In A Completely Hetero Fashion

finnegan_icon.png tilly_icon.png

Where: Stakeout

When: May 3rd, 2012

What: Finnegan and Tilly meet for the first time while staking out a potential Advanced for bagging and tagging.

It's the unglamorous side of being a company agent. The sitting in a car, watching, waiting, tailing. Looking for a little more evidence that someone is an advanced and the necessary proof to bag and tag. June Stetter. Aged 26, suspected advanced as per the Suresh Algorithms. So far, they hadn't caught her doing anything suspicious. Tonight was the turn for another set of agents who had trailed her all the way to a bar. Not Finnegan's bar. Something a little less collegiate and more upscale where she worked as a waitress.

Engine off, windows up takeout in containers, it's looking like it's going to be a long hour until the woman gets off shift. "So. YOu go by Thaddeus, Jameson or Finnegan?" Newly arrived in vegas he may be, Tilly had been here for years. Likely he'd been warned of her. Tilly Marshal. Beware of goats.

"Who in their right mind would go by Thaddeus?" says Finnegan around a mouthful of lo mein. "My mother is sweet as pecan pie, but man, I hate that name. I swear to God they named all of us solely so we could look good on a law firm placard. Jamie, Finn, Finnegan'll do, ma'am."

Yes, he ma'amed her. His accent is a sweet Southern drawl but not a slow one. The fork is set back in the container and he flips through the file. "So we don't got any idea what this one can do, just that she's mathematically inclined to do it?"

"Thaddeus." Tilly rolls it around on her tongue between bite of Lo Mein. "Parents name their kids strange names" Her chopsticks are sunk into the container and she looks over to the file. "None. There's a pool at working going on what it could be be. I have a hundred bucks in for hydrokinesis." Tilly looks towards the bar in question then back to Finn. "Maybe babe-kinesis. I hear her tips are killer"

He looks at the picture on the dossier and lifts his brow. "Sure, they couldn't put me as a bartender over here," he says with a grin. "Right now I've got 20 year old girls working with who think I'm cute for 'an old guy.'"

He watches the window, looking at his watch. "And what's Tilly short for? Matilda? Talullah? Or are your parents those type that name kids nicknames like Jimmy and Chrissy without a formal name for the birth certificate and baptismal?"

"Matilda. Matilda Marshal." There's a grimace as she replays it like she did Thaddeus. "Marshal Matilda Marshal" She snorts then, a very unlady-like thing."Not that they ever thought I'd be a US Marshal. As for the bartender thing. I dunno. I know they like you where you are because of the college kids. Or not college kids. That football player, what's his face uhh Jason…" She snaps her fingers, trying to remember his name, hoping that Finn can jog her memory.

"Connors, I think his name is," Finnegan supplies. "Read that one the other day."

Another bite of lo mein is taken. "I won't call you Matilda if you don't call me Jameson Thaddeus, how's that, sweetheart?" Did he just call her sweetheart? He did. But it's sad in that soft Southern drawl and his eyes are on the window watching for their target, it certainly doesn't seem meant to irritate.

It's the tone that kills any snarky retort to the word 'sweetheart'. Perhaps if it had been anyone else that had uttered those two syllables they'd be on the receiving end of some chopsticks in orifices not meant to harbor such things.

"Sure. I can do that. But the moment you call me Priestess or Marshal Marshal, your full name is fair game. I won't hesitate to bring a goat into a room with you" Somewhat of a funny threat. "You see her?" Looking at the doors too then to her watch. Half an hour till closing time. "So. They shoved you in a bar? Why on earth a bar. Rumor has it you could have gotten a better cover"

"Priestess? Goat? What the hell am I missing there?" he asks, frowning as he turns from window to Tilly, shaking his head. "Not yet. Lots of folks going in, no one matching her description coming out."

He leans back again, setting the container down, and leaning against the window. "I worked in bars since I was a kid. Left school, went to Hollywood, worked as a bouncer and then later a tender. I'm good at it, and people like to talk to me. I think they think they might own up to being all special snowflakes when they're crying into their vodka and then I can bag 'em, right?"

He reaches for a 32-ounce soda and takes a long pull of Mountain Dew. "What's with the goat and priestess talk?"

"It's my goat trick" She's got coffee, but not touching it yet. "Nobara, you met him yet? Probably not, he tends to like the bars where the men haven't decided if they're men yet or women. If you catch my drift. But Nobara's about as flaming as his ability. When you don't catch him at work. Myself. Well. Someone's caught me with too many goats, going into a room, so they call me the Priestess behind my back." She snorts again.

"Pardon me if I'm not all girls gone wild with my one trick … goat. Like Nobara is." And she realizes she's deviated. "Okay, So. The goats. They are…. somewhat a sacrificial goat so to speak." Okay, this is going to be harder than though.

"I transfer wounds. To goats. To de-bleated goats, deep in the bowels of Primatech." Chopsticks are pointed at him. "And no, I don't do it all the time and if you make any jokes alluding to Catherine the great I will bring in a goat"

He turns away from the window to look at her as the explanation gets longer and more confounding, eyes widening just a little as if he might be stuck in the car with a crazy person. Another long pull of the Mountain Dew is taken and he's about to interrupt when she finally explains.

"Ohhhh," he says with sudden understanding. "Well, that's fancy. Can you transfer wounds to anything, or just goats? If so, do you carry a tiny midget goat around in a giant Coach purse just in case you get hurt?" If he's joking, he's very good at deadpan.

"Do I look like I'm the kinda woman that carry's a coach purse? I paid for dinner with a guys wallet" She points out.

"though a pocket goat would be wonderful. We do have a size manipulator on staff…" Potentially serious musing. "I might get a coach purse just for that. Sorry officer, ignore the bleating in my purse, that's just my teacup goat. He's harmless"

"Teacup goat," Finnegan says with a solemn nod. He has that look like he might be trapped with a crazy person again. "So, this is goat-specific, this ability? Because I don't see that as having a lot of potential in the world outside of a goat farm or the Swiss Alps or wherever feral goats roam? I wouldn't think I'd be having goat conversations in Las Vegas, honestly, you know? This is all very surreal."

"Nah. Can be anyone and anything. Not plants. Just seems to work on living breathing sentient things" And she's putting down her food, shaking her head. "Sorry. It got weird there didn't it? See, this is why I don't tell people what the hell it is that I do. It just gets too weird. Hi. I transfer gunshots and stabbings from person to person, occasionally goats"

And yes, She looks at the dashboard, a little awkward. "Normally, I just.. you know… Ooohkay. You know…" Tilly shifts in her seat, offering her hand "Restart? Hi, I'm Marshal Mathilda Marshal. You are?"

He snorts at her awkwardness, and takes her hand. "Jameson Finnegan, but you can call me Finn. You know where I can find a teacup goat around these here parts, sweetheart?" he asks, tipping his head and lifting one brow in the archetypical "smolder" sort of look — a look he can't quite pull off with the earnest sort of face he has, and those big ears.

"You're fine, don't worry about it," he says more seriously. "Just, you know, maybe less coffee. Did you spike it with Red Bull or what?"

"God, you know,I saw one the other day" She snaps her fingers after the strong handshake and settles back into her seat. "Yeah, too many of either of those today. Usually I'm the bitchy hard ass with the snarky off the cuff remarks. So off my game ton-Oh" She's leaning forward. "Hey Tequila, is that her?" A gesture to someone coming out of the bar matching the description.

"It's my rugged good looks. It happens to the best of 'em," he says cheerfully, before leaning to the window. "Looks like our bird has flown the coop. We really think she's gonna do something special and amazing and awe striking just because we're watching?" He takes one more long drink of his Big Gulp before setting it back in the cup holder. He watches as she walks through the parking lot, hands tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel, waiting for the target to head somewhere.

"Strange shit happens when you least expect it. If they don't get a hint of something, they'll pull of the detail and just wait. But we'll see" From the passenger side, she's tucking away fast food to be consumed later. "If she shows something, we're supposed to back off and they'll send us in later, or you and someone else to bag her after figuring out what's the best time. You ever done bagging and tagging? Or are you literally a fresh off the farm agent?"

"Don't be making farm jokes just because I'm from the south, now, Goat-Woman," he says, watching the woman but not yet starting the car. "I worked as an agent down in LA for the past six, going on seven years. Bagged and tagged enough to earn my stripes, I think." He doesn't offer a lot more information than that, though.

"So, you think she's a babe?" he asks with a nod to the waitress in question.

"Speaking as a fellow female of the species in a completely hetero fashion, she's not bad. Little junk in the trunk and could probably go a shade warmer on the bottled blonde, but yeah" Tilly shrugs. "Speaking as another female." Who's blonde herself but it's natural and not from a bottle. Well. Highlights maybe.

Goat-Woman though. "Mehhhhhh" She bleats out, in his general direction as she fastens her seat belt in anticipation of making the drive likely to the woman's apartment. "I should show you the stable where they keep them. Seriously, It's a tricked out goat pad. They got everything they could possibly want"

"Strictly hetero female, check," Finnegan says with a chuckle. "Duly noted." Yes, he looks amused.

The car is finally started as the woman they're watching gets into her own. "Everything the goats could possibly want, huh? So what, they got little goat masseuses and pedicures and the finest in entertainment technology to make sure they're happy, but," he lifts a finger in her direction, "can all that possibly buy their happiness when at any moment, the goat lady may come and lay hands upon them, making them bleed for no reason? Or, perhaps, they know that they are serving the greater good, by taking a bullet for a comrade, even if he be of a different species entirely?" Thank god for Tilly, he turns his attention back to the woman they're to follow.

"The finest vets the company can buy, all the painkillers and sweet grass that they could want" Sing song'd along with him. "It doesn't happen often. Trust me. Most people don't know what I can do, and I only do it for the ones who can't make it to a hospital. You stabbed your thigh? Tough shit, get stitches like random Joe Blow who doesn't have Tilly the Goat-Lady"

"The Greater Good though. Mind if I borrow that next time I'm called on? Can you picture it? Standing outside the door, holding the leash of the goat and looking at whomever's walking down the hall?" She laughs, focusing on the car in front of them that's pulling out. "For the greater good" Serious.

"You, lady, are something." He doesn't say what, but he looks amused. "So you got any reason to think this chickadee's a waterspout, or you just pulling that one out of your behind?"

He waits a few beats until the car is halfway down the block before he pulls away from the curb to follow, hanging back easily and driving casually to follow. "I'm going to go with persuasion. Maybe that's how she gets the super tips. Like you said, she's not that fine.


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