Wife Number One Jillion and One


elle_icon.gif montag_icon.gif

Scene Title Wife Number One Jillion And One
Synopsis Elle and Montag meet and discuss the two people they'll be trailing.
Date November 9, 2008

Primatech Research

Another day, another assignment. Mmph. This one, however, is a task that Elle has been /keen/ on getting - moreso than any other she's had before. She's been back from lunch for a little while, more enough time to rouse herself from relaxation and get back into the swing of work. No heels for her today. /Today/, it's a red cardigan with three-quarter sleeves, jeans, and ballet flats; her hair is high in a comfortable ponytail. A manila folder is tucked in the crook of one arm, and she brushes aside her bangs with the fingers of the other hand as she rounds the corner of one of Primatech's numerous white, sterile hallways.

Rounding the same corner in the opposite direction is Gavin Montag. Tall, gaunt and well-suited to the pale sterility of the Company's interior design in complexion, if not in dress (black dress shoes, dove grey suit, and very pink dress shirt), he takes two long strides past Elle before his brain bothers to listen to what his eyes are telling him, and he stops. There's no telling where he was headed with a briefcase in one hand and a file folder in the other, but Elle is enough of a point of interest that he turns on his heel and hazards a mild, "Agent Bishop?" after her.

Elle 's feet come to a stop when her name is called, and presently, she turns around. Her own eyes had been resting elsewhere (the opposite side of the hallway?), but now they settle on Montag's face somewhat searchingly, chin tilting a slight fraction. "Just Elle. Yoooou- must be Monty? Montag?" Must be him! She's familiar with most of the faces in the facility, but not with his. The actual name's another matter.

Montag studies her in return, gaze measuring in a fashion that is probably less subtle than he might like when he steps forward to close up a bit of the distance he lost in carrying on past her. "Yes. Well — Montag. Monty's fine if that's easier to remember." His accent is distinct, further confirmation of his identity when he swings briefcase and folder up under his left arm so that he can offer out his right hand. "Nice to meet you."

It probably might've been a nice thing if Elle /had/ been wearing heels; she's over a foot shorter than the other man. As for subtle? That's far from Elle's behavior, too. Though relaxed, her blue-eyed gaze is probably a bit more probing than might make Montag comfortable, but she reaches for the hand with a flicker of an amused smile. As she retracts it again: "Pleasure's mine and whatever. You know, I was gonna come and find you later, but this saves time."

Possibly accustomed to the occasional odd look, Elle's probing earns the barest edge of a smirk when he shakes. Aptly enough, his hand is cold, but he doesn't make the experience more unpleasant than it needs to be by hanging onto her or anything weird like that, and the slight forward lean he has to execute to counter the height difference is nearly undetectable. "I was actually on my way to find you. Having just finished studying up on our mutual friend."

"Yeah. About that." Elle's eyebrows rise up to brush her bangs at the mention of Adam. Her ponytail slips into a small swish as she tilts her head in the direction she'd been walking. Let's not stay here. "What have you found out from Sabs?"

Montag glances to the path from whence he came at the gesture, then nods his way into falling into step at her shoulder. "He's ancient, he looks a tenth of his approximate age, he heals, and he has an affinity for overpriced lattes. And kidnapping."

Elle's pace is pretty laid-back, especially for Montag's far longer legs, though her steps are curt and almost brusque. "There's a couple other things, too, that I could tell you. For example, he's had about a jillion wives." Ahem.

"But you'll have plenty of time to hear all that /later/. And Huruma?"

Gavin is lazily confident to the point of seeming out of place in the clinical atmosphere of Primatech. His pace has all the hurry of an old, freshly fed lion, which makes it easier not to ride up Elle's heels. If anything, he lags a step or two behind while they talk. "I suppose multiple marriages are a sensible side-effect of immortality. Makes a man wonder how many children he has, or if another side-effect is that he's firing blanks." A quiet chuckle echoes the thought, but he sobers quickly at the mention of Huruma. "She was mentioned in connection with the breakout."

"I've wondered about that, personally. Probably has children everywhere, like a plague of bunnies or something, though I've never heard him say anything about it. —Huruma's been living with him." Elle clarifies with a tiny breath out through her nose, adjusting the folder so it's riding more comfortably beneath her arm. "I hope Sabra didn't forget to mention /that/. If we're going after him, we're probably going to have to deal with. You know. The 'someone screwing around with our emotions' factor."

"How delightful." Distinctly dour in tone from above and behind, Montag hefts his file regardless of the fact that Elle is facing forward. "Most of my reading material thus far has been specifically in regard to Mr. Munroe. But I take this to mean that you're interested in making a sort of…team effort."

"I can show you her file later. No, not can. You /should/ see it." Elle's eyes edge sideways towards that file Montag is holding; she bites her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'm perfectly able to do this by myself, but backup's nice. As you already said, you know Adam can…heal. Otherwise, I would've gotten him when I ran into him." Hint hint freezing powers hint.

"Alright. Scary emotion screwing sidekick sounds like interesting reading material." There might be a thin play of sarcasm there, but it's not fully formed until she defines him as cautionary backup. "Someone to ensure that you don't get tossed in the back of a van and dragged off again, you mean. Not that I'm clear on the exact details, of course." There's a muffled snap when he opens the clasps of his case and drops the file inside, smirking to himself as he does so.

That last smirk irks Elle, twinging through her blood. Apparently this is a wee bit of a sensitive topic for her. "I was shot," she says testily, jerking two fingers through her brush of a ponytail. "I was dying, okay? In fact I /did/ die, but Monroe decided he'd have a little bit of fun before he let- /wherever/ have me for good." There. Just to make sure that's straight.

"Guns," opines Montag, who once more demonstrates his ability to quash his amusement into something less readily apparent by forcing a look of utter gravity upon himself, "are deplorable devices at the best of times. I'm sorry you met the foul end of one. Glad you're still with us, and all of that." Snap, snap. The clasps are flicked down again.

The file that Elle is hauling, on the other hand, has stayed resolutely closed throughout the exchange. "Don't get smart with me, icebutt." Elle's eyelids fall into a sardonic, half-lidded stance. With the unoccupied hand, she gives the pointer finger a thoughtless twirl in midair, drawing out an (eensy!) crackling circle of blue. "It wasn't Adam who shot me, either. Some idiot fired a /blind shot/ while the Level Fivers were trying to escape."

"Well, when you're as blisteringly brilliant as I am…" then…something. Montag doesn't finish the thought, tracing after that little whip of electricity with a hint of a rankle about the base of his nose. An unspoken, 'Nevermind.' He keeps walking. "I'm not very good with guns, but I've gotten the impression that you're supposed to have an idea of what you're firing at."

"Pulled it by accident. Reaction to something else." And that's all Elle seems to be willing to offer on that subject. At least she lets the voltage sink away into the air on its own, eventually dropping the offending hand. "None of that's important, though. Out of curiosity, you were where before you came here again?"

Montag watches that offending hand all the way down, making all manner of mental notes about books on electricity he might need to read to minimize the risk of any impromptu electroshock therapy in her company. But for all that thinking, his answer is prompt enough. "London. I'm like James Bond, only taller and better looking."

Without taking any heed of where Montag's eyes go, Elle tosses her head with a minute laugh, eyelids still fairly low. "You're a little older than him, too, but that's okay. It works out." Hmm. Perhaps she's implying— never mind. "Why'd they end up sending you all the way here? Must've been one hell of a plane ride."

Yes, older. A brow is tilted up in mild allowance for that, with no comment or question for whatever works out or doesn't. Let it remain a mystery. "Too much activity in the city, not enough spare agents up out of hospital beds. I didn't ask for specifics, to be entirely honest. I was told to come, so I did." A little curt there, he sighs and swings his briefcase from one hand around to the other. "Do you have any preliminary ideas on how we are going to find this man, short of hacking into the security cameras in every Starbucks in the city?"

There's a rather sharp exhalation from Elle's end at that; she pauses at one of the utterly nondescript doorways branching off from the corridor, working the knob with one hand. "Well. The most /obvious/ idea would be to use the 'Walker tracking system'"- she cups her fingers around to make quotes, wrenching the door open after a try- "But I'm pretty sure that's out, since I don't even know if we can use her. It'll be worth checking."

"…option two. If you want me to be honest, I have no idea what 'option two' is."

Gavin draws up short, disinclined to crowd her at the door so that he's left to stand like a broomstick in the middle of the hall. She might make his clothes all staticy or something. "If that's true, option number two may well be to do actual investigating. Did he say anything significant in the course of your most recent engagement?"

Not true! This is proven only a second later, when Elle's hand reaches out to pull Montag's sleeve inside with a short /look/ after she sees him standing there. "If you mean useful? Yeah. No. I maybe could've asked, but it's not like I would've gotten a straight answer." Plus, she had been too busy being mad. Bzztcrash, etc.

Iiiin he goes then, tugged along with all the swaying grace one might expect out of a preoccupied giraffe. No protest is made, though. There is a definite theme there. "I'll get in contact with whatever employees were on the clock and try to discern whether or not he was a regular."

That room is pretty lonely. The far wall appears to be occupied by a number of tall, metallic filing cabinets, and it is to one of these that Elle heads to deposit her manila folder among countless others just like them. She doesn't even bother turning on the light. "I'll see if I can't scope out a few other places, too," she affirms on the way. "Just from…being around him, I know there's some places he likes going more than others. Be worth checking out."

Bleak. Gavin takes it all in with a mild look, low lighting giving shadow slack to pool deep beneath the hood of his brow and in the hollow of his cheeks. Even his pink shirt takes on a vaguely nefarious air. "At the very least we might be able to get an approximation of where he's living or where he travels. Otherwise, we will simply have to keep our eyes peeled. I trust you will call me if you happen to trip over him again."

And out of that gloom Elle eventually emerges, empty-handed. Even in the most shadowy part of the room, it would've been difficult to /not/ make out that deep-red cardigan and pale hair for very long. "Same with you," she returns, shouldering her way back into the brightly-lighted hallway without another pause. Montag is, of course, expected to follow her out. "I hope you're not counting on /that/, though. We're, you know. In New York City."

Montag follows, as expected. Ladies first, and he leans to close the door behind them. Such the gentleman. "Of course. And it is New York City, but you did happen across him once already. Maybe he's thinking of making you his latest wife."

Elle intakes a lungful of breath as she watches and waits for Gavin to finish exiting, settling one hand on her hip. "/I/. Am going to ignore that." Okay? Okay.

"Well," says Gavin, whose brows are definitely lifted now. At her expense. "You shouldn't. Could be relevant. Maybe a sort of love…hate. Thing." Then he smirks again, and steps away from the wall and door, lest he find himself shoved into it.

There is no shove, but up goes Elle's finger in an attempt to ~bop~ Gavin in the nose, however taller than her he might be. Her eyes narrow. "He's living with a woman who eats people. Trust me, Monty P. You've got only half of that relationship right." And hint: it is not the first half.

Montag just straightens a little, not nearly enough to actually pull away. He is bopped. He looks resigned, but that's about it. "I didn't realize she ate people." There's a whole new level of speculation associated with that. Like, if she needed a snack and bit off one of Adam's fingers, would it grow back? His eyes sweep down over Elle while he considers these questions and more, the look on his face odd. "New York is a strange place," he decides finally, primly, and glances down to check his watch. "If you've nothing else for me at the moment, I suppose I should get back to my reading."

"You know how to find me." With what is most definitely a roll of her eyes, Elle sweeps past Montag on her merry way down the hallway. Some people.

November 9th: Revelations and Reunions
November 9th: The Howell Family
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