2007-08-04: We Need Your Alien Translation Skills!

Starring:

Meryl_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif

Summary: Meryl goes hunting for a translation expert. But she's not going to tell him the whole story, of course… That'd just be silly.

Date It Happened: 4 AUGUST 2007

We Need Your Alien Translation Skills!


Common Grounds, NYC

After ordering his usual at Common Grounds and taking a seat at one of the tables along the wall, Namir Dayan has withdrawn a cell phone and punched in a number. It's not long before the other end picks up, and then he begins a conversation in a low voice, speaking in fast and fluent Arabic. It doesn't sound like a very happy conversation, however it's not exactly rough and harsh either. It's simply strained and neutral.

—-

Ah, days. Not Meryl's best time. She prefers evenings, some point after noon if she can help it, but not today. She's got a mission in mind. Last time, there were no introductions, and yet she still seemed to know her quarry's name. This time, well… She's been following him for a while, from afar. Keeping eyes on him, and after due consideration, it was decided that this would be an easy mission for her to get her toes in the water again. She hasn't been on the field in quite some time. No partner yet; she's hoping maybe Namir can be swayed, because he's adorable.

"We meet again," she says, sitting down across from him at the table, ignoring the fact that he's talking his crazy moon language on the phone. "You know, I never did tell you my name. I'm Meryl." She holds out her hand, smiles.

—-

Namir almost jumps when the crazy lady reappears. What the hell? Is she following him or something? Then again, he's had stranger coincidences — but still. He speaks into the phone again, then covers the mouthpiece and addresses Meryl: "Pardon me, Meryl, I'm on the phone with my brother."

—-

Her eyes narrow, she purses her lips, elbows resting on the table, head resting in her hands. No, this won't do at all. She'll just have to wait 'til the conversation's done. Either that, or hurry it along in some way, which… Well, she could do something sane, like tell him that she needs to talk to him. Or even take the phone and hang it up, but… No. Instead, her eyes flicker downward momentarily, back up at Namir, back down, and she deliberately reaches forward and dumps his coffee into his lap. "Oops."

—-

It's a good thing Namir's half-expecting some sort of insane reaction from Meryl, otherwise he might find parts of himself scalded that should rightfully never be scalded. As soon as he sees her hand go for that coffee, he starts to shove himself away from table. As such, the liquid lands mostly on his lower thighs and knees instead of directly into sensitive parts. It still hurts, though, and he lets out a cry as he leaps to his feet. A string of rather foul words in Arabic flies from his lips, and then more talking — aggravated talking — into the phone before it's hung up. "Are you insane?" he demands harshly of the woman.

—-

"I don't speak Alien, you'll have to repeat that in English," she drawls in a low Australian accent, one elbow still planted on the table, as the other comes to rest placidly on the table in front of her. "And you'll want to get some napkins, too. You've got coffee all over— Honestly, why do I even take you out in public?"

With a long-suffering sigh and a roll of her eyes, she stands so she can head to the counter and get some napkins. "Insane? No. Insane people don't know they're insane; it's kind of a state of being. I guess in that regard, I could be, couldn't I? Oh, I don't know, I might be. The point is, you hung up the phone, and that's what I wanted you to do. Would you like me to buy you a coffee? You're wearing your last." This is punctuated with a smile. "On second thought, forget the coffee. I have a pair of pants for you in the car. B-R-B." Pushing her chair back, she vanishes from the coffee house.

—-

Well, now Namir is in a rather foul mood. He grumbles and mutters things in two languages: Hebrew and Arabic (something he rarely does these days unless he's well and truly miffed) as he brushes coffee from his pants legs. By now, others in the coffee house have taken to staring, but once Meryl exits, things seem to return to normal. Ish.

—-

Oh, Namir would be so lucky as to have Meryl vanish for good. But she returns with a pair of mens' pants that are probably about four sizes too large. Don't ask where she got them, or why she has them in her car. But they're pressed and clean except for guinea pig hair, and, well, she holds them out as a 'sorry I tried to spill coffee on your crotch and failed' present. "Thing is, I really need to talk to you, and if I could have just a couple moments of your time… It was good I ran into you. We need a translator for a business project, and last time we met, I heard you speaking Arabic. We pay really well."

—-

Namir pauses a moment. "I wasn't speaking Arabic when we last met," he states with a frown. She knew his name, now she's saying he was doing something he wasn't. But no, he had been writing in Arabic, so that's where she must have gotten it. The suspicion flees from his face and he shakes his head. "No, thank you, I have a job." And he waves off the very-too-large pants too.

—-

Meryl's face falls a little. Inwardly? Yeah, she should have known it wasn't going to be that easy. Also, oops? No, she can recover from this. All she has to do is come up with a logical excuse that doesn't make her look insane, which is easy. "Well, not when I saw you face to face. But it's okay, I've been following you. I must be crossing my wires. Here." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a card. "I tried to give this to you last time, but I lost you in the crowd." It seems like a legitimate business card, printed on good quality textured paper. There's a logo of some sort with a little swirly futuristic theme. Law Offices of Meryl Ann Wolfe is printed across the top. "This is very much right up your alley, Mister Dayan." She doesn't give more detail just yet, though she will. She'd like to be able to do this the easy way, if possible. But Meryl's been studying him. She knows he's smart.

—-

To her credit, Namir is rather clueless that there's anything other than a business deal being exuberantly thrust upon him. The fact that she knows anything about him, and the fact that the business card is for a law office only leads him to believe that she has access to his service records with the NYPD. That's probably how she knew his name and how she picked him out. He accepts the business card only for a look, then attempts to hand it back with a shake of his head. "Really, I'm very happy with my current job. I'm not interested in a translation job."

—-

"It's a one-time thing. Look. Come with me for a quick walk, we'll talk about it, if you really don't want to after I give you the details, you'll never see me again. Promise. But you, we've been scouting several people for this job, and you're one of the only ones who even comes close to what we need. Also, you've got the cutest hair. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? Geez, mate. Rowwr." WINNING SMILE HERE. "Absolutely serious. But I think you're missing a huge opportunity if you don't at least hear me out here. Give me twenty minutes. Got a whole packet prepared for you in the car. Read it over, I'll answer your questions, then you get a few days to think about it, or you can say no, I don't care. And the fee is negotiable. We're willing to pay well for your time." Make him feel needed. She's not sure if this'll work, but there's an out for him, too. Of course, if he refuses… She'll have to track him down with some back-up next time and do it the messy way. She'd rather not have him completely traumatised.

—-

Sigh. Sadly, Namir is too kind for his own good. He glances at his watch, decides that he does indeed have time enough, and shakes his head. "All right, all right." It's said in the manner of one who hears out a telemarketer, even though he doesn't plan to buy anything. Tucking away his phone and giving his pants a few last-minute brushes, he gets all set to follow Meryl out.
Excellent! The expression on her face is soundly gleeful, and it's a real reaction, too! God, she totally did not want to have to pull out a semi-automatic or something. Not that she would have - too many people around. Too risky. Meryl's ot a complete idiot, but… Anyway. Standing, she leads the way out to a really nice-looking car. Rather new - if not brand new, then only a couple years old. Purple. Somehow, it makes sense.

—-

"Door's open, I knew you'd say yes." She heads for the driver's side. There is, indeed, a folder full of paperwork sitting on the console between the seats. Persistant could be Meryl's middle name.

As she reaches her side of the car, one hand discreetly reaches up to pull the small pistol from a holster hidden under her suitcoat. That's just insurance, though, and she holds it to her side as she sits down, keeping it out of Namir's eyeline, next to her seat.

—-

Though he's off-duty, Namir carries his own handgun for insurance as well. It gives him the confidence and false sense of security that causes him to enter the car without much hesitation. Then again, Meryl set it up well. He would have no reason to suspect anything. "I haven't said anything ye— "

The Israeli cuts off with a sharp grunt of pain as soon as he's seated. He half-rises to peer down at the seat with a confused and rather displeased grimace. "There's something— in— there's a needle." But it's far too late. The sedative's already starting to take effect. He can feel his limbs growing heavier, his vision starting to cloud. He blinks, trying to keep himself awake.

—-

That's when the pistol appears, out of the view of anyone passing by. Anyone close would have just seen two people getting into a car together, no struggle… And they'll likely take no notice as Meryl starts the car and heads off down the road, back toward base.

Before he falls asleep, though, she does offer a short explanation. "I'm sorry, Mister Dayan. The world needs saving. You're not exactly dangerous, but the fact is, we're going to need you for awhile." For what, she's not going to say. After all, there's still a slim chance that he'll escape before she gets him back, and she doesn't want that. "Just make yourself comfortable. When you wake up, you won't remember a thing."

…Eventually.

—-

Naturally, Namir starts to reach for his gun, but by then the sedative is doing a very good job. He can't reach it. He doesn't even come close. Instead, he slumps against the door, eyes rolling. God, he's so tired. Terrified. Tired.

Sam's not going to be happy when he doesn't show up for dinner at 'home' tonight.

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