2007-09-20: Permission Denied


Mariska_icon.gif Noah_icon.gif

Summary: Mariska seeks permission from the man in horn-rimmed glasses to see her daughter again. Permission denied.

Date It Happened: September 20th, 2007

Permission Denied

Hartsdale, NY - Primatech - Offices

More paperwork, more encounters with the Evolved. It's a lot for even the experienced to go through, but he does so in a swift and through manner. Breed and groomed for the work, he knows the key words, the type of Evolved and can tell from what he can read a general idea of how to proceed. While many wished he would use the computer to get all of this done, he's a fan of paper. Maybe he just got the love of the cover job just a little too much. Either way, his huge desk is in four piles of roughly equal size. Three of them are neatly in piles; one is seemingly thrown onto his desk. Guess which one he's sorting through.

Currently, Noah is going through a rather thick report labeled 'Sylar'. A very thick report. He seems unamused as he drums through it. He's read most of this stuff before when he was in Texas, but he's hoping for new information that eluded him the last time. It seems he hasn't found it. Not yet at least.

Knock knock.

There's a light-knuckled rapping, rapping at Noah's chamb— office door. The knuckles belong to one Mariska Mikhailova who calls herself Misha Dmitryeva on the outside world for reasons that are both obvious and not; it's all in her file (which is not labeled 'Sylar', thank goodness!). "Mister Bennet?" she queries, accent unforgivably Soviet. "Do you have a moment?" She lingers in the doorway, dressed down in casual clothes for the weekend and yet somehow retaining a strict and proper posture that lends to a more formal air.

Bennet is dressed in his usual business suit. Casual Friday means that he just wears one of those odd ties that his kids used to pick out for him as Christmas gifts. While Optimus Prime on a tie is not his personal forte, he's willing to wear it to make his son happy. But it is not Friday, so the tie is a simple black. But enough about the ties, this is Noah, not Nathan.

Placing the file down, Noah gives a simple "Come in" at the knock and the question. As Misha moves in, there is a brief tug at the sides of his lips. Like for a microsecond he was tempted to frown, but for whatever reason choose not to. "Miss Dmitryeva… If you want to talk, take a seat." The file is put down and slipped under another one. He doesn't care if people know he's reading about Sylar, he just doesn't want them to have easy access to the file.

For better or worse, Mariska hasn't any idea who 'Sylar' even is, and therefore her opinion of Noah's reading habits go thankfully unaltered by content. Invitation accepted; she's quick to take a seat and jump right in to the heart of things with, "I want to talk to you about my daughter." See? Direct. "And when I might be able to see her again." Point A to Point B in the blink of an eye.

"Your daughter?" comes the simple response as Noah raises his eyebrows a bit. "It's been a couple of days since I last read your report… If you could share with me the issue of your daughter again, I'd appreciate it." After all, it seems the Company's use of daughters as bargaining chips has gone up twenty-five percent this year. Not that Noah has room to talk on the matter much. Glancing to the mini-fridge stored to the left of his desk, he glances toward Mariska. "Water, V8?"

"Sasha," says the Soviet woman, inclining her chin to her chest as she gives the man in horn-rimmed glasses an inquiring look. "They call her Alex here?" Maybe he's not so directly involved in the little girl's care… and maybe that's for good reason. Something from the minibar? Well, um, okay. Who is Mariska to refuse even begrudging generosity? "Water is fine, thank you."

The water is offered with a faint smile. It fades as soon as he speaks. "That's a nickname, not an issue." With that said, he waits.

Mariska's expression resolves to something more stony once the water is accepted. "You are keeping her from me…" That's an issue. "…for tests." She isn't so much drinking from the bottle as she is just holding onto it for dear life. "I want to see her."

"A mother's love is powerful, but some things are a necessary in our work. It's okay to disagree now and I understand you may NEVER agree, but we've been dealing the Evolved long before your child was even conceived. We know what we are doing and it’s in everyone best interest to let the test be run without incident. If you are honest in your desire to work here, you'll understand it in time. If not…" He leads off, finding that letting people fill in their own answer is usually much more effective. Oddly enough, his tone softens just a hair for reasons that the Russian woman may never know. "If you want to see your daughter, it will happen soon enough. Have they given an estimate on how long the testing would take?" With the question, he leans over somewhat, resting his elbows on the many unorganized reports about him.

To that question, Mariska responds with a slow shaking of her head from side to side. It's taken years so far. Who's to say how long the Company might feel inclined to stretch it out? It makes for a great leash in keeping someone as potentially troublesome as Mariska in line. Indeed, she appears as docile now as a Hindu cow… except for the white-knuckle grip she's applying to the bottle of water currently held in her lap. "I understand. If there… might be a day…" Go ahead, try to look hopeful. Mariska wills the corners of her mouth into an upward-bound curvature.

The usual business demeanor of Noah fades somewhat, showing a bit of concern as he glances toward the hands. Folding his hands together, he explains the process with a slightly tired tone as if the Company's bullying ways was exhausting to explain. "As long as you act intelligently and in the Company's best interests, you WILL be allowed to see your child. Or at least if I have anything to say about it. However, if you've proven yourself a risk by the time we've been able to gauge her powers accurately and see how much control she has over them… Then the deal is void. However, from what I can tell, you seem like the sort of woman to understand proper commitment as well as doing what needs to be. Am I right?"

Is that the love from the Family Man trying to give what Mariska wants or the false promise of a Company Man to ensure loyalty? With Noah, it's always hard to tell what's motivating him.

"Of course," replies the Russian, more than willing to play along properly while the fate of her little black-haired, blue-eyed, seven-year-old world rests soundly in the hands of the man in horn-rimmed glasses… or, at least, the Company he folks for (and against?). "You can count on me." To do what, exactly, she leaves for Noah to decide. Her deathgrip on the bottle dissipates and relaxes into something more casual and relaxed as she cracks open the seal and takes her first sip with a wince. Maybe it's the split lip or the brief contact of cold to the tip of what very well might be a broken nose. Oh, that's right. She jumped in to the hospital wing the other night drenched to the skin and talking about a car accident or something, right? Didn't Lawrence Church have one of those, too? Hm.

Once the cap is again secured, she stands and offers the man a gentle and polite, "Thank you." For the water. And the words. "I'll let you get back to your work."

The car accident will be reviewed if Noah senses foul play as he is not one for some of the Company's hardball politics. Unless one screws with Claire, of course. Then he jumps into them gun a-blazing, but that's a tale for another time.

Leaning back up as Misha stands, Noah nods, though his face is the usual business look that shows little if any emotion. "You're welcome. Soon, I will be personally running a 'refresher course' or two on Company procedures on a few common events that happen both on and off the job. I expect you and Mister Ivanov to be in attendance. I will also need to speak to the both of you together as soon as possible to handle some necessary troubleshooting." She'll likely think it's a job. In a way, it will be. He is silent for a few seconds, as if deciding what to say if anything. Regardless if Mariska is heading toward the door or if she's still standing there, his words are still the same.

"For what it's worth, I wish you and your daughter didn't have to be caught up in all of this. I really do. Good day, Miss Dmitryeva."

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