Remy, Pete
The roar of a van approaching the mouth of an alleyway - Remy's - is a welcome sound. Felicia and Natalie ride together, the latter in rather more serious clothing than the former. Her ponytail swings behind her as she slides free from the passenger's seat already at a jog, feet pounding toward Remy. "What happened?" she asks, breathless. She skids to a halt and pauses, staring down at the unconscious man Remy's busy feeling up.
Pete's head snaps up at the sound of the vehicle approaching, but he relaxes once the familiar voice filters over to his own position. Not that the legitimate authorities would be a likely sight in this end of town, but Murphy /does/ seem to be in a particularly foul mood.
"Pickup didn't go as smooth as we'd been hopin'," is Remy's answer, with an adrenaline-fueled grin up at Natalie that is perhaps slightly demented looking when paired with the bleeding and seared shoulder and general air of the disreputable. "Get Sleeping Beauty's arsenal while we get ''m in the back?" he requests, before aiding in a none-too-gentle transfer of Collen to the back. There is a definite *whump* on landing.
Natalie's eyes widen and she takes an unconscious step back from Remy at that look before her gaze drops to his shoulder and she steps forward again. "/Shit/," she breathes, extending a hand, only to have her attention snap back upward at the request. She swallows hard and nods, moving to gather up the bits and pieces while Remy has a little alone time with Collen.
Remy has to take his chances with Collen while he's got them -- Felicia, after all, has got even more quality time she wants to spend. He ambles back over to Natalie with the remains of the kleenex pack being used to apply pressure to the wound, trading off better cleanliness than a hand or a corner of his coat for a collection of little flaky bits of paper that will annoy whoever gets tapped as field medic. "I heard some noise about the others showin' up," he reports to Natalie. "Let's go get Wisdom's bird and beat feet... y'okay?"
Natalie has an armful of weaponry - a gun, and two knives - as she straightens and blinks at Remy. She gives him a shakey laugh as her eyes drop to his arm again. "Am /I/ okay? You're bleeding from your arm! Did he /shoot/ you?"
Concern trips a near-automatic circuit in Remy, leading to a a wave of a hand (Which comes with the bloody kleenex attached, before he thinks to put it back.) and the assurance of "Well, yeah, a little. Just forgot to watch where he had his hands at, is all. Ain't no thing," as he makes his way back to the van by way of example.
Down the com-link comes a terse, "If you're done flirting, LeBeau, let's wrap this up before reinforcements arrive."
Natalie's expression turns to an annoyed frown at the comlink before she jerks her head toward the other alley as she slides her weapons into the back of the large van. "Does he need help carrying the little girl over, do you think?" There's perhaps a tense undercurrent of something almost mocking in her voice.
"Dead weight's dead weight," is Remy's opinion. "An' why drag what y'can just drop in?" For all the air of insouciance about him, slightly drunk in post-combat, the air thins out a little as the time comes to ease himself into the van, with several winces as his injured arm is called upon to be moved, and a decided hunch in his seat. A response down the comlink comes in the form of "Y'takes y'chances when y'get em, Wisdom. Inbound to you."
Not that far is still enough of a distance to be wary, if one happens to be an older man carrying a younger, unconscious and bound woman. Once the van appears, Pete pads down the alley to deposit Maria into the back of it alongside Collen. He is perhaps a little more gentle than Remy had been, but the lingering cold blankness of his gaze doesn't suggest it's out of any sort of tender-heartedness. Once the back of the van's been shut tight, he jerks the door open and drops silently into the second row of seats.
"So yeah," says Remy to Pete by way of greeting once he's settled in. "That lesson y'gave me about keepin' an eye on where there hands are, an' how long? Definitely gonna stick in my mind." A peek beneath the bloodied kleenex shows the wound to be well-dusted with tissue bits, but the oozing slowing into clots of part blood, part paper. "If we gotta grab someone else after this, I'm sayin' 'not it'."
Natalie glances back over her shoulder at Pete, pausing for a moment to let her eyes skim in search of injury, and then she turns forward again and pulls the car back to the main road. Her hands are tight, almost white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
Pete snorts quietly. "If we've got to grab anyone else after this, we're bringing more backup, and fuck spreading other areas too thin. Wanting the little idiots alive puts us at a distinct disadvantage." He drags one hand wearily through his hair, smearing a bit of his own blood across his scalp from where it had oozed along the back of his hand.
"Ow," is Remy's pertinent contribution to the conversation as the van rolls on, engaged in poking thoughtfully at the wound after shrugging out of his coat to leave it puddled around him on the seat. "Well, we got her done. Now just t'get 'em talking an' hope this was worth somethin'."
Natalie lifts her eyes to glance at Pete in the rearview mirror. "What're we doing with them now?" she asks, gaze flicking back to the road as they turn up another, angling for better sections of Reno.
Pete reels off a set of directions that are quite distinctly a /where/ and not a /what/, then twists in his seat to unearth the on-board first aid kit. (No spy van should leave the base without it!)
"Pass that here when y'done?" murmurs Remy in an undertone with a vein of stubbornness to it. Aloud, he notes that "We'll just take 'em some place to ask some questions. If y'got a phone up there with you, I figure I can get on the horn to Harper, see where the boys with the brain powers are at, and if either's free."
Natalie, being the smart girl she is, notes the difference, and she glances up at Pete again for a lingering moment before she adjusts the course of the van in response to directions. She doesn't comment, though, save to jerk her head toward a bag that sits between the seat. "There," she offers. "She get you, Mr. Wisdom?" Natalie's voice lifts toward the bac as he tugs out the kit.
The convenient thing about rearview mirrors is that even if another passenger is facing forward, one can sometimes catch their gaze through it. Pete does so now with Remy, and gives the younger agent a /look/, before handing the kit immediately forward. "Clean yourself up before you turn the place into a fucking biohazard zone," he directs, tone sharp and offering no real room for argument. He glances briefly at Natalie, and there is a distinct pause before he replies, "Nothing significant."
"Yes mom," is a reply that is probably quite predictable. Remy does take the first aid kit, and commences poking through it in search of antiseptic and proper gauze padding. "Y'figure if we can get they memories squared away, the cops'd like a pair o'gift wrapped drug dealers?" is wondered, as a distraction while he hisses and winces his way through a first application of the antiseptic.
Natalie watches Pete a moment longer before she turns her gaze forward again, breathing slowly. The van guns as they sweep around a corner. There's a pause before Natalie notes quietly, "I find it hard to believe they didn't know that place. Gift wrapping's a pretty sure way to make it clear that someone was here."
"If it's more convenient, I could cauterize it for you," Pete offers, a hint of humour creeping back into his tone. He pauses, considering. "Doctor Simon's right. Much as I'd love to see the whole lot of them stuck away in some dark cell, we'd not be well served by meddling right now. We don't want our cover to go up in smoke."
"F'the record," states Remy with an attempt at dignity. "I wasn't actully serious. ...an' I think I'll pass on that." is assured just a touch too quickly at Pete's suggestion, an eye rolling up to look at him in the rearview. He falls silent bar for another hiss or two before a light dressing is taped over the graze to keep it clean.
Natalie glances over her shoulder at the pair of them, briefly, and then shakes her head before she takes the van around another corner, roaring toward their final destination.
Playing pick-up.
Pete's head snaps up at the sound of the vehicle approaching, but he relaxes once the familiar voice filters over to his own position. Not that the legitimate authorities would be a likely sight in this end of town, but Murphy /does/ seem to be in a particularly foul mood.
"Pickup didn't go as smooth as we'd been hopin'," is Remy's answer, with an adrenaline-fueled grin up at Natalie that is perhaps slightly demented looking when paired with the bleeding and seared shoulder and general air of the disreputable. "Get Sleeping Beauty's arsenal while we get ''m in the back?" he requests, before aiding in a none-too-gentle transfer of Collen to the back. There is a definite *whump* on landing.
Natalie's eyes widen and she takes an unconscious step back from Remy at that look before her gaze drops to his shoulder and she steps forward again. "/Shit/," she breathes, extending a hand, only to have her attention snap back upward at the request. She swallows hard and nods, moving to gather up the bits and pieces while Remy has a little alone time with Collen.
Remy has to take his chances with Collen while he's got them -- Felicia, after all, has got even more quality time she wants to spend. He ambles back over to Natalie with the remains of the kleenex pack being used to apply pressure to the wound, trading off better cleanliness than a hand or a corner of his coat for a collection of little flaky bits of paper that will annoy whoever gets tapped as field medic. "I heard some noise about the others showin' up," he reports to Natalie. "Let's go get Wisdom's bird and beat feet... y'okay?"
Natalie has an armful of weaponry - a gun, and two knives - as she straightens and blinks at Remy. She gives him a shakey laugh as her eyes drop to his arm again. "Am /I/ okay? You're bleeding from your arm! Did he /shoot/ you?"
Concern trips a near-automatic circuit in Remy, leading to a a wave of a hand (Which comes with the bloody kleenex attached, before he thinks to put it back.) and the assurance of "Well, yeah, a little. Just forgot to watch where he had his hands at, is all. Ain't no thing," as he makes his way back to the van by way of example.
Down the com-link comes a terse, "If you're done flirting, LeBeau, let's wrap this up before reinforcements arrive."
Natalie's expression turns to an annoyed frown at the comlink before she jerks her head toward the other alley as she slides her weapons into the back of the large van. "Does he need help carrying the little girl over, do you think?" There's perhaps a tense undercurrent of something almost mocking in her voice.
"Dead weight's dead weight," is Remy's opinion. "An' why drag what y'can just drop in?" For all the air of insouciance about him, slightly drunk in post-combat, the air thins out a little as the time comes to ease himself into the van, with several winces as his injured arm is called upon to be moved, and a decided hunch in his seat. A response down the comlink comes in the form of "Y'takes y'chances when y'get em, Wisdom. Inbound to you."
Not that far is still enough of a distance to be wary, if one happens to be an older man carrying a younger, unconscious and bound woman. Once the van appears, Pete pads down the alley to deposit Maria into the back of it alongside Collen. He is perhaps a little more gentle than Remy had been, but the lingering cold blankness of his gaze doesn't suggest it's out of any sort of tender-heartedness. Once the back of the van's been shut tight, he jerks the door open and drops silently into the second row of seats.
"So yeah," says Remy to Pete by way of greeting once he's settled in. "That lesson y'gave me about keepin' an eye on where there hands are, an' how long? Definitely gonna stick in my mind." A peek beneath the bloodied kleenex shows the wound to be well-dusted with tissue bits, but the oozing slowing into clots of part blood, part paper. "If we gotta grab someone else after this, I'm sayin' 'not it'."
Natalie glances back over her shoulder at Pete, pausing for a moment to let her eyes skim in search of injury, and then she turns forward again and pulls the car back to the main road. Her hands are tight, almost white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
Pete snorts quietly. "If we've got to grab anyone else after this, we're bringing more backup, and fuck spreading other areas too thin. Wanting the little idiots alive puts us at a distinct disadvantage." He drags one hand wearily through his hair, smearing a bit of his own blood across his scalp from where it had oozed along the back of his hand.
"Ow," is Remy's pertinent contribution to the conversation as the van rolls on, engaged in poking thoughtfully at the wound after shrugging out of his coat to leave it puddled around him on the seat. "Well, we got her done. Now just t'get 'em talking an' hope this was worth somethin'."
Natalie lifts her eyes to glance at Pete in the rearview mirror. "What're we doing with them now?" she asks, gaze flicking back to the road as they turn up another, angling for better sections of Reno.
Pete reels off a set of directions that are quite distinctly a /where/ and not a /what/, then twists in his seat to unearth the on-board first aid kit. (No spy van should leave the base without it!)
"Pass that here when y'done?" murmurs Remy in an undertone with a vein of stubbornness to it. Aloud, he notes that "We'll just take 'em some place to ask some questions. If y'got a phone up there with you, I figure I can get on the horn to Harper, see where the boys with the brain powers are at, and if either's free."
Natalie, being the smart girl she is, notes the difference, and she glances up at Pete again for a lingering moment before she adjusts the course of the van in response to directions. She doesn't comment, though, save to jerk her head toward a bag that sits between the seat. "There," she offers. "She get you, Mr. Wisdom?" Natalie's voice lifts toward the bac as he tugs out the kit.
The convenient thing about rearview mirrors is that even if another passenger is facing forward, one can sometimes catch their gaze through it. Pete does so now with Remy, and gives the younger agent a /look/, before handing the kit immediately forward. "Clean yourself up before you turn the place into a fucking biohazard zone," he directs, tone sharp and offering no real room for argument. He glances briefly at Natalie, and there is a distinct pause before he replies, "Nothing significant."
"Yes mom," is a reply that is probably quite predictable. Remy does take the first aid kit, and commences poking through it in search of antiseptic and proper gauze padding. "Y'figure if we can get they memories squared away, the cops'd like a pair o'gift wrapped drug dealers?" is wondered, as a distraction while he hisses and winces his way through a first application of the antiseptic.
Natalie watches Pete a moment longer before she turns her gaze forward again, breathing slowly. The van guns as they sweep around a corner. There's a pause before Natalie notes quietly, "I find it hard to believe they didn't know that place. Gift wrapping's a pretty sure way to make it clear that someone was here."
"If it's more convenient, I could cauterize it for you," Pete offers, a hint of humour creeping back into his tone. He pauses, considering. "Doctor Simon's right. Much as I'd love to see the whole lot of them stuck away in some dark cell, we'd not be well served by meddling right now. We don't want our cover to go up in smoke."
"F'the record," states Remy with an attempt at dignity. "I wasn't actully serious. ...an' I think I'll pass on that." is assured just a touch too quickly at Pete's suggestion, an eye rolling up to look at him in the rearview. He falls silent bar for another hiss or two before a light dressing is taped over the graze to keep it clean.
Natalie glances over her shoulder at the pair of them, briefly, and then shakes her head before she takes the van around another corner, roaring toward their final destination.
Playing pick-up.