Under The Table Oneiromancy


delia_icon.gif richard3_icon.gif

Scene Title Under The Table Oneiromancy
Synopsis She may not technically be licensed to work commercially, but the subject is wanted for war crimes anyway.
Date September 6, 2018

Raytech NYCSZ Branch Office

The block or two around the Raytech Industries facility is a stark contrast to the rest of Jackson Heights; the buildings are in better shape around here, there are regular patrols, and the detritus and rubble so common in the district has been cleaned up.

One day, the entire district will be like this. That day is probably a long way away.

Security is high; she’s checked at the main gate, and again at the front doors of the lobby. The ceiling is lofting in the lobby, robotic butterflies fluttering in scintillating colours overhead as she’s given a guest lanyard and escorted to the office of the CEO himself.

As she enters, Richard rises from behind his desk; the black suit, the red tie, the formal clothing another stark contrast to the past. Resistance chic is out of style these days, it seems; he wears it well, even if it may be strange seeing him like this. So many years, so many changes.

“Delia,” he greets warmly, “ It’s been a long time— and you’re looking a sight better than the last time we met, that’s for sure.”

There’s a cat box beside the desk, but fortunately for Delia’s allergies, the cat appears to not be in attendance at the moment.

Unlike Richard, Delia's fashion choices are still hobo classy (read: Resistance Chic). Her work is hard on clothing, so her dress up duds are generally saved for functions she can't afford to attend. Thrift shop pieces from Logan's shop or hand-me-downs from Tania's closet, she's not fussy. Today, she's sporting something her friend Amadeus would wear… a faded Metallica shirt, an old pair of jeans, and her work boots… though they have had the mud knocked off of them. Just as a professional courtesy.

The catbox in the corner is noted with a one eyed squint and expression of horror, but the place is much cleaner than the back room of the Cat's Cradle. She calms somewhat, remembering the robots all over. She's not an expert on them by any means, but Delia figures machines need a cleaner place to work, in order to work. So she sits.

"Well, you know, our circles don't really intersect on the ol' Venn Diagram of the Safe Zone." Her tone is light and jovial because out of all of this, she's expecting a great lunch. Dude looks like he's got cha-ching. "How've you been anyway?"

“I’ve had my ups and downs,” Richard admits, dropping back into his high-backed leather chair and leaning back, hands steepling over his chest, “Sometimes I wish life was simpler, like it used to be, but these days I get shot at— well, less than I used to, at least.” The latter is wryly said, presumably because he still gets shot at sometimes..

“I hope you’ve been doing alright,” he offers, “I saw your father not too long ago, checked out his gardens, talked about old times.” Very old times. “Hear you’ve been doing some good work at the community gardens yourself.”

"I run the Satoru Memorial Gardens," she clarifies, her Ryans pride showing through, "not that Market thing they're trying to build." It's seems that Delia is a little bitter about something in that regard, but she just pastes a smile on her face and moves on. "And you have a giant robotics company?"

She pauses there, looking out of the large double window.

"So, I'm going to just guess that you're not wanting to rent a plot for the winter just to see how snow peas got their name?"

“I used to garden on the roof of the old library,” Richard breathes out a chuckle, “I know enough about peas, thank you all the same.”

“Not just robotics— we provide a fair amount of Wolfhound’s equipment, and we’re working on infrastructure improvements, but— “ He waves a hand dismissively, “You’re probably not interested in the ten cent tour. No, I… well. I need the help of an oneiromancer, and you’re the only one that I know of.”

He pauses for a moment, then admits, “The situation is a bit— unusual, however, and potentially extremely dangerous. I’d like to give you full disclosure of the situation before you even think about agreeing.”

Danger is my middle name is what Delia wants to say, instead her lips twitch slightly at the corner while she attempts to maintain a somewhat disinterested expression.

"Is it paid work? I don't have a license so if you're cool with under the table…" we can make a deal is the part left unsaid. But she is interested, in both money and this extreme danger Richard is talking about. It's plain by the way she leans forward in her hair, just enough to hear a bit better. She's still living off the high of her recent win and feeling invincible, so Delia's reckless side is looking for more. “Lay it on me and I’ll let you know.”

“I think we can pay you under the table,” Richard replies, smile tugging up at one corner in private amusement, “We’ll talk price tag after you hear what we’re going to be doing, though.”

A deep breath, and he regards her seriously, “Some background, first. It’s going to sound crazy, but hell, you’ve seen enough back in the day to know that crazy doesn’t mean fake. You remember how we worked to stop disasters a few times? When Phoenix stopped the virus, when we stopped the nuke in Antarctica, et cetera, et cetera?”

He pauses, though the question is clearly rhetorical, then continues, “There are— places where we failed. Worlds where the virus spread, where the nuke went off and flooded the world— alternate timelines, if you’ve read some sci-fi or watched Star Trek, I guess. There are four in particular that are— “ Lips purse, searching for the right word, “— close to us. Close enough for there to be, at certain times and places, some level of interaction.”

Delia doesn't remember, not how they prevented the disasters. She was sheltered from all of that by a loving father who tried to keep her world as normal as he could in a time where no one thought that she'd be able to do any of this. Albany, Antarctica, these are only details she read about in the aftermath of the Albany Trials. But… none of it sounds crazy. So she eyes the carpet with a frown.

"Mis— I'm just going to call you Dickie, because if we're going multiple syllables and this is as dangerous as you say it is, I want to remember you with a smile on my face. Alright?" Still, she's glaring at the floor, in concentration. "Listen, my only daughter is from a place that's never going to happen, so none of this sounds crazy at all. How can I help? I'm not exactly —-" Well that's a lie and when she realizes, a small smirk plays on her lips. "Sign me up but if I don’t make it… you take care of my family. Deal?"

“Most of your family don’t need help taking care of themselves, Delia,” Richard replies in wry tones, shaking his head, “But— yes, that’s entirely fair. Not that I wouldn’t anyway. Ben’s good friend.”

The use of Dickie brings a wistful look over his face, but before it can become any more solid emotion he clamps down on it. “So. Here’s the tricky part— we have someone whose dreams appear to be crossing that barrier. They’re literally dreaming the memories of their alternate selves in other worlds, other timelines. Including the one your daughter’s from.”

Hands spread slightly, “I’m sure you can figure out why I asked for you, now. We want to try and bridge that gap purposefully in order to communicate with them.”

He reaches over, picking up the picture of Elisabeth. “I don’t know how much your father told you about the Nazahat mission. Liz and Magnes fell into— they fell into a black hole, essentially.” Hazel eyes flicker from the picture to Delia, “They’re alive, we’ve found out. Alive and trapped in those other worlds.”

"I have a big family, Dad isn't the only one," Delia says with a smirk. But then she sobers when hearing the rest. "He didn't tell me much, I was in Eltingville at the time and we just… Well, after the war there wasn't much of a point to retelling everything." She was tired and had seen too much, she probably wouldn't have wanted to listen if offered anyway.

Her eyebrows perk up quite a bit at the news about Elisabeth's mortal state. "She's alive?" She scootches forward on her chair so much that she's practically on the edge of it. Her expression is firm and purposeful. "How many people do you want to take?"

“Yes,” Richard affirms, setting down the picture, “She is. And we’re getting her back, one way another.”

A flicker of something sharp and focused in his eyes, determination to do just that, and then he offers over a wry smile, “I mean, I wouldn’t want to cram a crowd into the poor woman’s mind, and not everyone knows about - or can handle - this sort of information either. There’re… some other issues regarding her privacy that we need to keep in mind as well.”

“Namely, that she’s technically a wanted felon.”

There’s not actually a lot of technicality there, but it sounds better.

"So just you then. Good, that'll make it easier. Especially if we end up using her as a bridge to get where she's dreaming." Delia states with a shrug, she doesn't seem at all bothered by the words wanted felon. He did just say it was a technicality and it wasn’t more than a few years ago that they were all felons. Hail Vincent, saviour of their people. She slides back into her chair again, letting her comfort with that news be known.

Still riding the high of escaping a telepathic trap, Delia's fairly cocksure and full of vinegar. She picks at her nails for a few minutes before acknowledging the elephant in the room. "Who is it?"

“You might know her, actually,” Richard admits; relieved, perhaps, by her response to that since it doesn’t seem like she’s about to turn him in. “She… has a bit of a checkered past, but at one point at least she was with the Ferry.”

“Odessa Price.”

If the woman herself was in the room, Delia might have jumped up and squealed neighbour. But she's not and, really, the dreamwalker has a bit of street cred to keep up. So she stays cool.

"Oh yeah, I know her. We were neighbours in Eltingville."

After a moment of thought, Delia rears her head back a bit and shakes it. "Wait… why would Odessa be wanted? She was a prisoner there along with the rest of us. I mean, even if she was working for them in Eltingville… so was Logan."

“Trust me, there’s nobody that knows better the injustice of John Logan walking around free while Vincent’s hunting Des down like a wild dog than I do…” Richard’s lips purse in a tight line, and he considers the question for a few moments before shaking his head, “Everyone had to make hard decisions about who to trust, who to deal with back then, Delia. She made… worse decisions than some of us. Also the fact that she was working with the Institute didn’t endear her to many people.”

A sigh, and he brings one hand up to rub against the side of his face, “I’m doing what I can to get her record cleared, but until then, I’d appreciate it if you kept this quiet. We’ll have to meet with her outside the Zone proper, too.”

"Keeping it quiet isn't a problem," Delia says with another shrug. Though the diatribe regarding her former roommate isn't as well received. "But… John Logan deserves to be free." And that's where her argument ends, no further discussion on the subject.

Now she stands, brushing her hands off on her jeans to smooth out the rumples. Then she holds one of them out for a shake. "You tell me a time and a place, I'll be there. Unless it's now in which case… I guess it's not goodbye and the handshake will be a little awkward."

“A number of my scars say otherwise,” is all Richard says regarding Logan’s freedom, one shoulder lifting in an upward shrug. He holds a grudge, certainly, but it’s not one that he’s actively pursuing at the moment.

He has more important things on his hand.

Then he chuckles, moving to push himself up to his feet and reaching out to clasp the offered hand with a firm grip, “I’ll let you know. And I’ll get five digits of under-the-table money for you while I’m getting everything ready, at that.”

Money laundering isn't one of Delia's terribly strong suits, but she's certain she could figure some way to explain a large injection of tax free income. "Cash works," she sing-songs as she pivots toward the door. "I have enough places to bury it." She graces Richard with a large smile before slipping out, "Send the car around when you're ready to leave. You know how to get a hold of me. See you later Dickie~"

With that, she's out the door and making her way back home. It's quite a walk on foot but the promise of a five figure bonus has her singing with every step. "Bitch gonna get paaaaaiiiiid~"

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