2008-01-19: The More You Know


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Summary: A chance meeting at a pub between a Pinehearst agent and a Pinehearst target. And yet neither leaves harmed. This really /isn't/ the Company!

Date It Happened: January 19th, 2008

The More You Know

Oldcastle Pub

Even though it's not happy hour, or evening, the lunchtime fare at the Oldcastle pub is still up to par. Though with a slightly smaller crowd. Inluding one such Brit who probably fits in pretty well with this crowd. Tucked in a corner booth, Adam is sitting quietly. Newspaper spread out in front of him. Half eaten turkey sandwich and half-empty mug of ale sitting near the edge of the table.

Daphne does not fit in quite as much with her bright v-neck and brighter hair. But mostly because of the way she is not, in fact, drinking or sitting, but pressing her little body up against the bar with some urgency. "Look, all I wanted to do was make a call. Pretend it's an emergency! Maybe I have a friend who needs a cab, you think about that?" She raises a challenging eyebrow despite that, if she had such a friend, she probably would've mentioned that first. But the bartender stays firm on the topic and Daphne is left to vehemently help herself to a handful of bar-pretzels and stuff them in her mouth. Because that'll show 'em.

Adam's eyes shift from the text on the newspaper over to the bar. Awful lot of commotion coming from such a small person. My gawd and the colors! She's either truely in need to making that phone call or…..she's crazy. Either way, he's not moving just yet, instead preferring to pick up the ale and sip from it. Observation and recon first.

It being lunch-time, there isn't much other ruckus besides Daphne. So, when a few people decide to eye her, she eyes them all right back. Especially that guy in the corner—whereupon most of the irritated expression on her face drains away to something more unreadable. Daphne turns back to the bar after that and fiddles with a few more pretzels she's pulled out of the bowl. Then she asks the 'tender if he's got any ginger ale. That's right. /Ginger ale/, bub.

Shifting his gaze back just in time, Adam spots the change of expression. She's not irritated anymore, but he can't quite read her either. It's enough to make him curious though, and he rises from the table. Approaching the bar, he sets himself up on a stool next to her. "Charlie, let the woman use the phone. She obviously needs it." he says, grinning at Daphne. 'I can't, Stan. You know that. Too many people running up my phone bill.' the gruff barkeep replies, resulting in a sigh from Adam. "Right. I'll remember that next time you need me to break up a brawl." he responds, finally directing his attention to the woman. "If it's that important, you can use my cell."

Even though she's sort of staring straight ahead, Daphne shoots a look to the side quickly and then back when she notices movement. The approach of Adam gets her to shift in her seat a little bit but she doesn't bail. Instead, she just sort of watches him out of the corner of her eye until she's addressed. "I— I changed my mind anyway," she informs him, picking up determination as she says it, even though the remark earns a snort from eaves-dropping bartender. "Guess it wasn't that important after all," she adds, bitterly undercutting herself before anyone else can.

"Ah." Adam says, nodding his head quietly. His gaze around the rest of the pub seems to almost warn anyone against saying anything smart-assed. Given that he's quite a regular here, most obey. Turning back, he notices her shifting in her seat. Yeah. 400 years of experience he doesn't need to read nervousnessness. Or anxiety. Maybe. "Well, if you change your mind…" he starts, standing up from the barstool, "…I'm over here in the corner. All you have to do is come ask and you can use my phone." Turning he starts to move back to where he started from.

Daphne stays nestled in her little spot long enough for Adam to wander back to his corner booth and sit down again. Then, she pushes off from the bar and follows him back to the more private space. She even does so at a perfectly normal speed, considering this time people might actually be eyeing her still. Inviting herself right into the seat across from him, Daphne shifts her messenger bag into a more comfortable spot and then lays her arms on the table in front of her, "That was a nice thing. Habit for you?"

Adam figured it was only a matter of time, and checking his watch he grins. Less time than he thought. "Only when Charlie feels like being an arse about the phone. He'll let his 'friends' use it but not customers." he explains, lifting his gaze up from the paper, which gets folded neatly and placed in front of him. "You don't seem like the type that would normally show up in the pub." he admits, glancing over her briefly. Yup. Sticks out like a sore thumb.

Daphne doesn't really waste when it comes to time. Or words. She mostly shrugs, though, at his observation, "Yeah, well, I figured a guy who serves alcohol would be more open to free phone use. Lucky me, I get the stereotypical grizzly bear behind the bar. Who, I guess is your friend, since you seem to get him /and/ the kind of people who are or aren't supposed to be in here." She tilts her head at him, always keeping eye-contact with a kind of artistically curious yet still bored expression. If she had a drink, she'd probably be swirling a straw in it.

Speak of the devil, here comes that drink. Ginger Ale, right? Delivered by one of the few waitresses in the joint that looks like she doesn't care what the owner has to say. Setting it down, she drifts away to check on another table. Meanwhile, Adam just grins. "This is an old favorite of mine. Been coming here for a while now. And Charlie and I go way back." he explains. It's actually mostly true, except for the 'coming here a while' bit. It's only been about a year now.

The drink barely touches the table before Daphne's hand is pulling it to her. As she thinks to herself, her lips jut out sulkily—as if having to bother to gather her thoughts is that annoying. "A while, huh?" She finally asks with some level of skepticism, "Cause what are you, 29? 30? Or is that, like, 400 in drinker's years?"

Any other number. It could have been /any/ other number. Instead, it's /that/ number. Mid-gulp of his ale, Adam stops. Frozen. Glass still tilted against his lips. And he remains that was for a moment, before setting the glass down. His face switches to a cross between apprehension and curiosity. Anyone who knows his history would understand the apprehension. "You can tell Bob I'm not coming back." he says, automatically assuming she's with the Company. "He'll have to hunt me down until he's dead. Which I'm sure I will live to see."

Well, that reaction alone is enough to dispel any lingering doubts on the matter. While he's deciding what emotion to settle on, Daphne enjoys a nice sip of her ginger ale before glancing over at Adam Monroe. "I don't know anybody named /Bob/," she informs him directly, "And if that's supposed to be code for something, it's a stupid code. And I don't want anybody dead, either." Maybe there's something sticking from how she was feeling earlier, because the last is said more uneasy than the tough-girl image she's presenting every other time. Though it's still all very 'duhh, don't you get it'.

Adam lowers the glass to the surface of the table, where upon contact it makes a very dull thud. "Ok…so you're not with the Company." he says, narrowing his eyes just a bit and staring directly at here. "There's not many other people who would know about me." And at least one of them he is sure is dead. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone." Yet. "I guess there's not point in introducing myself then."

"Yeah, for the record, I don't think Stan's a very good name, either." A period of clamming up follows this observation. Let him sit and think about it kind of silence. Then Daphne shifts in her seat again and mentions, "Well, somebody knows about you and thinks it matters enough to spread around. Anyway, you'll probably find out soon or something." Only stating, not threatening. There's actually very little that could be threatening about a short blonde sipping at ginger ale in a pub. Probably.

Yeah. Nothing threatening at all. Adam could take her if he wanted. Or at least he thinks he could. "Remind me to start looking up old friends then." he frowns. If someone is that interested, and she's not going to elude as to who, it's going to bother him. Ale forgotten, his hands clasp together in front of him. "I take it there's no point in asking who. You were probably just give a file and told to find me."

It's the likelihood that he's thinking he can take her that keeps Daphne on alert. Not that she looks like she even cares that much. She looks bored still, tapping a finger against her glass. "Look, I'm fine with the whole pep-talk thing, but I don't carry people off. So pretty soon they'll send some other division and there'll go you." She raises her hands to emphasize how much she's not touching this one. Then what is she doing over here? She might not even know.

Adam watches the finger tapping for a moment before returning his attention back to Daphne. "So you're more of a scout then." he states, rather than questions. "They give you a file. You find the person. They send in the goon squad to subdue me and take me away." Ok, so that's not how he's familiar with the Company operating. Either way, he's now curious. They know about his ability. Which means they likely employ Evolved. "Obviously you've read my files I'm assuming and know what I can do. What's your ability?"

Daphne wrinkles her nose cutely (so says me!) at his description, "I'm not part of some army. I'm on payroll like everybody else. /You're/ the special one they'd rather manhandle." She raises both eyebrows almost challengingly when he suggests she knows his ability, that she has one, too. "You're a big boy, I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out. Say, still feel like lending me that phone, or are you not as nice now that you're just you?"

Adam will admit it's cute, but not vocally. "Armies get paid too, you know." he says in barely a whisper. Maybe she won't hear it. "Oh, I've got a few ideas. Just a matter of finding out which one fits, is all." Lifting his glass finally, he takes a swig. His other hand plucks the phone from his pocket. "Go ahead." he offers, sliding the phone across the table. He's got nothing to hide.

"Well, while you're doing that…" she says— even though the next moments will put a swift (haha) end to his wondering. Daphne puts out a hand to get the phone and unceremoniously flips it right open. But even as she punches in the first two numbers, her eyes find Adam's over the top of the cell and she reconsiders with a lip-bite. No one who was caring before is watching them now so, with only a moment more's hesitation, the speedster earns her name by vanishing in a barely noticeable blur into some back room or another.

At least Adam didn't have to wait long for the ability to reveal itself. "Well, if I had to gue…" he starts, stopping mid-word as he notices the lip-bite. But, he's a moment too late as both the woman /and/ his phone disappear into almost thin air. "What the…" Shooting to his feet, he glances around, scanning every spot he can find readily visible. Nothing. Slowly, a grin creeps across his face and his eyes twinkle. "Accelerated Speed. Very interesting." Turning towards the bar, he shouts, "Charlie, keep my tab open. I'll be back in a bit." before heading out the pub door. Looks like it's time to go phone shopping.

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