2007-09-13: You Stink


Felix_icon.gif George_icon.gif Identity_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Identity's pug stinks.

Date It Happened: September 13th, 2007

You Stink

Manhattan, NYC - Battery Park

Cue Felix and the mail order bride. It's a cool, pleasant evening, and Felix is walking along with Misha, at the edge of the water, looking out at Lady Liberty. He's got a blue workshirt on over a white t-shirt, jeans, old boots, glasses rather than contacts. "We came up the coast, the first time we came to New York. My mother insisted, even though we'd been flown into Dulles for her debriefing," he explains. They aren't hand in hand, but he's oriented towards her in that way men have when it's more than just friends.

"Just do your business so I can go home and clean my guns," Identity says to a dog on a leash. A black and white dog on a leash. A pug, actually, with a snaggle tooth. It's sniffing about the base of a statue, but doesn't seem to have taken interest in making a deposit. Identity wears another sort of casual tee and jeans ensemble with heeled boots and a leather jacket. Just a native of the city walking a dog. Yep.

If only Mariska had a nickel for every time she's heard that phrase since coming into town… then, uh, she'd have… five whole cents. She strolls with Felix at a pace more properly dubbed as 'painfully slow'. She seems to have gone full-on King Lesbian for the jolly green giantess astride in the harbor; she can't take her eyes off the thing. Every now and then she bobble her head in a classic 'uh huh, totally listening to you, dear' nod but, really, she's in it for the view.

Felix is not in his snappy suit. He's in his usual random workshirt, t-shirt, and jeans ensemble. He's walking along the edge of the water, regaling Mariska with one of those wonderful immigrant 'So that is the first time I saw the statue of Liberty' stories. ID he hasn't noticed yet, which is likely a good thing.

The blonde with the dog gives the leash a little tug. The canine does not respond. Identity leans against the statue's base and waits. "Jesus Christ, dog." A cell phone is slid from her pocket, and she one-hand-texts on it, the other hand wrapped around a leash leading to the pug's collar. She glances up every once in a while, but if she's recognized one of the strolling two, she doesn't outwardly show it. At least not yet. The closer they draw, the more likely it is her eyes will track Felix as he passes.

Heading the other way is George, sporting a standard-issue pair of white-corded earbuds, though one of them is tucked into a pocket so as not to relegate the outside world entirely to a silent-movie landscape. It's too late in the week to be jogging; he contents himself with a strolling pace, glancing upward as he recognizes Felix, but only just.

What is it about the Statue of Liberty that always manages to make immigrants, legal or otherwise, soak their panties or go a big rubbery one? Because, seriously, here's Mariska making eyes at Lady Liberty like she'd never known love until this very moment (or some other likewise cheesy sentiment of affection stolen from an 80's power ballad). When the Russians manage to come around a slight curve and catch a full-on, unobstructed view, it's enough to make Mariska pause abruptly and back up a few steps… as if what she needed was just another foot of distance in order to ogle her bronze beauty mo' better. Welcome to the ever changing obstacle course of life, George. Evasive maneuvers.

It also explains while Fel is grinning at Misha, conspiratorially. He actually nudges her with an elbow. "I know, huh?" he says, amused. "It's totally cornball, right? And still amazing." George he knows… of. A chance meeting here and there. He gives the man a tentative nod. And then there's Identity, and Felix is staring. She's totally stalking him. What the hell?

Identity's eyes meet Felix's for just a moment as the man looks over. She's already checked out his companion. It's but a moment before she's watching George and Mariska headed for a collision course in her peripheral vision. She smiles slightly.

George inclines his head to Felix, returning the gesture, before his attention slips over to— wait, who's this? Wasn't he keeping company with someone else, at last count? He must have missed the memo. "Welcome to Southern Canada," he offers, for lack of anything more specific to break the ice with. He's still turned slightly the wrong way to have spotted Identity yet.

Sorry, kids. No extremely low-speed collisions seem to be on the menu tonight. Try back in the morning when the tourists have been let out of their overpriced, roach motel cages. There was almost a lean, though. Mariska came about two breaths shy of crashing temple to shoulder with Felix… until George speaks up. Oh, look. American humour. Introductions are no doubt imminent. The woman with the dog remains in the fringes of Mariska's perception; present as a shadow but not a face. (And don't feel bad about the memos. Apparently, the distribution list on Felix's sexual agenda needs to be reexamined because Mariska missed the whole series that got put out about him being gayer than a John Philip Sousa parade.)

"Hey. George, wasn't it?" Felix says, offering one of those rather lame little grins that you do when you're not entirely sure you know someone. He's still watching Identity like he expects her to either try to bite him, or come for his gun. Again.

A cigarillo is slipped out of her jacket pocket and brought to her lips. Id glances down as the little dog finally drops a steamer. The blonde grimaces slightly. "What the fuck did you eat for lunch? The neighbor's cat that's been dead for two weeks? Bad dog." She pushes off the statue, lights the cig, and takes a drag. The smoke smell drowns out the other scent briefly. Only briefly. She shakes her head slightly and turns to walk the pug away from the statue. Was that a little smirk in Felix's direction?

"That's right." Yeah, he sorta knows the doctor that you sorta know, remember? Again he glances over to Mariska, as if to give and/or receive a proper greeting this time around, but his concentration is thoroughly mussed as Identity finally makes her presence impossible to ignore. "They're like babies, in my experience. The relationship between what goes in and what comes out is who-the-hell-knows." The stink doesn't visibly bother him, but then he's plenty further away from it than poor Id is.

Mariska is finally forced to end her intensely visual relationship with Lady Liberty by virtue of the fact that Felix has taken to staring at something else statuesque in the opposite direction and there's also apparently some guy named George who was almost talking to her for a second there. Also, the scent of steaming dog dirt has wafted over on the air. The Russian woman wrinkles her nose and bats a look between her bespectacled buddy and the one-eared jogger… and then over her shoulder at, wait, can't see. Mariska turns to give the departing Identity her attention because, hell, she's managed to grab everyone else's. Why not.

Yeah, about that. Aileen, so not talking to Felix these days. "You know Aileen, right?" Fel asks, the hangdog look descending. And then he holds out his hand to Identity as she passes, like a beggar asking for alms. "I want my clip back," he says, grumpily. "I assume that's why you're here."

Id pulls a bit of a face as babies are brought into the conversation. She notes, quiet briefly, "I really think he ate the dead cat…" The dog may actually be a girl. Identity doesn't know or care. Heck, it's not even hers. "What? I'm walking a dog, genius." And then the blonde carries on along the path, headed to parts unknown. That was a bizarre little exchange, wasn't it? "Evening." She glances down at the dog as she walks, "You stink."

George nods again. "Yeah, that's right." Aha, something at least vaguely resembling familiar territory, there. "I'm George, and you are?" This is directed, finally, at Mariska. Identity's too busy for intros, looks like.

"Mariska," says… Mariska, sounding right out of some bad vampire movie, only a little less Romani and a little more Red Square. Felix is busy being strangely familiar with the pug-thief; best to let him do his thing lest she somehow manage to fuck up another not-quite-romance on the boards or something. (So far, she's two for two and hoping for a hat trick!) At least she puts on a little smile that might actually be genuine for George, though. See? Genial. Not a homewrecker — apartmentwrecker — whatever.

"She tried to mug me last night," Felix says, watching Identity go, making no attempt to detain her. "Apparently for my gun. Which just proves there's no limit to the crazy in New York." He just shrugs, before looking back at the pair. He doesn't explain his relationship with Misha, because man, that's complicated. "Have you spoken to Aileen lately?" he asks. "She's not returning my calls, at the moment."

Not far off, as Identity walks the pug away, there's a groan and an exclamation from her, "Jesus Christ, dog! Stop." Hm. Must have been a doggie fart. "I'm not paid enough." She mutters something that sounds like it was about fetch with sticks of lit dynamite. Merrily, the little pug trots off with her. If Id is the sort of love connection Felix goes for, he should just sign himself up for heavy interrogation now, with pillowcases of soaps and electroshock. Might be easier. Then again, to outward appearances, Identity does not look like a mugger. Or interested in Felix's… gun. Maybe he hit the vodka too hard.

"Guns in New York are just par for the course," George muses, shaking his head. "Now guns in Texas, that's personal. 'Pry it out of my cold dead hands' and all." Come to think of it, he does have that sort of accent, a bit. "And no, not lately. You want me to ask if I do?" No conflict of interest here, as in this version of the timeline, he decided the doctor wasn't quite his type.

Aileen. The Russian woman recognizes that name and it draws a darkened expression down onto her face. And George, friend of Aileen, now undergoes a certain degree of closer scrutiny. Is he looking at her funny? Perhaps silently resenting her for breathing? Hating her Ruskie guts? It's funny because, whether she realizes it or not, the look she's giving him might inadvertently suggest that she's reciprocating her own acrimonious emotions. Wait, who tried to mug Felix, whu? But, by the time that Mariska's turned her head, Identity is out of sight.

It'd be a typical Company courtship. Look how Church and Vasili left him, and they aren't even trying to ask him out. He grins at George. "I know, huh? And please, tell her to call me, if you do." He flicks another look at Identity, but she seems to be moving off. That look on Mariska's face has Felix looking embarrassed.

Felix gets a shrug from George. Women— what can you do? "Sure. She has your number?" Never hurts to make sure that it really is the woman being crazy and not the man. "Mariska, ah, nice to meet you," he adds, now starting to resume his earlier course of travel, so as to give the kids some room to work out whatever issues they're having. Along the way, his cell phone buzzes and he pulls it out, providing a convenient excuse to make his exit.

Mariska tosses a half-hearted little wave at George's back and utters, «Goodbye.» even if the man can't hear it. Americans are so… busy. They always seem to have somewhere else to be. And then there's this guy - Felix - who shows an admirable interest in two other women but can't be bothered to introduce the one who'd been standing next to him the entire time. That bodes well for the future, no doubt. Instead of storming off let a petulant child to go sulk in some far off corner of the world like she did a few nights ago, Mariska sticks around and even observes, «You're worried about her… Aileen.»

«A little. I didn't realize… I didn't know I could hurt her as badly as I seem to have done,» he confesses, bowing his head a little to the wind off the water.

«You know, for a cop, you don't seem to realize a lot of things.» Sure, maybe that was a little bit below the belt but, face it — it's also a little bit true. Mariska begins to make a slow and steady pace away from the path, hands shoved into the pockets of her denim jacket as far as they can go. She's heading into darker territory, literally and conversationally. «You're about as careful with other people as a bull in a china shop.»

«I… know. I know I… am not what I should be, in that department. That's why I tried so hard, for so long, to avoid it.» Fel follows her, tread quiet, after a last glance at the statue. «I know where I'm hollow. Like a rusalka.»

Really? He wants to go with a feminine comparison? It earns him a slightly brow-fretted look from his companion but she leaves the gender issue alone for now. She gets the idea. And she agrees. «Why avoid it? Would you prefer to be alone?» Mariska asks, in all seriousness and without sarcasm. She dares not turn her head to spare a glance his way just yet, though, perhaps for fear of glimpsing some sincerity.

It makes him look oddly old, the way the lines of his face are set. «I don't get off on hurting people. I don't enjoy it. I don't mean to. But I do. I don't know why, precisely. I can't blame the depression.»

Mariska leads on until finally managing to find an out of the way spot soaked in enough shadow to conceal them both so long as they keep intimately close quarters. This'll do. Perhaps if they were some other couple - some other pair of lovers renewed - this little niche might qualify as the perfect place for a public tryst. But that's not what either of them is there for. The journey from Manhattan to Queens in apparently one that Mariska isn't willing to make longer than it needs to be tonight. She steps in to Felix's personal space and wraps an arm around his shoulders while another circles his waist. This is jump prep. «Maybe you should talk to Doctor Eames,» she suggests from only a breath away.

He knows it's only business. But he leans into her, nonetheless, even tucking his head against her shoulder for a moment. He's bone thin, as usual - his heart is pounding within the confines of his ribs with the fury of a bird trying to beat its way out of a cage. «Who?»

KRAK! A split second of two-dimensional existence later and suddenly they're both standing in the middle of Felix's sixth story apartment in Queens…

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