Wine and Headaches [Open]

[Oscar Leonhardt]

Fresh coal was quietly cackling in the DNCS barracks common room fireplace. The whole room was spacious enough to host a sizeable party, with a round table in the middle and couches surrounding it, bookshelves decorating the walls and a big, rather fancy chandelier hanging from the ceiling right on top of the table. It had woman written all over it, Oscar could tell, for no man who made a career around here could have selected that particular lighting item. Oscar, lounging on one of the couches with a smoking cigarette between his fingers had to pause at the thought. There were certainly more delicate and prissy looking males in the labs, in fact, he could actually think of one who would swoon over the new decoration (for the previous chandelier had been destroyed by a party gone wild in here a few days ago).

Oscar smiled at the glass of expensive red wine in his other hand and took a sip of it. On the table in front of him, there were two parcels. The first was wrapped in paper that was usually left for Christmas time, all red and greed and with blue ribboned bells, while the other was more of a tick envelope that had a very plain and formal look about it, the paper post office specific. Although the first sender was very obvious to him – his sister, Laurie, sending him something he hoped wouldn’t be surprising – like last time. Judging by its still quality, he took comfort in the thought that it couldn’t contain something living, like the homeless puppy she had delivered last time in a box with holes. Although he had lectured her about the policies at the barracks and the illegal quality of having a pet within the DNCS housing quarters, the growing fur ball was wandering around the premises right now, probably chewing someone’s shoes. If anything, it was a good reminder that private belongings needed to be kept within boxes or inside rooms (for those who benefitted from more space, like commanding officers and generals like him).

Setting his half-finished glass down, Oscar picked up the more mysterious envelope. It was addressed to him from the state and it didn’t look like any secret mission papers he could have been sent, especially since the public post wasn’t how they distributed such parcels. He held the cigarette between his teeth as he ripped the envelope open and pulled out some papers. While he read, the curiosity on his face transformed into confusion and ultimately outright incredulity. A public notice was informing him that his mother’s father and thus his grandfather (person he didn’t know existed) had passed away recently and his last will and testament named his mother as the direct recipient of his belongings and in city apartment. Since his mother was also dead on record, the inheritance thus passed on to him and his sister.

As he slumped back against the plush back of the couch, Oscar looked at the piece of paper in his hands as if it was some form of nasty joke. He, his sister and his mother had lived in poverty that still haunted him in nightmares at night and here this notice was informing him that he had had a grandfather somewhere who owned an apartment in the most select part of city center? Who was this absent relative and why hadn’t his mother told him anything about him? Questions stacked inside Oscar’s mind along with outrage at the situation and the two people who could answer them were both dead, one of them actually soliciting him to take care of the funeral. As if he had time to bury some random old man he had never met!

Well actually… he did have time, but that was beside the point. Besides the notice, there were other documents that would come in useful when claiming his inherited stuff as well for the purpose of the funeral he was supposed to hop to organizing. As things stood, Oscar was finally financially secure for the first time in his life. His job here at the DNCS paid more than well and so far he hadn’t had any desire of owning a personal apartment outside the barracks. Whenever he got tired of the crowd he just went to spend some time at his sister’s place and her guest room was more than welcoming. With a tsk, he balled the notice in his hands and threw it towards the fireplace, past the door, catching someone in the head with it just as they entered the common room.

[Cassidy Morgan]

It didn't make any sense. None, whatsoever. Not a smidg- oh, hell, who was she kidding? The fact of the matter was that the Tristan Caine "special assignment" that she was supposed to be working on had, save for the information Agent Glower had on a flash drive in his possession, gone utterly cold. True enough, the information contained within the flash drive (Note: to be determined later, whenever Fate returns and Cass/Evron get to talking) had disturbed the purple-haired one and certainly added to her "mutant sympathy" mental mechanic... but the disturbance was not so hazardous that it hadn't been crushed into a spot in the back of her mind by a heavy, solitary night of tangling with an ornery Kentucky-based cowboy by the name of Evan Williams. Whiskey was never her first choice (though it certainly ranked above tequila), but whiskey had been Caine's drink of choice, so she had thought it fitting... at least, for the first hour or so that it took until she was three sheets to the wind. Additionally, she had no clue as to how to act on the information given. As such, there was nothing to suggest to her that she needed to alter her usual work habits.

And that - that was how she'd ended up with the supremely lame task of "investigating" (read: cleaning out) the scarcely used barracks space that had, officially, been Sir Tristan's. Cassidy liked to act like she didn't pay attention to anything, and in many cases it was more truth than act, but in this case? She knew damn well Tristan had never been one to frequent the barracks and she was 110% sure that she would find nothing of interest in his officially assigned space. In fact, she was quite certain that the only thing she would find in the barracks was empty space and dust. But she'd been commanded to go look, anyway, and then, of course, manufacture a report about it.

It was lame.

And what else was lame? Pushing the door open into the barracks common room... and being struck in the face with a paper ball. What was this? Kindergarten? The stray projectile knocked the Operator's beret off of her head and onto the ground, away from where Oscar was sitting. Since she didn't bother to look at the "culprit" of the "paper assault", her verbal response was quite general as she turned and bent over to retrieve her fallen hat.

"Oi, geez... has the budget gone to shit, or what? Soldier boys gotta fight with the leftovers from records keeping and medical? I'm glad I didn't get shot, but... isn't this a bit embarrassing?"

[Oscar Leonhardt]

As it stood, his paper projectile landed, with severe lack of consideration or grace, on someone’s face. Wait. He knew who it was too! The often drunk, sloppy, and ultimately very amusing voice over the coms. Although circumstances had scarcely spared the two time enough to get acquainted properly, now, over the fresh papers of his sudden grandfather’s funeral summons, was the best moment of any to correct that. She ranted over the incident as she picked up her beret and Oscar grinned, the side of his face leaning against his knuckles.

“The matter is rather relative really. It could be your fault for rudely hindering someone’s operation of destroying something that must cease to exist for the benefit of mankind… or man. One man. Namely me.” He pointed at himself with his free hand and then realized it too empty so he snatched his wine back from the table. “But I’m a gentleman… and will forgive you.” Like he had forgiven, well, Oscar didn’t know - the incident where she spilled coffee over the mission location coordinates and sent the whole squad in a completely different country? Not that he was really mad about that one, since it hadn’t been top priority and it turned into one of the most delicious spontaneous vacations he had ever had. So really, he should have thanked her, though they had been so far away from the target a different team was sent from central for being much closer.

Details, details. “So what have you been up to, Cassidy? I see you’re still not fired.” Teasing was rich in his tone, and he couldn’t for hell or holy know why it came so easily towards her, a person he didn’t exactly know in the flesh. He supposed the verbal acquaintance over the various Medias and the brief encounters of before had left an impression that inspired a VIBE. Or he was starting to go senile. One of the two.

“Also congratulations on volunteering to help organize a funeral. There will be food and liquid compensation, so don’t worry, you won’t be exploited.” He said everything in a very light way, as if he was simply sharing the shallow gossip of the day. “When are you free? Saturday or Sunday? Though I suppose it could be done during the week too… but there are these missions coming up…” Forget “hello”, to the bin with other pleasantries, Oscar was in the mood to be dramatic and direct. AND he needed someone to help him with the funeral. No way was he going to burry an unfamiliar man, all alone (for he saw no reason to subject Laurie to the experience), and be all awkward and polite to a random minister who would look at him queerly for not having one word to say about the deceased, don’t even mention the inexistent sadness.

Maybe he should improvise a little speech…


((Let me know if you don't like what I did there with the mission and I'll remove it!))

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, cowboy," she started, not-so-delicately placing the beret back on her head. For extra unprofessional effect, Cassidy made sure the beret was shifted to the left, and tilted up. She'd called for a time out not just because there were three different points Oscar had given her to address, but also because, while she recognized his voice in her head, she needed a moment to file through her mental "staff picture rolodex" and match voice to face. Her form straightened and she placed her weight on her left foot, folded her right arm across her waist, and shook her left index finger at him. "Order of operations, Mr. Half-Phantom, order of operations. You can't go bombarding me with that much at this hour of the afternoon, ya know? I'm thinking "what's on special?" and you're all... fired and forgiveness, and... what? A funeral?"

The semi-scolding was given with a half-smile, to match her "half-phantom" comment, but it faded into a more neutral expression. She gave a somewhat dismissive shrug.

"First, there's no forgiving me for anything. Not around here... You might forgive me out there-" And she jerked a thumb towards the exit, meaning to indicate "outside of work", although it may not have come across as such. "As you ought to be aware, here at the DNCS, the only thing that can be done with li'l ole me is to tolerate my existence. ...Oh, and my - and I quote - "much appreciated patriotic financial contributions." Which, of course ties directly into why I'm still around. Ha! So, forgive your superiors, if you must. It's their fault I'm still employed and it's also their fault that I have... how did you put it? Rudely hindered your, ah... destroying... whatever it was you said."

Her stance changed then, as she seemed to relax. She struck a pose with a wider base, tucking her left arm behind her head and extending her right arm skyward, arching her back in a suddenly much needed stretch. This motion, of course, sent her beret plummeting to the floor again, but this time, she didn't bother to notice. Instead, she looked right back at Oscar, one eye closed, as she recovered from her stretching.

"As for what I've been up to... that's sorta why I'm here, but it's really not that important." While that was certainly her opinion of her immediate task, Cassidy didn't exactly think that investigating a potential traitor was "unimportant." But she stated it as such, anyway. "What is important... is that you, sir, just asked me out on what is probably the most macabre date I've ever heard of. I can't organize a sock drawer - I have a maid for that, you know - so it's certainly a misjudgment of character to think I could organize a funeral, right? And I dunno if you've noticed, cowboy, but you really aren't a very faithful spouse? I swear, every time you come a-callin' over the intercom, it's a one night stand, wild adventures or not, and then you just up and disappear for months." She smirked, placing her hands on her hips. "But... since I'm nice and all... I'm free whenever you need me to be. If I throw enough money at it, I'm sure the event will organize itself." She waited for a moment, and then produced a semi-concerned expression. "That is, of course, assuming you actually want me and think it's a good idea..."

[Oscar Leonhardt]

Oscar smiled at the sudden nickname. He kinda liked it. He observed Cassidy during her discourse with growing amusement, his chin nuzzled in his palm, eyes almost droopy. It wasn’t that he was tired, just relaxed to be back at central. There was something special about the DNCS, and it didn’t have anything to do with mutants. The people were just… a little different from anywhere else, and in a funny way. His smile pulsed in a little brightness when he was told he shouldn’t forgive her for anything around here, savoring the irony of being lectured on the matter, he who was so stern during operations that people didn’t recognize him outside of them. She had no way of knowing that side of him outside of light gossip.

His amusement mellowed when she explained the prime reason she was kept employed – money. It was such a foreign concept to him, a person who had clawed his way up through merit out of nothing and he couldn’t readily believe it. Cassidy had her talents, even if she chose to pile her issues over them, and Oscar simply wondered why she was so ready to paint herself personally valueless. Sure she seemed more of a mess than most of the rest, but that gave DNCS some flavor. Considering their differences, you’d think he’d be jealous of the wealth and security she was born into but Oscar never thought of it. He had grown up providing for himself for the most part and that was what he knew. Relying on someone else’s financial funding was hard to imagine.

She curved into some form of stretch and Oscar placed the glass of wine on the table, leaning forward to set his elbows on his legs, hands brought together to support his chin. The twinkle of amusement was back in his eyes. She dismissed one of his questions and carried on to what had caught her attention better. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the end of her banter, but his amusement took an arrow to the knee at her monetary offer. On some level it was like a personal insult. Oscar had never taken charity from anyone and it was absurd to start when he didn’t even need it. The only manifestation of his thoughts was a dimming in his smile, but the moment was gone quickly and when he leaned back in his seat, smoking cigarette retrieved from the tray on the table and held at chin level, there was some mischief in his eyes and charming grin.

“Always happy to stand out,” he told her, with reference to the macabre quality of his proposed “date”. “As for your usefulness – if you just show up and stand there, maybe do something awkward, that would lessen my burden.” His eyebrow rose a little at a thought. “Don’t actually try thought, wouldn’t want you stealin’ my spotlight.” He took a smoke of his cigarette and then plunged the stub into the tray. When his gaze returned to her, nonchalant mischief was in his eyes. “As for my faults… don’t you think you’re not one to judge, Cass? We’ve all got our flaws here and there. At least I didn’t cheat while away, c’mon, that’s gotta count for something?” He laughed as he played along into her scenario. It was true on two fronts in a sense, the first being that he took over radio communications for the team when away and that he never found the time or desire to date anyone when out of the country. He didn’t need the complications and he wasn’t a one night stand kind of guy.

“If we must, we can go for some counselin’ or whatever,” he waved a hand a little. “But I’m done with my antics. I promise.” He smiled normally at that, genuinely pleased by the news he was about to impart. “They finally upgraded me to a stable job description. Apparently I’m valuable enough they need me around here now.” The end of international wandering could finally give him some time to settle, breathe in the air without expecting to be shipped miles away in a few weeks. “So you’ll be getting sick of seeing me now honey, so start getting used to it.” He was back to being humorous for a bit, then something became lightly serious in his eyes. “I don’t need a monetary donation for it, but thanks for the offer. If you come there just as… you, that’ll be enough.”

Oscar wouldn’t go to explain how nervous he was about the whole thing and how weird he felt about throwing a death party for people who knew his grandfather when he had never even seen or spoken to the man! For some reason, the thought of talking someone from work along comforted him in some way. He needed a bit of familiarity in a sea of random people. “I think it’s a splendid idea. Can’t imagine someone better to take along. We can bond over a burial casket. Wouldn't that be a tale?” Oscar chuckled and shrugged. Cassidy’s openly friendly and lighthearted attitude was exactly what he needed. Besides… who else would have even accepted? Oscar smiled into his shirt, pleased to have found another good side about her. Being an overly absent, stern mission leader left you without actual friends.

But! It was time to change that. Now looking to the Christmas-wrap parcel from his sister, Oscar shredded it open, bracing himself for what lay inside. What he found within surprised him because… it was so queerly normal. Cookies. Home made cookies. He got up with the box in hand, wandered over to Cassidy, swept up her beret from the ground and would plant it on her head if she didn’t hinder him before lifting the cookies towards her. “Want some? And I swear I’m not serving you first so you can taste them for me in case they’re poisoned.” Mischievousness was back in his grin but his eyes were friendly and a touch warm.

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Ack."

It wasn't really a sound of resistance. The quick release of the underwhelming noise coincided with the beret dropping back into place on her head. It was such a pain in the ass accessory, in Cassidy's opinion... and yet, for some reason, she was careful to always keep it around, if she was in uniform. She was weird like that. At Oscar's offer of cookies - which, for no real reason, took precedence over anything else he had addressed - Cassidy's eyes momentarily crossed. Then she smirked.

"Is this also about that spotlight you mentioned?" She teased. Then she poked herself in the belly. "As in, your strategy is to load me up on those, so I lose the interest some take in my figure? That's really quite mean, ya know." She took one anyway. "Of course... you'da scored more points if you'd offered the spirits instead of the sugar, but..." And she gave a little sigh, breaking a piece of the cookie off with her fingers. "...seeing as I'm still technically on the clock, I'd have to refuse. Maybe the judges'll take that into account... haha."

Popping the broken piece of baker's delight into her mouth, Cassidy turned to give Oscar a side profile. She appeared to be having fun. The situation was certainly more entertaining than searching an empty locker and, in truth, it was more interesting just because it was so odd. Over in the office building, people couldn't wait to get her out of the way, usually with a handful of reproachful remarks. True, the barracks tended to be more... welcoming to her, if only due to her looks (especially for what had become a very routine rookie hazing tradition at the DNCS - post about that coming sometime in the future) but Oscar's presentation was far more cordial. It was... refreshing.

"Are you sayin' pot meet kettle, Mr. Half-Phantom?" She asked, her tone as innocent as possible. "I never said I was the judge, after all. I was just... making observations. Ha, I sorta haveta do that as my job, right? Aaaannd, how do I know you didn't cheat? You can say it all you like, but I don't see any proof anywhere, do you? But don't worry, cowboy, it's way too much effort to be all vengeful about it. Besides, all you guys leave me in the end - Sir Tristan being the most recent ex. 'Course, the brass's seen fit to drop a new playboy into my office, too, but... I don't remember seeing your name anywhere?" She gave another little sigh, popping a newly broken piece of cookie into her mouth. Then, she poked her cheeks with her index fingers, and momentarily stuck out a chocolate-stained tongue at him. "Prolly cuz you're way too high on the prestige factor for an arranged marriage to someone like me, huh? I bet Angelique made sure of that... Eh, you'll probably have that new cute little blonde as your Handler, if you go on any field missions from here."

Cassidy's expression seemed to sink for a moment, as if the thought of being passed over in favor of someone else in her department actually bothered her. In a small way, it did. Everyone enjoyed being the first choice, after all. But she distracted herself with the rest of the cookie, reminding herself, while chewing, that the less important the assignment, the less she had to do... and, the lower the chances of drawing extra attention to herself, that might uncover other things she didn't want or need revealed.

"Anyhow, if you drag me into the counselor's office, they're just gonna tell you I'm a lost cause and they might very well shoot you for the headache, so... let's just work it out like a normal couple, okay? And bonding over a casket, hm? You know, that's really not as odd as you might think. The trio I have employed at my house probably woulda walked a long time ago, if they hadn't been with me when I buried my parents. Oooh, I know! Should I come dressed in mourning garb? I bet I have some really neat black things tucked away in one of my closets... Haha, oi! You want sweet and innocent? Sexy and sultry? Ummm... an absolute mess? Angela's kind of a wizard with make-up, I bet she could make me look downright awful..."

And, quite abruptly, it appeared she was back to having fun.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

“Is there a beauty contest I haven’t been informed about going on?” Oscar asked with only partial fakeness to his curiosity and smoothed a hand down the side the dark vest that covered his light green shirt. He had just gotten back yesterday and he wasn’t exactly up to speed with what inside cultural activities were going on. It wouldn’t actually surprise him if she said “yes” in all honesty. “Perhaps I should have worn something that brings out my eyes.” Or well… eye. He placed a hand to his chin and turned his head so that his good side was in full view in a light diva way then chuckled and abandoned the posture. “I’m scoring points?” He mirrored the tease that had been in her tone. Perhaps he should have stifled his curiosity but he didn’t. “Judges?”

Oscar helped himself to a cookie as she made more observations, noting the chocolate filling just before it was displayed to him on Cassidy’s tongue. Her words made him raise an eyebrow and cross his arms, the cookie box still held in his hand in an awkward pose. Oscar appeared amused. “So if you don’t have any proof either way it’s got to be the bad alternative? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Many bad experiences, probably, but everyone was jaded about something or another in their life, so Oscar wouldn’t judge. His disposition sunk a little as the thought forwarded him to how he never seem able to discover one person who could stand by his side rather than in his shadow when it came to taking responsibility and offering support. When she pointed out that he wasn’t on her list he took it more seriously.

He was no longer crossing his arms and he waved a hand towards the couches, silently inviting her to sit with him through the chat and ready to follow if she chose to take it. “Are you and Angelique having some sort of fight?” That might explain why the other woman had practically assaulted him right off the jet with a list of “appropriate and qualified Handlers” to choose from that had a P.S. like footnote at the end, encouraging him to steer clear of Cassidy and her “absent work ethics, unreliable character and under qualified status.” Dazed from a ten hour flight and back in the country after a six month absence, he hadn’t given his new stationary position handler any thought, instead rushing to the nearest fast food joint to savor a REAL burger after months of having to feed on all this vegetable crap that was practically the foundation of the other country’s culture. His next priority had been fifteen hours of sleep and now here he was, settling in, enjoying the week of vacation he would have before being officially back on the job.

Oscar didn’t know who the woman Cassidy was talking about was, but he made a little show of considering her now. “Cute little blonde, huh?” His hand was stroking his goatee. “I haven’t gotten to filling out the forms yet, perhaps I should check her credentials…” His blue eye was thoughtfully cast to the side for a moment before he poked lightly at Cass’s beret (not strong enough to push it off her head but shift its position a little) and gave her a half-smile. “But I’m used to hearing your voice through the coms.” Although Cassidy didn’t look like the most reliable or efficient person, Oscar had never personally found any reason to be angry or disappointed with her performance. She almost made the missions themselves funner somehow. Regardless, his smile disappeared and when he cast another look her way he was serious. “However, you sure you want to work with me, Cass? They’re throwing me at dangerous and top priority stuff on a moment’s notice. Not sure how much you’ll like me on your list when it’ll wake you up in the middle of the night and keep you up into the next day.” Not to mention the level of lucidity someone would need to be able to respond to that summon and to work through the task. Every now and then some mutant decided to become a public menace and when it happened it was always the kind that could hand you your head if you got too close and those were the kind of cases that were mostly on his plate. When he wasn't on those, he was probably investigating defective or suspect members of the DNCS itself, funny thing that, since he was one of them on some level.

“Agreed.” About the joke trip to the counselor office that was drawing out more truth than it had intended but was applauding itself for it. Oscar didn’t manage to snap back to joking immediately as Cassidy did after the mention of burying her parents. Although the funeral he spoke about organizing was a morbid affair, he wasn’t emotionally involved in it at all and the one parent he had buried had him feeling relief and closure at the lowering of the casket instead of pulling at his heartstrings. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents. May they rest in peace,” he offered in a lower, respectful tone, lowering his head a little briefly.

Despite the new shift in mood, Oscar found himself slowly being dragged back into the lighthearted disposition. “Sexy and sulty… No. Wait. You mean for the funeral? Ahhh… I don’t think we need to give them a show, quietly regretful should do it.” Amusement was back in his eyes. “If you want to practice your acting skills I suppose you could go the extra mile and be the weeping mystery lady, since none of the people present would be able to figure how you’re related to the deceased – a sixty year old man, by the way – but don’t look at me if you get yourself haunted later.” Oscar took another cookie and enjoyed it before adding in more thoughts. “This funeral… I don’t actually know the deceased.” Suddenly, he hesitated, waved a hand. “It’s a long story.”

“I was thinking to schedule it for Saturday. What’s a Saturday usually like for you?”

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Ah hahaha, uh... fight? Angelique? Me? Fight?" Oddly enough, and even though it had been Cassidy that had brought up the subject of Angelique, Oscar's inquiry into the subject brought a touch of crimson to the purple-haired woman's cheeks. Her laugh was a bit on the nervous side. Still, she shook her head. "Not a... fight, really. It takes two to tango, as they say, and... I'm really not interested, so... it's quite one-sided. I don't know the reason for sure... but if you listen to certain rumors... there was something? Er, at one time, that I apparently don't recall in the slightest that... suggested to her that I was... interested... er, in her. That was... maybe two and a half years ago? Angie seems to hold a grudge..."

With that unfortunate (and perhaps, not even completely accurate) bit of dirty laundry aired, Cassidy was quick to find a different distraction point in the conversation. She didn't fully understand the situation and, honestly, had made no attempt to. It also ruffled her feathers that her maid, Angela, and her immediate superior, Angelique, had such similar names. Oftentimes, she wondered if that had been part of... whatever the misunderstanding had been. Then again, the rumors suggested something else completely.

As it was, Cassidy immediately hopped to Oscar's apologies with regard to her parents. This time, the shake of her head was more emphatic and genuine, and she waved his words aside.

"Don't worry, cowboy. They've been in the ground for a decade, at least. We weren't really family, anyway. Not that you want to know or need to know, but I was an accident and probably only saw that pair for... maybe two years, tops, in the eighteen years we shared the status of "alive."" She paused a moment, actually thinking before speaking for once. "I guess I shouldn't be so cold, since they didn't dispossess me completely and, ultimately, didn't leave me wanting. We just... really weren't more than strained... acquaintances. Heh."

She decided it was probably better not to relate the various speeches she'd received on how much of a failure and a disappointment she had been. Oscar didn't need to know that. Not now. Probably not ever. In the end, she gave a shrug and refocused on things lighter and/or more directly work related.

"Anyway, didn't you know? It's always a beauty contest, at least when the girls are involved, and there are always judges. Who are they? What do they do? Where are they and what are they scoring? Ha, that changes with every situation and circumstance. They're the ones that pluck your heartstrings, tickle your conscience, and poke at your soul... and everybody's got a different set. Hmm.... I think mine are replacements, sometimes... but! That's neither here nor there. It's like karma, and the gatekeepers of the ebb and flow of social trends. I'm sure, like, 90% of them live in Hollywood."

What the hell kind of tangent was that? The theme was a result from various late-night conversations out on the town, with complete strangers, and the topic? Generally a commentary on the state of society as a whole. Who knew she could be, in any way, philosophical?

"You know? I mean, I'm sure they had a hand in the decision to get that blonde girl I mentioned hired. Randy, from processing, told me she's all super innocent and has a really sweet voice, so... meh. So, cowboy, you go do all the checkin' ya want, if you want, but... I'd wager I fill out my uniform better. And she's a rookie." At this declaration, Cassidy made a bit of a face and folded her arms across her chest, as if in indignation. Then her expression softened, she tilted her head to the side, and closed one eye, once again in half-mask mimicry. "How's "dangerous" and "top priority" really any different to what gets assigned to me anyway? Are you suggesting that any of the missions we've had together previously have been of no consequence? Don't forget, I'm also the only one in the office that has "random" status and clean up duty for when other Handler's coms go down, or no one else is available. That's probably how we met in the first place..." For a moment, she looked reflective... but then she shrugged. "Ah, I don't remember. What I do know is I've probably talked to everyone on the active roster, except maybe any new hires within the last two weeks. That's just how it shakes out. I think they mean it as a punishment... but, whatever."

On the subject of funeral garb and Saturday, a smile returned to her face. She decided to strike a pose, like one a model might use on the run-way.

"Are you sure I can pull off quietly regretful? I'm not so sure I have anything very... conservative in my wardrobe. Then again, I usually end up going out in this get up I have on now." And that was, indeed, the truth. There were some humorous stories amongst downtown drunks about the "lady in red", especially when it came to those that flipped her "violent" switch. "I'll have to take a look, but I won't make any promises. As for a haunting... that would certainly spice things up, I think. ...Or should I be afraid of something like that? I think I'm haunted by enough things, anyway. But Saturdays? Why, that all depends... if I gotta work, then, well, that's it. If not? Um..." Her smile turned slightly sheepish. "Usually I just spend it in bed? Recovery days are hard to come by, you know."

[Oscar Leonhardt]

Oscar’s eyebrow rose. When Cassidy finished her explanation his other one had joined in, forming a low arch. “I see. I didn’t know she was like that.” The blue eyed redhead didn’t know much about many people around central, aside from the ones he regularly went on international missions with and he wouldn’t be meeting them as often anymore. The subject of Angelique passed away and Oscar had to tilt his head a fraction when Cassidy dismissed his condolences. Although he was watching her when she had started talking his eyes grew progressively more distant though her words about the nature of her relationship with her parents. It was something he could relate to, even if the circumstances had been different. His parents, one never known and the other acting more a child than anything, hadn’t really been there for him.

One corner of his lips curved up a little when she found the bright side to her situation and his eyes focused on her features again. Cassidy seemed like such a lively person despite her hardships. Her words about the perpetual beauty contest and judges brought some amusement to his eyes. A blip of curiosity passed through him at one point. “What do you mean by replacements?” He deposited the cookie box on the table again and lifted a hand to his chin, concentrating on the incoming answer. Perhaps he didn’t need to know a lot of things, but that didn’t make him any less interested in what she had to say. The woman sure did talk a lot, but it was preferable to people who only served one liners and expected you to guess everything else.

Oscar had to chuckle briefly at how Cassidy discredited the new blonde handler but he had nothing to argue. He crossed his arms and with a raised eyebrow inspected Cassidy’s figure as if assessing her words about her own aspect. The brown eyed woman made a good point. Nobody could deny she was physically attractive. He had to shrug and nod at her rationalization about the missions. As for the moment of their meeting, it was more years ago than Oscar could definitely remember. As a younger version of himself, he had paid a lot less attention to his interaction with other people, for many years completely focused on the job and nothing else. He paused, looking thoughtfully to the side. Perhaps he was still like that sometimes. His gaze returned to her and he threw up his hands. “Fine. If you’re so eager to get more sleepless nights consider me on your list.” Oscar was smiling. He didn’t know what sort of karma was at play but most of his assignments ended up waking him from sleep. Not that any operators or handlers, except for those sent on casual tasks, slept with any regularity.

Cassidy struck a pose and Oscar labored on the task of appearing as critical of her performance as some game show judge. He considered her question and his expression softened away from scrutiny. “I think you could pull off anything you wish if you really wanted to.” To him, she seemed like a creative person with more to her than meets the eye. His gaze lingered in her a moment longer than he intended and then he shrugged at the ghost question. Oscar didn’t know if he believed in restless spirits or not and he didn’t know how he would react to having one around. Fear didn’t immediately approach him as a possibility, because ghosts couldn’t harm you could they? Being afraid of something just because it was dead and there wasn’t his thing.

He treated her sleep confession with a half-smile. “Oh don’t think I can judge, I know how it is.” His eyelids lowered a little as he thought of recovery days, especially after lengthy and hard missions. On occasion he had even come to spend time in the medical ward. That sent him to another thought and he looked to the side, his eyes quickly becoming distant. When he spoke again his words were somewhat quieter. “This one time we were sent on a mission to an island by the sea. The mutants attacked us right off the boat and I ended up in the water. One of the mutants with aquatic abilities almost drowned me but I made it out somehow.” He peered at nothing in particular and then released the strain in his eyes. “In those moments when I thought I was about to die, I didn’t have anything to think of especially.” Some blankness crept into his expression. “It didn’t feel right, I thought there had to be something more I needed to do, other people I needed to meet.” He waved a hand when he realized how far he had strayed from the topic. “Maybe if I had died I would have become a restless spirit, not sure how happy people around here would have been to have me haunt these halls in search of whatever I hadn’t accomplished.” He offered a little grin but it was half-hearted, the emptiness of the near death experience still pressing on his disposition.

“Anyway.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a new cigarette from a pack he had there. “I’ll pick you up Saturday morning, around eight?” Oscar rubbed the tobacco stick between his fingers. “Quietly regretful or not,” he showed a brief half-smile. “You live in the city right? I’ll need your address.” He turned his head to leave her with the good side of his profile. He seemed to be suddenly amused. “I promise not to stalk you later. Maybe.” He chuckled, then sighed at the cigarette, his other hand tucked in his pocket. “I really need to stop smoking. Actually.” He looked from the tobacco stick to Cassidy. “Could you slap me whenever you find me smoking? Maybe that could help.” He returned the cigarette to the pack and made a mental note to throw it away when he came by a trash bin. Quite suddenly, he brightened and smiled. “Thanks for agreeing to come to the funeral. I’ll owe you one.”

[Cassidy Morgan]

Cassidy's expression became a little forlorn at Oscar's inquiry on her description of her "personal" judges as "replacements." For a second time in the conversation, she really had to turn her mental gears to come up with a proper response. Though she succeeded, the response was not exactly a precise one.

"Ah, yeah, replacements. I mean, they're better now than they used to be, so they must have been replaced. That is... nobody's perfect, but... there were a lot of times when I was younger that... I just, er... wasn't a very good person, I guess is the way to put it."

She didn't think it necessary to delve into the details of her "youth gone wild" days, but if pressed about any known details, she certainly wouldn't - couldn't - deny them. Certain aspects, naturally, weighed on her more heavily than others. When Oscar stated that he thought she could do anything if she "really wanted to", she managed a small smile, but her memory had temporarily taxed her resilience, and she didn't have an immediate verbal response.

When Oscar began to relate one of his missions, Cassidy felt her chest tighten. As he spoke, she half-wondered if the sudden internal melancholy that had sparked in her heart had somehow been transferred to him, though she would almost instantly dismiss the notion as "silly." Her "sins" were hers and hers alone, she mentally declared. Once this thought had passed, she let Oscar's details distract her, trying to recall if she was familiar with the mission he was talking about. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she doubted she had even been briefed on it in the end.

The end of his tale seemed to push out her own darkness, despite the subject being death and ghosts. Something more that needed to be done? Other people he needed to meet? She could appreciate that, although she wasn't sure that she had a "certainty of purpose" for herself. If she did have "something to accomplish", no one had bothered to tell her about it. Before she could launch an internal debate with herself on the subject, Oscar moved on to what the entire conversation had originally been about.

"Whoa-oh, sir. We went a little deep there, didn't we?" Once again, she became "light." It was almost as if she couldn't help herself. "Those aren't the kind of words shot back and forth across the comms, haha. I don't recall you having a reputation for being like that. Oooh, is it a side effect due to the transfer back to central?"

She was teasing, of course. When Oscar mentioned needing her address, Cassidy went over to a nearby table and went to scribbling on a yellow paper notepad. Once the information was there, she tore the paper off, walked back over to him, and offered it.

"Here ya go! The code for the driveway gate is on there, and I'd recommend using it. Parking on the curb in front is an option, but the hedge maze is a bitch, so... Haha. And, by all means, stalk away Mr. Half-Phantom. Isn't that what phantoms do? Or is that only in opera houses? And, you can owe me if you want. I'm not that great at seeking repayment, though." She smirked and shook her head slightly. "And there shall be no random slapping, cowboy," she said, wagging a finger. "It won't help me any to go burning myself on your smokes. Plus, slapping will do one of two things: make you hate me or, if you're one of those guys, make you really like me and I dunno how I feel about that."

And for the second time in the conversation, Cassidy stuck out her tongue. This time it wasn't chocolate stained, though.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

The general amusement that ran through Oscar’s veins like too much wine was quickly being replaced with the thoughtfulness that was more defining for his true character. Beyond the light façade there was someone who took life and people perhaps a little too seriously and it was that side of him that nodded to her confession, eyes far away but close and understanding, even without knowing exactly how she had been a “bad” person. He stared out the nearest window to them, eyes glazed over with thoughts, wishing a lit cigarette was between his fingers. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” There was something very still in his tone, as if there was plenty in his own past. “Hell. We work here.” His smile was filled with irony when he looked back to her. The DNCS didn’t exactly employ the most innocent of people and if it did, quickly added black apples on their plate.

Despite the direction the conversation had taken, she expertly dragged it back to the surface. Oscar couldn’t help a chuckle at her protest and he let go of the memories from the mission, let them slip into the recesses of his mind like one of his fellow team-mates had done under the surface of those cold waters. His brief smile crumbled. The aging operator wasn’t very good at keeping dark thoughts from his mind. Cassidy poked the subject of his transfer into focus and he paused a little to consider it, eyes shooting up to observe something very fascinating on the ceiling and to the side. Clearly, he wasn’t taking the tease quite right, instead giving it excess consideration, but teasing questions were aiming at truth too weren’t they?

In the end he didn’t answer quickly enough and she was penning her address onto the page of a nearby notebook. More quickly than he expected it was in his hand and he was smiling again at her banter, after raising an eyebrow at the offered suggestion about the… hedge maze. It was easy to forget she lived in a mansion and he would likely not believe it until he was actually there. Pocketing the note he crossed his arms and looked at her with skepticism. “You sure you should be encouraging me? Isn’t there a boyfriend that would find it appropriate to dislocate my jaw for it?” Cassidy hadn’t said anything to suggest there was someone in that quality in her life but this was a good moment to be clear on the matter. The joke was going a little overboard as well, but Oscar didn’t mind, he just watched her a little more carefully.

The momentary seriousness passed and he was raising an eyebrow again. “Burn yourself? Your aim’s that bad?” It was his turn to tease before huff-smiling to the side near his shoulder, eye nearly closing as it glanced to the side with a mixture of amusement and thoughtfulness. “Fine, don’t slap me then.” He walked back to the cookies, collected them from the table along with the wine and the glass he had used to drink from it. “I need to go feed Fluff, my… puppy, a present from my sister, or else he’ll eat someone’s inappropriately placed boots again.” Oscar looked over his shoulder to Cassidy again, some thoughtfulness he couldn’t hide lingering in his eyes. “I’ll see you on Saturday? I probably should let you get back to work now.”

Turning again to knee a pillow back into its usual position on the couch, he was readying to head deeper into the barracks, coincidentally in the opposite direction from Tristan Caine’s former rooms.

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Pfft. Working here? A sin? That doesn't sound like the company line to me, sir. We're here, and out there, to protect mankind, right?" She gave a "surprised" sort of gasp, making a show of covering her mouth with her hand. When it dropped, she was grinning, but she continued her momentary charade. "Don't tell me you've seen through the propaganda! What are we to do with you if that's the case? You better be careful, or they'll have you in the labs in no time."

Cassidy straightened up, though, when the question about a boyfriend came up. One eye closed, though this time it wasn't the one matching Oscar's mask, and she shook her head.

"Nah, I've been flyin' solo now for a while. I'm a mess, remember? It's no good if I go and mess someone else up. That's really bad manners, after all. And it's not my aim that's bad, cowboy, it's my luck. I'd get burned if you hadn't lit it yet, I bet."

Although it had been mostly fun, it appeared that Oscar was ready to take his leave and Cassidy, really, was in no position to stop him. She'd appreciated the distraction but, unfortunately, Oscar was right. She had a (useless) task to perform. She groaned, her head tilting back and the back of her hand moving up to rest on her forehead - all an overly dramatic motion to show her displeasure with having to return to "being on task."

"God, work. How you torture me! Meh... sure, sure, Mr. Half-Phantom. See ya Saturday..."

And with that she trudged off in the opposite direction.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

“Hey now! Don’t go tellin’ on me. I doubt they’d take me to the lab, wouldn’t be of much use there, so they’ll just take me out with some new-age pill in my morning coffee.” Which wasn’t a joke at all and had probably happened sometime in DNCS history to some nameless person without a record. Although it wasn’t written on his face, Oscar did feel a little strain as the banter had struck home unknowingly. No one knew that he sometimes sabotaged missions and that at one point was responsible for freeing a mutant who had “mysteriously escaped.” Now that he was back in central he felt more nervous about doing such things as well. It wouldn’t be as easy to cover it up when he wasn’t in charge of communications anymore. Oscar considered Cassidy thoughtfully.

She looked at him with the eye he technically lacked. It was such a strange little change, as if to point out the reply was honestly about her or that they were two distinct people, two sides of a whole no one could understand but subconsciously individually sought as random bugs drawn to a burning light. Or he was just overanalyzing a simple gesture.

He couldn’t help but consider her from a slightly lowered gaze when she offered the answer. Right then and there he didn’t have a comeback but he experienced a ripple of relief. Because he was imaginatively safe from any jealousy-induced acts should he imaginatively do things to provoke those imaginary acts? Because it was pleasant to have the option? Or for some other reason outside his consciousness? Either way, he probably stared a little too much and that was when he turned to go.

Just before he started walking as well he called after her. “Stop being such a pessimist Cassidy. Don’t you know that you can run out of bad luck as well? Next time maybe stop fiddling with matches and get a flashlight.” And with that, he was gone.


((I'm gonna move to Saturday now, but if you've got any last line reactions to post here feel free!))