Who: Loren Chapel and Scott Cunningham, then Tate Langdon and Eliot Spencer. What: Oh just some light interrogation with a psycho with a heart of gold and a hitter, also with a heart of gold. What could go wrong? Where: Passages hotel, then through the Leverage door. When: Last week, before Loren found Hannah’s body. Warnings/Rating: Tate. And swearing.
The plan was rather loose and poorly fettered, as far as plans went. Even Loren, who had the functional memory of a starfish, recognized this as a long shot with lousy execution. Innocence would be lost along the way, but that was neither here nor there. An angel had her wings clipped, and his apartment these days had become the tomb of a religious martyr. It was all he thought about, and it was all Tate thought about. There was no room for anything else, and they say that obsession sneaks up on you slowly, but this came all at once. This was fury, and vengeance, and so much hate that it didn't even have a name. Loren needed to find the person responsible, and the lengths he was willing to go to for this were ever changing. Stretching further and further away from morality, blurring on a balance beam of right and wrong. All that remained was the solution, the pot of gold. It was somewhere, it was someone.. and he was going to find them.
This was an afternoon like any other, hours spent prowling the floors of the hotel in wait of some passing face. Somebody to stroll by with a little nod. Looking like the ghost of Christmas future with that reaper's smile that never reached his eyes. Always wandering somewhat aimlessly until somebody caught his eye, which Scott managed to do on this particular afternoon. Stopping before what was presumed to be his door with that key in hand. Loren walked by without looking up, just listening for that telltale click of the lock. And here we go..
All that was really required was a forearm across the shoulders to secure any eventual flying elbows. An arm wrenched behind the back and Mr. So n' So's face pushed into the yet unopened door. "Don't mind me, we'll make this quick." Loren quickly released the man in exchange for the door knob. A twist and a push, and we all fall down.
When Scott first received the journal, he became curious. The key that came along with it was worthy of an investigation which was the nature of an agent. When he was just a soldier going out on your own was not only frowned upon, but suicidal. Strangely enough, being curious is what kept a CIA agent from dying in the field.
A key that had a return address for an unassuming hotel out away from prying eyes? Count Scott in.
This was only his second time going, so he already had a taste of the interesting transformation that occurred behind the door. When he was inside he became a voice that resided in the head of one Eliot Spencer, rather interesting. Where he could give up control and return it to his voice, if only for a day. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his life, but that temporary abdication of his throne was enough to get him returning.
Turning the lock in the door, he barely had a moment to register the body behind him before the man’s forearm blocked his initial defense. “What the fu-” he snapped. He was about to deliver a different defense (a nasty scoop kick to his groin should do the trick) when his voice chimed in. Let him inside with you. I got this. Making a quick decision, he let go. Twist and push and Scott tripped inside...
Eliot quickly adjusted Scott’s trip into a ninja roll before jumping and righting himself, giving himself distance between him and his potential attacker. Pulling a rubber band off of his wrist, he began putting his hair into a ponytail while eyeing the other man. “You’re damn lucky I haven’t beat the answer out of your yet. Whadya want?”
Tate had none of Loren's phantom mercenary training. Sure, he was fairly handy with an axe - what serial killer wasn't? - but he took a fall just like the next guy. Well, maybe not this guy in particular. On hands and knees, Tate didn't look very threatening. He didn't even try to pull that off. Certainly when he glanced up, all angel curls and devil eyes, there wasn't much to be afraid of. Unless one accounted for the silence, that quiet that went along with his unnerving little smile. Tate stretched his corduroy legs out, taking a seat on the floor. "Tell me about the guy on the other side." There was a beat before he remembered himself. Then he smiled that gravedigging smile and added, "Please."
Eliot raised an eyebrow. He definitely didn’t believe this kid’s false innocence, nor did he feel threatened by his presence especially since he saw him just eat it on the floor of their office. He still didn’t understand why this kid--it was a man outside--fine, man, why was he skulking around the hotel to their worlds and picking random strangers to interrogate them? He decided to hold off punching him. For now. Crossing his arms, Eliot gave him a good hard stare of disapproval at his question. “You must be out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m just gonna tell you,” he drawled. “Why do you wanna know?”
"I did say please," Tate offered gently, as if it was a sound piece of evidence that this other man was severely overlooking. "Why wouldn't you tell me?" The angel's brow creased, and there was a contemplative tilt of his head as he tried to cram the pieces altogether. "Has he done something wrong?" That would interest Tate very much. He smiled suddenly with palms spread, preparing to explain something seemingly lighthearted. "I ask only because somebody has killed the girl I love.. and I think for real, this time." Which implied that there were other times, but Tate didn't want to get derailed with explaining such minor details. They say that honesty was the best policy, and Tate knew that it could sometimes shake loose the truth. He watched the man's face, waiting for a flicker of recognition. "So?"
If the kid hoped to appeal to to his human nature, then he was talking to the wrong member of Leverage. Parker would want to help. So would Sophie. Maybe even Hardison if he played his cards right. However, Eliot had been trained to be suspicious of any and all stories unless the proof was in front of him. He began slowly pacing back and forth, as though he was a tiger circling his prey. “Just because you’re using pleasantries don’t make you a nice person. Not to mention I don’t trust you” Eliot was curious how the kid, though he could see Eliot had the upper hand, didn’t appear to be scared by it. Then again, if his story was true, the boy was too busy with his current agenda to be worrying about the physical risks involved.
His eyes narrowed as he sized up the kid. No military training though his counterpart clearly did. Probably no more than seventeen or so, definitely still in high school. Druggie. Yeah, there was no chance he was taking him at his word. “If your girlfriend was murdered, then why didn’t you just go to the police? There’s a ton of us here and for all you know your killer might not be in Vegas anymore. You gonna chase every one of us that goes for our doors?”
To be fair, Tate never claimed to be a nice person. Sometimes he was hit with the wonder and need, the want to be a good person.. but nothing ever seemed to come from wanting it. He doubted that anything would help him now, what with Violet gone. She'd been the light in the dark, and now it was going to be dark forever. He watched the man pace, the precision of steps and the hard, unyielding eyes that betrayed absolutely no trust at all. The hands that did not shake. He reminded Tate of the SWAT team that stormed his room all those years ago, and even that made him smile just a bit. His palms dug for purchase into the floor, and Tate pushed himself to standing at last. He was the one asking the questions here, but there was one that he just couldn't resist answering. Was he going to chase everyone through their respective doors. Dead eyes focused on the taller man, "Yeah, I am." Everyone would suffer until Tate found him.
The moment the kid really looked at him, Eliot realized something: he was telling the truth. If there was something he was far too intimate with, it was what happened to a person when they lost someone they cared about. It affected everyone differently, but he saw the entire collage of reactions: grief, depression, anger, haunted. This kid lost the one he loved and he was going to get answers. The way he stood up...Eliot didn’t like that. He mentally geared himself up before speaking again. “Then we reached an impasse haven’t we?” he asked.
"I guess so," Tate shrugged. He didn't seem all that bothered by it, judging by his dimpled smile. If this guy wanted to play his cards close to his chest and tell Tate absolutely nothing about his other, it only pushed him to the top of the suspect pool. "Hey, I get it man.. we've all got a little something to hide." Those sneakers drew Tate ever closer, but he didn't touch the stranger. There was an amused tilt of his head, something serious in the eyes that was impossible to decipher. "... skeletons in our closets."
Believe him, don’t believe him, Eliot had no intention of giving the kid anything about Scott. That was the point of both of their jobs; to lie and lie, and even when the truth is thrust in front of you, lie some more. And no guy looking to avenge his girlfriend’s death was going to change that anytime soon. A small growl of frustration could be heard as the guy was starting to intrude on his space. “You’re about to get a beating here, and I’m not afraid to hit you, kid.”
"I'm not afraid to be hit," he explained with a smile that caught his tongue between his teeth. All charm and a half-wink that didn't really belong anywhere near this conversation. "And I'm not leaving until you tell me something." That friendly showmanship was still in place, with all the flair of a ringmaster he spun those deceptions, but it never quite reached his eyes. Especially when he continued, "I know you think you're tough, but you're not the only one. My guy on the other side is pretty fuckin' tough, too.. and I'd rather not have to implicate you if it's not necessary. So how about you do the both of us a favor, huh?"
“So’s my guy,” Eliot responded, smirking as he moved into place. his hands in a ready position to retaliate with whatever the kid tried to dish out at him. “And I’m happy to get beat up if it means you’re stuck with nothing information wise. So if you’re willing to fight, I’m not against showing you why you’re wrong.” He rolled up his sleeves in his own efforts to show he was willing to fight to keep his information a secret. “So no favours here, kid.” He waited to see what the kid would do in response.
"It's not a fucking favor," Tate snapped. "SHE'S DEAD!" The words were a scream, catapulted out a dark nowhere, and there was too much rage here. It fueled him, but it wasn't the strongest thing. There was love, too. Lost love, the worst kind. Such things eradicated sense and sanity, if anything like that had ever truly been there to begin with. "I loved her, and she's gone, so fucking tell me!" There was a knife in his hand, yanked clean from somewhere under his shirt hem. Tate wasn't a man of threats, he'd never mastered that kind of thing. It was safe to assume that whenever he produced a gun, an axe, or - in this case - a simple kitchen knife, he intended to use it.
Eliot’s face immediately morphed into one of complete passiveness. The kid wanted a reaction and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give him one. That face twitched a bit, however, when the knife was produced. He had been trained to always assume the opponent had a weapon on them. Pulling the knife didn’t alarm him but put him in an immediate defensive position, feet moving into a full moon stance in preparation for the impending attack. His hands moved into fists but with the back of his fists facing out in preparation for slashes. “No,” was his only response. He had every intention of forcing the kid to make the first attack instead of him.
The knife came up with the quick dexterity of familiar use, but Tate did not swing out for the man. Rather, the knife's tip came up to rest against pursed lips while he considered this man and his defensive stance. He recognized the element of training, because he recognized it in Loren even if Loren did not fully recognize it in himself. Tate wouldn't be able to kill this man, not today, not in an undisguised attack. Part of him even acknowledged that Violet might not want him to kill strangers.. but Violet wasn't here anymore, was she?
A smile burst loose from the steel side of his knife, visible from just around the point edges. It matched the wink and little kiss he gave the blade upon backing through the door from whence he came. It was a look that said see you soon..