Joaquin Dizon (federalservice) wrote in theinvincibles, @ 2015-07-25 19:32:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log, georgia bell, lindsay colt |
WHO: Agent Lindsay Colt [491], Agent Georgia Bell [028], and a pair of NPC metahuman residents
WHAT: A date! Not between the Agents.
WHEN: Evening of Saturday, July 25, 2015
WHERE: A fancy restaurant in Chicago.
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Complete log!
There were people who would say that it wasn’t fair, that this was part of her job. Over the course of the day, Lindsay had been all over Six Flags, on a skyscraper around sunset, and now she was sitting at a table at a fancy restaurant. Overall, it had been a day more annoying even than usual, mostly thanks to their charges -- two eighteen-year-olds who may as well have been thirteen, judging by the way they acted around each other. Out of the goodness of her heart, she’d managed to keep from rolling her eyes when they were watching. Which was not very often, so caught up were they in one another. She pushed around some of the food on her plate with a fork. The small table that Lindsay and Georgia, her partner for the day, were occupying was pushed no more than two feet away from the small table the freaks were sitting at, and they didn’t seem that concerned about their love talk being overheard. “Are all teenagers like this?” Lindsay questioned, eyes turned to the ceiling, and then seemed to realize she’d said it out loud, albeit quietly. Georgia paused, a leaf of steamed kale dangling off her fork. While she had quite enjoyed their day's assignment, she could tell that the day had worn down her younger companion. Sometimes, Lindsay seemed more like a grumpy old man than a young, twentysomething woman. "Aww, I think it's sweet," Georgia said, not quite answering Lindsay's question (Lindsay may not have wanted it answered, anyway). "And you don't have to be a teenager to fall in love." “I guess not.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and frowning, torn between the need to suspiciously watch the two sitting next to them and the need not to watch their PDA. Lindsay did, perhaps, feel a little bit bad, if she were to dig deep enough to acknowledge it. While she certainly wouldn’t have considered her coworker a friend -- not that there were many people she would give the term -- Georgia was certainly genuine, and caring, enough that Lindsay was sharply aware of her own social shortcomings (something she didn’t usually care about) around her. “I certainly wasn’t like that,” she muttered. “It just seems pointless. The… flaunting.” "I don't think they mean to," Georgia said gently, setting her fork down. "But in those early stages of a relationship, you just --" It had been years since she'd started a new relationship and felt like that. Idly, she wondered Lindsay had anyone special in her life. Maybe she wouldn't mind getting set up. She stole a glance at the lovesick couple. "I remember one of my first assignments in Philadelphia was kind of like this one," Georgia added. "It was this couple's first date, and one of them was a Gamma, so it was kind of a big deal that she used one of her free days to get out of the facility. They went roller skating and had pizza, and then, a few years later, I got to be on detail at their wedding." After a pause, she admitted, "Most of the Res Agents were working the wedding, since they invited almost everyone at the facility. But you never know. Maybe it'll happen again." Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “Well,” she said, “I suppose I’d rather have had the day we did than have been forced to sit through a wedding.” She wasn’t complaining, necessarily -- getting to go to an amusement park for free; there were worse jobs, she supposed -- but as important as she knew their job was, she sometimes didn’t like feeling like she was nothing but a glorified babysitter. Albeit to babies who could destroy all of Chicago. Not even the good food on DMS’ dime made her feel better, since she wasn’t quite a food enthusiast, as the half-eaten meal proved. “You’ve been doing this a while, then,” Lindsay continued, tapping fingers on her arm. “You don’t get tired of this sort of assignment?” "No, never!" Georgia shook her head. "They're always different anyway. Even when it gets to be wintertime, and we're taking them skating at Millennium Park every other day, the people are different." She peeked over again at the young couple. "And it's good for them to have something going right." Next to them, said couple was oblivious, heavily involved in the laborious process of feeding one another bites of dessert. Not for the first time that day, Lindsay swallowed both the urge to vomit and the urge to comment on how she wanted to vomit. “And have you ever … been needed?” she asked carefully. Not that her answer would be that telling, as she assumed that most of their presence was to act as a deterrent for those who wanted to escape just as much as they were to stop those who attempted. "A few times. If a meta couple fights, you want to make sure it doesn't get too intense, you know? But the most memorable time doesn't have anything to do with fighting," Georgia said, laughing at the memory, almost a giggle. "This girl had temperature powers, just a few degrees either way, not that dangerous in the grand scheme of things, but when she got all hot and bothered, so did everyone else in that corner of the park -- literally. So I had to go and stop their make-out session before this old lady passed out from heat stroke. I felt like such a killjoy." “Huh.” Lindsay shifted, uncomfortable. It sounded more like another example of why metas were dangerous and out of control to her; although she didn’t say so at first, it probably showed on her face. “Sounds like it could’ve gone wrong if you hadn’t been there. Regardless of how dangerous her power seemed.” But then she wondered if that would come off as a judgment, not the compliment she had sort of intended, and she added, almost a joke, “That’s sort of the job description, isn’t it, though? Professional killjoy.” Georgia smiled at the joke, though she didn't quite laugh. She preferred not to think of herself as a killjoy. "I guess," she conceded. "But only if whatever they're doing is an immediate threat to others." “Our presence alone isn’t exactly heartwarming, I’m sure.” Lindsay glanced at their charges, and then looked back, although they were always (unfortunately) in the corner of her vision. “I’m sure they’d rather we weren’t here.” The couple laughed at an inside joke, uncaring or perhaps just not listening of what their agents were saying, now holding hands across the table. Lindsay glanced at the time; it’d gotten away from her. “We’ll be late. We should tell them to hurry it up.” "Let's just have the waiter bring their bill," Georgia suggested. "They'll get the hint." She caught their waiter's eye and pantomimed signing a check, then pointed to the metahuman couple's table. He seemed understand her request and disappeared into the kitchen. "You're right, they would rather we weren't here," she explained. That wasn't always the case -- some metahumans liked having someone who could, for example, zip up the backs of their dresses in fitting rooms and carry their shopping bags -- but it was often enough. "This way we're not interrupting. They can keep pretending, and it's better for everyone if the metahumans aren't annoyed with us." This caused the younger agent to snort, as she sat up, pushing her plate away from her in a signal for the waiter to pick it up. Whether or not some other agents seemed to think her views extreme, Georgia at least was diplomatic enough that Lindsay couldn’t find any reason to argue here. The bill came to the young metahumans’ table, catching their attention and forcing them to pull apart, although their not-so-secret shared smiles remained as they argued over who would pay. “That I can agree with,” she conceded. |