When last the two Shadows met, it was an uncertain, wary encounter in the younger world. The apartment carefully shrouded in black was as much a sign of distrust as any body language, although in a first meeting nothing less than caution was expected
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There is the long black couch, but it seems to be his preferred seat since its parallel to the table and faces the television. That leaves a few leather armchairs to choose from. Without further preamble he is off to the kitchen. On the television, there are images of politicians looking harangued as they wave off reporters.
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In the seat now sits what would best be described as an uncharacteristically alert Cranston, with cloak draped over his shoulders, and parted to reveal one of the many fine, black suits more characteristic of the actual Cranston, and the double brace of automatics. He's either been out, or may be going out immediately after this meeting, the latter being most likely since he doesn't carry the smell or appearance of conflict on him.
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He gives an acknowledging sound as he sips at the coffee, giving a glance back at the TV and noting the change to a commercial he lets his eyes focus on the table.
"And they're willing to go to extremes to cover up their actions." There's a disturbed expression that struggles to make itself seen, but he keeps it to a simple, slight narrowing of his eyes. "What exactly was going on?" The Old Tiger has been careful not to mention details and The Shadow wants to know what had force him to stay his hand, especially after losing an agent.
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Even at this moment the younger Shadow is striking at the leaders of various countries, but to take action against his own country, against a position that he once served so loyally, it forces his mind to take a rare, and startling pause.
"How much has been made public?" His voice, is almost quiet as he keeps his gaze on the Old Tiger. His usually sharp gaze has softened, the focus that usually gives them their strong edge has been significantly disturbed.
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Despite the obvious emotional burden, his voice is calm and as impassive as his face. "Very little, they're still at the stage of hints and allegations, but I don't think they'll be able to cover the other end of the paper trail. It was a foreign paper that first released the news. A contact rushed me a copy before the A.P. picked it up, but only just. I've had agents investigating over here, but..." He shakes his head, hesitant to complete that thought aloud. It was doing just that work that got one of them killed.
"Now that the press is on to it, it's more or less out of my hands."
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"I'm not sure how to answer that. I'm not sure I even know what the full truth is. It looked like it started out with good intentions, but it's so easy for negotiations to go sour..." Which would be why he's never been in the habit of negotiating, with anyone. "I do know they're scrambling, now. I saw that much before I pulled the agents out. I doubt the press will be able to dig up the whole paper trail now."
Too much of the time, the Old Tiger feels his hands are tied, and it's been wearing at him for years. The face he sees in his own coffee is a fictional invention, not Cranston, not quite Kent Allard, lined and gaunt and tired. He scowls faintly at it, and takes a swallow of coffee, unintentionally mirroring the younger man.
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"How much of this will you be telling Myra?" She's already had her faith in the Bureau shaken, he can only wonder what kind of impact the news would have on her.
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"No more than what she'd see in the news anyway, if I can get away with it. She'll have to know that much, or else she'd risk looking ignorant talking with other people in this world." He sighs, gives a few coughs that rattle deep in his chest, and deliberately sits upright. Belatedly he seems to have realized how communicative his posture is of his sense of defeat. "There are times it's best to let agents remain uninformed, and I think this is one of them. It's delicate pulling some of them out of the investigation, but I'm trying to keep everyone distracted with other work. Myself included." Myra is an exception in many ways, but in this case he'd prefer to insulate her as much as possible.
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He gives a very slight nod as he finishes his coffee and sets the empty cup on a knee, steadying it with one hand. He watches the Old Tiger sit up, keeping a steady gaze on him that lacks the usual prying of intense study. He has no reply, and the silence is an open invitation for The Shadow to continue, or guide the conversation elsewhere should he desire. The amount of distress in his body language is unsettling, and the younger Shadow shifts in his seat.
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"Thank you." Having seen the frayed nerves of the Old Tiger, the younger Shadow's words ring with sincerity. Privately, he hopes that what they are doing saves him from experiencing such a defeat. It's one of those many private Hells he does not want to visit, if he has anything to say about it.
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