2010-01-29: Blast from the Past



Date: January 29th, 2010


Adam is surprised by a figure from his past. This one doesn't want to kill him. At the moment.

"Blast from the Past"

Fly By Night Cocktail Bar

If one wants to find Adam Monroe, there's definitely a few places in the city where they should look. All of them happen to serve alcohol, coincidentally. Following the events of a genuine near-death experience, the immortal man has settled right back into his normal routine; happy hour, all day, everyday. It's a little challenging though when you can't exactly get drunk, no matter how much you might actually want to.

Today's bar of choice happens to be a rather upscale cocktail bar; the drinks are bright, fruity, and expensive. Maybe his treatment at the hands of a jilted lover has sent him to this place to be "romantic," or maybe he's just tired of the smokey, dingy, cheap bars he'd otherwise frequent. Either way, Monroe has staked out a place at the bar. He's solidified and reinforced his position with a veritable fort of glass bottles and martini glasses on the bar around him, the bill escalating to near-astronomical levels as he chugs down the 15-dollar drinks like water. Back to the door, he's clearly not expecting anyone to show up for him here, but he can't help but look back over his shoulder to see if any of Natsumi's thugs are going to jump him again.

"Long time no see," says a voice from the past during one of those convenient moments when Adam just so happens to be focused on his fifteen dollar drinks, not his paranoia. It's easy to seemingly appear out of nowhere when a crowd drifts past, the alcohol is flowing and music drifts from the speakers.

That is just what Angela Petrelli seems to do — appear out of nowhere — as she sits casually upon the seat next to Adam as if invited. Her words are delivered acerbically, dry. "Can't say as I've mourned our time apart." The Petrelli matriarch is looking as immaculate as always, except, perhaps, more tired; showing her years. She wears a black leather jacket, neatly fitting. She doesn't look at Adam; she looks ahead, folding her hands on the polished bar. "I'm glad to see you seem to have given up your grand plans in favour of wasting your immortality on cocktail hour." A tight smile is given, still without so much as a glance aside; it's at the bartender, who she waves over. "Kudos," she tells Adam. No; truly. Better this than the alternative.

When she slides up to the bar, Adam is actually forced to blink a few times. He's not drunk. At least, he shouldn't be. He can't be. But yet, how the heck? "Cripes woman…how do you do that?" he rhetorically, in reference to her ability to just appear. He knows right well how she knew he'd be here. "And…I've had other opportunities to pursue. I might be old as dirt, but even I can mature." The conversation begins in a civil tone; past events are thinly covered up by faux civility and biting sarcasm. "I expect you have a reason for being here, then? Everything you do has a reason, as I recall."

Angela glances at the immortal man for a split second, her gaze dark, biting as her own voice. Her focus splits calmly between Adam and the bartender. "Unfortunately — Chardonnay? — fate sometimes has a sense of humour. I hope your schedule isn't busy," she says with no small amount of offhand sarcasm. "It appears your skills are needed, and I'm not talking about your ability to drink."

"And here I was getting my hopes up," he says, as he motions to the bartender with one upraised finger from the bartop. A nod of his head, and the universal code for 'another one of those, please' is given to the bartender. "As for my schedule…let me check." He makes no move at all to procure a datebook, a PDA, or even pantomime getting one out. Rather, he just sits at the bar in silence a minute, waiting for his drink. "Nope. Nothing on my schedule," he says to Angela with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. "What type of job is it, this time? The last time our interests lined up, the Company was born. I hope you don't hold it against me if I avoid that this time around."

"Hardly. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather have you locked up in that very Company, there's less hassle that way, but— " Angela gives a brisk shrug, a lift of her brows, a bitter roll of her eyes; like she said, fate has a sense of humour this time around. Besides which, there is nowhere to lock Adam away, not right now, not anymore. She accepts her glass of chardonnay and sips before going on. Her tone is casual, now, blending in with any average conversation at the cocktail bar despite the subject matter being rather stand-out on its own. "I need you to find a way to get you and two others to Haiti without drawing attention."

"Well now…that's quite the job." Glorified chauffer. "I'm sure something can be arranged. Commercial air. Private air. There's not much I can't do." His connections run a lot deeper than he'd like to admit, or that Angela would probably want to know about; you make a lot of friends, and a lot of money, when you live for centuries. "Private jet may work. Totally off the books, of course. Just a wealthy investor setting his sights on investing in a Hatian locale for a plant or some such…" he muses. "What, persay, is in Haiti that requires such immediate attention? Or do I not have the proper security clearance for that?"

"Samedi," Angela answers immediately, forgoing any and all comment on Adam's various musings of competence. "A man who can't be killed. Something I'm sure you know a little something about. Unlike you, he won't live forever. He needs to be stopped." Another sip of chardonnay. After setting the glass back upon the bar, she pushes the sleeve of her coat back just so to glance at her watch.

"Intriguing," Adam comments, with a sage nod. "Enough so that I graciously accept." It's a challenge. A big one. Darnit if Hiro didn't make these sorts of challenges out to be just a little fun, and don't even get started about the rewards! Seeing as how he's in charge of the travel plans, he figures a line of communication other than precognitive dream meetings might be prudent; from within his jacket, he pulls out a business card; it has Takezo Kensei written on one side in kanji, and on the back, his hand-written phone number. That too goes onto the bar, right along side her glass.

The card is whisked from its place and examined with a vague raised brow. "The oh-so-great Takezo Kensei hasn't lost his roots." As if she were there to know his roots. Angela Petrelli may be wise, but the truth is that Adam has a many a year on even her. "Well, I hope you're up for being a hero." There may be mocking in the woman's tone but her lips twist into as smirk as those knowing eyes of hers glance to Adam. She takes a number out of her own jacket pocket, hers on a bit of notepaper. "The first is mine," she says as she slides it along the bar. "The second is that of one of your fellow…" A pause. "…travellers. She's a very important girl. And she happens to have the map. Tell her I sent you."

He only glances at the piece of paper briefly as he folds it and tucks it safely away inside his wallet…which he leaves out so that he can settle his tab for the night. "I'll give her the heads up," he says with a nod. "I guess this is an ASAP sort of thing, hm?" Just trying to get all the little duckies in a row, even if it'll just take one or two calls to line up the jet for the flight down. Strange though that she wouldn't send that one son of hers, the one that can fly, down there; seems like he'd be a good candidate for the job.

If only it were that easy. But no, instead of Nathan, she's left with Adam Monroe. Angela answers his question at first without needing to say a thing, given than she stands up in front of the bar, leaving her half-empty glass (life and glimpses of the future have not made Angela Petrelli an optimist). "I wouldn't waste much time."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License