The Structural Survey


alia_icon.gif brennan_icon.gif colette_icon.gif darla_icon.gif doyle_icon.gif grace_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif leonardo_icon.gif mouse_icon.gif

Also Featuring:


Scene Title The Structural Survey
Synopsis A veritable horde of Ferrymen descend upon the neighborhood of Summer Meadows, checking out the lay of the land and making plans for its renovations whether the residents will it or no.
Date November 24, 2009

Summer Meadows, Roosevelt Island

The low brickwork walls flanking the entrance to this subdivision pronounce it to be 'S MMER ME DOWS', black metal letters pitted by age and each tilted slightly askew by decades of weather and neglect. The rest of the subdivision echoes this theme — pavement cracked, its lines worn and faded nearly into obscurity; small lawns littered with autumn leaves and dying grass, shrubbery poorly pruned or not trimmed back at all, such flowers as there are in most cases long since grown wild. The buildings are a mix of townhouses, duplexes, and quartered apartments, most of them with paint peeling at the edges, a few boarded over and sporting jagged holes where the windows weren't quite protected enough. Feral dogs slink at the back of the streets; their feline counterparts are less commonly seen, usually visible as no more than a streak of motion disappearing into the bushes or someone's cracked-open garage door. This isn't a neighborhood where people are seen lounging on their porches as the sun sinks low in the sky; to stay out as darkness gathers is to risk unwanted attention, and the consequences thereof.

The low brickwork walls flanking the entrance to this subdivision pronounce it to be 'S MMER ME DOWS', black metal letters pitted by age and each tilted slightly askew by decades of weather and neglect. The rest of the subdivision echoes this theme — pavement cracked, its lines worn and faded nearly into obscurity; small lawns littered with autumn leaves and dying grass, shrubbery poorly pruned or not trimmed back at all, such flowers as there are in most cases long since grown wild. The buildings are a mix of townhouses, duplexes, and quartered apartments, most of them with paint peeling at the edges, a few boarded over and sporting jagged holes where the windows weren't quite protected enough. Feral dogs slink at the back of the streets; their feline counterparts are less commonly seen, usually visible as no more than a streak of motion disappearing into the bushes or someone's cracked-open garage door. This isn't a neighborhood where people are seen lounging on their porches as the sun sinks low in the sky; to stay out as darkness gathers is to risk unwanted attention, and the consequences thereof.

It's not the best weather for scoping out a place — the light is slate-gray at best, colored so by a flatly overcast sky; the air is cold, and the stiff salt-laden breeze makes it even colder. Grace's coat does a decent job of cutting the wind chill to something more tolerable, even comfortable; there's still Colorado snow somewhere in her blood.

Even in good weather — summer weather — the neighborhood through which the dark-haired strolls would be… well, the kind would call it 'old', in the sense of weighty years rather than grand and elegant ones. The bluntly honest would attach words such as 'neglected', 'decaying', or just plain 'bad'. It's not a place most people would willingly walk after dark; fortunately, dark is a long ways away yet.

Grace stands at the very entrance of the subdivision, just in front of the brickwork blazoned with the subdivision's name — missing a few letters, just as the buildings are rather the worse for wear; lots overgrown, paint peeling, some windows boarded and other windows broken; cars balanced on cinderblocks, or just on their own rims, stripped of anything worth taking and rusting in the ocean weather; weeds poking up between eroding squares of concrete and cracks zigzagging across the streets.

Darla and Mouse are both already farther in, walking exaggeratedly arm-in-arm down the block and chattering cheerfully at one another, punctuated counterpoint to their surroundings. It's earning them a few skeptical glances, and more suspicious ones; only some of the residents know what's afoot, and even for them this endeavor seems like an exercise in futility. But who knows? It just might work.

First things first, though — to see the ground with one's own eyes, and begin to actually plan.

Megan had left a fairly ominous message for Brennan. If he had time and wanted to help, show up at this specific address and look for a woman named Grace. Couldn't miss her, she's the one that talked like someone dragged her voice over gravel.

"Really, Megan!" he exclaims into the phone as he pulls up outside the sign that's absent its letters. He was sent to an abandoned subdivision. But there's people there. With a press of button, he's hanging up on his voicemail and another press of a button, his window is rolling down. "I'm looking for a Grace Matheson?" he calls out, hopefully loud enough to garner the attention of said Matheson woman. Hopefully.

When word reached McRae's safehouse about this ambitious project, Kaylee had perked up in interest. Their work with the sick Staten kids was slowly coming to a close and she was starting to face days of boredom and restlessness. The project was the perfect way to keep busy. Of course, she didn't plan to do this alone. With some poking and prodding, with a bit of the doe eyes begging… she managed to get Doyle off his pouty duff and out into the biting cold.

Already into the subdivision after checking in with Grace, Kaylee leads the portly puppeteer through the subdivision. Her head tilts a bit at the sound of children playing. "I can't imagine living like this," she murmurs softly to him from behind her scarf, her teeth chattering now and then as a gust of cold wind brushes against them. "What do you think? Am I wrong about helping? I think we could do a lot of good helping." She nudges Doyle with an elbow.

Alia shivers as she wraps her coat around her more firmly, backpack slung over her shoulders. It was a cold evening after a night of work at the Center, but rumors abound about the place… and some of them spoke of something big starting here. It starts with finding and meeting someone named 'Grace'.

"Oh, yes. Charming neighborhood." The words are rather deadpan, spoken as they are around the crunched bits of cheese puffs that are being fed into Eric Doyle's mouth, his fingers rustling through the crisp plastic edges of the orange-logo'd bag in his hand to pull out another handful of entirely unhealthy treats that've already painted his tongue and lips in neon hues.

The puppeteer's head tilts a bit to look down to Kaylee, his neck wrapped in a thick woolen scarf from Goodwill, a baseball cap and jacket warding off the cold. Apparently, he's a Mets fan. "What are they doing here, again? This whole neighborhood looks like it's condemned."

Leonardo stands in his black suit in the middle of the subdivision, watching as inspectors, take notes and look over the particularly bad buildings, saving the less severe ones for later. He hasn't been completely talkative, mostly focusing on work, but he's not unapproachable either. Cassius is near, but he's mostly out of the way today.

From down the street the whining noise of a small engine rings off of the buildings. With few of the roads on Roosevelt Island fit for vehicle traffic, it makes traversing it with untraditional vehicles easier. However, despite the ease in which something like a motorcycle can navigate through Roosevelt Island, they're not allowed in most parts of the island's pedestrian-traffic only areas. In the case of this particular rider, however, the police won't ever notice the problem.

The noise of the engine gets louder, the defined puttering and sputtering of the small engine now loud enough to be right on top of the development, followed by the whine and putter of the engine revving up and then gradually slowing down to an idle. There on the street just outside from the brickwork wall that partitions sidewalk from the development, something fades into view.

Peeling away like layers of paint hidden beneath some invisible masking, the faded colors of a red and white dirtbike come into focus. Layers of invisibility flake and peel off like dried paint from its studded tires and spoked wheels. Visibility peels onto dark denim jeans that snugly fit skinny legs and scuffed black boots with bright yellow laces. A navy blue denim jacket covers the teenage girl's slender frame, black fingerless gloves covering small, pale fingers that become visible only when the vision-warping seems to flake and peel off of her like some sort of camouflage coating.

Flipping out the kickstand, she shifts her weight to one side and allows the dirtbike to come to rest, both hands moving up to withdraw the scuffed and worn black motorcycle helmet off of her head. Disheveled black locks of hair are plastered to the Colette Nichols' face, one that has a deceptive youth about it. She rakes her fingers through the hair, sweeping locks of inky black away from her pale brow as green eyes sweep around the neighborhood. One resigned sigh comes, and the teen swings one leg off of the dirtbike and hangs her helmet from one of the handles.

That sigh comes one more time as Colette finally takes in the entire scene, and in that huffed breath she blows a lock of dark hair out from her face. "Jesus…" she murmurs under her breath in an unflattering manner, "what a dump."

Tugging down the zipper of her coat, Grace turns towards the slowing, stopping car, halted some dozen feet away from where she stands. Pale blue eyes study it intently, one dark brow arching at Brennan's shout. Despite his proximity, the woman doesn't flinch from the volume. "And who're you, mister?" she challenges right back, rasping voice more moderate in volume, gaze unwavering. There are others on approach, familiar faces; they've been noted. Particularly Colette. But it's the closer stranger that is Grace's business right now.

The noisy duo come to a halt some few feet away from Leonardo, watching as he watches the inspectors. There's one particularly bad building which burned sometime in the past, no more than a blackened skeleton of framework with a few still-standing, burned-through walls; the siding of the neighboring house was warped by the heat of that fire. "What do you think," Darla asks of Leonardo (and anyone else in hearing range) as she points at the relevant structure, "of just taking that one out altogether? Might make a good garden plot come spring."

"Don't think you could do anything else with it," Mouse comments, not very under his breath. Taking a step back and looking around, the tall youth spots Kaylee and Doyle — although it's what's on the other side of them that holds his attention, for the moment.

There's a girl, probably about seven to nine years old, looking like she's been playing outside all day (or else recently took a substantial slide through the dirt). The ragged-looking baseball in her hand might have some relationship with this state, but it, the game awaiting its return somewhere around a corner, and her innate suspicion of strangers have all been set aside in favor of eyeballing Doyle's bag of vivid-orange cheese puffs. From a presumably safe distance.

"Megan Young sent me." Someone's answered, and from the sound of that voice, he's found exactly who he was looking for. The engine is killed and window makes its way back up. "I"m Dr. Harve Brennan," added once he's out and the sedate sedan is locked with the press of a button. Chicago has cold winters so the tall individual is striding towards the woman, arm in sling beneath a jacket, other arm through its sleeve.

He glances over to Alia as she's approaching too, a dip of his head in greeting. "Ms. Young left a message on my phone, said that I might have an interest in helping out with something, to seek out Grace Matheson."

A teenager, dressed in ratty jeans, layer upon layer of sweaters and shirts to preserve himself against the cold is standing in the doorway of one of the abandoned tenements. Toque over his head and covering his ears with some band's insignia on the front of it, he stares sullenly at the people who are suddenly interested in the area. Distrusting eyes and angry face.

"Why are we living in a safehouse in Staten? Lack of a better place, maybe?" Kaylee's words just as bland, even if she gives him a smirk, as she tugs down the scarf, but tugs her dark blue beanie further down on her head. She spots the child beyond then and nods that way, with a small smile. "Don't look now… Your bag is being watched." When he looks away she deftly snags one of those cheese puffs for herself and pops it in her mouth before he can make her put it back. She gives the girl a wink and holds a finger to her mouth with a mischievous smile.

"I think you should share, puppet master." Kaylee's words barely above a whisper, so they don't reach small ears.

Alia approaches the group slowly, on foot. Her red jacket zipped closed… she was used to being out in the chill, but it didn't mean she had to like it. Her movements are slow, careful. She watches the people warily, even as she listens more than talks to find out what is going on. One might not even notice her if it weren't for the bright colors and the intense look in her eyes.

"I'm fine there," Doyle mutters under his breath in complaint, gesturing with one crunchy puff, "It's out of the way. Nobody bothers us. The kids are happy, when they're not sick. I don't see why we need all of…" A frustrated little ruffling of his fingers through the air, and then he pauses at the whisper from the woman he's bitching to.

A turn of his head looks in that direction, gaze freezing on the little girl for a moment. Then his lips twitch in the faintest of smiles, and he holds the bag out in her direction with a rustling of plastic, offering cheerfully, "Want some?"

"A garden would be nice. While some sort of structure would certainly be productive, a garden is like… a sign that a neighborhood is alive. And it'll give locals something to take care of." Leonardo inhales and exhales as mental senses flow through the structure, feeling it out. "Taking it down won't be a problem, but are you willing to help with the gardening? I can't say I have much of a green thumb, but we have to get others enthusiastic about it."

Colette Nichols isn't the only match-stick thin woman here under gray skies and in the bitter weather of winter's approach. In the back of a pickup truck parked not far from where Colette left her dirtbike, a blonde woman in her twenties is sliding down from the back. Old and worn sneakers scuff down onto the pavement and she unwinds a red and white cloth handkerchief from the back pocket of her jeans, bringing it up to cover her hair as she ties it behind her head, stringy threads of pale blonde locks hanging out from the front.

"C'mon guys, let's go take a look around inside." Her voice has a crisp edge to it, lilting and melodic in quality, someone who has the gift of a natural speaker. Were she in any other environment, not red-cheeked from riding in the cold and breezy back of a pickup truck nor dressed like a gas station attendant, Else Kjelstrom might be swarmed by once adoring fans. Now, of course, she's devoted herself to a simpler life further away from what she used to know. The resemblance to the rising rock star is there, but now it's just that — a passing resemblance, an uncanny look-alike, because she couldn't really be Else Kjelstrom, could she?

Easing out of the truck, three men give uncertain looks up to the buildings and around to the neighborhood surrounding it, one of them peering across the street. "This's a lot rougher than I thought…" one of them murmurs, stroking a hand across his stubbled chin before circling around the front of the truck and coming up onto the sidewalk. "El, you and Marvin check out the property 'round the buildings, I'm gonna' go take a look inside." The handful of Ferrymen split up, with Else and the bald-headed electrician Marvin heading up onto the sidewalk and around the perimeter of the grounds, while the two other men start slowly making their way towards one of the buildings.

"Grace?" Colette doesn't really hesitate much in her approach, resting her hands on her hips as she walks over to where the brunette has stopped by the car. "Wow it— it's been a while." There's still a touch of nervousness on Colette's voice, but outwardly she looks to have done some growing up. Despite being in the same network, Colette and Grace's paths seem to never quite intersect, even with her internship at Bit-By-Bit still being served, Grace never was at the office often.

As the teen approaches the car, her green eyes flick to the muted figure barely visible through the reflection of clouds in the windshield, then follows him on his way out of the car. He looks familiar, and she can't place from where. With her eyes settled on Brennan and Grace, Colette's unaware of the other young woman approaching the gathering. Nothing more than the hesitant introduction from Colette though as she comes to stand by Grace's side. Shoulders rise and fall into a shrug as she looks up to Brennan, then back to Grace. It's clear enough now, up close, that both of her eyes are clear as emerald now. Whatever's happened in the last few months, it's tempered some of the child inside of her.

"Ah, Brennan," Grace echoes, her expression as inscrutable as the broken rasp of her voice. "I believe I did hear something about you." Good, bad — she isn't telling. Blue eyes flick past the good doctor to Alia. A familiar face from the Center, even if not something Grace knows. "And you, are you also looking for someone?"

To Colette, the raven-voiced woman smiles, a subtle quirk of lips that has more character to it than a gesture of greeting. "Hey, kid. I heard you got drafted." Spoken with the sardonic humor that gives drafted an entirely nonmilitary meaning. She scans over the teen's appearance, looks back up at her face. "Hadn't heard about the eye."

Darla chuckles to Leonardo. "Yeah, we can handle the green stuff. There's a couple real gardeners around — just not here today." The arrival of another vehicle outside the subdivision distracts the aerokinetic, and she lifts her fingers to her lips to whistle a summons at the crew. "Let's see if we can't get them talking to your guys, yeah?" she remarks afterwards to Raphael.

Meanwhile, Mouse skulks off, slipping away from the discussion that has somehow turned to productive matters. Things like work. Not his forte at all, at all. Gray eyes focus on Kaylee, narrow; a small, mischievous smile pulls at the youth's lips. «Hey, Kaylee!» Think it hard enough and she'll notice, right?

Not looking far enough down the street to notice Mouse's approach, the girl is busy studying Doyle and Kaylee with suspicious greed. Is he serious? For real? The war of yes and no is visibly written in subtle changes of expression, slowly charting the girl's progress towards surrender. She steps forward — then stops short. "'M not s'posed to take things from strangers," the girl mumbles, although she can't quite keep her eyes off the bag. It's an awful flimsy protest.

"Ahh good, then she wasn't just sending me into the den of lions. I have to admit, an abandoned subdivision isn't exactly the place that I thought I might get directed to" Brennan offers out his hand to Colette, to shake. "Evening. So, how can one help, here? Sounds like there's a garden in the works somewhere."

The sullen teen steps off his front step — make no mistake he's claimed it as his — and is glaring at Raphael and Cassius. "This is my place, you won't be tearing it down."

"That is why, Eric." She murmurs watching the young girl, "Of all the people in the world that don't deserve what the government is doing… it's the kids." Kaylee glances to her companion with a knowing look. "Think of it as doing it to make their living conditions better." She gives him yet another nudge of her elbow; she's hung around him enough to know that's a weakness, the kids.

Mouth opening to answer the kid, Kaylee's head tilts a bit and turns as she catches something, her body follows after to look back at Mouse. Brows lift a bit before her tin-like mental voice floats through his mind. «You called, Mouse?» A small smirk of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips.

Alia gives a brief nod. "A project?" The woman was never much for words, particularly in crowds. She bites her lower lip and prays she isn't making a fool of herself as she looks about, not really recongizing any familiar faces. She idly wonders to herself is that is a good thing or a bad thing. But she stays on guard, always wary… never paid to let down one's guard.

At the words from the blonde telepath, Eric draws in a breath… and exhales it in a heavy sigh, stirring in the air as he glances sidelong towards her for a moment. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles under his breath, before turning back to regard the young girl with a faint smile, "It's alright. Here, I'll just set it down here…"

The bag's set down on the curb, and he backs up, waving towards the road, "…and we'll get going, so you don't have to worry. Okay? C'mon, Kay, let's get this over with and find where everyone is, okay? This neighborhood gives me the creeps."

Leonardo walks over to a few of the inspectors, whispering something to them, then they walk away from the burnt building. "That's no problem, though we can bring this building down right now, safely. There's a miniscule amount of actual debris, and most of the shell left over is metallic. What do you think? Should we?" he asks, not offering how they'll do it, just wondering if it's the best thing to do. He's mostly collected and business-like at the moment, staying focused rather than coming off as overtly enthused or invested.

He tilts his head when the teen speaks up, then heads over and stares down at him with a curious gaze. "If you don't want me to tear it down, then what would you like done with it? I'm open minded."

Out on the street, a side-long look is offered to Brennan, then over to Grace. By the time Colette looks back to the doctor it's obvious that Colette was looking for that momentary affirmation that he's trustworthy. Her hand comes off her hip, fingerless gloves meeting his bare hand, tiny and cold fingers wrapping around his in a brief and gentle shake. "Colette Nichols-Demsky," she notes with a slow nod of her head, dark brows furrowed as she gives the doctor a discerning look with those green eyes.

"S'nice t'meet ya," she adds afterwards, resuming her hands-on-hips posture, shoulders slacked and cold wind playing at the longer locks at her ink black bangs. "So like, this place looks pretty rough, Grace." Colette's nose wrinkles, eyeing the buildings beyond the brickwork wall, then over towards Alia as she settles herself in proximity to the trio.

"This… someone you know?" The dark-haired teen asks, looking from Alia to Grace and then back again, shifting her posture to afford both Dr.Brennan and Alia space in her periphery. Inwardly, she's reveling still over having full peripheral vision again, even if the faintest hints of colors and shapes are still visible outside of the range of her physical eyesight, that's more tactile than visual in the way she interprets it.

"It isn't abandoned," Grace corrects Brennan. "And there's much more than a garden." She looks to Alia, over to Colette, and that lopsided smile reappears, stronger than before. "Homework for the three of you: go in, take a stroll around the streets, then go research the Heidelberg Project. Think about it a while, and after — say next week — come talk to me about what you think you can do." A sweep of her hand gestures for the trio to enter the subdivision beyond the entrance marker: after you.

Darla looks between the boy and Leonardo, an errant breeze flitting through her curly hair. "Bear in mind that it can't be restored, kid — burn like that, best you can do is knock down and build new." She wiggles her fingers at the boy. "We've got lots of hands, and lots of time. You talk it over with Leo a while, and we'll come up with an idea that works for everyone, too." Then the aerokinetic steps away, turning her attention to other buildings, other empty spaces, plantings long neglected and left to run wild. Oh yes, ideas.

Mouse grins broadly at Kaylee. «Got an idea.» It's still the equivalent of a mental shout, but he isn't a 'path; about all he can do is think loudly in her direction. «Catch up with you later to talk about it,» the youth concludes, ceding to Doyle's suggestion of departure. "Hey, kid," he says to the girl, around Doyle and Kaylee. "Take the gift and scram 'fore someone else sees, yeah?"

Brown eyes flick between Doyle, Mouse, Kaylee, and the half-eaten bag of cheese puffs; she seems to agree with Mouse's sentiments, and snatches it up in a crinkle of plastic as soon as Doyle's turned his back. Her mumbled thanks, mister doesn't carry very far, especially as she retreats with her prize — but it's sincere, if not quite yet actually believing in the act of generosity.

"Hmmm?" Is Kaylee's answer to Doyle distracted for the moment by Mouse. Her eyes narrow after him, thoughtfully. «You know how to get a hold of me!» She sends back mentally, only a twitch of a grimace against the loudness of his attempts to talk to her. A blink and her attention is back to Doyle. "What? Oh… yeah, let's see what they've got decided so far." She moves to take them back the way they came from, a grin leveled at Doyle. "Oh geeze, It's not that creepy. I mean.. do we really need to worry about being in the wrong side of town? We live on Staten." She gives him an exasperated look, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her leather jacket. "This I would think is nothing compared to that."

"We live out in the boonies of Staten," asserts Doyle, gesturing with one orange-dusted hand as they walk, "There aren't all these… people out there." He wrinkles up his nose at the mention of things, his voice dipping softer as they head towards the small gathering of Ferrymen and related allies and volunteers, lumbering along with unhurried steps, "Adam could come check this out."

Squinting one eye shut, Colette regards Grace with a suspicious look and shifts her weight to one foot. "Homework." It's said with a little incredulity, leveling her focus back to Grace before giving a helpless shrug of her shoulders and s lopsided smile. "Guess I'm playing tour-guide then," she admits wryly, walking a few paces ahead of the pair and turning her back to them, fingers tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. "Didn't get your name," she notes to Alia, nodding her head towards the girl, and then to Brennan, "and you know— I didn't get yours either buddy." Wrinkling her nose, Colette keeps backpedaling towards the brickwork walls, looking as though she's about to careen right into one, before abruptly side-stepping at the last minute to avoid the corner without breaking her stride.

It's about this time the trio comes into view of Doyle and Kaylee on their approach. Colette folds her hands lazily behind her head as she walks backwards, pausing now in the grounds to stare at her two unfamiliar companions. While she can feel the light bounding off of Doyle and Kaylee on their approach, the photokinetic sense gives her only a general shape. To Doyle, though, the brunette girl is passingly familiar. She's delivered food and supplies to McRae's safehouse dozens of times, though he never has caught her name.

"Dr. Brennan. Harve Brennan. But please, just Brennan will be fine, never call me Harry" Offered arm is eschewed but it doens't phase the tall physician as he falls into an easy stride almost right to the left and behind Colette, brows raised at the skillful maneuvering of the younger girls steps. That is until- There's Doyle and Kaylee.

Everything in the negator seems to stand on end. The two who came for the vaccines, who did, just not in legal means. Or so he thinks, he's already pegged the theft on them. The family physician is skirting past Colette, headed straight for the pair and a none to happy look on his face. "You two have a sure fat lot of explaining to do, before I call the cops" Anger, pure and simple rolls off Brennan and with the anger, unconsciously, negation.

Alia chuckles. "Alia" She says simply as she continues to look around slowly, staying with the others, thinking, but speaking very little… she pauses however, as she has a moment of recollection. Two more people she has met before… though, the last time involved someone robbing a bank around them. She gives a very careful nod, then freezes as Brennan suddenly launches into anger at the two. She raises an eyebrow as if to ask 'what the hell?'

There is a grimace at the name of her former employer, Kaylee's stomach gives a sickening twist. "Dammit.. you know better then to…" She trails off as a familiar voice, her head turning to spot the doctor coming at them. "What the…?" There is genuine confusion in Kaylee's expression as he shout at them. "Whoa whoa… explain what?!" Her hands slip out of her pockets and are held up to keep him from getting any closer to her. She doesn't direct anything at Brennan.. but she does try to telepathically send a <Uh oh… Get ready to run.».. Though with the in and out of her ability all Doyle will hear is. <Uh….. Get…… to…..» Not that she notices the interruptions in her thought as she more focused on Brennan.

Hm, what? Doyle'd gotten distracted by something in his own head, a bland and tired smile being offered over to Collette, whom he recognizes, and then they're being glared at and threatened. The portly man's gaze rolls up, pausing on Brennan, one brow arching upwards in smooth offense. "Excuse me?" A half-smile curves to his mouth as he steps forward a bit, "Sorry, I'm not— have we met?"

At Brennan's introduction, Colette's eyes both go wide, "Doctor Brennan!" The sound is chirped out loudly, and Colette immediately shifts to walking forward, both hands excitedly flapping around in the air as she talks, acting much more her age now. "Oh— oh my God, do you remember me?" There's a huge, if not somewhat awkward, smile on her face. "I— You were the attending ER doctor when I was hospitalized after— the— " There's a choked back quiet that comes over Colette as she jerks around to focus on the targets of Brennan's ire.

The darkly dressed teenager moves her hands from her pockets, narrow shoulders raised in an awkward hunch the way a nervous cat might posture itself. Her green eyes settle on Doyle, then Kaylee, and it's not furthered aggression but confusion. "Oh hey it— hey it's okay Doctor Brennan…" Nervous green eyes flit out to the doctor, then over to Alia with a helpless expression of do you know what's going on before looking back at Brennan.

"These— they're uh, people I know from work?" There's an awkward smile afforded to Brennan as Colette moves to stand between Doyle and Kaylee and Brennan and Alia. "C'mon, we're not here to like… uh…" she looks over her shoulder to Doyle, then back to Brennan. "We're all here to work together. R— Right?" Right?

"Have we met?" There's a lift of the sling covered arm. "Have we met. Oh I'm sorry, weren't you manning the second tent at the church before a riot broke out? The second imaginary tent that didn't need the vaccines you both came looking for, that magically disappeared. Surely you can remember the riot" He swivels a gaze back to Kaylee. "The one where my wife got trampled to near death and we lost our baby"

Colette gets glanced at. "They stole Ms. Nichol's-Demskey. Vaccine that was meant for people who couldn't afford them. Cause a riot that killed a teenaged girl" Back to Kaylee and Doyle, back and forth. "Give me one damned good reason that I shouldn't call the cops on you right this instance" His hand is already inching for his phone.

Alia coughs as she puts herself between Brennan and the pair. "You hold her responsible for crowd rioting?" She says it the same way one would say 'are you an idiot?' "Maybe wrong done, maybe there was need you not know about. But blaming one for madness of many?"

Kaylee can only blink for a moment, her mind processing a few things, but she does latch onto one fact. "Hold on, Doc." Her head slowly shakes, she gives him a look of he's crazy, "We did not start the riot. Have you not seen the news? Seriously…. I mean.. Yeah we made a somewhat badly planned try and get some of the vaccines for a dozen kids on the island dying of scarlet fever.. " She admits that at least, but then her hands spread helplessly, "But well…. it was a last minute desperate idea, we didn't get our hands on it," Well… at least not till way down the line… and not that anyone would remember… but not then and there. It wasn't them that took it.

She look genuinely sorry about his wife and baby, when Kaylee says, "I'm sorry about your baby, but we didn't cause the riot."

As the blonde attempts to explain the situation - while actually being honest about it, shockingly enough - Doyle's own gaze remains steady upon Brennan, his fingers twitching faintly by his side as he waits for the man to make a move for that phone. Silent, and there's no particular pity in his eyes despite the sob story that he tells. It's more the way a shark looks at a particular tasty seal.

"Wh— " Green eyes go wide, and Colette's easily influenced sense of justice has her wheeling around on her sneakered heels, eyes fixed on Kaylee and Doyle in disbelief. "Bu— But— But they— he does puppet shows for the kids, he— " the teen's voice cracks, breath hitching in the back of her throat. She tries to keep her voice down, even if the shock causes it to break into a squeak of emotion.

"You— this— you're mistaken, right?" She looks sharply to Brennan, then just as quickly back to Doyle. "He's mistaken, r— right? I mean, you— you wouldn't have— " then Alia steps up to the plate, words roughly and difficultly scraped together trying to broker some kind of ease between everyone, even if the manner in which they're delivered is a bit coarse.

Nervously swallowing, Colette looks back for Grace, only to find a vacant spot on the sidewalk where the woman was a moment before. There's a tense snort, green eyes flicking back and forth between everyone as one gloved hand moves to the side of her head to ease the tension at her brows. "I'm— I— " now she isn't sure what to do.

Scarlet Fever.

"Did you just say scarlet fever?"

But Brennan knows what he heard. Knows exactly what had afflicted the girl he'd seen earlier in the day and that a bunch of other kids under megan's care, were hit with the sickness. "great line your trying to feed me there Kaylee" Yes, he remembers her name. There's a finger points at Doyle. "Jason. You could have asked, not stolen. And don't feed the line about not getting it, because there was a girl with heart issues from scarlet fever that was brought to me by someone who I suspect knows you. That a good chunk of my private practice's supplies just went to helping"

Christ. Did Megan know? Alia is looked at, not quite understanding the young woman's words but noticing the placement. "I'm not about to try and kill them" A gesture to the two 'offenders. "And I know for a fact that your kids, got those vaccines" This is an unhappy man. Very unhappy man. "So that means that you did make off with it"

Alia frowns. "no." She takes a slow deep breath to try and focus her thoughts into words. It takes work for her to do so, but she does it anyways. "I mean is, they made a mistake, maybe. Now they might be trying to make amends. Forgiveness is hard."

"We did not make off with them… but they ended up helping the kids later, yes. So obviously someone ended up doing a better job of it. " The evidence the cops gathered, will prove that. Her eyes narrow at Brennan as she also counters back. "How do we know we could have asked? You were working for the government giving those vaccines to the people that registered and didn't get dark holed for their abilities?!" Her brows lift a bit. "So, my question is how are we suppose to know that we could come to you? To trust you? We had kids dying.. I had watched two at that point die from something they could have been protected for from a vaccine. So I'm glad that they finally got to us."

The is no remorse over those vaccines, they saved lives in Kaylee's mind. "All those kids and more just got an extension on their lives without loosing parents to a fucked up system."

"Look, look… Doc…" Doyle chuckles, a mirthless sort of humor, stepping over and lifting a hand to clap on Brennan's shoulder - not-so-coincidentally the one that's attached to the hand that was reaching for his phone, "…we didn't have a damn thing to do with the riot, and let's be realistic here. They probably would've gotten looted in all the chaos anyway. Does it really matter how they got to the kids? They were sick. They needed help. They got it. What's the problem?"

Anxiety slowly quells in Colette as she listens to the exchange, but something still hangs nervous in the corners of her mind at the potential altercation. "L— Look obviously you guys have a lot to talk about." She bites down on her lower lip, looking to Alia with furrowed brows before focusing on Kaylee and Doyle. "I'm… I know I'm not really sure what's going on, or— or really what I can do about it…" probably nothing, as usual… "I just— Grace wanted us to look around here and get ideas for fixing things, not— not whatever it is that's happening here I— " His wife and daughter? Oh my God, did they really— Alia's words caught Colette's attention sharply, by a hooked finger of truth that grabs on the corner of her subconscious and yanks her focus away from more self-deprecating thoughts.

"She— uh— " fuck what was her na— oh right! "Alia's right… and we're here to try and make this place better for the people here. So— so I know I can't ask you both to just not be upset. But— but right now we're not here for ourselves. We're here for other people, right?" Killed a teenage girl? "We just, uh, can't we just… try? For now, for them? Put this aside and just…" I probably wouldn't. I'm such a fucking hypocrite. It's so easy to say the right thing to do.

"I'd really suggest you not touch me right now Jason" Brennan glares at him, hand closing around his phone and bringing it out. "You could take a chance. Like your friend did this morning." Alia is all but ignored at the moment. She's a stranger, while the other three, Brennan knows to varying degree's. "You're right Colette. I know what Ms. Matheson wanted us to do. What Nurse Young wanted me to do. Maybe I need to rethink getting involved."

Brennan's jaw is tight as he looks back to Kaylee. "Those kids got the vaccines Kaylee, but at what cost to others? What cost to those who waited in line for a long time who won't now and will not have the protection against the flue, and hepatitis, chicken pox, meningitis? There's a lot of needy people in the world, glad to know that you think the cost of that girl and an unborn child are right on par with those children" He's turning, trying to shrug off Doyle's hand as he hits a few buttons on his phone. "Next time, just take a chance, you never know"

Alia frowns at Brennan's actions, then shakes her head as she looks over her shoulder at Kaylee. "Two lives. Verses the cost of many." SHe sighs. "Hard choice." She turns. "A week to meet. Will you cost the ones living here a chance at hope?" Her voice cuts like the chill wind as she throws it at Brennan. She reaches towards the phone… not with her hands, but with her own ability… not able to alter it, but she can at least try to read the last number dialed, to see how bad things are about to get.

"Somehow I won't be surprised if those needy people still got what they needed." Kaylee offers blandly, "Government is good to those they think are good.. and fuck over whoever they think are bad." She tugs at Doyle's sleeve, though her fingers dig into his arm to keep him from doing anything bad. "Come on, Jason.. You win.." She grumbles, moving to leave, "Should have never bothered to come help… I'll buy you a new bag of Cheesy puffs on the way."

A glare goes to Brennan's back, but then a glance goes to Colette, her face falling into a sad expression at the thoughts she's been hearing there.. and the girl gets to hear Kaylee's tin can like voice in her head…«Tell Grace I'm sorry we screw this up.. It wasn't intentional, we were here to help… She knows how to find me if she wants to yell at me….» There is a pause and «We didn't kill anyone.» She adds that last for Colette calm reassurance in those words, then she takes a firm hold of Doyle's arm by looping her arm through his and holding it to her side to pull him along. "Lets go home."

"We didn't have anything to do with those two lives," is the sharp statement from Doyle as his hand's shrugged off and the man turns away to reach for his phone; his jaw tightening up as lips purse in a tight scowl, lines digging into his features. His own thoughts a sudden midnight storm of wounded anger. //He's going to fuck up everything. Me, the kids, the Ferry, the selfish bastard. I need to deal with this— //

The puppeteer's hand starts to crook, and then his arm's grabbed hold of, and he's pulled away, stumbling a bit before turning to growl under his breath to Kaylee, "He's going to screw everything up. We can't just walk away…"

One partly gloved hand sweeps up and through Colette's hair as the teen shifts her weight to one foot and exhales out a slow sigh. A weary groan crosses her lips as she sees Brennan distancing himself from things. Biting down on her lower lip, she shifts her weight uneasily to her other foot, then back again before slacking her shoulders and breathing out a tired sigh once more.

I'll… Colette's stare is directed down to her feet. Why do I even… Dark brows furrow, green eyes drift from side to side. Kaylee is treated to a strange sight, a darkened alleyway, panic and fear and revulsion, light reflecting off of a chromed nine millimeter pistol held in a young girl's hands, and the stark shadows of Emile Danko's face peering up at her across the barrel of the gun. Why do I even try to…


"It's… it's alright Doctor Brennan. Maybe, ah…" Agh come on. "If you don't mind, maybe… I could talk to you later about this? If, I mean, if Grace has your contact info. Right now, maybe you're right, maybe you should think about some things. But— but just don't…" Come on, say it, put the words together damnit "you know— think about it. I won't bug you if you don't want me to though."

A nervous swallow comes next, blue eyes focusing on Kaylee with a wide-eyed stare. She realizes, only then, that the voice she was hearing wasn't being spoken out loud. It's the first time she's ever had to deal with a telepath — that she knows of — and the feeling of having someone else's mind in hers causes her to shrink back just a little. Unfortunately, the moment she knows someone is looking into her mind, Colette's thoughts come awash with everything she doesn't want the telepath to know she could be thinking about. Mostly embarrassing, awkward, personal things. Such is Colette.

"So… uh…" Colette shifts a helpless look to Alia. "You… wanna go look 'round inside?" The words, sheepishly, fall a little flat is what they do.

"I dont' think Ms. Matheson has my information" He's not so far away that he can pin his phone between ear and shoulder, dig in a pocket for a business card and pass it over to Colette with an eyeful to Alia. "Because, you know, that's such reasonable thinking. Life for a life because one is registered and the other isn't. Welcome to the world miss. It's not fair, and those who follow the law, will get from the government what they can give. And those who are afraid, have to settle with the charity of others who understand what they're going through. Maybe you need to look up what Ms. Matheson suggested you do, and then go look up my name before you start lecturing me on the costs of lives for the greater good. It's not two lives for the cost of many, it's a gamble of many lives, for the benefit of other lives. It's just sad that on both sides, two had to die to make one side happy" He snaps out.

Brennan turns on his heel, gritting his teeth against the jarring pain in his shoulder from the movement and the headache that's springing up. "Enjoy your self righteousness Kaylee." In his mind, somehow, he's dead certain that they did it. The two there and as someone on the other end picks up, his voice goes low. "Hey. Heading home, my thing got cut short. What does my lovely heart desire for dinner? Give Mila the night off, i'm coming home to take care of you and the girls."

"Right back atcha, Doc." Kaylee mutters and she drags Doyle after her….. Only when there is significant distance does she stop a short distance from the others, coming around so she can look Doyle in the eyes and make him look at her… for once there is no smug or mischievous smirk. Her words are fierce and whispered as she tries to make her friend see reason. "No." The word is said firmly and sharply, but she doesn't let go of that arm. "He's not, but if you harm him.. then it'll be screwed up." She hazards a glance at the doctor's distant back, before looking back at the puppeteer. "He hasn't had to live in the middle of it like we have. We can only hope he finally understands someday. We have to do what we do to survive, but not harm the group we're working for." She gives his arm a squeeze, turning her head a bit her look concerned. "Okay?" She hates to have him mad at her, but she knows what Doyle wants to do won't help.

"You won't always need his help," replies Doyle rather flatly, regarding her for a moment as she steps before him to look at him and make her demands, "If he'll ever help at all, now." He turns his head, looking back over his shoulder with a cold gaze to where the doctor's walking, "I don't forget this sort of thing."

He turns back to where she's standing between him and escape for the moment, one hand lifting and jerking sharply to one side— causing muscles to bunch, pull, relax in turn as she's forced to step aside, dancing on the puppeteer's strings. Then he shuffles along past her, pausing to turn and look at her with a gaze as cold and flat as ice water, "Ever."

And he walks, heading back the way they'd come. I should've just stayed home.

Watching people disperse in every direction, Colette slouches her shoulders and covers her face with one hand. "Mnhh…" her brows tense slightly, one green eye peering between spread fingers towards Alia. "Well… lets get to work." Begrudgingly said as she turns to face the buildings again tiredly.

I should've just stayed home.

At least most of them can agree on that.

Previously in this storyline…
The First Draft

Next in this storyline…
Cranberry Substitute

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