Participants:
| Scene Title | The Frozen Mask, Part I |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | An unlikely union of abilities brings the President's personal aid into great peril, as a great deception is attempted in the nation's capital. |
| Date | August 13, 2009 |
Washington, D.C.
"You're going to do fine."
It's a phrase that's been said about twenty times in the last half hour. And it's more for his own benefit than Isis. So much planning has been put into this, so much time, so much thought. And in the end, he's not even the one who will achieve or fail. All his effort and planning is put into the relatively tiny hands of the woman in the passenger seat.
A small tv in the back of the van, continues to play videos in a loop. Recordings of Tracy Strauss found on the internet, or even recordings Winters took himself from an assortment of bushes. The back of the van really is, if one didn't know better a shrine to Tracy Strauss. Pictures, notes, more pictures practically line the back of the vehicle. "Do we need to go over the plan again?"
Without waiting for an answer, the man's voice starts on the plan once again. Though his voice shifts from the passenger's seat to the back. A different copy, speaking now. "In fifteen minutes, Tracy Strauss will be getting into a very official very shiny looking black car right there." A black clad finger points out the front window. "In a half hour, she will be at a very important meeting with very important people." He glances behind him. "In five minutes Tracy Strauss will become a different person. And in ten minutes she will be strapped with a wire, so that people who weren't invited to this very important meeting can get a sense of where our world is heading." Brian gives her a flat look. "When the meeting is over, you will return to the hotel room, where I will have your body ready and waiting. Then we will get the fuck out of Washington D.C."
Three Brian's inhabit the van. One dressed entirely in black, a ski mask on top of his head. The second is dressed in a jacket and a cap, manning the electronics in the back. And the third is dressed quite suavely. "After we make the switch, you will inform your escort that I am your newly hired bodyguard. You can tell them my name is Andrew Fox. So I will be with you all of the way. Or most of it anyway."
Getting out of his seat he walks towards the back of the van to open it. Revealing a foggy Washington afternoon. The van sits in a mostly vacant parking opposite a large Hilton. "Ready?"
Quite nearby is Tracy Strauss, totally unaware of what's going on beneath her hotel. As it is, she's standing by the window, though the thin muslin curtains are drawn as she talks on the phone, holding a shiny glass of ice water. She's got an almost natural grin on her face, but her smiles vary so much. They reveal nothing to one who isn't familiar with them, but for those who are, she has a different smile of every occasion.
"No, I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm not going to be in town long. I have back to back meetings today and then I'm heading back to New York. What? No, you need to come visit me sometime, you haven't been to New York in years, you said it yourself."
Tracy sips her water, listening to her friend garble on about some man she's seeing. "Well I need to know everything, of course. But another time, alright?" She checks her shiny, expensive watch. "I have to get going. Okay, bye." Tracy hangs up, walking to step into her shoes, pausing to check herself in front of the mirror. Red pencil dress, pearls, makeup, perfect hair. Worn down, of course. After all, General Autumn is a man. He's receptive to these things.
Isis's dark gaze is glued to the screen, her hands making no effort to banish the short, choppy strands of garnet hair from her eyes - instead she's wringing her fingers in her lap. She gives a glazy nod to each repeated, critical part of the plan laid out before her. It's not until one of the Brian's begins to shuffle towards the back of the van that she realizes she's holding her breath, releasing the captured air on a wavering sigh before crawling after him.
She's dressed comfortably, it would not matter in a few minutes, afterall - flared black slacks and a emerald green tank top. Her usual, favorite, clunky boots crunch a bit of gravel as she steps out into the parking lot. It's only then that her tension, the anxiety and pressure that had been obvious only a moment before, is fueled into reserve and conviction. "I can do this," she offers on a carefully controlled, alto tone. It is obvious she aims to convince herself as well as the brains behind this operation.
"Me in the suit will be waiting for you in the lobby. Me in the black will meet you up at the room. I'll be taking the stairs and avoiding cameras. Once I get to the room I will put on the ski mask, and keep the real Tracy busy until you and I return from—" Oh yeah, did he forget to say where this meeting was taking place? "The pentagon. If for any reason you get jammed up, just start saying so. I will be listening from inside the van the whole time. I can get you out of there." He pauses reaching out, he grabs her hand for a moment. "You're going to do fine." He says with a warm smile.
The back of the van closes abruptly as the black clad Brian quickly darts away from Isis. Heading the long way around the hotel, avoiding prying eyes. The other two Brians remain in the van for now… Tick tock
All the while, Tracy has no idea. Sure, she's always on the lookout for men trying to kill her, but in Washington she feels safe. This is a private meeting. No one's supposed to know about it, save for her boss - who is missing at this point. So why should she worry?
In her mind are all the things she needs to discuss. Arthur Petrelli. Pinehearst. FRONTLINE. She's running over her talking points even as she gazes into the mirror, brushing her hair one last time.
The touch to Isis's hand has the opposite of its intended affect, for various reasons, the most important of which is that the little redhead's ability hung loose, on the brink in preparation to leap from one body to the next. She checks the compulsion to posses the replicator's body with a little shudder before applying a fake smile. "See you soon," she mumbles. Only then does it become apparent that she has a few small tricks up her sleeve. Already she begins to pull on the persona of the well-to-do, her chin inclines ever so slightly, strong but not arrogant, and her step is determined. She might be the most horrible liar to walk the planet, but there was no lie in using the stuffy manners her mother had instilled in her at a young age, and which Isis so normally aimed to rail against with her every breath.
For a good cause, she reminds herself as she steps into the lobby, crosses over the burgundy hall carpets, and halts at the designated door. Her stomach gives one quick flip before she finds herself holding her breath once more and turns her back to the wall, waiting beside the door.
His boots thud solidly as he races up the back stairs. The black duffle bag bouncing as he finally makes his way up to the appropriate floor. His eyes go up, then down. No one. The door to the hallway opens. Giving him a clear view of Isis waiting. Closing the stairwell door, he briskly closes the distance between them, producing one item from the duffle bag. A strand is broken off and applied gently over Isis' mouth. He gives a reaffirming nod before pulling down the skimask with one hand.
Pressing his back to the other side of the wall he reaches into the duffle and lets his fingers touch the handle of the taser resting inside. "Here we go." Brian whispers.
Tracy is still entirely unaware of what's about to happen. No, she's touching up her lipstick, smiling into the mirror. Perfect. Now for her purse - she picks it up, slinging it over her shoulder and picking up a black umbrella in case it should rain. Just as she steps toward the locked door - oh, she forgot! Turning, she heads to the bedroom to pick up her hotel key, and then makes her way to the main door once more.
Isis blinks and for but a moment breaks her reserve as she nearly goes crossed watching the section of tape come at her mouth. Her brows bob up once in a little show of understanding and approval for the extra thought given to the moment before she falls still again. She watches the door. Waiting, patience - not a virtue she practiced, and so her fingers dance at her sides, restless for the first hints of movement and the coming of their intended target.
Finally, she steps closer to the door. Tantalizingly close. She pauses, once, to fix her shoe, and then has her blackberry in hand, scrolling through emails as the door finally opens and she steps out. However, as she comes around the corner, she does lift her head to see Isis, with tape over her mouth, and Brian with a ski mask.
She yells, stepping back and trying to retreat back into her room as quickly as when she came out.
Isis's chocolate-hued eyes go wide, startled by the sudden rush of activity for all her preparedness and anxiety. What a sight the duo must be. Adrenaline kicks her forward, the repeated game plan compelling her in through the opened door to reach out the instant she is able. The slightest touch was all she needed, and she shoves headlong forward. She felt almost like a zombie: speechless but for a grunt from behind the grey rectangle, reaching out, programmed. Fingers, arms, any part of her bare flesh would kick up the ability that forever hung on the brink…
Forcing his way in the door is quickly shut, not too long after the yell is let out. The taser comes out of the bag. His free hand delivers a powerful push to Isis' back, sending her towards Tracy. They're bound to connect in that, and with that, he raises his taser at the red-heads back. Waiting the appropriate amount of time, any sign of the switch occuring earns a quickly snapped finger at his former-accomplice's back.
There is a brush of skin. That's all it needs.
The next thing Tracy knows, she's being torn from what's hers, from something she never imagined being torn from. It's not only that, but her lack of something. There's warmth, a warmth that's almost searing. Something's gone.
But she can't even tell where she is, or why. The hotel room is a blur, changing from one perspective to another in the blink of an eye, like a blackout, but no numbing. For a moment, Tracy sees it - a flash of herself, as though in a mirror falling backwards. But then it's gone, replaced by twitching and searing pain in her back as she's tazered, twitching and falling to the floor - as a redhead.
Forcing his way in the door is quickly shut, not too long after the yell is let out. The taser comes out of the bag. His free hand delivers a powerful push to Isis' back, sending her towards Tracy. They're bound to connect in that, and with that, he raises his taser at the red-heads back. Waiting the appropriate amount of time, any sign of the switch occuring earns a quickly snapped finger at his former-accomplice's back.
There is a brush of skin. That's all it needs.
The next thing Tracy knows, she's being torn from what's hers, from something she never imagined being torn from. It's not only that, but her lack of something. There's warmth, a warmth that's almost searing. Something's gone.
But she can't even tell where she is, or why. The hotel room is a blur, changing from one perspective to another in the blink of an eye, like a blackout, but no numbing. For a moment, Tracy sees it - a flash of herself, as though in a mirror falling backwards. But then it's gone, replaced by twitching and searing pain in her back as she's tazered, twitching and falling to the floor - as a redhead.
Isis stumbles back in Tracy's expensive, little heels, holding her arms across her stomach and waiting until the sharp pain wanes as quickly as it had appeared. When she collects her wits she's staring down at the fine little dress and attractive woman from an entirely new perspective, though Tracy's captivating, cerulean eyes. She straightens the stolen body, lips taken to a few quavering breaths as her attention focuses first on her rightful, limp form, and then the masked man. "How do I look?" she mumbles, one corner of those painted lips tilting up a most subtle degree.
"Put this on." Already on one knee, Brian is yanking a wire out of the duffle bag. And a few pieces of masking tape. Though behind his mask he frowns deeply at the dress Isis is now wearing. Damn women and their sex appeal. "You'll have to put it under the bra or something." He gives a shrug. If she's even wearing one. "You look great." He says, in a rushed manner. A pair of handcuffs are also taken from the duffle bag.
"Get it on, and get downstairs." He mumbles, disguising his voice into a deeper gruffer tone. "Your friends are waiting."
And with that he goes to grab the new Isis' wrist. Placing one cuff on the wrist he goes to gently hoist her up and carry her over to the bed. He won't be rough with her unless he has to. Isis does have to return after all. "Hurry." He mutters to the new Tracy.
Tracy's hands fumble round the wire, the stolen senses still set on high alert as the foreign mind acclimates to the new body. She wriggles around as she sets the tap beneath the flattering dress. The puppet mistress then conducts her stolen vessel back to the mirror, straightening any blonde locks that might have been misplaced in the tussle. Only a second is spared to wriggle the purse-baring shoulder. She despised such accessories, but before she leaves her little fingers are running over the cord in a lady-like fashion, straightening it properly as if it were but a simple habit.
A quick nod to Brian, a renewed grip on the blackberry, and the door clicks behind her. It's not long before her heels are clicking along the polished tile lobby at a quick gate that could very well be read as a woman in a hurry, rather than a woman who just stole a body, those prismatic orbs scanning for the first hints of the snappy-dressed Brian.
Just outside the lobby, Brian waits patiently, his back to the interior of the hotel. He would rather avoid getting caught on a security tape should this whole thing somehow hit the fan. His hands are clasped behind his back, sunglasses balancing on the bridge of his nose. Cool and collected, the man is the poster child for slick looking bodyguards ever.
Glancing over his shoulder as she steps out of the hotel a small smile is offered her. "Miss Strauss. Our ride should be here any moment. How are you feeling today?"
The other end of the cuff is attatched to the headboard of the bed. Arranging fake Isis in as a comfortable position as he can he goes to make sure the door is fully closed, before opening it slightly and putting the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside. He then turns to face her, stepping towards the bed he sits at the bottom, watching her closely, waiting for her to come alive.
It doesn't take as long as one might think, perhaps it's the feeling of being in a body that doesn't belong that rouses the real Tracy from her unpeaceful slumber.
At first, she bulks, shifts in a quick twitch of surprise to find not only that she is on a bed, but there's a man in a mask. And, her hands are tied. Glaring an icy glare, one that may look very out of place coming from Iris' eyes, Tracy's free hand comes up to rip the tape from her mouth.
"Who are you?" She demands, not angrily, but authoritatively. It's then that she notices something wrong with her voice, touching her throat.
"Peachy," Tracy's pleasant, smooth tone rings. She flashes a short lived smile - waiting was the most difficult part. There was too much opportunity to think, to contemplate the way in which she stood, spoke, gestured… and just what the hell she had done and was about to do. She tucks a loose strand behind her ear, as much to busy herself as to banish the sight of golden, rather than garnet, locks from her sight. She then makes a point of looking down to Tracy's watch, which distracts her for only a moment as she watches the expensive piece wink before she sets her sights back on the spot where the vehicle is to arrive.
And just like clockwork, everything is set into motion.
