2007-08-26: Desperately Seeking Sasha


Mariska_icon.gif Mohinder_icon.gif

Summary: Someone has information about her daughter's disappearance…

Date It Happened: August 26th, 2007

Desperately Seeking Sasha

Downtown, NYC - Isaac's Loft

Is it pure coincidence? The flyers all over town… the capture of Felix Ivanov, the testing of one little girl… It's as if the hunted just suddenly fell into the laps of those searching. The situation is all too neat, so Mohinder is proceeding with caution. One of Mariska's flyers was procured; he called the number, introduced himself and made arrangements to meet with the woman at his lab on Reed Street. Away from Company facilities, but not out of their sight. He's not exactly sure how this will go, or just how much he will do… not a very good start to the meeting… but it needs to be handled with caution.

Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action. So says Ian Fleming. There's a tell-tale 'knock knock knock'ing that heralds a long-awaited arrival; the rapping rapid and resolute. The silhouette framed on frosted glass suggests Mohinder's visitor is feminine and possibly… a bit shorter than is noted in her file.

Even as he was expecting Mariska, the knocking still catches him off guard. Dressed in his normal casual attire, the jeans, out of fashion shirts… he heads up to the door to answer. The sound of locks disengaging is heard before the door opens. "Misha Dmitryeva?" he greets with a cautionary smile.

And… there she is. All five feet and some spare seven inches, dark hair, light eyes, long nose, pointed chin; her face is written with remarkable angles and lines that make for sharp expressions. Right now, she looks to be intensely interested in both the man who has greeted her and the place wherein she's being greeted. "You are Doctor Suresh?" she queries, chin lifted and head tilted to the right ever so slightly.

"I am, please come inside Miss Dmitryeva." Mohinder steps back, allowing Misha room to walk past and into the lab's entrance. "I apologize for being vague on the phone with you. It wasn't a secure connection." Behind him, the lab is a converted loft. The imposing mural from the late Isaac Mendez on the floor, easels containing whiteboards with scientific looking scribbles and the low hum of electronics from the lab itself.

Misha's first steps into the lap are long and striding, despite the unusual, visual culture clash; murals and microscopes, side by side. For the time being, both of her hands keep themselves occupied with clinging to her messenger bag even while it still hangs from her shoulder. (The better to keep it from inadvertently slinging into something breakable and/or expensive, eh?) Her eyes rove relentlessly, however, as if she might be trying to commit every little detail of this particular place to memory. But, what's this about a secure connection? "You sound just fine to me," she says, her words blanketed beneath a thick Soviet sway. She must not quite have understood what he meant. "What information do you have?"

The language barrier is to be expected. Mohinder was ready for the Russian accent, and possible issues, he's read her file. He gestures for her to follow him down into the lab. "Miss Dmitryeva, before I say too much…” He pauses to stop and choose his words carefully so that he's hopefully not misunderstood. "I am a geneticist… I work with people who are not normal. I think I know who has your daughter and why." Just a white lie, really.

Suddenly, the artful layout of the lab doesn't seem nearly as interesting or important as the man currently occupying it with her. Mohinder has, in the span of ten tiny words, garnered Mariska's undivided and complete attention. Her eyes fix on the young doctor's face and she has no fear of looking him in the eye to ask, "Do you know where she is?" This is the most important question in Misha's mind right now; the who and the why are subsidiary to location, location, location.

"I have an idea as to where she is." Mohinder refuses to confirm or deny any details just yet. He has something to do first. He leads Mariska into the lab and gestures to one of the stools if she would like to have a seat. There's a fresh pot of tea on, as he was expecting a visitor. "Would you like something to drink?" he offers as he prepares himself a cup. "As I said… I'm a geneticist. The people I work with are special. They can do extraordinary things… I think you might know what I am speaking about…” The look he gives Mariska is curious and knowing.

In the face of this half-truth revelation, Mariska somehow manages to maintain an admirable calm. She doesn't fly off the handle and curl her fists in to Mohinder's lapels, introducing his back to the wall with all of the titan force owed a desperate mother separated from her child for more than two years. No. None of the rough stuff. (Not yet.) Instead, she takes an awkward seat on the stool and responds to the man's offer of a tasty beverage with, "Please." Now, all that stuff about being a geneticist and knowing special people who do extraordinary things gets a sort of sidelong look, but little else save, "…like what?"

Mohinder fixes a mug for Mariska, "Milk or sugar?" is offered before he continues. He takes a drink of his own tea after pouring a mug for Mariska. Settling onto a stool across from her, he can sympathize with the desperation. Whenever anything happens to his ward, he damn near loses his mind. "Miss Dmitryeva, it might seem fantastical to believe, but you are not alone. I'm following my father's work… tracking down people, studying abilities… I know what you can do… I think your daughter is like you and because of that, she's been taken from you." He can't help the genuine enthusiasm that creeps into his tone and expression as he speaks.

Mariska declines the offer of additives; she'll be taking her dissolved dose of 'Haitian pills' straight and unmuddled by delicious beverage condiments, thank you. Instead of clutching her bag, both of her hands now clasp around the mug in a grip that suggests she might soon proceed to pray to it… or make it harder to remove from her cold, dead fingers. "Is that where my daughter is? With your father?" She sips the tea with polite enthusiasm but keeps those pale, green eyes fixed on Mohinder and his progressively crazy conversation. Instead of going the usual 'I have no idea what you're talking about' route, Mariska novelly queries, "What do you think I can do?"

Mohinder's expression sobers at the question, "No… My father is no longer with us. He… before he was murdered… He created an algorithm… It generated a list of people around the world with an ability, or those with a strong likelihood of having one." Suresh spares Misha the details of just how it works and does his best to just get to the point… by lying again… perhaps. "Your name… it appeared on this list. So when I saw your flyer, the name, the missing daughter… I can only presume that you and your child do in fact have an ability." Here, he pauses as he studies Mariska, seeing if he needs to rephrase anything for her. But he does add, "There is a group of people… they like to work with evolved… or humans with powers, gifts."

…oh. For all the barrier conversing in a second language might provide, Mariska at least has the decency to grasp the gravitas of the word 'murder' (especially as it seems to come tied with the man's father) and thereby dons an appropriately somber expression. But, something else has pricked her ears. After a moment or two of pause, the right corner of her mouth begins to curl and ascend and she smirks dimly from over the brim of her coffee cup. "That is not my name," she confesses. Oh? Whatcha got to say about that, mister I'm-so-smart-I'm-a-geneticist-who-worked-with-the-gifted?!

"So… I have the wrong woman in other words?" Mohinder asks gently, despite knowing that he doesn't. "The name Misha Dmitryeva, is not your real name?" Ordinarily… talking of groups, people with strange powers, saying these things to the wrong ears might be a cause for alarm, but Suresh doesn't seem too bothered by it. Improv is not his strong suit, but he's playing along best he can, while deciding how to proceed in this matter.

Mariska puts down her teacup, gently but firmly. Time to lay down the law. She leans forward by a degree, regarding Mohinder still with that set gaze and those pale eyes. "Tell me who you work for…," she says, Russian intonation burying every 'r' behind her teeth. "…and where my daughter is." Right now. Immediacy implied. But, she isn't completely clueless when it comes to the art of negotiation and so she offers this as the follow-up: "If you do, I will tell you who I am… and I will show you what I can do." That, uh, almost sounds like a threat more than a promise.

Mohinder isn't easily intimidated by Mariska's change in demeanor. "I see that I will have to be a little more straightforward with you Miss Dmitryeva. I apologize for my duplicity." He's not very good at it to begin with. The man should just stay put in the lab really. "I mainly work for myself, but unfortunately I do have to work with the group I mentioned for funding purposes." Not unlike making a pact with the devil. "I do know where your child is. I'll be more than happy to take you to her."

In a moment, Mariska is on her feet. Those were the only words she needed to hear. Confirmation of location. "I want to see her," she says anxiously, having lost the bluster and black she'd been trying on moments before. She doesn't wear it very well, either; it just doesn't suit. "Please," she adds, chin tilted down, face wan with a pitiful pallor. A cracked voice echoes her previous plea, "Please…"

Sympathy and sadness for the woman is reflected in Mohinder's expression and voice. When does he tell her that she won't like what's been done to the girl? That she won't recognize her own mother? Mohinder was delighted to study the girl, to tend to her, but he detests what's been done. "Alright…” He gets up from his seat to grab his coat and keys. Then debates… the drug should be taking effect, rending Misha unable to teleport away… but does he also tranquilize her as added precaution?

Mariska's heart leaps up out of her chest and into her throat and then proceeds to bang away like a big, bass drum. The swell of adrenaline flooding her veins brings with it a heady surge and she's /immediately/ at Mohinder's side. It's safe to say that, at this very moment, Mariska would willingly follow Mohinder into hell itself as if led on a short leash. She can barely keep her senses together. She's done it! It's over! She's going to get her daughter back! Poor woman. She has /no/ idea what's in store…

The internal debate about tranquilizing Mariska is a short one, and Mohinder decides against it. He has no concern about the woman running off, and he already feels like a microbe for being sneaky to her. "This way. My cab is outside." He leads Mariska out of the lab and down to the car, after locking up the lab nice and tight.

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