There Is No 'I' In Team


bebe_icon.gif cardinal_icon.gif

Scene Title There Is No 'I' In Team
Synopsis Bebe and Cardinal discuss things pertaining to the plan. Bebe uses a few fifty cent words and plays with cliches. Cardinal's still missing a hand and that isn't at all creepy.
Date June 21, 2009

Still Onna Boat!

Nautical-themed pashmina afghans are everywhere.

The black columns of smoke snake upwards to stir sullenly in the skies above Staten Island, the suburban shores struck worst by the wildfire ignited by a meth lab's destruction ravaged even worse due to the lack of the fire department deployed to the area. The environmental display is easily visible from the waters where the Casino Royale's floating at the moment, making for quite the spectacular view if one's into that sort of thing.

Cardinal's leaning against the rail with folded arms, his brow furrowed in tight lines, lips pursed as a frown. He's clearly displeased with the situation, although it seems more personal anger than the generalized righteousness one might feel learning about a distant tragedy.

Upon hearing the news — or, rather, seeing the first plumes of smoke bloom on the dark and doomed horizon — Bebe's first impulse had been to immediately fly back to the burning Island and play literal ferryman to those sorry bastards, once forgotten by justice, now left to burn in a very literal sort of Hell on Earth. Bastards like, oh, say… John Logan. She had to be physically restrained, one man on either side of her, while she thrashed unnaturally between them in a pathetic attempt to get free. Only when she careened headlong into unconsciousness did her body relent. It may well have been the longest two minutes of Richard Cardinal's life. The whole image might have almost been comical had it not been painted with sad strokes of desperation.

Tonight, she's remained below deck, quarantined by some unknown emotion — guilt, anger, shame, or sorrow — in the captain's quarters. When her small footfalls are heard climbing the stairs — ahem, ladder — to the upper deck, it'll be her first appearance of the day rejoining the outside world. Try though she may to ignore it, those big brown eyes just can't keep from turning toward Staten Island, her expression an echo of the same one Cardinal wears, manifested just as silently.

It takes him a few minutes to acknowledge her. Cardinal's good hand curls to the rail, and his arm straightens to push him back slowly from it, stretching slightly with a faint pop-crackle of vertebrae that'd settled into uncomfortable places with so long a slouch. "Hey," he greets, his voice casual as he looks back over his shoulder, though no smile finds his lips, "You okay?"

Bebe's lips draw together, temporarily thinned as she thinks, and finally part again in order to ask a question instead of answer one. "Where's Jo— er, Tyler?" Can you feel the love, one-handed man? Of course, she's making an overture of proximity, closing the space to Cardinal's perch on the railing without being exceptionally shy about it. She comes to within a casual distance before letting her hip kiss up against the same space about a foot away.

Sadly, he's rather used to the looks and dismissals. Cardinal's one good hand drums fingertips to the rail as he looks back out towards the island, his head shaking ever so slightly, "I think he's takin' care of something for Edward right now, so, unfortunately, what you see is what you get… know it ain't much."

The scant shadow of a smile that finds its way onto her lips isn't particularly disappointed, per se, but Bebe has a hard time not seeming sad nowadays, even in spite of her smiles. "I suppose you'll do," she says, trying for wry but sounding somehow pained. "I know babysitting me probably isn't as interesting as skulking about on some clandestine errand but, you've been busy. You could probably use the rest." Is she— did she just use the word clandestine?? Someone must have tripped over a dictionary down there or something. Dang.

A smile ghosts across his own lips at her words, and the thief gives his head a subtle shake. "I need a rest, but I'm not gonna get one for awhile," he says in quiet, rue-painted tones of his own as hazel eyes drift over the stirring coils of smoke through the skies over the island in the not-so-great distance, "I don't know where I could even relax enough, right now, to get some." Richard tilts his head slightly, watching her sidelong for a moment before murmuring more quietly, "I've got to hit land soon enough to do more errands anyway. You coming along to rescue that guy from Home-Sec?"

"Do I get to go ashore?" In other words, might the Beebs be able to leave the boat? For as much as she may have salt water in her veins thanks to an extended stay on board a bevy of other boats (with great big guns!) bouncing around against the Somali coast, she isn't such a big fan of being confined to one now for the sake of being kept out of harm's way — or however the men she's spending so much quality time with are justifying it to her (and themselves) whenever she's bid to stay. (Good girl! Here's a biscuit.)

"You'd kind've have to," replies Richard, that smile growing just a hint, "Should be a simple snatch 'n grab, get the guy and break him out… chances are, there won't be too much resistance. That li'l trick of yours should come in handy, though." He sinks in against the rail a bit, weight resting on the arm there, his eyes closing, "Hopefully I can salvage a few other allies to bring along. I'm runnin' out of people."

"Which little trick?" she wonders aloud before, duh, realization dawns. The one that isn't really hers but rather someone else's — borrowed from a fastidious Federal agent with a penchant for buggery being just around every bend. "You know, uh, this…" Bebe shrugs her shoulders nearly up to her ears before dropping them back down again. "…isn't me." Now, there's a carefully loaded piece of truth if ever there was one. "I'm not normally this… fast."

"I know. That's Ivanov's." Cardinal's eyes are still closed, his voice a quiet murmur past his lips, "He's really rather eager to get it back, too, to tell the truth. He's— not a friend— an acquaintance of mine, I guess? An occasional business associate."

Right. "…right." Bebe's big brown eyes remain fixed on the fires burning just beyond the horizon. From where she's standing, it almost seems as if the whole world's been set afire. After all, wasn't it only a few short weeks ago that she was sharing a similar view with the other man who's now sharing their mutual company while perched on the precipice of a broken bridge? "Do you think he'd help us?"

There's a long moment's silence that answers that question, the answer mulled over in the man's head. "…within limits," he admits, "He's willing to flex the rules and he's not averse to helping our cause…" A pause. "Heh. Our cause. I don't even know what my cause is."

Truth be told, Bebe's still a little fuzzy on what 'our cause' might be, too, but she doesn't confess as much for fear of obliterating what small fortress of cards they've been able to construct so far. "There's no 'I' in team, right? Figure out your own agenda when you're not juggling other people's lives." Meaning hers. And (both of) Tyler's.

"You'd think that'd go the other way around, wouldn't it…?" A wry twist of Cardinal's voice, his hand raising up from the boat's rail to rub against the bridge of his nose, eyes closing, "Anyway. I think we can at least agree on a goal— kill that motherfucker Arthur Petrelli so hard his son'll fall off his damn chair in the White House."

"Well, I don't want to ki— " Wait, no. Who's Bebe trying to fool? She put two barrels full of shotgun shells into Arthur Petrelli before she even knew who he was… besides, uh, an apparently immortal monster who wields laser beams and can't stand bathing in pale ale. "Have you figured out how?"

"I can think of a few ways. I think Eddie has a plan…" Cardinal's hand drops back down, and he straightens from the rail, stretching with a faint pop-crack of vertebrae, "…we'll get this done." A look to her, his smile tired but the look in his eyes serious, "One way or another, beautiful. Go get some rest."

"You rest," she retorts, sounding — if only for the briefest moment — like a petulant child refusing to go to her room. "You need it." Truth. "Don't worry," Bebe tacks on in an attempt at reassurance, reaching out a hand to rest briefly on whichever of Cardinal's arms happens to be within reach; she won't shy away from the limb missing its appendage. "I promise you won't wake up in Fresh Kills choking on smoke and salt water." Meaning, she won't immediately sail them back to Staten Island once he's fallen asleep.

At the touch of her hand, Cardinal glances down to it— not drawing away, or seeking further— and then up to her face, a rueful smile curling to his lips. "Alright. Then we'll need to pick up Tyler again, and… it's back to work." Meaning, 'John'll be keeping an eye on her while he's out taking care of business. At least she's cared for?

John Doe may not necessarily be the John that Bebe's longing to see but she's willing, at the very least, to look placated for Cardinal's sake and take his words with a grain of hope instead of salt. "Okay," she says, sliding into something akin to a genuine smile, albeit a small one. "Sweet dreams." Or, you know, whatever might suffice for sweet in this bitter world ablaze.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License