Alessia, Ilad, Terry
The Wall O' Info has been cleared in a corner and the space dedicated to Monte Carlo--some articles on Rococo Fashion Week, the movers and shakers in it, hotel security plans for the Monte Carlo Casino, security footage photos of their two major suspects, and other tidbits of information. Terry's claimed the aisle way between it and her desk, and she rolls back and forth in her straddled chair.
Ilad arrives at this impromptu temple of learning with his hands folded neatly behind him, padding on quiet steps through the hub with a misplaced air. His expression muted as he approaches, he settles his weight between his heels and says, "So. Fashion week," in a tone that reflects dubiousness.
"Apparently, it is a big hullaballo," Terry drawls, folding one arm across the top of the back of her chair and curling her other hand against her cheek. Her dubiousness is equal to his own, and the bridge of her nose crinkles as she eyes the printed out research. "Designers, models, press--We should talk cover," she sighs, then glances over at Ilad with a twinkle in her eye. "Ever wanted to be a male model?"
Inscrutable expression melting into pure skepticism, Ilad cocks an eyebrow and rumbles a "No," from the depths of his throat. "I do not think I am very believable as a model," he adds, accent a thick drape over his words. "Anyway, aren't those people actually well-known in their ... own circles?" He makes a little circling gesture of one fingertip.
"I was just looking for an excuse to get you into a thing," Terry opines easily, humor worn as a veneer. "We do not need to be associated with it at all, save maybe for using it as an excuse to be in town ourselves." She leans to look at a pad of paper on her desk and runs down a list of ideas. "Visiting high rollers, spoiled rich kids, hotel staff..."
Alessia finally pops up, hurrying to join the little pow wow at the temple of information. Red hair back in a ponytail, usual work attire. "Hey. Sorry, was off in the lab." Doing lab-tye things, you know.
"A press cover might give us excuses to carry recording devices," Ilad says, with only the lift of his other eyebrow a comment on his team lead's potential designs on his panty line. He glances in Alessia's direction, tip of his head in greeting slight before he returns the slant of his gaze to the other redhead to append, "Or interview people, or be caught snooping where we are not wanted."
Terry stretches further for a pen, and nearly upsets her chair in the process. "Aye, good idea, that is," she says as she adds it to the list. She looks at the pair and twists her lips into a thoughtful mue. "Should be something we are fairly comfortable with. Also needs to be an excuse to rub elbows with our targets." She jabs the pen in the direction of the photos on the board.
There's a brief gesture with fingertips towards Ilad's tip of his head hello. "Press passes could get us a lot of places, and people who have had a couple of drinks /love/ to think they've got the ear of someone that can give them fifteen minutes of fame. But will our targets be so fame friendly? They might be inclined to avoid anything that might put them on the Associated Press radar, if ya follow me. Depends on how arrogant they feel, maybe. How bullet-proof, if ya will. Hotel staff can be unobtrusive, almost anywhere, including the casino floor. If we could put someone on the floor as a pit boss, they could maybe get close with some small tech to get eyes on the targets."
Ilad is silent for a moment, stance broad; he shifts, folding his arms over his chest and subjecting the photographs on the board to a moment's extended study. He says, "Hotel staff can be unobtrusive, but are in no position to pry at anyone. Eyes yes, questions no. Gamblers ourselves?" His mouth twitches up at one corner, only briefly. "Carpenter may prefer we choose something requiring less bankroll."
Terry laughs lightly and scoots in her chair closer to the wall. We can be all three, though I agree that staff is a limited option-- How /are/ they pulling it off...?" she muses to herself. "Have you had a chance to pull anything off that sample? Did you get it out to Grey and Al-Razi?" Terry asks, looking at Alessia."
"It's on its way to the east coast, but alas, not all tests are like CSI. They can take a while, and it's beat the clock with this thing. It seems to be breaking down even as we try to keep it together. We know it's from a male subject, but we can't get a blood type match, though it definitely seems that it's from a mutant. It's pretty gross, but the way it's breaking down and all, makes me wonder if it's someone that's kinda like a reptile. Ya know, shed their own skin?" Al lifts her brows, a glance at her little pad thingy that she's totally carrying.
Ilad looks a little blank. He rubs his knuckles along the smoothly shaven curve of his jaw, where all traces of beard are still banished. "Don't ... people lose skin flakes?" he says, tentatively. This is so far outside his area of expertise it -- well, no, it doesn't come out the other side. He just doesn't know.
"Do reptile skins decompose like that?" Terry asks as well, casting memory back to her few encounters with the things. They were usually brief, and preceded running and screaming. "But if it's human, and it is X-factor positive, it begs the question of what kind of mutation sheds chunks. Assuming it's expressed. Maybe it /is/ some sort of second skin..."
"All the time. Tying your shoes, opening the door, you leave skin cells everywhere. But they don't normally decompose like this, especially with efforts to preserve it." Al glances up from her pad at Ilad, before eyes cut over to Terry. "Ah know snake skins dry up an' break into pieces, but Ah'm not an expert on that kinda thing. And maybe they didn't mean to leave a chunk? If it was some sort of shifter, or someone wearing the skin as a disguise, if ya will, and they got caught on somethin', it just ended up a chunk? Ah'm not sure how much more we'll know when we get there."
Ilad lifts his gaze to the photographs again, finding them altogether less unsettling than all of this ... biology. "A male subject, you say?" he says, faint frown pulling his mouth down at the corners as he contemplates the images.
"Fair point. We need a game plan going in." Terry looks over at Ilad and nods. "Appears so. Does that mean something in particular?"
"We do. Ah'm hopin' we'll have somethin' more to go on. Anythin' really, to tell us what exactly it used to be, if nothin' else." Al tips her head, studying Ilad, then the photos. "Yes, male. " It's a statement, but the curious tone in her voice makes it almost a question.
"If we have a shifter, it is appearing multiple times in different female guises," Ilad says, watching the info board as though it is going to start moving or something -- or just focusing his eyes there, faintly narrowed, as he ponders. "Shedding ... skin. Throwing off a surveillance trail," he muses, "or a lifestyle choice?"
"Identifies as such?" Terry muses, pushing up from her chair and kicking it back toward her desk as she crosses closer to the board herself. "Maybe. Or it could be the other man who left with them." She turns and nods back over at Alessia. "Too many unknowns, but we need to hit the ground running. Scammers do not hang around long after they've made their score." *r*
"It could be changing to avoid easy detection. Casinos are all supposed to have a sort of information network, right? To keep them all from getting scammed in a big way?" Al's brows lift, eyes darting between her fellow redhead and the soldier. "A shifter would be great for that. There are a couple possibilities, Ah'll write them down later an' see what we can get for that." Lips purse a moment, as blue eyes settle on Terry, with a nod. "Hotel staff to sort of be able to track their movements...regular rich fashion types to mingle with to try and chat them up, an' maybe someone with press credentials?"
Ilad continues to wear a frown. He shakes his head slightly. "We will need to be careful with such a broad variety of covers," he murmurs in a tone of observation. "Little enough cause to convene."
"Hotel staff should on an as-needed basis. We're working with the rare luxury of having full access granted ahead of time. The first goal is to find and mingle with the ones we know, don't you agree?" Terry nods at the photos. "See if we can bug them, who they interact with. I doubt we will be able to spot their game immediately. Not if they are running the kind of con they appear to be."
"Maybe we can get someone that watches their cameras to give up a heads up when somethin' starts going down. That alone could be a big help in making sure we just happen to be in the right place at the right time. Casually, of course." Al says, looking at the photo. "How do we want to go about it? Do ya think he's into women who aren't so tall?" Arching a brow at Terry.
Flicker of exasperation flashing across his expression, Ilad says, "If the ... women ... are inveigled in his ploy, I imagine that is why he is meeting them. Her. Or him. To assume access via his trousers strikes me as ... less than ideal."
Terry purses her lips and glances between the other two, then nods in agreement with Ilad's assessment. "This is intel gathering, first and foremost. We find, we watch, and /then/ we tailor our response. So. Either of you work on your high school newspapers?" she asks, dry amusement tugging at her voice.
"Ah'm not suggesting we try sleepin' with him, Ilad." Al smirks at Terry, a hand up to tug the elastic from her hair and let it loose from the ponytail. "All the important questions bein' Who, Where, Why, When, an' How? An' in this case, for who else behind the scenes?"
"Really. I must have misunderstood your question as to feminine preferences," Ilad says, quite mildly. He shifs his weight, resting it in a backwards settle on his heels, and tips his glance upward, focusing on a distant corner of the room. "I did not."
Terry blinks at the smirk, then looks away and shakes her head. "My highschool didn't have a paper," she muses, then sucks in her lower lip and stares at the wall. "We'll nail down covers before we land. What else have to go over?"
Alessia arches a brow at Ilad. "No, but if he's into women, it might be easier for a woman to chat him up, was my point. Might seem less suspicious, if a woman takes interest in him." A shake of her head at Terry's blinking. "Just thinkin' about any of us posin' as fashion reporters."
Ilad does not comment, though the skepticism lingers in the slant of his gaze. All he says is, "We have little enough before we hit Monte Carlo. Especially without more than ... a peculiar skin sample."
Terry nods and heads back to her chair, taking it with her as she slides around the corner of the desk. "Maybe we can dig a wee bit more information up on the casinos they've been spotted at. See what kind of pattern we can spot. And hope to hear back from the consultants sooner rather than later."
"Maybe we can get really lucky, find where they're staying." Al is nothing if not optimistic. "Ah'll head back down to the lab, see if Iago's gotten any lucky hits with test results."
Ilad tips his head in acknowledgment, dark brows lifting in some quiet judgment on the possibility. He says, "Good idea," with a brief manual gesture that encompasses both thoughts.
Terry taps a key code in to unlock her computer, then sits back in her chair and looks over the monitor at the others. "In the meantime, go watch a casino flick and get ideas for the kinds of things we wish we were looking for," she teases lightly, then sighs.
Alessia makes a note on her pad, a smile for Terry. "Can ya recommend any good ones? Ah'll see y'all later." She moves to head on back to the lab, pen tapping against her pad.
"I don't believe I have ever watched any," Ilad intones blandly. He glances after Alessia's departure, and exhales a low breath past his nose as he looks up at the information on the board again, lips pressing thin and tight for a moment.
Terry nods in farewell to Alessia and turns her attention to the other peruser of the board. "I'm sure we could scrounge one up, though it was a joke," she offers, interest and curiousity mild but alive.
Ilad shakes his head, slightly. "I have never been much of a film watcher," he says. After a moment's longer, he arches his eyebrows, and then says, "Well, I will keep my eye on my mailbox," and turns to sidle out of the hub in his own turn. Less underfoot that way!
"I will endeavor to fill it for you then," Terry promises, with a wry quirk to her lips as she watches him sidle. Distractions gone, she stares at her monitor and almost wishes them back.
Beginnings.