Participants:
| Scene Title | Victoria's Secret Messages |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Cardinal B&Es his way into Tracy's apartment. They share words, insults, and scotch. |
| Date | May 29, 2009 |
There's a bedroom, a kitchen, a liquor cabinet and an office. That's all you really need to know.
There's something 'off' in the suite, a subtle suspicion that tickles at the back of one's neck, the feeling one gets when the balance of one's home has been subtly skewed somehow. The foot-carpet near the door for bad weather tilted just a bit. A hint of light creeping under the edge of the study's door where a light shouldn't be on. The soft sounds of tick-tick-tick keyboarding from that same room.
Someone's in the Three Bears' den tonight, Goldilocks.
And Goldilocks doesn't even notice. She's been in her queen-sized bed, surrounded by goosedown throw pillows and satin sheets under a high canopy. It's a big, dark wood antique bed. Tracy likes fine things, after all. But now it's almost 2 a.m. and she really needs to sleep. One lamp and the glow of the laptop have been her only companions all night. But she's still wired. There's a way to cure that, she thinks to herself, closing the laptop and setting it on the nightstand. Still wearing her high heels, she swings off the bed and stands, taking a moment to let her hair down and look in the mirror. Not as beautiful as she used to be, she knows. In a quick motion she's unbuttoned her blouse and set it aside, and wiggled out of her skirt. Bare-foot in some black lacy lingere - Victoria's Secret's most recent release for anyone who studies the stuff - she slips her high heels back on to walk on the hard tile of the kitchen. Hey, it's cold! Empty martini glass in hand, she pushes the door open and walks out into the dark of her own home, intent on the kitchen and a nightcap.
The thin line of light beneath the study's door whispers past her feet as she walks along past, heading into the kitchen, where she'll find something that she'll notice, no doubt. There's definately a bottle or two less of alcohol in that cabinet than there was yesterday! The faint tick-tap sound of keys slows, then stops. Was somebody walking around out there?
A well-manicured hand comes up to fiddle with the pearl around her throat as she shuffles through the liquor cabinet. It's all very top-shelf stuff, too. Several hundred worth of alcohol. Hey, if you can afford it…"The hell?" she asks, that same sulty yet scratchy voice she shares with her unknown sister. She's missing stuff! Not even sure what to do with that information, she shakes her head and turns for the study. She keeps a nice bottle of Scotch in there for those late nights. She'll deal with this in the morning. Click, click, click. Her high heels carry her to the study door, pausing with an empty glass and ice in one hand, as the other reaches for the knob and turns….
The door slowly opens, revealing the study… and in the light of a single lamp, a man's seated in the leather-backed chair before the computer desk. A leather jacket worn open, brown hair visible over the back of the chair. Apparently, he's trying to hack into the computer, though poorly - it's still on the password screen. There's a bottle of whiskey and a glass of ice and the same set to one side.
As she opens the door, he pushes off to spin the chair her way - and pauses. Cardinal's lips part to say something, stop, and then he clears his throat, "…well, well. Miss Strauss, I presume. In all her glory."
Well he isn't shooting her. So that's a good thing. Enough to give her pause as she stands here, in her underthings, one hand on the knob and the other holding a glass of ice along the rim. She blinks a few times, opens her mouth. Now she is the speechless one. "I'm…this is my house," she finally settles on, pointing out the obvious. And then she looks at him. That's the unfortunate part. She lifts the glass, raising her index finger from it to point at him softly, as if making a mental note. "You're that Cardinal Richards guy…." Yes, the one that Matt mentioned, but didn't go into details about. And then? She gets angry, dropping her hand and taking a step forward. "How the hell do your people keep finding me?" She doesn't roar it, or scream it. She says it with a frustrated tone, and more exhasparation than anything. Almost as though it's rhetorical.
At the recognition, Cardinal actually looks surprised — a brow ticking upwards, smile quirking a bit up to one corner of his lips. "My reputation precedes me," he observes in dry humor, "That's not really a good thing, but, I'll take it as sort of a compliment anyway…" Arms fold over his chest, and he tilts the chair back with a creak, legs stretching out as he looks her over in casual appreciation, noting, "Did you know that Humanis is planning to assassinate you?"
Tracy's first reaction is to yell 'What?!' at the top of her lungs. But if she did that, she wouldn't be Ice Ice Tracy. She blinks. Yes, someone's planning to kill her. She blinks. "You're not Humanis." Apparently whatever part of Cardinal's reputation preceeded him did mention that he was not Humanis First. "How could you know that?" Of course, she's aware she still her black lacy Secret is still showing, quite openly. But her robe is in her bedroom and she's not about to walk out of this room. So she takes another step in the room, crossing her arms.
A charming, roguish grin's flashed to Cardinal's lips. "I make it my business to know things. And I'm not a very big fan of Humanis First, you might say." A vague gesture of one hand, "That whole 'they want to exterminate me and everyone with the same tweaked genome' thing they've got going. As much as you're working for the Fascist, I thought I should let you know anyway."
Normally she'd never let that slide. Calling her beloved King Petre….er…President Petrelli a facist. But since he might be here to help her out? She'll let it go this time. She remains standing where she is, cocking her weight just to one side a barely discernable amount as she looks over him. Not appreciative, although if she werent' busy trying to memorize and read him, she probably would appreciate. "Why?" She asks, turning her icy blue gaze back to his eyes again.
"Oh, just call me a good samaritan," Cardinal replies casually, one brow crooking upwards as he asks in seeming non sequitor, "Tell me, you ever heard of a company called Pinehearst, Miss Strauss?"
"Yes. They're doing a good amount of the Evolved research currently, which is a big deal to a company with so little time under it's belt." Once more, she examines him, his face, hair, clothes….and her liquor bottle behind him. That's just low. The hand with the glass is lowered, letting the cool chill rest against her thigh while her other hand reaches up, combing through her hair in thought.
"Is that all you know them as?" She's watched for a moment… and then he gives his head a shake, gaze sliding to the glass at her side. "Oh. You want a drink?" The chair's wheeled to one side a bit, and he reaches over to shamelessly pick up the bottle, offering it her way with a grin.
"It's my bottle," she counters, walking over and snatching it from his grasp, setting it and her glass on the desk - the glass atop a notepad left there with scribbles on it. "And you could have used a coaster." She says, grabbing said coaster and lifting his glass, sliding the intricate tiled thing beneath the rim before setting it down again. SHe pours herself a glass and sips, turning to face the 'robber' in her home. Might as well just pretend she's wearing a parka; that's how she's getting through this right now. Her palm remains resting on the desk, leaning her weight against it as she sips the glass again. "So. Pinehearst."
"I was just curious at your connection to them, is all," replies Cardinal with a shrug of one shoulder, his head tilting towards the computer, "Since I suck at hacking into things like this, I figured I'd try just asking." His hands steeple over his chest, that shameless rogue's grin in place again, "I mean, hell, you might even answer."
Another sip is taken, this one going down a bit rougher than the last. She breathes a soft sigh, letting it settle for a moment, while holding the glass close to her breast and motioning vaguely with it. "So are you going to tell me what you were looking for about them on my computer?" Not that she has anything on there - she's a communications director, people - but hell, he doesn't know that.
The glass that he'd poured is lifted off the coaster, and he gestures with it vaguely her way. "Like I said… I was wondering what your connection to them was," he notes, "If any. Some of my sources said there might be one, and given your lovely preaching for FRONTLINE's passage, that wouldn't be a good thing."
She doesn't preach! That's just a low blow, and he'll know how she feels about it. Her eyes narrow, brows drawing closer together. But instead? She just throws back the scotch like it's almost nothing. Almost nothing. "Why not?" She asks, glancing at him as she pours herself another round, lifting the bottle to offer the same toward his glass.
"If you don't know…" A swallow of whiskey, his eyes closing as he savours the burn going down, and then he sets the glass back to the coaster. Cardinal rocks forward, hands bracing to the arms of the chair before he pushes himself up to his feet, stretching slightly before giving her a wry look, "…I can't tell you. You're cute. Hopefully history'll remember you differently from Goebbels."
Tracy continues to hold the bottle. Oh no, you're not getting away that easily. She pushes off the desk, standing right up close to him. Hey, she's cute, right? If that can keep him here two seconds longer, she might learn something. "You're quite aware of my capacity as a mouthpiece," she murmers, setting her glass aside to have free hands. Ya know. Just in case she needs them. "Which means you know that I just hear things, I can't say anything without the OK. Even in private. So why don't you tell me why and what for, and I'll factor it in to what I already know. Because whatever you think of me and who I work for? I don't lie." Which is pretty easy when people tell you what you need to know.
As she steps up in front of him, Cardinal pauses… and then he leans in, ever so slightly, drawing in almost threateningly close with noses nearly touching. "You're being used, Miss Strauss," he tells her in a quiet murmur, smile faint but slightly reddened eyes serious, "You're part of the most successful conspiracy ever to move in the United States, and you don't even know it."
His approaches causes Tracy's brave front to wane a bit, causing her to step back against the desk, her tush bumping it. In an easy motion, she lifts her hands to the desk to steady herself against it … and to slip the litter opener between her fingers when she's sure he's watching nothing but her eyes. Because she? She is watching his. Letter opener safely between her fingers, with her hand safely behind her and him very close, she glances down a moment in thought - a nanosecond, then back at his eyes. "The bomb?" She asks, since hey, that's what she's been hearing.
"The bomb…" A low chuckle, as Cardinal pulls away from her, his head shaking as he takes a step back and away from her. His tread unhurried as he walks over to the shelves, his head tilting a little to one side. "The bomb was just a catalyst. If you knew what I knew…"
She remains, perched where she is, quite intent on keeping her body between his field of vision and that letter opener. "So tell me what you know. Or, better yet, prove it." She pauses, letting her words sink in. "But you can't do that, can you? I've heard all sorts of conspiricy theories about the bomb, the Evolved, every crazy ramble on the street corner, I've heard it from less crazy-looking people than you. But the funny thing is that not a single one of them can prove it. So are you going to be that guy that actually brings something legitimate to the table? Or are you just another all-talk-and-no-show?" And yes, her tone is as daring as her words.
"You want proof?" A look back to her, Cardinal's smile curving faintly to his lips as he watches her for a moment. "You want proof that, if what I say is a lie, strengthens the Linderman Act, Strauss? And if it's not, blows the whole thing wide open? I can give that to you. But if you try to use it, they'd kill you."
"Well why not, it seems there's a line growing for that anyway. Assuming you're right about Humanis First." She pushes off the desk, walking towards him again. "Documents, witnesses, verifiable data is proof. Are you sure you can provide that?"
"I'll do you one better." Cardinal looks back to the shelves, smile lingering, "Suggest that Nathan Petrelli take an Evolved Test on live television. And get one ahead of time so you know it hasn't been hampered with, to switch with the one they give you."
"Then I'm afraid you're shit out of luck. Everyone in Washington had to take one of those tests." Everyone - including her. "So your big theory, your great ideas? Obviously aren't so great." For a moment, she considers. A swing of the blade and she could really make him sorry he came to bother her tonight. But? If Humanis First is really after her, he warned her. Her resolve waning, she holds the letter opener back.
"You really think that those were fairly performed tests? Then you're more naive than I thought, Miss Strauss." A turn of the wanted felon's head looks back to her, and he smiles ever so faintly, "I could get you solid evidence, but really, I don't care enough to make the effort. If you want answers, you'll have to find them yourself. Make an effort. Unlike everyone else in the world, I'm not going to hand over life to you on a silver platter… you've been pointed in the right directions, you're just bitching because nobody'll carry you the rest of the way."
That said, he turns from the shelf to head for the door, his head shaking from side to side, "See you around."
"Just what I expected from a castrated dog. All bark, no bite." She still holds the letter opener close to her, in case he should come back. "If any of you had anything real, or really wanted things to change? You'd come forward with your so-called evidence. But instead? You sit back. You whine when things don't go your way." She'd love to turn away right now, be all dramatic and get another drink. Or, hell, just get another drink. But she's not that brave. "And next time you break into my house, keep your paws off my liquor."
The insults run of him like rain from a duck's back. "If you had any idea, Strauss," he replies, soft laughter joining him in the hall as he pushes the door closed behind him, closing her in the study, "If you had any idea…"