Jan 20 12:29:45 108 PA - Work Finds You
From Chronicles
Jan 20 12:29:45 108 PA.
SILVER FORK
It's a chilly Saturday noon in the Silver Fork, and the lunch crowd is taking advantage of the wonderful service and offerings, though there isn't yet a wait for a table. Just entering the diner is a man in a worn-in suit - brown pinstripe trousers below a dusty red button-down shirt. Unshaven and obviously groggy, he makes his way to a small, open table, ordering steak and eggs - poached - and a chocolate malt.
It may be a chilly Saturday, but that doesn't seem to have stopped Gabriel from being in a good mood. He himself is coming in for an absurdly, decadently-late breakfast. Rather like the ants do, you have to hunt and trap during the warm weather to save up food for the cold weather. And then when you run out, you have to raid another anthill. His shoes leave a trail of declining slush from the atrium and over to the maître d' at the Silver Spoon. "Hey, happy Saturday," he says to the man, drawl in full form. "Got an open table for me? Hankering for some bacon, y'know?" As he speaks, he's in the middle of removing his thin leather gloves, woolen cap, and silently unlatching that thin outer layer that keeps the snow off of what he normally wears.
The host smiles, gesturing behind him, "There are quite a few still available, if you have any particular preference, we would be glad to accommodate you, though it may take a few minutes for any particular table to be free. However, if you have no preference, if you would follow me..." he pauses to wait for Gabriel to interject, though if the man seems content with any table, he will lead him to an identical small table, two or three places away from the man in the dusty-red shirt. "Your waitress will be right with you," he will say.
Gabriel has no qualms about taking whatever table he's offered. He's simple and accepting, if nothing else. After weaving his way between the nicely laid-out Silver Spoon, he thanks his guide, settles his removed garments on one chair, and then plants himself carefully in another. After properly tucking his cloth napkin into his collar, his menu is lifted, and his eyes scan it. Of course, it's a little difficult to notice such a scruffy fellow in a nice establishment, and the other man is duly noted. But again, it's not like he's turning into a flaming red dragon blowing fire. Or is he? You never know these days.
Once Alex's milkshake and steak plate arrives, he seems quite content to recline in his chair. Balancing the plate on his stomach, and holding the tall glass in his hand, his feet rise - slowly, so as to not disturb the balancing act - to cross on the table. He gets a few glances and pursed lips from the staff, but there are no comments. He begins consuming the shake through the straw, eyes slowly closing.
Okay, sure, that's somewhat over-the-top of proper behavior in a nice establishment. If it were only Gabriel of course, there would be no issue. But it's a family establishment, and an upscale one at that. Kind of place where families come with easily influenced children. Lowering his menu, he turns his head enough to look at the other man and speaks, just loud enough to be heard, "Pardon me, sir. I wouldn't normally make this my business, but considering that these good people are trying to enjoy a little piece of class, this probably isn't the most appropriate place to dine like that." Wow. For all of his folksiness, Gabriel certainly seems to know his way around the upper-crust. Particularly people probably only trying to look upper-crust and impress people with their brazen asshole-ness.
Alex lets out a small, contented sigh as he enjoys his malt, Gabriel's words going generally unheeded, unless that yawn just now was directed towards him. No, probably not. But he continues slurping away before reaching - with a bit of a struggle - to slide it back onto his table. He looks down at his plate, smiling blissfully at the eggs before scooping one up in his spoon, tilting his head back, and popping it into his mouth.
Hmm. Okay, well, there is that. Obviously the lighting was poor, as Gabriel allows his menu to settle on the tabletop before him. He makes his own sigh, but not contented. One that says, "I hate this kind of person." But with that, he gently pushes his seat to the rear, stands, and walks over to the reclined man. While the other man is being rude to the entire establishment, the fellow from the ancient state of Kentucky manages to hold on to his polite dignity. "I'm sorry, sir, perhaps I wasn't heard. Judging by your suit and attitude, I can see that you may not have been raised in a way to know any better. Impressive, considering how I was raised." Gabriel's brow-line quirks as he rather belatedly asks, "Are you Alexandre Benet? If you are, I've been given the stupid cloak-and-dagger phrase, 'Sebastien sent me' to utter to you. If you're not... put your fucking feet on the floor, please."
Alex's eyes open as he deals with the yolk that was in the whole egg that he just began chewing. One finger comes up for a second as he smiles, finishing it. "A fresh, poached egg's nothing to rush. And go ahead, pull up a seat, order whatever you'd like - I'm not paying - and make sure you tip well when you leave. I am he, and I am not at all surprised that Mr. DuBois sent you. He seems to have a type, though I'm going to assume that from your phrasing, since this is the case, my feet can remain quite where they are. Oh, and I thoroughly recommend the malt, and the eggs - poached."
"You did parse my words correctly," Gabriel allows, pulling out a ten-dollar word of his own from wherever such things rattle around in his brain. "I'll eat later thanks. Prefer my own company." His drawl is thick, but his tone is low enough to not carry beyond this table - at least, not to normal human ears. "I understand that you've seen a - and let me quote this - 'deadly weapon' causing a 'peculiar fate to befall towns.' Care to expand on that?"
"The malts really are quite good," Alex maintains, sighing to himself before moving his plate to the table, "but if you don't want one, you don't want one." His feet slide off the table slowly before he continues with the conversation, "Impatient, judgmental, grudging, and proper," it's said without much inflection either way, "Though apparently tried to do a little bit of preparatory work, before hand. You're not quite on the nose about the facts, though. We can get to that in a moment, if you don't mind? Before I delve into what little I know about the matter, I'd like to hear more about you, seeing as how you've not so much as introduced yourself." He seems slightly amused by the irony of the previous lecture on manners.
"Gabriel. Gabriel Blaze." He smiles, and states flatly, "I'm not in the habit of putting all my cards on the table playing against someone I don't know, particularly when the other guy is the one who needs me, and I don't necessarily need him. You know what Sebastien - Mr. DuBois - was doing. I wouldn't have ever heard your name if he didn't think you might find me useful." The older man nods. "I'd appreciate your clearing the details for me, so I can help you out on whether or not Mr. DuBois was right about my potential usefulness."
"Direct, guarded, maybe a little arrogant," Alex says, "and while I am sure that Sebastien was wholly well intentioned - and without saying that you're not the best man for the job - you have to understand that I've been meeting with many mercenaries looking for simple employment. It really is a wonderful little city, and I've been enjoying it quite a bit, even with all the interruptions." He takes a sip of his shake, pausing with a brief aside, "You're sure you don't want to try some?" before continuing, "And the fact of the matter is, though I'm going to go ahead and oblige you, I'm the one picking out the group. So please, don't go thinking that I need you more than you need me. I'm sure we're both rather independent men without a care in the world - think of it as mutually beneficial. But, as you want to know what's happening, it's simple: There have been several incidents up along the warfront, whether it is a 'deadly weapon,' or something else entirely is wholly up for debate. We're not sure what it is, as if we were, there'd be no need for this little trip. Towns have been cleared out, destroyed, razed, whatever you'd like to call it - or at least, such is what they say. We are going to look into it. You have questions?" He picks up his knife to start on his steak.
The older man seems to genuinely not care about Alexandre's snap decisions about his personality. He then shakes his head again gently and pushes his hand toward the shake - indicating, "No thank you." Then, after some thought, Gabriel admits, "Yes, I have questions. How big are the towns? What kind of people live there? Humans? D-Bees? Both?" A pause to twitch his head to the side. "What's left when they're gone? Literally razed to the ground, nothing left? Buildings torched and burning? Intact, but nothing with a beating heart left in the area?" After a momentary lapse for thought, he then adds, "How many are 'several.' And honestly, why do you care? A stake in it, or just doing a good thing for the world?"
"Well, that depends who you ask. All of your questions," Alex admits, dipping his head lower as he takes a bite. "Our best estimate as to the number is probably somewhere between five and ten. They're spread through both sides of the conflict, including a few that are rather far from any of the fighting, which would indicate a healthy mixture of population types. As to the extent of the damage, or if there are any survivors, that's anybody's guess." Another bite and his eyes settle back on Gabriel, "As to the motivation behind the trip, there are quite a few things that it could be, some of them worse than others. It would likely be beneficial to everybody involved if the cause could be uncovered."
Gabriel leans forward slightly, his forearms resting on the edge on the table, his fingers clasped. "Okay, Mr. Benet. What, exactly -" the older man leans very heavily on that word "- is it that you're looking to do?"
Alex looks slightly amused at Gabriel's pressing, and continues eating his steak, "Exactly what I've said. Find out the cause of these rather unfortunate eventualities. Now, if you'd be so kind as to tell me exactly how you would fit into an escort for myself, I'd be rather glad to hear it. I think I've been rather obliging of your curiosity so far, after all. There's no point in going into further detail if you're not even a fit for the job."
"Mr. Benet." Gabriel allows a polite pause. "I'm asking you these questions to decide if I *can* be of any use to you. It would waste both our time for me to toss out a resume. If all you're talking is reconnaissance, that's been my profession for more than two decades now. But I'm a ground-pounder. Unless you're willing to wait a while for me to make it on foot up to the Front, living of the land and not being caught, do my recon, and report back, you're going to need -" the experienced man ticks off information on his fingers "-intelligence of the general disposition of the area. Air support. Transportation. Logistics." He then waves a hand behind him, toward the exit of the Silver Spoon. "This time of year, unless we're flying our way there, just traversing the ground and finding someplace warm to sleep is going to be a problem. But if you're willing to wait for a Lurrp, that's fine. But I'm not built for combat either. I'll tell you more if you tell me more. Mr. DuBois told me that you had a handle on the science. True or not, he seems to be under the impression that you do. Sounds like he may have been... perhaps not misled, but simply mis-heard?"
Alex sighs, a sigh perhaps the more pained for the parts of Gabriel's statement that make less sense than they might. "We are not attempting to infiltrate, and we are not attempting to come to blows with any major player on the front - because to be able to do that we would, as you say, need an army. I am not, Gabriel, looking for a fight. We will not be marching through Chi-town, and we will be attempting to avoid the fighting as best we can. That said, I would like an escort as I explore the area and look into the remnants of various towns. You are correct in that I am unsure of all of the travel plans - as this is a trip in the making. However, this will certainly all be sorted shortly. It will likely be a rather short trip, only a couple of days. You will be paid fifteen hundred to two thousand credits per day. In the eventuality that there is any salvage, I will briefly inspect it, and then it will be passed along to be split amongst the escort - I have very little interest in any, and even less in looting the bones of the fallen."
The Kentuckian really seems to let the mention of reward wash over him without notice. But he does pick up on, "Good. I like to be where I am and not be there. Just how many people are you expecting for your mission?" Then Gabriel pauses, tilts his head slightly, peers at the other fellow, and asks, "So, you're a scientist then? Looking to solve the mystery of missing towns?" His voice probably doesn't sound entirely convinced, but neither is it accusatory, and neither is it always very easy these days for people to pick up on those nuances from a thick, early 20th Century Appalachian drawl, anyway.
"I am an interested individual, though one presently interested in the disappearance of various towns. We shall leave it at that, for the moment. If you're interested, you can write your contact information on a napkin, and I will call you in for a meeting with the old man and the rest of the group. I have yet to decide on a specific size, but I plan on taking enough where I feel safe, and the situation merits. Do you have any further questions?" Alex doesn't quite sound annoyed, so much as tired.
"I didn't, but now I do. Who's the 'old man'?" Gabriel arches an eyebrow. "That's usually my name." He offers a bit of a smirk.
"If you're interested, you'll meet him at the briefing before the trip, as well as the rest of the interested parties," Alex says brightly, regaining his former composure.
The older man shrugs, sick and tired of playing shit games with arrogant fucks that seem to be 90% of the people who inhabit this Earth. You need a fight, plan to fight. You need recon, you plan recon. You need something more complex, then you at least sit down and decide what it is you want to do before trying to hire people who may not do you any good. The Marine Raiders weren't stupid fucks, the Company wasn't a dumb organization. People with brains to properly organize for a particular contingency. Truth be told, if it weren't for the fact that the man was at least suggesting that innocent men, women, and children were being killed indiscriminately, Gabriel would have offered up only a "Good luck and thanks for considering me." However, those unusual circumstances have been floated out there, something that he cannot allow to pass without at least more information. Couldn't rest with his own soul if he didn't at least learn more. Thus it is that he waves a waitress over and borrows her pen. He does not write on a napkin, though, as they are cloth. Instead, he turns again to the waitress, and uses the back of a torn-off piece of scratch paper to write down his first and last name, a radio frequency and code, and the world "RECON" in block letters. It is handed over to the other man, and he begins to rise. "You can contact me over the air. I'm usually available any time of day."
"Wonderful," Alex says, smiling warmly, "And if you make it back through here again, really, I can't recommend the malt enough."
Gabriel sketches the sloppy kind of salute that a military man sometimes offers to a civilian who has absolutely no sway over him whatsoever. "Mr. Benet," he states simply, then moves back to his table, re-tucks his cloth napkin, and resumes scanning his menu, a smile once again on a very relaxed face.
