it all happened. When I was a kid. But if you asked me to give it up? Don't tell me you don't get that feeling of /satisfaction/ every time you use your power."

But Casey is feeling a little on the creepy side tonight, so he leans in to watch Elle's demonstration of her power. It's fascinating, really - he's never seen anything like it up close before. It's almost tempting enough to touch, but he's not ready to go quite that far with his curiosity. Instead he sets his head up against Elle's, a grin on his face. "I could take that too. You'd learn how to use it again, but I could do it. That's where I get my satisfaction. How long've you been zappin'?"

Far more abruptly, Elle sharply turns her head to survey Casey almost right as it leans in towards hers. She is not happy at this perceived threat. "Don't even, cajun boy. You'd have to get rid of memories over my entire life. How long? Ever since I lit grandma's house on fire when I was six." Her hand snaps shut almost right in Casey's face, the glow appropriately flaring out with it.

Casey doesn't flinch back, but his eyes are indeed drawn to the increased burst of electricity. "I ain't gonna. Just givin' you an example." And then the rest of Elle's explanation hits him, and he just… laughs. "You lit your nana's house on fire?" Obviously this is prime fodder for entertainment.

"I did," Elle murmurs almost grimly, letting her hand drop back atop her thigh. "I'm not even sure I remember what /happened/. But then again, I was six." Lots of people don't remember as far back as when they were six. Right?

This is intriguing. "Mind if I take a look?" And there's Casey's hand again, this time moving to tuck a lock of Elle's hair behind her ear. "I can let you see it, too."

But Elle half-brushes, half-knocks the hand away. She then moves her own hand so she can do the tucking itself, a warning light suddenly in her eyes. "Stay away from my head, Casey."

Casey pulls his hand back, but lets it hover in the air nearby, its fingers curled. "It ain't like I'm gonna do anything to you, Elle. I just wanna see." He makes no move to resume physical contact with the woman beside him - but it's clear he's tempted to.

Elle's breathing is perhaps a bit more audible than it needs to be. Fierce blue eyes settle on his, and narrow. "I don't trust you. If I want somebody scooping around in my brain, I'll tell you. But not before then."