2009-11-25: Unfind Me



Date: November 25th, 2009


Once upon a bar in Harlem, a man who doesn't want to be found is found.

"Unfind Me"


New York City

Harlem. New York.

Not exactly the best place to be. Not exactly the safest place to be. Not unless you've managed to cross the threshold of Nipsy's. It's a local bar and haven directly in the heart of this bad part of town. The owner, Nipsy, don't take no mess, as they say. And that's something that one particular man has been hoping to protect him from the horrors of the outside world.

Senator Ivory Wynn has been in this bar for a long time. He doesn't really remember how long. He doesn't really care. Normally, he would smell. But Nipsy likes him so much he's let the man crash on his couch and use his shower a few times since Wynn has been gone. Currently, he's tucked away at the corner booth that's ever so farthest from the door. His phone is on the table, blank, having long since lost the charge that keeps it alive. Surrounding the phone are a couple of overturned shot glasses. It looks almost like a smiley face with a huge Blackberry nose.

As far as the Senator himself, goes, well he's seen better days. He's not as clean shaven as he should be. His eyes are baggy, bloodshot and half-intoxicated. His tie is missing. His suit is rumpled and dirty. He looks like he's come down with the Ecuadorian Night Bug Spanish Flu. There's tissue (used and otherwise) all over the table also. Wynn lifts his latest glass of whatever is throat burningly delicious and takes another gulp. Mmmmcoughhackcoughmmmm. Yeah. This is the life.

"Of course, you decide not to have your phone on," the genius offers as he speaks to himself. "Oh, I'm so damn important, but when the genius that wants to kill you… Err, save you… Err, whatever you, is trying to track me, I decide to have my phone off. KHAAAAAANN!" Sighing, Gene sits in the apartment that has become his home away from home. Three laptops scan through information, running a program by Gene's own design. And finally.


"There we go, let's see… Okay, someone putting up a photo of themselves with the Senator… And Bingo, in New York City within the last two hours…. See some store fronts." Gene types in on the laptop to his left. "There we go, I know where to start looking. Eric, get a ski mask and my gun, we're hunting destiny!" With that, Gene begins to turn off his laptops and put on his shoes.

Provided Eric actually gets him these things, in a half an hour, Gene is pulling out on the streets of Harlem in Bumblebee, who still lacks the car door on one side. "Remember, Eric, this is a racially charged area, so we need to make sure we don't use the terms 'bro', 'brother', 'separate but equal', 'nappy', or 'Oprah' unless we have no choice."

"Look Kirk, calm down." Eric Lancaster replies as he sits with his feet proper up in one corner of the room. "You'll find him just fine. If anyone can…though I'd like to go on record for this being in general a bad idea." He adds lightly, the millionaire is dressed in all black as is his usual outfit as he runs one hand though his hair and shakes his head. Of course then he perks up as Gene finds something…

"…dude, you don't get out much…" He mutters with a slight shake of his head. "I'm not getting you a ski mask…use the face mask thing instead. If you walk into somewhere public with a ski mask on in Harlem you might get shot." He adds as he pulls himself off the couch.

…Eric? Eric in the car is not listening. He's too busy holding on as Gene drives. "What the hell happened to the door?!"

What happened to the car door? As if on cue, in a very different part of the city — near a Manhattan hotel — a feminine hand takes the receiver of a nearly extinct object, the public payphone. The line she's calling might be secure, but that's not to say her cell phone is unwatched. Coins are fed in and a number is dialled off a card. A card from Gene. "Gene, it's Tracy. It's been days, have you found anything yet? If it's not going to work just tell me. Let me know something. Anything."

As Gene gets out of the car, Gene sighs as his PDA shows that he is having a call. "Tracy froze it off. I'm not replacing it out of a sense of justice. UNTIL she volunteers to pay for it, I'm not paying for it. In the future, please don't cuddle my arm or I'll have to tell the girls you're interested in that they're just a cover." Straightening out his leather jacket, he looks around. Most of the places are closed at this time of night, so he figures that he must have gone into a bar. He peeks his head into the first one. "Any black senators in here?" While he doesn't see any, he does see a large man looking at him with a nasty glare. "Guess not!"

Gene POWERWALKS to the next bar. He doesn't run. Because he isn't scared. Really. As he does, he gets a call on his PDA.

"…Tracy? I am looking for him right now. Now, I talked with Cass, she's willing to see you and test you. If that doesn't work, I have a friend that could likely also help. Now, you have two options. I can tell you general location where he is, but if we do that, I'm calling the shots until I say otherwise. If you don't like that, get tested and you can join me on the search until I find him. Sound good?"

"I did not cuddle your arm," Eric grumbles as he gets out of the car and shakes his head. OH LOOK LET ME LOCK THE DOOR! OH WAIT I CAN'T! "…it was the best thing to grab at when you took that turn back there doing 90 or so." He shoots back towards the Genius before shaking his head slightly and glancing around. By the time he's done that Gene is already power-walking away. Because running makes you look scared, and they can smell fear down here.

So Eric follows, listening in on the phonecall without even the slightest hint of feeling bad for evesdropping. "She froze your door off…why?" Pause. "You know, if she's anything like the other girls in the family then you might not have a door for a very long time."

"Cass?" Tracy repeats incredulously from payphone to PDA — if it's the same person she's thinking of, it only serves to cement how tangled this web is or, at the very least, how connected Gene is. "Not Cass Aldric," she attempts, with question in her voice, to clarify. "I'll get tested. After we find Ivory. If you have any idea where he is right now? I wanna be there. You call the shots." She's just moving the conversation along to get to the goods. "What's the location?"

"I dunno where he is right now, but YES, Cass. I already know you know one another. It's a small world after all, and all that good stuff," Gene states as he looks through the window. "Stay by the phone, I'll give you a call when I find him." That will ensure that he'll get some time to talk to Ivory before Tracy gets there. Considering that he hasn't heard any offers of a good time or a fearful tone in her voice, he assumes the rich looking white woman isn't in Harlam.

Eric just gets a shrug in response, unable to give more while on the phone. He looks toward the new bar… Nipsy's and just walks in. He looks around, still on the phone as he tries to find Ivory. And there at the bar, there he is. "Okay, I found him. He's at Nipsy's. I recommend wearing something skimpy and shiny, saying that your pimp is expecting you soon if you run into people trying to stop you on the street." Okay, maybe expecting Gene for streetsmarts isn't the greatest thing around. "See you when you get in. Remember, /I'm/ calling the shots."

After making sure Tracy doesn't have any other questions for Gene, the young genius moves toward Ivory, still holding the PDA and keeping it against his ear if Tracy hasn't hung up. Gene looks back to make sure that Eric is right behind him before beginning the conversation. "Been waiting to talk to you for awhile, Mister Wynn."

Oh Eric is there, just shaking his head at his friend's banter on the phone. After all Gene is calling the shots at the moment, Eric is just here for backup and quick escapes. It's what he kinda excels in at the moment.

"I— " Tracy cuts off her protest and gives in to just keep listening, which works out better than waiting by the phone — she doesn't get a chance to tell Gene it's a payphone before he seems to have discovered the Senator. "You found him!" She sounds relieved. "Great. That's— it's great. What's Nipsy's? Never mind. I'll find it. And Gene, even if you are calling the shots, don't do anything stupid or you'll regret it." It is, more than a threat, a statement of fact. She hangs up the payphone.

Eric is also here to keep Gene from killing Ivory, Ivory from getting shot, and Tracy from freezing anyone. It's just part of the job.

Senator Wynn doesn't even seem to really notice or care what's going on beyond his table. Not while he's sitting here feeling sorry for his SARS'd self. He just kind of continues to look down at the glass in his hand, the tissue on the table and anything else that may be in the way. Not at whomever's decided to talk to him.

"Just call me Ivory. My last name doesn't fit anymore." Depressed and nasal don't make for the best of voices. But still, there it is. Ivory raises his glass once more to take another drink, before glancing slightly over at Gene. Waiting for him to say whatever it is he's apparently been waiting a long time to say. Or whatever. Life sucks.

"Where is the thank-She hung up on me." Gene grits his teeth as he gives Eric an annoyed look. His brow begins to twitch. He did a big personal favor and not even a 'thank you'. FINAL STRAW, MISS STRAUSS. THE CAMEL'S BACK? IT IS NOW BROKEN!

"Come on now, sir. Just take a walk with me and we'll get him some good food, a couple of beer, and we'll have a good old time." Across town. Without telling Tracy. "We've got stuff to talk about. People think you're the last chance of fixing America. Which I only kinda believe. But if I help you, then well, America's as good as saved. My name is Gene. Let's pay the bill and head on out." With that, Gene pulls out his wallet (which is filled with Eric's and Jaden's money), preparing to throw down some funds to cover the senator's drink tab.

"Does she do that a lot?" Eric drawls out curiously towards Gene before he shakes his head. "She'll be here as fast as she can find a cab you know." He adds in a low and quiet voice after a moment of thought. Then a nod once towards the Senator. "Ivory then." He adds, his voice carefully neutral.

Then a sigh. "Come on, sir. We'll get the tab and I'm sure it will be better after a good meal or so to go along with the conversation." He adds.

Ivory doesn't look like he's going to budge. In fact, he hardly seems to be impressed by anything that's coming from the mouths of Eric or Gene. In facter, he's just finishing off his drink and continues to wait right where he is. Were he belongs. "I'm not leaving." Obviously. If he was going to leave this building, he'd have left in the billions of hours that he's been cooped up in this bar. "As for being the hope for America?" Ivory snorts at even being considered for having such an honor. "Hope was lost when I found out what I got myself into. Which is, by the way, what I'm currently trying to figure out how to get out of." Ivory just shrugs a little, sliding the empty glass across the table and away from him. "So. Unless you've got something important to tell me, like the war is over, maybe you and your friend should skidaddle before these 'homies' think you're Five O." It's not a threat. Not coming from Nasal Wynn. It's an actual warning.

The young genius nods. "Totally. Everytime we take one step forward, she ALWAYS does something to make me mad. I think she does it on purpose. I asked her to pay for my door once and she told me no. That it was MY fault for trying to help her. What the heck, man? What the flibbity do-dah heck?" Gene is going from his unhappy place to his enraged place. Well, at least Gene isn't keeping in his anger anymore, right?

Focusing his attention back toward the downtrodden Democrat, Gene sighs. "…Fine, if you don't know what to do, that works out just fine. Because I do," Gene states, his eyes narrowing into thin slits. He doesn't know why people think so highly of Wynn. They talk about how he cares, how he works with people. All he sees is a depressed drunk. "That program is why I got thrown into federal prison," Gene states as he leans in toward Ivory, whispering through gritted teeth. "You lost your right to just wave me off when I almost got killed by crazy inmates!"

"Lovely woman," Eric deadpans. "You'll have to introduce us after you get through chewing this one out." He adds with a shake of his head. Its good though that he isn't keeping in his anger anymore though, less good when he looks like he is going to leap across the table to rip the Senator's throat out. Not that Gene doesn't have a reason to want to do something like that at least.

"Look Ivory," Eric adds with a shrug of his shoulders. "Wether you like it or not, if you hide from it or not that little thing you got yourself into is still yours. Your thing, you are going to have to man up and stop it instead of trying to drink yourself to death in a dive doing your damnedest to look entirely pathetic." He states easily on the heels of Gene's words as he looks down at the Senator.

This? THIS is the hope for the future?

…we are so boned.

Ivory's Depression cannot be broken by attempts on his manhood and insults of whatever. He's much too depressed about what he's done to truly care much about anything but his own personal self-destruction. "Someone else I've hurt. Big surprise there." Ivory reaches up to rub at his nose with the back of his hand, before looking up to Nipsy and giving the signal for Another. His eyes are then back over at Gene, followed by a careless shrug. "Look. I'm done for already, anyway. Me staying involved with this project is just going to make matters worse." Ivory sighs and gives a shake of his head as he looks down at the table. "All I want to do is be left alone. If you want, I can give you access codes to get into the building where all the Doom is happening, but that's all I can do."

No threat? No fight? This is depressing to Gene and he doesn't even LIKE Ivory. The fact that the Senator is just going to GIVE the access codes away? This cries 'trap' or something. But it's better than nothing and Gene has no desire to attempt to reinspire or push. He'll leave that to Tracy. "Write them down for me and I'll just leave you be," Gene states, pulling out a pen and a paper coaster. He slides them toward the Senator before looking over toward Eric and giving a tired shrug.

"This really is pathetic," Eric shakes his head once. "I don't know what I expected to find, but this isn't it." He adds towards Gene as he nods once towards him. "Its not even worth bothering with." He adds with a shake of his head, yes. Now he's depressed just /talking/ to the man. He isn't inspired or obsessed.

It's at this depressing moment that Tracy pushes in. An overpaid lobbyist doesn't belong in a sketchy bar in Harlem; she obviously did not take Gene's advice. Ms. Strauss is dressed in her normal casual clothes … which means a white cardigan, blue-grey tank top and fitted, white denim pants with a dark belt. Down to the slim leather watch on her wrist and the pearls around her neck, she is, by contrast, decidedly too "preppy" to be here. And she doesn't care.

After pausing briefly inside and giving the place a searching, worried glance around, she hones in on one group: Gene, Ivory, and… some other man. She rushes to them, running straight to Ivory, round the other side of his chair opposite Gene and Eric. "Ivory," she says breathlessly. "Ivory, thank God, I was starting to think you were dead!" She smiles, so relieved she might even cry, but her joy is dampened with urgent concern; one hand goes to his face to get a good look at his state before she holds onto his arm. Critical eyes glance over the mess of glasses and tissues on the table before she acknowledges Gene. "Thank you for finding him." Painfully sincere though she sounds, this is Tracy and Gene; the universe must be balanced. And so… "There's a good chance I was followed so you might wanna leave."

Ivory wasn't ready for the sudden arrival of the blonde babe known as Tracy Strauss. When she's all over him, he finds himself trying to wave her off and even reaches over to push at her a little bit. "Too close. I'm dy— I'm not well." Ivory looks back down at the table for a moment, before trying to breathe through his nose again. Not exactly working out too well. He reaches for the pen and paper and starts scrawling. "You're looking for a woman named Marilyn de Souza. She's dangerous. So be careful." Her name gets written down on the paper. "If I were you, I'd steer clear of involving the President in any of your futile plans. Unless you want kill orders tossed around at the next Evil Government Shindig." What the hell is Ivory doing? Selling out his current employers?

"Technically speaking, having me and Eric for protection might be a good call at this point, but eh, whatever works for you two," Gene points out before he looks over toward Eric. He actually looks surprised at the thank you, which is likely why he didn't tell Tracy off or why he won't slash her tires on the way out. "You're welcome… Anyway, Wynn, what do you know about Souza?" Clearly this woman is next on Gene's list.

"I think we should leave the lovebirds to their own for now man, if she is right and she was followed then they won't be alone long." Eric replies sensibly as he nods once towards Gene before shaking his head slightly. "…I'll keep watch outside to make sure there isn't anyone coming to bust down the door to find these two."

"You're not dying." Tracy caught that. She steps back upon being pushed away, but only slightly, and keeps holding onto Ivory's arm. "You have a cold." Alert blue eyes watch the scrawl on the paper, and as she listens to the exchanges, her brow furrows. "Marilyn de Souza with Homeland Security," she speaks up, answering — in part — for Ivory; the questioning tone says that she's somewhat surprised to hear de Souza's name come up. "Ivory, what're… what's going on? What happened to you?"

"A cold. Right." Should Ivory believe Tracy? Probably. But is he too wrapped up in his own self-pity and hatred of what he's done to be rational at this point? Definitely. Is he drunk? Almost. So there's a lot of factors keeping him from understanding what may really be going on around here. Actually, he may not even care. "Doesn't matter anyway. When these two guys 'let it slip' where they got this information from, I'll be as good as dead anyway. So." Ivory just kind of shrugs and looks from Tracy to Gene, semi-ignoring her question. "I trained her. We were at Homeland Security together. I moved up to take Petrelli's seat and she took mine there. Don't know much else. Can't remember."

"You trained her… Worked with her… And you don't know much else?" There is something wrong with that. Elena warned Gene of the Haitian, a man that could erase memories. But was that the case here, or merely a sign of stress, fatigue, and booze? "Well, I'll let you two be. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about. I won't let the information slip… I was caught before, I don't plan to have it happen again. I'm sure I'll see you both before all of this is through. God bless." That said, Gene merely decides to make his way toward the door, speaking to his friend as he passes. "Come on, Eric, we've got stuff to do."

Eric's eyes were all hooded and in shadow sort of mysterious like. However when Gene speaks the shadows go away and Eric shakes his head once before nodding towards the Genius. "Should be clear." He says with a shrug before he glances back towards Tracy and Ivory. A slight shake of his head, yes something is wrong here but he doesn't exactly know what it is. Not yet at least. "We don't intend to let anything slip." He adds with a shrug.


"You really want to thank us? Then get him his new freaking door!" He says with a flicker of amusement on his face before he turns and nods once towards the door, hands in his pockets as he strolls his way out.

Tracy bites back her very adamant responses until Gene and Eric are on their way out. "I'll call you," she tells the former.

No comment regarding the car door.

If Ivory won't get up and go, well… she pulls a chair over next to him with her better arm and sits down on its very edge, reaching out to fold her hand over his wrist. "You have to get yourself together!" she insists, her voice raising and then falling into a hush so as not to attract more attention. "Is this what you've been doing all this time? Moping? People've been looking for you — I've been looking for you…" She blinks back— tears? Looks like Tracy's been having a hard time of it as well.

Ivory just kind of shrugs. He's too busy worried about why Nipsy hasn't brought his drink back to be worried about what the hell Tracy is talking. "You call it moping, I call it going back to my roots." Which is clearly a lie because the real Ivory Wynn is from the suburbs. Of Virginia! So this is not really going to be a good lie that he can keep up with. Honestly. "And now you've found me. I suggest you unfind me and get yourself somewhere safe. Because I've got a bad feeling those two are going to make everything worse." Huh.

"And whose fault is that?" Tracy snaps — Ivory was the one to talk to them, after all — but she closes her eyes quickly and sighs tiredly; an unspoken apology of sorts. "This can't be how it goes down." The Senator's advisor is hell of a lot more confident than the Senator is at the moment. "What're you thinking? Are you just gonna let everything you've been working toward fall apart? Have you even thought about what that'd mean for you? For— me, for that matter? I'm not leaving you. Not now, not— " Ever. "You need to listen to me. We can figure this out. Together. But first, you need to stop drinking and you need to get up and come with me. Erin is my friend, she can make you better again. You need a clear head."

"I need another drink. Nipsy!" Ivory waves his hand a bit more frantically and angrily, just so Nipsy'll send the drink on the next pass of waitresses. But then he's looking at Tracy and trying to figure out why she's trying to make him go back to the life. "First of all. I've got a clear head. As clear as day, thanks to your friend who I will never again be in the same room with so long as I can help it." Ivory shrugs. His membership to the Afterlife Fan Club has officially been obliterated. For personal reasons. "As for everything I worked for? It was gone the moment that Walker child was taken under my orders. They set me up. They wanted me to take the fall for this nonsense and now half the country wants me dead, while the other half wants me to keep doing what I'm doing so I continue being the target. Well, I'm done. I'm going off the grid. In a couple days, me being drunk will be the farthest thing from your mind."

"Ivory…" Tracy starts to shake her head, her denial strong. Confusion wavers in her eyes, however, and she doesn't like it. "Walker child, what child? There've really been kids?" she asks with a tinge of horror, as if this is news to her … because, for all intents and purposes … it is. She moves on quickly; she has a lot to say.

"You can still turn this around! You're still a US Senator. You're more than just a target, you don't have to be a pawn! You have an entire constituency counting on you. And— you have … me counting on you, Ivory. While you were missing an agent from the Protocol came to me, he's my handler now, he's breathing down my neck. If you're out've the picture…" Tracy, upset as she is, doesn't realize her emotions are getting the best of her: her hand, on Ivory's wrist, chills … and Ivory along with it. It spreads along the table as well, a frost overtaking the shot glasses. "Ivory, they're going to come after me again— !" Realizing what she's doing, she lets go abruptly with an intensely apologetic expression, the sudden frostbite coming and going. "…oh my God… I'm sorry. I'm— sorry. My powers…"

Ivory has nothing to do with anything that Tracy is saying right now. Not while there is liquor to be taken down. But then, well, there's a chill that's all up in his wrist area and then the table and then Ivory's looking at Tracy like she's out of her mind. This is not the place for a white girl. And certainly not one that could be destroying the property of the lovable, huggable, but will beat your ass down, Nipsy. Ivory sighs and reaches for his wrist, rubbing at it to see if he can't bring some warmth back to it after Tracy's little snafu. "Shhhh. Let's keep this place as neutral as we can, huh?" Ivory looks up at the ceiling, letting his eyes close as he tries to ponder what's going to happen next. "You're all going to get me killed. All of you." Ivory says, shaking his head. "But… I suppose that's a warrant that I brought down on myself. For even being involved in the first place. I can't run from fate. I shouldn't even be trying." Shaking his head, he doesn't look like he's going to be the same for a while. Not now. "You bring a car?"

Tracy has finally found Ivory and she's trying very hard not to break down. She should be overjoyed, not losing control! On the verge of uttering more apologies but instead simply wiping beneath one eye delicately with a knuckle, she shakes her head. "I took a taxi." She gets to her feet. "For the record … no one's going to die." She pauses, jaw setting, a colder look focusing in her eye. "At least not us." She forces a smile and offers her hand — but thinks better of it and withdraws it, looking down. "…Let's just go."

Not afraid, Ivory reaches for the woman's hand and shakes his head. "That's what you think." is all he has to say before he allows himself to be led out of this crazy ass bar. He can't believe he's actually letting himself get tossed back into this. He was out. He was in the ghetto. He had taken his first delicious sip of Malt Liquor and it was gloriously… awful. Acquired Taste, surely. But now… now he must return to his life of luxury. Lame.

Tracy looks down at her hand in Ivory's. Thankfully, he doesn't immediately turn into a human ice sculpture. She warily smiles, touched at the trust of the gesture as much as she is skeptical of Ivory's possible suicide wish. Holding on tighter, she leads the way. Back to luxury … is yet to be seen.

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