Not So Idle Threats

past_amelia_icon.png past_finnegan_icon.png past_zan_icon.png

Where: Las Vegas

When: August 22, 1955

What: Two Company agents find their target. Troublesome though he may be.

In 2012's Las Vegas it's easier to blend in and be part of the crowd, no matter how outlandishly dressed you are. One one block, a visitor or even a local can witness at least four Elvises, each one from a different period of The King's life, and each a different race. You can find burlesque dancers mingling with tourists in Hawaiian print shirts, Workers from Circus Circus passing through the Excalibur, and amongst them all, jeans and t-shirts, suits, dresses, shorts, and polos.

Not so in 1955.

After spending a night following one lead after another and getting no closer to his girlfriend, but getting a lot of strange and questioning looks, Zan has spent a rough morning following a sleepless trying to make amends with a certain Doc. He might have to go back later, eventually, and continue reconciling. For now, he's taken the man's promises on faith and once again hit the streets. Time to do something about the clothing issue.

The coat Zan borrowed from the Moulin Rouge does alright covering his t-shirt, though the backpack hanging from his shoulder still stands out like a sore thumb. The hat, also borrowed from the same club is pulled down to obscure his face a little while he hunts for a fair enough place to get some more period clothing. Likely he'll be borrowing those, too.

Some people are just better at hunting. While Rylie has apparently disappeared into 1955, Amelia and Finnegan's target is a lot more thoughtful.

Amelia and Finn, though, they could be totally different people. The Company agents have the clothes, the walk, accents and are strolling arm and arm along that same sidewalk Zan is on while Amelia points out the sights of the town. Like she's never seen it before.

It is, in fact, while she's pointing out some fancy looking restaurant that she tugs on Finn's sleeve. "You've spotted it, haven't you?" It could be normal conversation, but there's a cut of her gaze toward a certain time-traveling backpack.

He's about to say something when she does, so Finn nods. "Reminds me of something back home," he says in his quiet Southern drawl, his feet changing direction to head in Zan's direction.

"We'll have to inquire where we can find such a thing here in town." He quickens his pace just a bit, though not enough to make it look like he's giving chase. Perhaps he's just super excited to get to the Sands and hear Sammy Davis Jr. sing or something like that. "Flank?" he says quietly to his partner, a sidelong glance for any non verbal communication.

Intentional or not, Zan doesn't realize he's got a couple of tails. The sort that don't come on shirts and coats isn't a concept he's considered much, especially since he's unaware that anyone else might know of the rift that leads to an entirely different era. He hefts the strap of his pack higher onto his shoulder while he continues along his chosen path, gaze lifting often to take in the sights of decades past and look for pieces to fit into his own hodgepodge costuming.

"You always have the good ideas, darling," Amelia says, grinning as she gives a quick pat to his ass. It isn't exactly the flank, but close enough for jazz. She breaks away from him after a step or two, to come up on one side of Zan.

Her arm slides through his, and she greets him with a sweet smile. And for some reason, addresses him with a southern drawl. "Hello, Alexander," she says, "Don't shout. Or run. Or make a scene in general." She doesn't appear to have a gun, but who knows. She has a Finn, at least. "So what brings you to the Fifties? You stick out, you know."

Stepping in sync with Amelia, Finnegan ends up on the other side of Zan. He looks the younger man over, a glance at the backpack that stands out in the time period they happen to be in.

"What she said," Finn says, his own accent Southern, and perhaps Zan will remember that it was in their one meeting in the shopping mall a few weeks back, so it's likely more genuine than Amelia's. Other than that he keeps pace, but close enough to grab Zan quickly; Finnegan's coat sleeve brushes the other man's every few steps, possibly to make the other man realize he's outnumbered.

It takes every shred of willpower for Zan not to pull himself away from Amelia's grasp. Likely she can feel him tensing, it's visible when he clenches his jaw. "It's Zan," he states, quietly enough for just the two agents to hear. A flick of his eyes gives him a look at Finn first, then Amelia.

"I'm looking for someone," the mayor's boy explains. "Who shouldn't be here. And neither should you. And I'm aware I stick out. Leave me alone so I can work on not sticking out and get back to why I'm here."

"Oh come on, this is Nineteen Fifty-Five. No one's called Zan," Amelia says with a teasing tone to her voice. And she just smiles in the face of his discomfort. But she looks past Zan over to Finn to comment, "And I just thought of a name to add to that list we were working on."

But she looks back at Zan, her free hand gesturing widely. "What a coincidence! We have been looking for someone who doesn't belong here and is going to bumble around the past and screw up god know what in the future, too. And I have a proposal for you. You let us find all the people back here who shouldn't be and you mosey back over to that crack in the wall and go home. Yes? No?"

"Zan sounds like a commie name to me. I think you better go by Al," says Finn cheerfully, and he raises a brow at the possible addition. "Zanagan?" he asks, but then gives his attention back to the task at hand.

"Look, kid, I'm sure you mean well trying to find whoever this person is, but you don't know what damages you could do. Give us a name and description of this person who doesn't belong, and we'll round 'em up and you can go back and play some X-Box or whatever it is you do back home."

"Ooo, the C-word. You're supposed to be a red blooded American, not a red blooded American, Alex— " Amelia pauses there, mid-thought, because another thought butted in. "Actually, Alexander's pretty Russian, maybe we should just call you John." There's a laugh, though, for Finn's guess and she nods a little, "Okay, I owe you dinner."

Her nodding continues along with Finn's suggestion, too. "Exactly. It's sort of our job to round you all up and get you back home. So let's boogie, huh?"

"Why not," Zan counters in far less pleasant tones. "There was a kid named 'Beaver'." On a TV show, sure, but it's in principle. He pulls his arm from Amelia's then gives Finn a look. Zanagan? "Alex, if you must." So derisive, he really doesn't care for his given name. Another glance angles itself from one agent to the other, while he keeps pace.

But the offers and suggestions both have him shaking his head. "No. No, I'm not going back. No, I'm not telling you who I'm looking for. And no, I don't want your help. So go away, or I'll go away." And that they won't like his way of going away is implied.

"Alexxx," says Finn in the tone of "Duuuuude" or "Brooooo" that he probably hears too often himself at his bar. "Come on. We people from the '12s have to stick together. Don't be like that." An arm slings around Zan's shoulders, the hand going up to rub knuckles into the other man's hair in a seemingly affectionate noogie, before dropping back down to Zan's shoulder to get a grip on the backpack.

Meanwhile, his other hand slips to the inside of his coat, hooking on something there. "And I really don't think you should try to 'go away,' kid. I'll take you down before anyone can see just how special you are, got it?"

A glance upward gives away that Amelia knows just how he's thinking of going away, and she looks back at him with a shake of her head. "Oh, sure. They just got over McCarthy and you want to cause a public spectacle that will ensure you're born in a camp instead of a hospital. Good idea."

She looks over at Finn, her smile turning a little sultry there. "I just love when he gets all forceful," she says, in a tone that's likely meant to make Zan a little uncomfortable. "But seriously. We'll get your missing person and toss them back through, too. No problem."

That backpack is pulled off his shoulder, then out of Finn's grip, all without Zan losing stride. It's returned to his shoulder in the same beat, just in time to catch Amelia's meaning. "I figure it'll be more like Roswell, only backward." Since he has a habit of appearing like a UFO as well as getting into trouble.

It's Finn who gets his attention next, a look daring the older man to try it. "I'm not going back," he states. "Got it? We can go around and around with this, but I am staying here until I've found what I've come here from. You can help, or you can get out of my way and leave me alone."

A glance is given across Zan to Amelia. "I don't think I like your tone, young man," Finn says cheerfully, his left hand curling again around that backpack strap and then giving the younger man a tiny bit of a shove so that Zan moves forward a step…

…just as his right hand slips the tranq gun out of his jacket pocket, a quick pulse of his finger sending the dart toward Zan. The gun is pocketed again swiftly. "I think you've had too much to drink, pal. Let's get you back home."

Slowing her steps just a little, Amelia lets this unfold with a sort of worried look about her. Alas! Our poor little friend who drank too much in Vegas! But she steps forward just as the drug starts to make Zan feel too woozy to start upright, and she slides an arm around him. But it's pretty clear she's going to need Finn to take the load here in a minute. Can't have the girl carrying the body in the fifties!

"You never let me get to the bit where I start threatening to tear knowledge painfully out of their brains. I'm leading with that next time. Are there cabs yet? We need to get him back to the hotel."

"You'd get along well with my brother," Zan retorts. There's nothing wrong with his tone, people just take offense too easily. He starts to turn as he's shoved, hands grasping his pack again with every intent of taking it from Finn's grasp again. He might even be considering leaving right then and there regardless of what the two agents think.

But then he's shot. Quite summarily. The boy's eyes widen with surprise when the dart bites into his flesh and deposits its payload. His next couple of steps have him lurching. "…Hate you," he manages as the ground sloshes and begins to look far more welcoming than staying upright is.

"Aw, I thought we had us a bromance going. Sad times," says Finn, reaching to grab Zan's arm and holding it over his shoulder, as if helping carry a comrade to safety. Or a frat brother to bed. "C'mon, Al, it's back to the hotel for you. You'll have a bit of a hangover in the morning with none of the fun getting it, I'm afraid."

To Amelia, he laughs. "Of course they have cabs. Do us a favor and grab one, will ya, Amel-louise?" he asks with a wink. "And grab his pack, too, maybe."

"If you're going to start calling me that, I'm going to leave you here." Amelia steps away, though, moving to whistle for a cab to get them back to the hotel as she grabs the backpack. "Let's just get him off the street and at least into some proper clothes. And with some other person back here, we're going to need to grab them, too. Oh, what a mess."

A cab does stop, pulling over to let them in, although Amelia takes the front seat. The cabbie gives them a knowing smirk. Zan isn't the first young guy to overdue it in Vegas.

And by the time Zan starts to come around, the three of them are in a hotel room, Zan's pack long since been rifled through and put back together, and Zan becomes keenly aware of one little fact. He is handcuffed to a bed. But at least he's clothed.

With Zan in the bed, Finn is sitting in one of the hotel room's chairs, tipped back against the wall with his sock-clad feet propped up on the stationery desk. He looks less formal now, coat off, shirt collar undone, the sleeves rolled up. "Three stations and nothing on past 11 p.m. How did people live like this," the Virginian is lamenting.

He does have a newspaper, skimming it for anything out of the ordinary that might give clues to anyone who's not supposed to be in the time period making waves. "So you know who he's after? How many people've gone through the rabbit hole that shouldn't've?" he asks Amelia.

"His girlfriend. And I have no clue. Hopefully not too many. They're going to be sad when they try to go home and find it closed, though." Amelia sits on the arm of Finn's chair, leaning over to skim the paper, too. "And that goes for the TV, too. That whole three-hundred-channels-with-nothing-on thing would blow their minds, yeah?"

She reaches over to point at a small article toward the bottom, that features a picture of the man calling himself Doctor. Apparently, he's been something of a Good Samaritan around the city, making citizen's arrests, saving cats, that sort of thing. "I don't know about that guy. He's working hard to make sure Vegas loves him."

The groan of hung-over is recognizable, no matter who's voice or what language it's in. There's no mistaking the sound. And when it comes from Zan, it's a sure sign that the drugs are worn off. He moves a hand to scrub the grogginess from his face, then finds his hand attached to the bed. If there were anything meant to jolt one to awareness, that could be it.

Zan's gaze follows the line of the bed, gaze widening to take in the rest of the room. And eventually he finds Amelia and Finnegan. No love or even like for the pair right now. Just a sudden, "What's all this?"

"Interesting that he was hanging around here," Finn says, squinting at the article, then over at Zan. "Junior's up!" he says brightly.

"Clearly you aren't going to do as we ask, so you get the tough love treatment, kiddo." The agent glances at Amelia. "So you know who she is, what she looks like? Or do we have to interrogate him? If so, I'll get the wax, you get the staple gun."

Joking aside, he gets to his feet, picking up one of the tumblers to go fill with tap water, then carrying it over to the prisoner. "It'll wear off quicker than a real hangover. That's the good news. Sorry 'bout that." Kind of. Not really. But it's the right thing to say.

"Weird, right? I dunno, it stinks of a codename to me." Which could mean anything. And none of them good, really. Amelia looks up, though, at that moan, and while she might have been serious a moment ago, a grin comes to her face as Finn talks. "Of course I know what she looks like. However, finding her is another thing altogether."

She stands up to come over toward the bed, although out of kicking distance still. "Relax, we're not going to hurt you or anything. But you seem like the type to overreact and the last thing Vegas Nineteen Fifty-Five needs is you lit up and flying out of a hotel window. We're trying to protect the future. That world you strolled out of, crazy stunts here mean that there might not be the there you remember when we get… there. Whatever."

"You should've guessed I wouldn't cooperate when I told you to go away the first time." Zan rattles his shiny new bracelet against the bed frame, then looks at both agents expectantly. "Not going to hurt me," he scoffs. "I could tell you a thing or two about not hurting. He rattles the handcuff again, then takes the cup of water and gulps it down.

"You seem ready to expect the worst of people," he counters, lowering the cup again. It's given a look, either considering throwing it or wishing it'd held more. "You don't have to read me the Prime Directive either," he continues, looking up from the empty cup. It's still in his hand, so that's a good sign. "All I'm trying to do is find someone and get back home. Things've already changed from the last time we were here, I'm trying my best, with what I've got, to keep from making it worse. Now, let me go?" The cuff is rattled again.

Finn lifts a hand to his head in the 'call me' sort of gesture. "Pot? This is Kettle. You black." He drops the hand and shakes his head. "We expect the worst? I asked you for a description of your lady love, and you threatened to cause a spectacle of yourself, kiddo. You didn't give me much choice. And what do you mean, the last time you were here? You've been back galavanting through the past before?"

Finn glances at Amelia over his shoulder, then back to Zan. "Just what is your girlfriend trying to do? I'm glad you have the mind to come back here and try to get her out of trouble and keep things from getting screwed up, but the fewer people romping around here from 2012, the better, I think."

"Jesus, you are dramatic." It's Amelia's only commentary for a while. Apparently, she trusts Finn to speak for them both. But when he hits a lull, she adds in, "And I'm not uncuffing you until you learn to be reasonable. For the record."

Moving to sit back down, she props her feet up this time and looks over their way. "And since the portal is closed for now, we three need to do two things. First of all, we all need to not show off powers or draw unnecessary attention to ourselves and second of all, we need to find Blondie and tuck her away, too. Before one of us invents the banana daiquiri a few years early, if you know what I mean. This isn't a game or a romp. Small changes here mean huge changes later. And when that thing opens next, you're going through it, whether we find her or not."

With a shake of his head, the cup is set aside, nudged onto the nightstand. Then Zan drags himself more upright, sitting regardless of however precarious it might be, cuffed as he is. It feels less vulnerable. "I'm not going to go showing off any powers," he says finally. "You think I don't know this isn't a game? That I don't get the ripple effect? And if you put me through that hole without her, I'm coming right back in. I'm not leaving this time without her."

That said. "Yes, I've been here before. Once before." Zan pauses to hitch his gaze at Finn first, then at Amelia. "A guy at a gala ran into me, gave me a note with a stage name and an address. One guess what the address is. We came through, my girlfriend sang the opening act for Eartha Kitt and then we watched her perform a couple of songs."

"Well, I can promise the first easily enough." Finn doesn't have a power, so it's kind of cheating. He goes back to the seat. "We'll find her, then, and try to get back without stepping on any butterflies or other bugs for that matter. And certainly not inventing the banana daquiri early. Can we do humanity a favor and make sure it doesn't get invented at all? And if we do anything to hinder the invention of Slurpees, I am personally holding you responsible, Al-Zan."

Finnegan kicks his legs back up and tips the chair to lean against the wall. "If we let you help us find her, it'll be the buddy system. Because we need to know where you are, and I don't think Verizon gets a good signal here in 1955, do you?" Despite just having sat down, he stands again, the chair legs thumping down on the carpet. "Dibs on the shower."


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