Log:Noir Interludes, Scene 1

Noir Interludes 2016/01/30 Breach Griffin Quiet Indira 1

For being a plant-based alien life form, Indira seems to get an inordinate number of invitations to events at the Colonial Bay Yacht Club. Once again our stalwart ambassador finds herself exiting the embassy car - driven by one Orlan Diaz - with Violet Wyndell and Rick Mason in tow. Well, technically Violet is in tow. Rick Mason got out ahead of Indira and helped her out of the car once he was certain there were no immediate threats to her life in the vicinity.

It is at this point, on the second page of Untold Tales of Diplomacy, that the comic transitions from full color to a primarily black-and-white format. As Rick helps Indira and Violet out of the embassy car a black narrative box appears overhead with bold white lettering.

Luck is one dame you never want to offend. Whether you consider Luck to be a lady-friend or a mistress or even just a vague acquaintance, you'll always pay for any slight you send her way. Tonight, Rick Mason's going to pay for cursing his luck... One way or another.

Those last four words are in a seperate cell, right over a close-up picture of Rick Mason's face. His Smart Shades and Earbuds are in visibly in place, his lips compressed into a professionally tight line as he turns away from Indira and Violet to survey the path between the car and the entrance to the restaurant again. Astute observers may notice a humanoid silhouette reflected on his Smart Shades.

Quiet never believed in luck. She is never one to rely upon it, at the least. Misfortune? She does her best to prepare for that. This is precisely why, upon awareness of Indira travelling, she follows. That and possibly a bit of boredom.

She floats overhead, cloaked, as they exit the vehicles. It's not that she doesn't trust Rick. She does, and already has. It could turn out to be a welcome social call. Indira rises up from the back seat of the black embassy car, dressed in a long sleeved dark green dress that looks more like an evening gown then robes of state. Violet slips out after her, dressed more like she is ready for office work.

Indira has recovered most of her natural coloring again, but she's still not her full, usually healthy(?) blue. She should probably still be resting, but duty calls.

For some men, Luck's grip on their life can shift from a lover's touch to the cruel hand of Fate. Even Quiet, who does not believe in Luck, cannot deny the effect it can have on lives.

Rick tips his head slightly as he observes the Senator's aide approaching Indira. There is a long pause before Rick steps backward, the Undead Soldier apparently having decided that the young man in the expensive, but off-the-rack suit is not an obvious threat to Indira's safety. He looks over Indira's shoulder at Violet and bobs his head - apparently indicating that it's her turn to shine - before he "melts" comfortably into the hustle and bustle in front of the Yacht Club.

"Ambassador! It's good to meet you, I'm Alvin Sidaris - Senator Thompson's aide - I'll show you and your team to the Senator's table for your meeting."

Alvin stands about 5'7" tall and has a terribly reedy physique that makes his suit look just a little too big in the wrong places. He appears to be Caucasian, though with a tan that could be Hispanic or Mediterranean, and he wears his brown hair in a high, tight buzz cut that makes him look like the most studious frat boy ever to survive Hell Week's alcohol poisoning. Quite chipperly, Alvin extends a hand toward Indira for a handshake while his dark eyes scan over both Indira and Violet with curiosity.

Just because she doesn't believe in it, doesn't mean she wholly denies it's effects. Such as this ...group. Even at her most formal, she isn't. Seems she came best dressed for this, afterall. Namely, not visible. She gives the approaching stick of a not-quite socialite a thorough watching, though is not so concerned when Rick isn't. He's the boots on the ground at the moment.

She does settle down softly to the ground on the other side of the vehicle (to better hide her landing) before moving to keep the trio in easy sight and near vicinity. Also, frat boys? Really? What a bunch of pansies.

"Mr. Sidaris. A pleasure. Please, lead us." Indira accepts Alvin's hand and shakes it politely. Lightly. Indira appears aloof as ever with her alien calm and small smile. As she releases his hand and clasps her own together.

That's when Violet steps in and up to Indira's side, having been given the nonverbal go ahead from Rick. She has her usual tablet clutched to herself, prepared to take notes or rearrange calendars at a moment's notice. Unknown to all but Rick, Griffin is near by as well. Here at Rick's request, which was peppered with a little more paranoia than Griffin was used to. He couldn't say no. So instead he arrived earlier and went inside the club to give the place a once over. Beyond his headset, he's dressed very smartly. A simple black suit does the job well. He continues passing by the restrooms of the restaurant for one more check before the Ambassador & Rick arrive.

Alvin almost looks surprised when Indira simply shakes hands with him. Maybe he's heard stories about Indira's Asrani embrace? Or maybe he just wasn't expecting an alien to conform to human social conventions? It is mysterious. Taking a moment to recollect himself, Alvin smiles and nods, gesturing for Indira and Violet to start walking toward the restaurant.

Quick on the ladies' heels, Alvin steps up alongside of them as he starts chattering. It is, as ever, the sort of mindless politics talk that comic books find excuses to obscure the text bubbles. Something about an appropriations bill and extra-solar communications; something something something The Dark Side (of the moon); something complimentary about Indira's outfit.

Rick Mason moves along behind the trio, his hands at his sides. Once he's sure that Alvin's attention is solely focused on Indira and Violet, Rick quietly speaks into his subvocal microphone.

"We all clear inside, Griff?"

"Confirmed. All clear." Griffin says simply as he clears the last bathroom stall. He turns to head for the main dining hall, but first he stops in front of the mirror to make sure his tie is straight.

Looking very dapper, he returns to the dining room floor to pick up the tail of the incoming Ambassador's entourage. Indira has spared Alvin and most first-time meetings of the customary Asrani Embrace. All those stern lectures about human personal space may finally have sunk in. If only all the other lectures had, such as no running off by yourself.

The Ambassador walks along in long, slow strides as she listens, yet her eyes focus on ahead towards the restaurant. Her silence makes Alvin's chatter all the more obvious. "Thank you, Mr. Sidaris. Have you been with the Senator long?" she finally speaks, breaking out into human small talk.

Violet steps along Indira's other side, opposite Alvin, already starting to take notes of the things Alvin mentions on her tablet.

"Copy. Delivery complete in 6 seconds," remarks Rick. He follows Indira, Violet, and Alvin right up to the doors to the yacht club restaurant. Rick even nobly holds the doors for them to pass through before releasing his grip on the door. Turning to regard the path across which the group has already trod, Rick quirks an eyebrow.

Quiet may, for a moment or two, feel like Rick is looking her dead in the eyes. It is a sensation that will pass as it probably has many times in the past. Sometimes people look directly into the eyes of the invisible, but are utterly unaware of their presence. Things like that are a natural consequence of invisibility, the true measure of an operator is whether they can keep their cool in the face of such a potentially unsettling sensation.

What no one really appreciates is what it feels like to make a fateful decision. People no longer understand what it feels like to make a small decision, ordinarily insignificant, that will utterly change their life. It could ruin their life or it could make their life immeasurably better, which side of the line is the real roll of Fate's dice.

"I've been with the Senator for two years, ma'am," replies Alvin to Indira. He carefully guides the two ladies in his tow toward a table on a raised seating area. By some manner of fortune, it is in direct sunlight as a result of the wall and part of the ceiling being made of weather-resistant glass panes. The Senator, from the looks of things, is a surprisingly fit-looking African-American man in his late 40's or, perhaps, his early 50's.

Clad in a very handsomely tailored blue suit with a black silk shirt, Senator Thompson has a distinctive look to him that one does not often see in politicians. His hair is only just starting to grey - silver, really - and he keeps it cropped in a fashion that might make Griffin think of blaxploitation films from the 1970's. The Senator doesn't look like he fell out of a blaxploitation film, but there is something about his medium-length hair that feels like it belongs there.

When Senator Thompson notices his aide arriving with Indira and Violet in tow, the Senator stands up from the table and his crystal tumbler of Coke & booze. It's impossible to tell, at the moment, what kind of alcohol got mixed into that Coke, but it'll come up sooner or later, one can be sure. Smiling brightly, the Senator extends a hand toward the ladies as he speaks up in a smooth voice, possibly supplied by Laurence Fishburne, "Good afternoon, ladies! It's a pleasure to meet you both. Certainly you've made the sun shine a little brighter on my day."

Indira bows her head and smiles softly, genuinely, as Rick opens the door for them. Once she passes the threshold and looks ahead, her usual business smile returns. As they approach Senator Thompson's table, Violet is vaguely aware of the old-fashioned hairstyle, but Indira is oblivious to the significance.

"Good afternoon, Senator Thompson," Indira says smoothly in her unidentifiable yet somehow familiar sounding accent. She could be a candidate for a Bond woman with an accent like that. Her smile grows warmer and she extends both hands to clasp Senator Thompson's in a friendly handshake. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I must thank you for your kind invitation."

Griffin makes sure to keep to the outside of the room while Rick holds the rear of Indira's retinue. No plant left unchecked. No exit door checked for secure closure, and no chair left unturned.

He whispers to Rick over comms, 'So you gonna tell me what's got your feathers ruffled?'

Paranoia comes with the job, but Swinson has clearly got the Undead Soldier spooked.

"Maybe later," replies Rick.

Griffin keeps Indira & Co. under surveillance from a discreet distance. It would probably work better if Griffin - or anyone else on this team of mercenaries - had Shadowing, but it's not like the Colonial Bay Yacht Club is unfamiliar with the needs of private security and/or politicians and similar VIPs. Despite the moderate crowds packing the restaurant at this lovely lunch hour, no one seems to be paying Griffin much attention as he keeps an eye on Indira, Violet, and their hosts for the late lunch meeting.

"Oh psshaw, don't go judging my motivations before we have our meeting, Ambassador. I'm sure you'll find my invitation's nothing but self-serving by the time we're done."

Alvin clears his throat as he holds out a chair for Indira. Nervously looking over at Senator Thompson before looking over to Indira, Alvin suggests, "I believe the Senator means that he reached out to you because he has questions about an appropriations bill and considering the current state of affairs between United Earth and the Guild, you seemed like someone who might provide more truthful answers to those questions."

Quirking a silver-streaked eyebrow, Senator Thompson glances over his shoulder toward Alvin to inquire, "Isn't that what I said, son?"

"No, but it's what was on your mind, yes?" Indira says in some defense of Alvin, but she appreciates some of the Senator's brutal honesty of his intentions.

She bows her head politely to Alvin before sitting down gracefully in the chair he pulled for her. Her posture is tall and dignified, reminiscent of royalty. After all, she is descended from nobility on her home planet of Asra Prime. Which may be part of why she has a rebellious streak and a desire to run away from her duties and her guard to explore things and enjoy some freedom on occasion.

Basking in the sunlight, she replies calmly, "If I am able to answer your questions, I will try to provide some explanation."