exsiliumlogs | [closed] a man inside a room is shaking hands with other men

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[closed] a man inside a room is shaking hands with other men

Date & Time: Present, early evening
Location: A nondescript building at the heart of New Exsilium.
Characters: Caesar Silverberg, Wayne Malloy, Roslyn Small, Mike Ehrmantraut(?), Luke Skywalker, Munakata Reishi(?), Charlie Cutter, Cockroach Collette and the New Initiative
Summary: A group of Transports meets with the New Initiative to gather intel on the UE in the current timeline.
Warnings: Minor swearing, political intrigue
Notes: To encourage the resolution of this log, there's no posting order. Be considerate to your fellow players, but don't hesitate to tag around them!

Say what you will about this new version of the Initiative - they at least knew how to do the underground rebellion bit right. While Lowell had set up the meeting, Charlie (and presumably no one else) knew any of the details until the day of when a young woman came knocking on his door and rather curtly informed him that he was to follow her if he wanted to do business. Shrugging into his coat, Charlie followed. Any questions he asked along the way were politely, but firmly rebuffed.

Which is how he finds himself being smuggled through the bloody front door a nondescript building in a bustling (relatively speaking) neighborhood of the capitol and into a moderately furnished front room. The Initiative woman leads the way through to a comparatively barren side room, marked for its spartan furnishing of only a large table with a number of chairs. There's a fire crackling away in a fireplace with a bowing mantle, but it's all a bit grim.

The woman doesn't stay - allowing only a simple "Wait here," before sliding away and closing the door behind her. Charlie doesn't take a seat, but rather busies himself with anxiously stoking the fire with the poker laid across the mantle. He should've kept out of this, he thinks.

It isn't long before his associates (not, he reminds himself, partners in crime) arrive in intervals, escorted by similarly tight lipped men and women of various shapes, ages and sizes. Charlie greets the lot of them cheerfully enough - handshakes and easy grins - but once the last of the Transports arrives, he finds himself trying to keep from pacing as the minutes stretch out and no one else - certainly no representative of the New Initiative - enters the room. Finally, he stows the fire iron and takes a seat at the table.

"Well, hopefully they're not planning to make an example of us, eh?"

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"I don't think they are," Luke replies with a shrug, "I'm not... getting anything hostile off of them. Just suspicion, maybe some fear."

He's gotten better at reading people over his last few months in Exsilium. It's a bit strange, but reading surface emotions has become natural. Almost second nature. He shoots Charlie a grin, "Besides, this is how we'd act back home if we were pulling in a bunch of people we didn't know anything about."

He's not wrong, but Charlie would vastly prefer to not be made to squirm; he's rather susceptible to it - made totally evident by the way he picks absently at his cuticles, setting his hands on the table and then withdrawing them into his lap in turns.

"Fair enough, though I've things to do this evening. Sooner would be better." He says it lightly, though is only half joking.

Caesar didn't even wait to see if the New Initiative's representative was going to join them right away before taking a seat himself, already sure they'll make them sit and wait long enough for them to start getting antsy.

"If that's true, you really are a poor planner," he speaks up, probably also half joking.

Probably.

"They'll send someone along when they feel like it. We just have to deal with the wait."

"Oi, oi - enough of that from you." It's just as mild a return, though Charlie underlines it with a sharp little glance in Caesar's direction. He likes to think of himself as not being particularly threatened by a child, no matter how bright the boy happens to be.

"At least they've put us somewhere warm for the time being."

Warm, he thinks. What, then, do you think we should blame for all the trembling?

But he's quiet, a picture of resolute composure where he's seated himself in a chair closer to the fireplace. His hands are folded over his crossed legs; his gaze is steady as he scans the room and its current inhabitants; the number of times he's chanced to look at the door through which their guides had exited could easily be counted on one hand.

And as much as he's certainly luxuriating in the trapped rat sensation saturating the air of the room, there's still business to be done. "While we're waiting," he begins, tone mild and almost cordial with its interruption, "I don't suppose we have an idea of an order?

"Is there someone in particular who would like the floor, first?"

Enough of that from him, huh? The warning is enough to draw a smirk out of Caesar, but he won't go off again on insulting the man, joke or no. They needed some semblance of working together, after all.

That in mind, it's a good a time as any to sit back to actually take in who else ended up here. Admittedly, he only knows Charlie just well enough to make some predictions on how he might act. Whether those are accurate or not, time would tell. The others, though, haven't left too much of a trail all over the network.

"An order? This is a discussion, not a speech," Caesar replies in a bored tone that they'd soon become familiar with, provided he ends up talking enough. "At most, I'd suggest letting Mr. Fearless Leader over there open with introductions."

Seeing how the poor, unfortunate man actually ended up making an appearance. Clearly it's only right to make him even more the uncomfortable center of attention for that, right?

He's not built for this - the minor digs and mild, half serious half joking bickering. The sort of work he runs tends to be fueled by hot tempers and sharp tongues, more likely to end in a scuffle than a battle of wits (usually; there have certainly been exceptions to the rule, but no one ever employs him expecting him to be the clever one). For all his bluster on and off the network, this is different. This is trying - being expected - to maintain a certain level of civility; the mantle is visibly ill fitting on his broad shoulders as he shifts in his chair, irritably uncomfortable over the attention directed straight back at him.

"Caesar is right. We're just here to have a conversation with them, not to talk their bloody ears off."

The last thing Caesar ever needs to hear is that he's right, but Collette figures he likes hearing it anyway. She feels out of practice, her first time morphing for over a year, and scared out of her wits.

This is one hell of a high.

Dropping down to the floor and under Caesar's seat, she takes careful stock of the lights and shadows that informed her cockroach self what is safe (hide hide hide hide hide) and what is not (run run run run run run). She's interested in listening in on what wasn't being said at this meeting, as much as what was being said in the first place.

As long as she's careful timing her movements, this will be fine. She'll avoid thinking about what happens after she demorphs. Collette thought speaks Caesar, listening to the vibrations helping to inform her world.

< Cockroach on the loose! Be loud if you need me for something, but in the meantime, make sure no one stomps on the moving shadows! >

One big plus side to Doug (Wayne)'s recent rebellion against sleep and anything that isn't keeping busy in some way is that he's too numbed to feel nervous or unprepared for this meeting, regardless of the fact that he is at least partially the latter. The tiredness has brought forth determination, which in turn makes him feel capable of just about anything.

He still slumps a little in his chair, arms crossed on the table to help him keep his head up. Pleasantries are a little more difficult.

"So," he begins, though his throat is sore enough that he clears it so as not to open with a false start. "What does anyone think the odds are here of being taken seriously, anyway?"

Charlie doesn't actually know, though the fact that they've even agree to meet them is probably a good sign. If the new initiative really has no interest in hearing what they had to say, there'd have been no point to even bothering with any of this back room skullduggery.

"Oh, I expect there's an even chance at least."

So long as none of them botch it by choking on their own feet.

It takes a colossal effort to show no reaction to Collette's thought-speak. Caesar would have preferred she didn't take the chance of morphing, even less preferred that it was inevitably going to be her most squishy of forms, but any argument against it had been refuted, some outright ignored. In the end, if she wanted to risk it, so be it.

He had other things to worry about right now.

"They wouldn't waste the time or take the risk if they weren't at least a little bit interested. It's not as though we can track them down easily on our own."

What Charlie's thinking, Caesar says outright. It's not such an uncommon view of the meeting (well, eventual meeting) so far.

Edited 2014-01-30 04:09 (UTC)

Two pairs of footsteps sounded heavily along the hall, muted by the door. They come to an inevitable stop just short of it, and a hesitation follows. Muffled mumbling, a sudden spike in volume ("I know that!") and a hushing grumble.

The door opens, and the pair of footsteps lead a pair of older, hardy-looking men inside, one much longer in years than the other. They both wore a lot of toil on their faces, however; this was the terrain for it. While the elder coolly scanned the bodies already in the room, the younger's eyes darted from one face to another with a great deal more scrutiny.

"Stoker," says the elder, gesturing to the younger. His hand settles on his own chest as he nods. "N'I'm Key."

"You rang," deadpanned Stoker.

Charlie goes sharp and still at the sound of footsteps in the hall, gaze training around to the door. If he has something in mind for what the people they're going to be dealing with will look like -- well, the pair of men aren't wildly far off, but there's a difference between theoretically having a meeting with some underground rebellion leaders and actually doing it for real. Their passage through the door and into the room does a damn good job of making it the latter--

(And Christ, what the hell is he doing here?)

--He shifts up from his chair, shuffling a little awkwardly to his feet. He doesn't look the part of a diplomat, though few of them probably do.

"Yeah. Evening. Thank you for meeting with us."

Doug remains skeptical of outcome, but he pays attention when the men walk in; he sits up straight, making sure his coat and tie aren't wrinkled and that everything's in relative order despite his exhaustion. What now -- are they supposed to stand? Shake hands?

"Hi," he says, standing after Charlie does. He offers a hand anyway, not knowing what else the etiquette could be but assuming it at least wouldn't hurt. "We don't wanna take up more of your time than we have to... might as well just get started, huh? Yeah."

He isn't planning on starting himself though, of course, so he gestures toward the group as he withdraws back toward his chair. Not that he doesn't have anything to say, but it's nothing to open with.

Following the rest, Caesar gets to his feet, though he has no intention of approaching their two new arrivals. Instead, he'll move on with what he'd originally said Charlie should do, but the man has already spoken. Waiting to be asked for names wouldn't look good on them, so he moves right along to return Key and Stoker's introductions with their own.

"I'm Caesar," he begins, then moves on, gesturing next to Charlie. "And that's Charlie. The rest are Wayne, Luke, and Munakata."

He'll motion towards each person as he introduces them, putting faces to names for Key and Stoker. He won't say anything else, though, since someone's already thanked them for agreeing to meet and there's no need to repeat that.

Luke follows the example of the rest and pushes to his feet. Despite the tension and the bluntness of their host, he has a grin on his face. It's nice to finally meet someone. He nods as Caesar introduces them, "Hello. It's good to be here."

Not much else to say for now.

Unlike all the polite men in the area, Collette was cockroaching off and slipping under the door to hide in the shadows on the far side. She tucked herself under a wallboard, listening to any sounds and for any people on this side of the entrance.

She wanted to know if this was really a safe meeting location, and if there was anything percolating that they could all stand to know.

Taking stock of her current situation, she slowly, carefully, moves down the hall.

Stoker does indeed accept Wayne's handshake, and his grip is one of those overly tight ones that dares the other person to react, delivered with a stony face. The two men lock eyes with each as they're introduced by Caesar, and by the end, Stoker nods.

"Take a seat." Unspoken, let's get this over with. Stoker follows his own advice, and he and Key take the two chairs set at the head of the table. Once he's settled, he adds, in not a terribly accommodating tone, "Now, what can we do for you gentlemen."

Collette will find other bodies in the building; most of them are armed, and all of them are wary. None of them have their attention focused toward the room, though. It would suggest that this isn't a trap situation, but rather a defensive one. You never know when the UE might order a swift strike, and the presents of Transports in this building lays exactly no fears to rest.

Charlie sits back down - purposeful to keep from being abrupt and therefore slightly awkward. "Right." And here's the reason why he's better at being courted - business like this shouldn't be hard, but he's never played it much from this end of things. Independent contractor is, in a lot of ways, an easier gig than this.

"Look, we know you've got no reason to trust us any farther than you can throw us. But if we're going to do what needs to be done - what both of us, I think, want -, then it'd be better for all of us if we started working together instead of pissing upwind of one another. Which means we need information from you; we're willing to negotiate something in return for it."

Straight shot, painfully to the point.

Once again following suit, Caesar returns to his own seat. He does sit somewhat straighter now, more attentive than before, but not nervously so. He's observing for now. While Charlie cuts straight to the chase, he isn't willing to step in quite yet to suggest what exactly they can offer in return for the information.

First he wants to see their reaction to what's already been said. In all honesty, it was probably expected. Why else would they be here, if not to try and strike a deal of some sort?

With how tenuous the relations between the groups are, however, he isn't about to jump in assuming that.

There's a second where the younger of the two looks resentful — petulant, even. But he smooths it over in the next breath and sits still and calm, back straight. No, it isn't surprising, not in the slightest.

"We'll need specifics before we can agree to anything," he says flatly. "What are you looking for?"

Silence until spoken to seems to be his prerogative tonight, as unusual as it is coming from someone like him.

Still, he understands there's the bare minimum to work with, and common courtesy dictates that he should at least go through the motions of what it means to be a member of an engaged audience. And so, the bow of his head comes easy when he's introduced; so, too, does the standing, the sitting, the waiting, and the watching. There's tension in the room thick enough to be sliced through with a knife, and the fact remains that there's no trust here, nothing more to work with than the fear of uncertainty and a group of people too guarded to have the 'conversation' this was arranged to be.

As much as he appreciates Charlie's precise efforts and straightforward demeanor, it's difficult to distract from the way the man fidgets nervously, from the slight clumsiness accenting his lead.

"As it goes, we've the same objective," Reishi offers, in the softer tones of a man with more tact and an awfully keen knowledge of how to use it. "And we're up against the same enemy. What we are looking for essentially lies in what information you might be willing to give."

At least he knows better than to attempt a smile. He's intentionally vague, composed and unhurried; if they need to rush, then perhaps the Initiative should provide a ten minute warning. "In this, we hope to find the best way to stage a counterattack, so to speak -- without getting in the way of your progress in the meantime. What better way to achieve this, we thought, than by ensuring that we're all on the same page."

A pause.

"Or as close to it as you might permit."

"Gotta admit," says Key, shifting to a more comfortable slouch in his chair, "feels kinda like..." He squints, glancing at Stoker while he fishes for the words. "'Dunno, seems like somethin'. Nevermind that, lost the thought. Guess my better question is...besides the obvious, who's all in on this? No offense, but y'don't seem like an incredibly organized bunch."

The cockroach getting a sense of the building notes how the other occupants she's running across are not focused inward, per say, but on alert for something. It's not difficult to guess at it being the United Earth, given the lack of other large, imposing organizations to come down hard on this group, but she still carefully scuttles closer to a few people, trying to hear anything they say.

"We're not."

Which is blunt and probably more honest than he's entirely certain is good to be, but he'd rather the ball in their court than his. Comfort is about control and Charlie'd much rather give them some element of it to begin with - makes people more willing to work with you when they think they've started on the high ground.

He makes an impatient gesture to the other Transports surrounding the table - they're a small, sloppy mismatch of a delegation. No one in their right mind would've picked these people to do this and it's not worth pretending otherwise.

"But in this case, that's working in our favor. If we do something, they won't have a choice but to fall in line."

Charlie can speak for himself, as Caesar would have gladly picked himself every time. He isn't exactly interested in the role of delegate, but he is a little more suited to it than most other Transports would have been.

"And because between those already here, we'd be able to get the ones who actually matter on board with a plan," he adds, trying to give Charlie's statement a little more definition.

It isn't a lie, not really. There's still a ridiculous chunk of people loyal to that bald old man for some inane reason or other, while he himself has a few aces up the sleeve he can pull out if necessary. The others, well, like he'd been thinking before, he didn't know them well, but if they were here, they might have something yet.

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[closed] a man inside a room is shaking hands with other men

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this is totally what a cockroach looks like (sssh)

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