Hugh (NPC), Ilad, Illyana, Isabel, Jean-Paul, Silvio, Xen
You know what isn't exactly easy in North Korea? Takeout. What the fuck are they eating for dinner? Is it one of those questions better unasked, an issue better unquestioned? Food cools into a congealed lump not far from Jean-Paul's elbow as he sits cross-legged, upright with laptop in his lap and comm left just to the side where he can easily reach it should anything happen. He keeps a close eye on Ponting, who was offered some vague and unquestioned dinner, as promised, to eat or to ignore because it just might be poisoned. He is twitchy, waiting.
Maybe Hugh helped them get dinner. He ate, at any rate, because even stoic Australians need sustenance, and he has settled back at his usual wall post so he can keep an eye both on his 'teammates' and the door.
Ilad is seated, but sitting straight and still, and poking through the last few bites of whatever it is they are eating with a kind of brooding quiet. He watches Hugh. He has spent most of the evening watching Hugh. It's a little like having a vulture circling.
Isabel buzzed Jean-Paul with their 'free and clear' status as soon as they were, but there's still that uncomfortable delay between report and actual appearance. She raps at the door in momentary warning before telekinesis undoes the lock and swings the door open. They don't have a password or anything, right? Her gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the gathering before settling on Jean-Paul. She raises one hand, full of files, in triumph, her smile small.
Illyana smiles too as she enters behind Isabel, though having added her files to the general pile, she has none to brandish. She looks around, marking where everyone is, and then looks around for if there's any food left.
Xen probably poked a bit at his food, had a little bit of it, and then promptly ignored the rest of it, placing it off to the side as he sits off to the side, somewhere between Hugh and Ilad. And since Ilad has the vulture thing down, Xen has just been working on his own laptop, doing who knows what. He's been just as talkative as the rest, the muscles along his jaw taut with tension.
Silvio's smile is wider, but this is Silvio we're talking about, so it's hardly an oddity. He sweeps in behind Isabel and Illyana, all dark slacks and dark shirt and dark jacket, his pack of equipment slung over one shoulder. "Did you miss me?" he asks the room at large.
Jean-Paul's lips curve with a flicker of relief lightening the tension around his eyes. He answers Isabel with a faded shadow smile reflecting, then fading. He taps a few keys, locks up his computer good and tight, and then sets it to the side as he stands. "What," he says, hands spreading in an easy gesture, "did you bring me?" He ignores Silvio, almost like he has practiced it.
Ilad carefully sets down his fork (?) upon the surface of the table and lets his hands fall to his lap as he turns a look of bright-lit interest between the new arrivals. He does not answer Silvio either; Isabel, after all, has the loot.
"All sorts of goodies," Isabel answers, tossing the files to Jean-Paul in a sort of telekinetic-controlled heap as she adds, "And look mom, no one got shot." Her lips twitch, and she watches Jean-Paul, seeking to catch his eye.
"We got in and out before the guard passed by," Illyana contributes. She goes to prod at any leftovers. Unappetizing other people may be treating them as, but she's /hungry/.
There's a slightly sharp look to Silvio from Xen's direction, though it's really just a movement of his eyes. He, too, remains quiet. If you can't say anything nice, then perhaps it's best to say nothing at all.
Jean-Paul's gaze is not hard to catch. He is watching Isabel, with hands up and out to receive the pile. "Good," he says, simply, mildly.
"It was very difficult," Silvio says, in that tone of voice that suggests, oh wait, it was kind of easy, "but we managed." He slides into a seat on the sofa and glances at Hugh briefly. The other man seems pretty much unresponsive, but Silvio looks satisfied enough by this.
Ilad steeples his hands, fingertips touching lightly as he looks across the room toward the others. "It is good to challenge yourself," he says blandly, dark gaze sliding past Silvio on its way toward first the destination and then the source of the files. Eyebrows lifting slightly, he looks to Isabel for a moment's quiet.
"Names, passports, I hope we like planes," Isabel supplies as the pile settles into Jean-Paul's grasp. She glances briefly over her shoulder to Silvio and Hugh, then back to Jean-Paul. An upward tip of her chin indicates a side room, and she lifts her brows at him in secret eyebrow language.
Stirring, Jean-Paul drifts toward a side room, but doesn't quite enter. He flips through the files and spots the key bit of information pretty promptly: he curses in low and profane French. "Turkey, then?" He looks a little like he will cry. (Only not.) Flipping one copied bit of information in Xen's direction as he goes by to make explicit the Istanbul, he says, "Rebound, work with Constantini and Ponting on getting us out of here."
Illyana watches Jean-Paul go, expression suggesting that she's wondering if she should drift too in case of further questions, but she leaves it to Isabel, and gets some food, not really looking at it as she eats. She goes to read over Xen's shoulder. Though she knows the gist of the information, she might not have seen that particular bit.
Isabel doesn't drift after Jean-Paul immediately. Instead, she glances toward Illyana, watching her in an attempt to catch her gaze. There is a flicker of frustration as the other woman focuses on food and files instead, and eventually she clears her throat and says, "Magik."
"I am sure you won't need our help to get yourselves into Turkey," Silvio says, gaze shifting easily to Xen with a slow smile. "I will make sure that our departure is as smooth as our arrival, however." Hugh, meanwhile, tracks Jean-Paul and Isabel as they make for /privacy/.
"That's the idea," Jean-Paul says to Silvio, dry. He looks through those files he still holds, idle.
Ilad mutters something under his breath, but it is not English; drawing his knuckles along the curve of jaw and past the neat scruff at his chin, he sets his opposite palm against the edge of the table, pushing back as he rises from his seat in a quick, fluid motion. He glances at Xen with an upward quirk of one eyebrow.
Illyana's attention snaps to Isabel instantly, and she comes over, leaving food behind.
Isabel slips past Jean-Paul into a side bedroom, presuming her two little ducklings will follow along.
Xen reaches up to accept the information passed this way, his eyes scanning quickly over the pages. Before long, his lips twist downward, and then he nods to Jean-Paul as instructions are given. And as he feels Silvio's gaze on him, his own gaze slides over to meet the Italian's smile, his own expression slightly flat, though he is trying to school it to neutral. "I'm sure we'll be able to coordinate arrivals."
Jean-Paul waits for Illyana with what could totally almost be courtesy -- ladies first! -- and then follows after. He shuts the door.
Silvio replies, "I'm sure that is well-within your capabilities." He retains focus on Xen, gaze focused and alert behind the humor, while Hugh's eyes remain on the door that Jean-Paul closes. "A lovely country," Silvio continues. "I hope they don't kill everyone."
Illyana ducklings, and then precedes, as indicated. Once inside the bedroom, she looks to Jean-Paul first, waiting for any questions.
Isabel turns once inside, her gaze slipping to the closed door before she blows out a breath and looks from Illyana to Jean-Paul (he's inhibitored, right?). Then she taps her own inhibitor in silent indication and says, very, very quietly to the former, "Did you notice?"
He is. We all are, right? Jean-Paul glances from Isabel to Illyana with a short, sharp twitch of his eyebrows.
Ilad cocks an eyebrow at Silvio, but makes no comment elsewise.
Illyana goes a little more tense and wary, as she reevaluates for something she might have missed. "He noticed the guard too early?" she suggests, finding it admidst the other things she was concentrating on at the time on a second run through. She keeps her voice just as low as Isabel's.
Xen meets Silvio's eyes, his face slipping into a slight scowl as the Italian focuses on him. A response comes to the tip of his tongue, but instead of answering Silvio, the pilot flips his laptop back open again and types a few things out instead before pulling out his phone and setting it on the armrest, ready to call his plane. After a minute, he glances up at Silvio, all business, "I'm going to need the clearance to give to my pilots before we can arrange arrival. You already have the necessary information, yes?" After all, they had to get in to the country somehow.
Isabel nods tightly. "That wasn't just a guess as to patterns. There was someone there; I felt them. He noticed them coming. I can't be /certain/ how, but--" She hitches her shoulders up, gaze fixed on Jean-Paul.
Lifting a hand, Jean-Paul lightly feathers a touch along the curve of metal at his ear. "Christ," he says. His voice is soft but emphatic. "Well. Okay. Then -- we know /something/. What about the rest of it? Make much in the way of conversation?"
"Si, si," Silvio replies breezily. "It will be much the same as before." But, despite his assurances, he gives Xen whatever clearencey type information is needed in situations like this.
Coming to a halt a little behind the room's couch, Ilad stands quietly, this vantage allowing him to place both their guests in his view. His gaze skips only briefly toward the door behind which his teammates conference.
Illyana is looking a bit paleish considering what she's just realized, and she's silent as she gives her memories the same scrutiny a third and fourth time for the conversation. "About the signs in the Korean, the records being in the back, guard making regular sweeps--everything to do with what we were doing."
Isabel shakes her head shortly in response to Jean-Paul. "We kept quiet. I thought we ought to keep the specifics of Magik's magic under wraps unless absolutely neccesary." She glances to Illyana at this, then back to Jean-Paul. Her voice remains pitched quite low. "And he's clearly not fantastic at hiding it, but I do think he's trying to. He didn't tell us someone was coming. He told us someone was likely to be coming around on a shift. I don't think he realized I could tell, but I haven't been shy with the teke, so it's hard to say." Her lips twist into a rueful smile as she allows, "I get the impression he's quite a bit more observant than he wants to look, hm?"
"Sensible." Jean-Paul falls silent with a fixed, thoughtful expression. "The question, of course, is how much he sees, and how useful our screens are." He reaches again to touch his inhibitor and then his hand falls. "How capable was he, otherwise?"
"Yeah, he knows I had something, but--" Illyana gestures the vagueness of that, in conjunction with what Isabel said. "He was good with the cameras and the electronic lock. The technology. Could move quickly too, going out."
Once Xen gets the clearances he needs, he folds down his computer and stands up from the chair, setting the laptop in his seat. This is Xen's seat, says the laptop. The pilot picks up the phone from the armrest and drifts over to step into the foyer. Setting a flight isn't exactly /secret/, but his voice speaks lowly to those on the other end.
Isabel nods. "He's good," she says simply.
Jean-Paul's features twitch in an expression of compressed irritation. "Of course he is." He rubs his jaw in a brief drag of knuckles and then asks, "Anything else of note?"
Silvio watches Xen walk off with a gaze growing disinterested before he looks up at Ilad behind him. Hello. "If I ask for a drink, will you poison me?" he wonders.
"Yes," Hugh replies from the wall. Silvio does not look at him.
Illyana shakes her head, but slowly, like she expects she'll think of something in the middle of the motion and then will have the chance to take it back. Nothing does occur to her, so she finishes with a shrug and a glance at Isabel, who proved more observant with the other thing.
Isabel shakes her head again, lifting one hand to rub at her eyes. "On to Turkey," she answers dryly. "I just thought you'd ah-- want to know. ASAP."
"Thank you. Pass that on, when you get a chance, to the others." Jean-Paul tips his head and then reaches back to again open the door and step to the side. Once more, he is the soul of courtesy. He stands to the side to allow them to go first.
"Poison is an altogether unsatisfying way to be the cause of a man's death," Ilad answers, the words delivered in the tone of a mild courtesy.
"I will," Illyana murmurs to Jean-Paul's comment, and precedes him out the door once more. This time, she's not so quick to relax and wander to the sidelines, but sticks close to whatever conversations may happen, but in the background, not adding anything.
"Then: is there anything to drink?" Silvio requests with warm courtesy of Ilad. Hugh just kind of -- gets tenser.
Isabel gives Jean-Paul a nod, a faint smile, and a brief brush of telekinesis against his shoulder as she slips past and into the room proper.
Ilad gives Silvio a particularly bland look. "I'm not a waiter."
Emerging in time to Ilad's answer, Jean-Paul's eyes light with a snarky sort of humor as he glances toward him. His gaze shifts, tracking toward Xen, and he lists a moment to see how arrangements are progressing.
Hugh's attention is immediately caught and focused on the agents emerging from the bedroom when the door opens. He watches them closely.
Silvio, meanwhile, sighs. "Don't worry," he tells Ilad. "Next time you are /my/ guest, I won't hold this against you." He straightens up off the sofa and strides on long legs towards the -- well, excuse for a kitchen area, at least. At least he can pour himself a glass of water.
The good news? The pilots will call Xen back shortly once the flight plans are officially filed and approved. The bad news? Another 10 hour flight is in X-Factor's future. Xen folds his phone closed and steps out of the little alcove and back into the room proper, catching Jean-Paul's gaze. "We should be ready to leave within the hour, though we can push it back if there's anything else we need to do. Flight time's about 10 hours."
Something dark in his voice, partway between growl and purr, like a glide of steel over velvet, Ilad says: "I'll look forward to that." He resettles his stance, feet planted on the floor and his hands tightening in their fold behind his back. His mouth flattens a little as Xen reveals the flight time, breath snorting past his nose. Darnit.
Jean-Paul's air of focused composure gives little to even the closest study beyond that touch of humor provoked by Ilad. His attention seems largely for Xen. He nods, acknowledging the answer, and sweeps the room in a glance. "Time is a priority. Anyone have a good argument for lingering to hit their apartments, labs, et cetera?"
Silvio glances to Ilad at the sound of his voice with something of darkened appreciation in his eyes and the slow curve of his smile. As he pours himself a glass of water, he says, "The lab has been cleaned out, like I said, as has Bengston's apartment. She was the only one assigned to the typhus lab."
Isabel shakes her head, gaze flicking toward Ilad for a moment before snapping back to Silvio. Her eyes are sharp on him, observant.
"Then the sooner we move on from this benighted country, the better," Ilad voices with a twitch of one shoulder in a partial shrug, jaw set. Glitter of his eyes annoyed, he glances away from Silvio after a beat. "Unless we can verify that very quickly."
"I don't think it's likely they left anything extremely useful behind if they planned to burn their bridges behind them," Xen says after Silvio's response. However, his eyes glance in the Italian's direction, then back at Jean-Paul. The set of his expression bespeaks of a lack of trust of Silvio's word. And yet.
Jean-Paul rubs his eyes, briefly. "No. Not worth the delay. Besides -- they've probably had long enough to remove anything interesting," he says with a glance that weighs back toward Hugh and Silvio. "Let's get back on the fucking plane."
"Your lack of trust pains me," Silvio says, smile dry, and sips at his water. Who knows if North Korean water is safe. Hugh looks bland to Jean-Paul's gaze.