Ilad, Jean-Paul, Silvio (NPC)

Nov 14, 2010 22:06



The house is a small affair, and it is quite dark at this late hour. There are street lamps that illuminate the residential road, but their light does little to suggest life within the house itself. Dressed in dark, his materials in a small pack, Silvio is looking plenty capable of doing his particular brand of work. "Are we knocking?" he wonders in a blithe undertone as he looks across the distance at the house, because I am going to assume you didn't park right in the driveway. Which is empty, btw. Lonely house. :(

"No, Constantini," says Jean-Paul as he stands with hands loosely curled at his side. His clothing is dark and simple. It does not catch the eye; it does not draw attention. Body armor beneath and gun slipped slim out of sight, he is totes prepared for whatever the night might bring. "You will be checking for us, thanks to your souvenir from Copenhagen. Find out if the last two are there, hmm?"

Dressed fairly similarly to the others, matched to Jean-Paul in hue and in armor if not in the exact styling of his black clothing, Ilad stands with the others, his hands folded in a loose clasp behind his back as he turns a sardonically dark look in Silvio's direction. He arches his eyebrows.

Silvio's brows sweep upwards in what would be a remarkably credible show of curious confusion if the two X-Factorites didn't have good reason to not believe it. "I beg your pardon?"

Jean-Paul glances from Silvio to Ilad and finger-twitches: just two fingers, curled, then pointed in a short gesture. Look, I have to do this since we talked about it.

Ilad moves readily, turning on his heel in a fluid motion and launching himself at Silvio. His hand twists in the front of his shirt as he bears him backwards toward the side of the parked car, slamming into with sudden momentum. "Make yourself useful," he rumbles, accent a thick drape over his low voice as he bears him back into it.

Despite his ease and charm and every refusal to appear the least bit intimidated by any of the X-Factor agents, Silvio is really not a fighter at heart. He slams into the car with a whoof of breath, and his expression catches in a rare moment of being off-guard. He looks sharply from the near Ilad to the farther Jean-Paul and insists, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"We don't have the time for this," says Jean-Paul with a sharp and savage edge to his voice. "We really don't. Make yourself useful or we'll make sure you aren't a problem."

Ilad tucks his free hand into his inside pocket as he braces Silvio against the car. Shifting closer with a weight of pressure in the brace of his arm, he lifts his other hand with flame curling in pretty blue-white tendrils around his knuckles. He does not say anything aloud; he lifts his gaze to Silvio's, and then tips his head, eyes darting toward the house.

Silvio's gaze, humorless for once, settles sharp on Jean-Paul for a moment, then Ilad. It is clear that thoughts and calculations are racing in his head. Eventually, though -- he smiles. "Going to burn the information out of me?" he wonders in with a hard edge to the sardonic twist in his voice. "Noble." He glances at the nearby house. "No. I don't think so."

{Dinner} Isabel: "Ibis here. We've got two stopped and heading into the sewer with their presents. Hitchcock, you seeing anything?" A brief pause and then, "Northstar. You want us in there?"
{Dinner} Kestrel: Yeah, Ibis, same deal for us, it looks like.

"If only you gave it up a little easier." Jean-Paul's voice is flat, smooth as glass. He tips his head to Ilad in a muted, distant release. His gaze skims down the street, narrowing toward the house, after the distant cars. He says, "Fuck." While Silvio perhaps sulks, he taps through a report that the house is clear and waits for anything further from the other teams. And oh look! Further. "Christ. Yes. Go, both of you. Quiet, though. If you can't handle that, hang back. If it looks like they are making a move of any kind down there, stop them."

For a moment, the heat of the tiny shreds of flame that dance across Ilad's skin intensifies to a shimmering blue heat that hazes vision: hot enough to forge metal, it is intense and dangerous, a threat even in its containment; and then it fades away, dying as fuelless flame and leaving behind nothing in its wake but Ilad's fist. "Nothing, hm?" he says, as he steps back, releasing the twisting grasp of his hand.

For a moment, there is a sharpening close to stifled fear in Silvio's expression as his gaze trains on the haze of that fire. He swallows and takes a heartbeat, two, to collect himself after Ilad releases him. "Nothing that I can tell," he replies to him, voice on the edge of nastiness.

{Dinner} Isabel: It's a fucking sewer, Northstar. I'd say the odds of them not noticing we're down there at some point are aproximately zero.

Leaving Ilad and Silvio to their banter, Jean-Paul retorts with crisp words across the distance: "Well, make the most of your odds."

Ilad favors Silvio with a slight smile, dark humor in his dark glance beneath the fall of dark lashes. He inclines his head. Courteous, he says: "My thanks." Then he turns his attention back to Jean-Paul, eyebrows lifting as he listens to the chatter over the coms.

With a jerk of his head, Jean-Paul shifts to approach the now-abandoned house. "Come on," he says, and strides briskly forth with an eye out surveillance and alarms.

{Dinner} Kestrel: We're headed down.

Silvio smooths down the line of his shirt, expression easing slowly and deliberately back into its more usual ease. He follows forth towards the house, which is still dark, but at least it's not foreboding. It's a cute house, honest. There are no immediate signs of surveillance or alarms. At least they locked the front door.

The least stealthy of the three, Ilad falls in step with the others, expression faded back to its ordinary neutrality as he surveys the house with his comparatively less expert eyes.

Jean-Paul is not that stealthy. He is brisk, with an air of authority, of belonging, that would do much to throw off the casual eye. They locked the front door, huh? w/e, that won't last. "No security? Really?" He is a little skeptical about it, looking back to Silvio for confirmation as he makes with the lock-coaxing.

Silvio frowns at the lack of security as well, his eyes darting around to confirm Jean-Paul's words. "Perhaps they have no plans of returning," he suggests as Jean-Paul springs the front door. He does glance at the agent's handiwork briefly, though he offers no comment on technique. Past the front door, the house is just as dark as it appeared on the outside. A small foyer, kitchen, and living room are all within immediate sight in the gloom. There is furniture, yes, but not enough to suggest either way if Silvio is right or not.

While not as smooth as Silvio's work might be, Jean-Paul still /manages/. He hits the lights without bothering to be subtle. "Chol, with him. Split up and see if there is any sign of what they are up to." /He/ heads for the kitchen, hungry.

Peering into the house once they are in past the front door, Ilad frowns faintly. Checking around with his eyes, he murmurs an acknowledging noise to the order and jerks his head at Silvio. He moves off to snoop through the living area for any signs of papers or anything else convenient. How small is this house, anyway?

It's not small. It's -- cozy. (It's small.) Silvio squints briefly at the sudden light, but adjusts soon enough. The kitchen is also cozy (small), and while there is kitchenware, there doesn't look to be much in the way of actual food. There's also a hallway that leads back to a bathroom and bedroom.

Jean-Paul checks the fridge for snacks.

There is some juice. Idk, it is pretty empty. Maybe some moldy cheese. MM MM.

Since if there was something in the living room, you would totally have posed it when I looked, Ilad says "Come on" in a low growl and moves off toward the hallway to investigate down there.

Jean-Paul gives the freezer a cursory look, and then glances once around the kitchen for any other kind of refrigeration unit before drifting back to join the others in the hallway. "Fridge is clean. Either everything is with them or this was only a temporary meeting place."

Oh yeah, I would have. The bedroom is first, so let's go there. Silvio doesn't look particularly surprised at Jean-Paul's words. The bedroom is fairly neat, with a bed (gosh!), dresser, closet, and a small trash can.

Ilad ducks into the bedroom long enough to glance in the trash can, because he is classy enough to go through the garbage wherever he goes. He says, "Very well, then."

At first look the trash can looks empty, but then a slip of paper shifts from the folds. If it catches enough attention and is uncrumpled, one might be able to make out a scribble of 'Boutique Albion' on it.

{Dinner} Xen: Northstar, Ibis is following V and S through the sewers to plant a tracker on them. Hugh and I are following above ground until there's an intercept point to pick her up.

Gosh, I hope you aren't waiting on me -- oh, good. Jean-Paul is waiting, arms folded, with the scant rooms exhausted already in their search.

PS: Jean-Paul says, "Understood."

See?

I guess you don't see if I type the wrong alias.

Prodding around in the trash can, Ilad plucks up the slip of paper and uncrinkles it. He squints down at it, and then turns it out toward Jean-Paul between the first two fingers of his right hand.

Taking the paper, Jean-Paul whispers a sort of sigh and says, "Why not?" He tips his head and says, "Let's go. Constantini, why don't you lock the door behind us?" /He/ googles.

Silvio looks over Jean-Paul's shoulder. Obnoxiously. "I'd be happy to," he says, managing his usual brightness for the most part. Assumedly Jean-Paul is googling on his phone or something, but anyways: it's a hotel. It's pretty close.

He is! "Thank you," Jean-Paul says, bitchily. He pulls his phone closer. No peeking. He glances toward Ilad and tips the screen over, with a tap of his thumb drawing over to a map and outlining the route. "I want to see if the last two are there."

Ilad glances at Jean-Paul's phone and tips his head in the inclination of a solitary nod. "All right," he says. His gaze flicking over the route mapped, he then turns to quicken his step as they move through the house at a rapid stride for the door.

Silvio locks the door. Like a nice person. And then follows to the car.

Leaving the quiet, darkened house behind them, Jean-Paul leads the trio to the hotel, where they park, get out, and have a moment to stretch. He gives the building a somewhat uncertain glance, and then just slightly shakes his head. "Chol, go check at the front desk for our strays, would you?"

With an affiramtive noise in his throat, Ilad pauses only a moment to survey Silvio and Jean-Paul with the sweep of a glance before he turns and strides off toward the doors for the lobby, where he slips inside and moves to investigate the front desk. Doot doot.

The building deserves no such uncertain glances. It is just a hotel. The younger man on duty at the front desk looks like he'd rather be somewhere else, considering it's three in the morning, but he pulls up to some sort of attention when Ilad comes in and pastes on a tired smile.

Silvio waits with Jean-Paul, presumably. He slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "If we finish this up quick enough, we could always get a room," he offers Jean-Paul with bitchy blitheness.

Jaw setting, Jean-Paul ignores Silvio with a thin, strained patience. He waits.

"Morning," Ilad offers to the young man with a smile's courtesy, on the bland side. "I am looking for a couple of women staying here." He flicks his gaze idly over the hotel lobby, and then returns his attention to the man behind the desk. "If you would check your guest registry for me. Ms. Sparrow, Ms. Pradesh."

The young man squints just slightly, parsing Ilad's English with the slowness of a non-native (who is not as talented at it as Ilad). But the names he perhaps can manage, because he calls them up. He ends up shaking his head, however. "I'm sorry," he says, voice quite accented.

Ilad drums his fingertips against the counter's surface, gaze narrowing as he considers the young man. "Do you see many of the guests staying here?" he asks. He slows his words for clarity, by focus reducing the weight of his own accent.

"Some?" the man offers back.

"Have you seen a couple of women," Ilad says promptingly. "Dark hair, the younger one Indian...?"

"Ah." Recognition is clear on the young man's face, but it is followed quickly with discomfort. "I think so," he says slowly. "We are not supposed to -- tell room numbers, however. I can call them?"

Ilad flicks his badge out from the inside pocket of his jacket and flips it up, showing his Interpol credentials with a bland-faced look at the young man. "The rooms, please."

"Oh." The young man looks suitably impressed. WELL IF YOU PUT IT LIKE THAT. He gives Ilad one room number and looks hopeful that he won't arrest him.

"Sag olun," Ilad intones mildly, with the polite courtesy of a man who does not speak Turkish and might be butchering its pronunciation. THANKS. He tips his head, and then moves off back out of the lobby through its front door to go and find his buddies in the parking lot.

His buddies are waiting like a pair of cranky cats who just don't get along: silent. Or maybe only one side is cranky, IDK. Silvio might be smiling. Jean-Paul isn't. His gaze shifts sharp to Ilad.

Silvio is a buddy! His brows sweep upwards in silent query.

"I have their room number," Ilad confirms lowly, tip of his head slight as he draws up beside the others.

Jean-Paul gestures a broad 'after you' to Ilad, and then waits for Silvio to follow before trailing at the end. "You can repeat your trick without incentive this time, I hope," he says to Silvio.

{Dinner} Xen: Northstar, Ibis has hit the panic button. They've made us. We're going to have to try and take them out now while we have the chance. I'm going to be dropping in momentarily.

There's barely a hiccup on Jean-Paul's features as he assimilates Xen's report. They smooth as he answers, "What's her status?"

Pausing partway through a step en route back into the hotel, Ilad turns his gaze down and listens alertly to the radio.

Silvio's smile goes bland and a little tense, but he doesn't say no, so that's probably something like an agreement. He follows along into the hotel.

Stop pausing, get moving. Jean-Paul gestures.

Ilad picks up the pace, then, moving back through into the hotel. Then he can move in the particular direction appropriate to finding the room attached to the number he has.

Look, there's the room! Silvio /grudgingly/ pauses a moment and then holds up two fingers. He wiggles in the only rebellion he has left against people who would melt his face off.

Wiggling doesn't seem to be very rebellious.

He really likes his face.

Jean-Paul mouths the word, 'Awake?' in an unvoiced question, and arches an eyebrow as he gestures toward the door. "Can you do anything about them?" is actually voiced, but softly.

Ilad glances at the floor where the door to the room meets the hallway of the hotel, checking for any hint of light within despite the ungodly lateness (or earliness) of the hour.

Silvio nods briefly to the silent question, hesitates at the second. He glances at Ilad, and it's as if you can see the reflection of Ilad's fiery hand in Silvio's dark eyes. "Only take the edge off," he murmurs quietly. There is indeed light on in the room, and a low murmur of voices.

Jean-Paul considers Silvio with an unhappy grimness, and then the closed and locked door. He glances down the hall. Fire alarm? He will just go and pull it. Before he does so, he says, "Only knock them out if they resist. Otherwise, I want them awake to question." Then he pulls.

Ilad lifts his tranquilizer pistol, releasing the safety of the loaded weapon so that he can be ready to actually fire it at an instant's notice. The barest hint of a smile touches his mouth at one corner with the sound of the fire alarm. He tends to find them funny.

One hopes there is a fire alarm. It rings pretty loud when Jean-Paul pulls it. The curses from inside the room is immediate, but an exit is not: people manage to groggily awake from other rooms and make their ways outside before the door to the watched room opens. Bengston is the first one out, and she carries a dark, industrial briefcase with her. Singh is following close behind, laptop closed and held to her chest, a messenger bag over one shoulder.

Jean-Paul waits patiently, easily. He stands near Ilad and keeps an eye on Silvio, using him as a psionic barometer of what is going on within the room. When the door opens, he has his gun leveled heart-height. He says, "Hello. Let's turn around and go sit down, shall we?"

Ilad sidesteps just a little, moving to block the immediate avenue of escape with his gun lifted and his gaze hard. He stands poised and ready, as though caught on the immediate verge of a lunge as he watches the women.

{Dinner} Kestrel: Northstar, we gonna need a /goddamn/ pick-up.

Bengston freezes at the sight of the gun. After a split second's decision, she says, "We don't have the cure. They'll destroy it if you take us in." Silvio snorts quietly. "She's lying," he says. "Where else would your little group keep it, Dr. Bengston?"

"You're so useful," Jean-Paul murmurs under his breath to Silvio, while his eyes narrow at the call over the com. He glances to Ilad, catching just briefly at his lower lip, and then tips his head. "Chol will arrange it, Hitchcock," he says into his comm. Away from it, he adds, "And settle that alarm, would you?" His gaze turns to Bengston, and grims at her. "'They' are already taken care of. Let's go sit down."

{Dinner} Jean-Paul: Chol will arrange it, Hitchcock.

Ilad murmurs a low, "On my way," into the com, with an upward twitch of his eyebrows toward Jean-Paul. What he may communicate through this twitch of brow may not be clear; but he turns, and heads off down the hall. He will take care of the alarm on the way.

Singh suddenly snaps, "Don't be /crazy/, do you know what they're going to do to us?" from behind Bengston, but the other woman just looks between Jean-Paul and Silvio grimly. "Oh, don't worry," Silvio assures them. "I'm sure you'll fare all right in the actual legal system." Bengston's brow cinches, eyes careful on Silvio, and then she turns and pushes Singh back into the room.

Jean-Paul gives Silvio a twitched glance, and then faces forward again as he releases a strained breath. He gestures Silvio in, and then follows, to close the door at his back. He does not lock it; Ilad's returning eventually, after all. "You'll fare better if you make this easy. Can you account for all samples of the typhus strain? Where are they?"

{Dinner} Isabel: Northstar. Ibis and Rebound, doing good. We've got two down here, and a case that looks an awful lot like some typhus strains. We'll restrain 'em and pack 'em up, but we're gonna need a bigger vehicle. And a shower.

"Not here," Bengston says, voice sharply dry. "If 'they' are taken care of, shouldn't you already know?" Singh sits, muscles wired as if on the edge of bolting, on the edge of the bed.

"Don't get mouthy. I've had a very long night," Jean-Paul says to Bengston. "And I'd /really/ like you to give me an excuse to take it out on you." He shifts a look at Silvio, touched with vague irritation, and then focuses on keeping uh, everyone in his sight. He answers his comm a little distantly: "Chol will send someone." Ilad, you are his mission secretary.

{Dinner} Ilad: We can arrange for a larger vehicle. As to the shower you are on your own.

Once the fire alarm stops ringing at the top of its voice, and once arrangements for the collection of the others have been thusly arranged, Ilad can pad back along the hall. When he has accomplished all these necessary components of being Jean-Paul's bitch I mean secretary, he slips back to the room and through the door into the room.

Bengston's mouth snaps shut, but her expression is hardened. She says nothing.

When Ilad enters, Jean-Paul gestures him to the women. "Non-cooperative," he says. He glances away just a brief second, but his glance is less a 'MAKE WITH THE CRAZY TORTURER' and more a 'go nice on them, I have a delicate stomach'. Either way, it is a clear directive. Make them cooperative, damnit. He looks from Bengston to Singh with an appeal to the latter's rationality: "This doesn't have to get ... unpleasant. Your conspirators have already been caught. Your plot is unraveling. Why hold out for needless pain? Can you account for the typhus?"

"An appeal to logic," Ilad murmurs, glancing between each of the women as he folds his hands in a loose clasp behind his back. He walks across the room, measuring the tension in Singh's muscles, the tension in Bengston's jaw. "The only thing between us and your answers is time. I believe in your strength, in your devotion to your cause. I believe in that. I do. It would be a great deal of time. A great deal of very unpleasant time."

"You could be lying," Bengston replies in a low voice to Jean-Paul. "They could be continuing as scheduled right this moment." The line of her tension is born of strength. Singh's is the one that shows signs of nerves. Silvio watches with a narrowed gaze.

"I could be," Jean-Paul agrees, "but I'm not." With a tap at his comm, he asks, "What did you find on your targets?"

{Dinner} Illyana: "We've got a case with vials too," Illyana reports. "And a map to the treatment plant."

"Truly." Ilad smiles. He sits down on the edge of the bed beside Singh, almost companionably, except for the invasiveness of his proximity, the weird intimacy the placement suggests. "The longer this takes, the more you will pay for it," he says mildly. "In time. You don't want that. Neither do we."

{Dinner} Isabel: Vials, random shit. Map to the treatment plant," Isabel affirms.

Jean-Paul relays the information. His voice is flat and his gaze on Bengston is sharp and bright.

Singh shrinks away from the proximity, her gaze flickering but not settling on Ilad. "Helena," she says, looking to Bengston. "There's no point. We're finished."

Silvio says, voice affable, "These ones are far too noble to lie, Dr. Bengston."

Finally, Bengston looks coolly murderous as she watches Jean-Paul. "The two teams have it all."

Jean-Paul glances to Silvio for confirmation.

Ilad watches Singh beside him with narrowed eyes, thoughtfully marking her reaction to Bengston's words.

Silvio snaps, "I'm not a /machine/."

Singh's jaw sets with the weight of failure as Bengston gives them the information she just urged her to.

Consideringly, Ilad says, "Ah," and rises away from her, glancing at Bengston. "No backup plan?"

"Temper, tesoro." Jean-Paul grows almost airy in tone, relief settling in, and then takes a step back and to the side to get in touch with Turkish health authorities so that those vials can be properly taken care of.

"We only have so much material," Bengston says, voice a little snappishly defensive as she replies to Ilad.

Silvio glares at Jean-Paul all ego-bruised.

"Ah, well, I'm certain that it is very rude to critique one's terrorists," Ilad says, opening his hands toward Bengston with palms lifted. He steps back again, and slants the barest shadow of a smile at Jean-Paul and Silvio, humor brightening his dark eyes only briefly. "Let us make sure these ladies are secured."

"Of course." Do we have zipties? We probably have zipties. The ladies are rather unhappy about it, but they don't try any sudden moves as they're secured.

No shots fired! This is Ilad's first totally bulletless mission. GMing by Roz.

ilad, guess who's coming to dinner, silvio (npc), jean-paul

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