Participants:
| Scene Title | Where's Sergei? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Brian looks for Sergei and only finds warnings. |
| Date | February 7, 2009 |
The Garden, Staten Island
The living room takes up half of the front of the house on the ground floor. It is beginning to look civilized. The windows are new, the walls have been freshly painted off-white and the floor's bamboo. The place has two mismatched couches and a few armchairs, all well-loved, along with floor pillows in a variety of colors.
There's no sign of the house from the street, of course. The driveway has been shoveled clear. Only when one comes close to the house can one see a few signs of life.
Hands tucked into his pockets, Brian makes his way casually down the driveway towards the house. Black track jacket sipped up, he walks quickly, trying to ward off the cold apparently. A black cap is tugged low as he all but jogs towards The Garden. His steps careful enough so he doesn't take a spill on the icy driveway.
Finally arriving at the house one cold hand is brought out from his pocket going up to give a few firm knocks at the door, before quickly tucking his hand back into his pocket. Taking a step back he lets his head roll around on his shoulders as he waits.
Jezebel answers the door after just a few moments. "Hmm, I remember you from the New Year's party, I think. Something with a B? Anyway, come in before you freeze to death out there."
Ducking in, Brian gives a little nod. "Brian." He murmurs, "You're Jezebel, correct?" He asks, kicking the door closed behind him. His hands are slowly brought out from his pockets, as he marches into the house a little bit.
Jezebel replies, "Yes. Please don't kick the doors. I really don't want to paint them again. Would you like something hot to drink? Are you hungry? Do you want to stay here, or go into the kitchen? What brings you to my door?"
"Oh." Brian responds in a deadpan, looking back at it. "Well I didn't kick it very hard." He explains, motioning at it. "Sorry." He responds again, looking apologetic for the little kick. He then shakes his head. "No, no, I'm fine. Ah, well I was actually looking for someone, come to see if you could find out anything for us."
Jezebel sits down on one of the couches. "I'll try, but life has gone to hell in a handbasket around here. Please, sit down. Who are you looking for?"
Going to take a seat, Brian gives a little nod. "His name is Sergei. He's a negator. Makes it so people's powers don't work anymore. He's also a cop. Officer Trask. Registered Tier 0 Evolved." Reaching into his pockets a small picture is retrieved of Trask. "We have reason to believe he washed up somewhere on the island."
Jezebel slowly blinks a few times. "I think I met him once. If I'm right, he's a nice guy and I haven't seen him. I hope to heck he hasn't gone around telling people he's a cop, if he's out here. No one here is fond of cops. Hmm. What sort of shape would he have been in, other than wet, cold and tired?"
"Most likely unconcious." Brian says simply, "So maybe someone dragged him off the beach. I don't know. If there's any snooping you could do, and maybe direct me around what some good places are for me, to look around? But, you guys have the lead on this one. It's your turf."
Jezebel answers, "The neighbors like to be ignored and even before the bridge blew the cops refused to come out here. If he was in uniform at the time, he was probably either left for dead, or someone made sure, then left him. Someone around the piers, beach bars or the shore might have seen him. I know of a clinic out here, but it's in the Rookery."
"The rookery?" Brian asks, tilting his head. "And no, he wasn't in uniform. I think he would have been hiding that he was a cop." He informs. "Will you check out the clinic or should I go do that myself?"
Jezebel settles into the couch; apparently this is going to be a long explanation. "I suppose the Rookery was inevitable. The original crowd out here just wanted to live in peace and not discuss property taxes or deeds with the state. The underworld noticed that the cops won't come out here and set up shop. I think the best description of the Rookery would be 'Staten Island's answer to Shanghai'. I know where that neighborhood is, so I can avoid it. There's said to be thieves and worse all over the place in there, along with a surprisingly good Chinese restaurant. Rumor says there's a clinic in there, but the doctor almost certainly won't want to discuss his patients."
Brian nods a little bit. "So I go to the clinic with an injury. See if I can snoop around at all, or sweet talk him out of some information. Can you give me directions? Maybe the name of the doctor?"
Jezebel reels off some directions. "If memory serves, you're looking for Filatov's Clinic. Brian, don't go in there alone. Take someone violent with you, like Elvis or Tony. People go in there and don't come out on a regular basis."
He gives a little smirk. "Thanks, Jezebel." Brian says softly. "I can handle myself. I'm never alone." He points out. "Thanks a lot for the information Jezzy. Hopefully this will give us something. Anything else you can tell me?"
Jezebel warns, "I'd still take someone with me. Hmm. Do you think Sergei might have tried to reach Primatech Paper? I stay away from there unless I'm meeting someone, but it's fairly big and has couches. If the bridge was still intact and the ferry was running, there would be better places to go, much safer. I'll check the Greenbelt, if I can still get in there."
"Okay." He responds, softly. "Alright, well thanks for everything Jezebel. We'll be in contact." He assures her, reaching back to shove himself back onto his feet. Brian looks back to the door. "Thanks again."
Jezebel rises and opens the door. "I wish you luck, I really do. If you need anything, call."
 February 7th: Hemeralopia |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 7th: Ba Ba |