[ Booker slows his pace to a momentary pause, turning briefly to look in her direction properly this time. He makes an attempt to scroll through the mental rolodex of faces he might have come cross in his life thus far, but this woman's face is a new one and that only makes him feel a little more nervous. After Copley and Merrick, one might say that his ability to trust strangers has been shaken, worse now because it had cost the trust of his family. To say he isn't feeling particularly generous with conversation, particularly conversations about him (and what he is or isn't), would be an understatement.
He's already making assessments for the environment around them, exit strategies, and maybe ... maybe at the back of his mind, he's trying to figure out a way to bring this interaction to the attention of the Old Guard. A pathetic, feeble way to claw his way back to them, perhaps.
He can already imagine the anger and annoyance on Joe's face, the stony silence in Nicky's, but he ignores that for now. ]
[ She takes a few steps closer but there's still distance between them, more than enough for him to have an advantage if he runs. There are still people all around them, possible distractions and barriers and— Hostages aren't a consideration. Everything she's seen about this man has led her to believe he's trying to do good and she can't believe that he would use innocents as shields. And if she's wrong...
They'll be having a very different kind of conversation. ]
Making sure that no one else finds you the way I did. Not until you want to be found.
[ It's an offer of help, a show of understanding that he doesn't want to be known, but also a big red warning sign that he has been noticed. For people like them (is he really like her?), that is rarely a good thing. He needs help, whether from her or someone else, and he needs to be aware of that. ]
Although you may have a point, you'll have to forgive me — what reason is there for me to trust you?
[ There is an unnerving realization that this woman, whoever she is, is right in some sense, and it wars with the other part of him that wants to end this conversation here and now, disappear and fall back into the shadows. If she managed to find him, who else might be tracking his whereabouts, his habits, the way he lives his life? If someone could find him, could they figure out how to find the others?
It has him a little on edge, almost itchy with the prickly discomfort of feeling like prey slowly, languidly being hunted. It's too familiar, reminds him of how easy it was for Copley to track them down and lure them into a trap. Yes, they had made it out alive and in one piece (admittedly all thanks to Nile), but that kind of luck wasn't something they — he — could rely on. Copley wound up being ... something of an ally, someone who made mistakes like Booker did, but that wasn't going to be the case for everyone they came across. Booker is willing to bet the world was populated with more Merricks and his ilk than not.
So, where does this woman fit on the spectrum? Does Booker want to find out? ]
Edited (fixing up some dialogue) 2020-09-18 03:26 (UTC)
[ While their conversation may not be playing out exactly how she'd hoped, so far neither of them is attacking the other and that's a pretty good start in her book. She knows he's armed, no one fights for a living the way he seems to and doesn't walk around prepared to do what's necessary. But he hasn't pulled a gun or a knife on her yet — she's almost sad about the former, it would have made this part easier.
She glances around quickly, looking for something small and harmless. A gun would have been the best demonstration but alas. It's above them that she finds her answer: a florescent light that hums in the night. The crowd will be startled but the light will be assumed faulty, no one will guess it's actually her. So she holds up a hand, focuses—
The glass of the light vibrates, the fixture shakes, and then the glass shatters with a cracking pop, raining down between them. She steps back quickly to avoid it, wearing a half startled expression for the sake of the crowd, and then turns her attention back to the man a few yards away.
[ Booker is inclined to think that whatever just happened was a mere coincidence. Of course, he's often found that coincidences don't happen all that often in his line of work when even dreams themselves have meaning, and that lamp shattering ... felt too deliberate.
Impossible but ... deliberate. ] Well, that's different.
[ Booker doesn't ease up, letting his recklessness and the adrenaline drive him. If anything, every muscle in his body tenses, but stubborn as always he remains rooted to his spot even as the street clears with the cries and shouts of surprised passersby, most of them thankfully inebriated. Tomorrow morning, the suspicious ones will wake up questioning how much they'd had to drink. The others will quickly forget.
Moments pass until Booker and the woman are the only ones left, positioned at a distance from each other like they're involved in some kind of Wild West stand-off. And without quite realizing when, Booker has his gun in his hands like it's an extension of his arm, the barrel trained in the woman's direction. Perhaps a little too late to avoid the damage to city property, and certainly too late for the demonstration itself, but Book is done playing games now. ]
All right, you have my attention. [ He briefly flicks his gaze to the broken lamp. ] Who are you? How did you do that?
[ It might not have been the wisest display of her powers, Daisy contemplates as the crowd scurries away, but at least they do have the benefit of most people being some degree of drunk. Some of the startled stragglers even choose to duck back into bars they likely just left, so she's not overly worried about this event making any sort of headline. It's not like she'd used an arc of electricity to blow the light, or anything else that could be called flashy.
And then it's just the two of them. A good thing, really. There are so many secrets the public doesn't know about, so many things SHIELD has helped cover up over the years... She knows it can't last forever, they've been incredibly lucky so far as it is, but she'll help keep the charade going for as long as possible — even if her younger conspiracy theory loving self would despise the very idea. ]
My name is Daisy Johnson. I'm an enhanced person, like you. Able to do things normal people can't. [ She hesitates for just a moment, watching him carefully, debating... and choosing not to ask. Not yet. ] I make it my job to help protect people like us. Please, can we go somewhere and just talk?
[ Well that's got to be some kind of joke. He's heard many things over the years, most of them barely pinpointing the fact that they just live extra long lives; no new abilities, no extra strength, no — well, Booker couldn't force a lamp to explode, that's for sure. (That's the thing about keeping a low profile and, as Andy had wisely decided, never taking the same client twice: you get to live a life where no one really knows what you are, only what you can do for them.) Being referred to as 'enhanced' is admittedly a new one.
Unless she really does think he's capable of some extraordinary power, the same way some people used to think Andy was a god. She'd shown him and the others the evidence of people worshipping her some centuries ago, far before his time; there were paintings and statues and stories. Well, there would be no paintings or statues of Booker today or any other day. He just had the bad luck of not being able to die.
Still. ]
I have never seen you before. [ If she's an immortal like he and the others are, he hasn't dreamed of her yet. ] You don't sound new.
[ Which ... isn't a confirmation of his other theory, exactly, but it does give him pause. ]
[ It doesn't surprise her that he hasn't heard the term 'enhanced' used for people like them. The new doesn't talk much about people with powers, SHIELD has pretty good control over the flow of information after any incidents (she's helped clean up a number of digital trails over the years), but it's starting to happen more often now. Something's happening in the world, a subtle shift that's picking up speed, and she worries about what will happen when it all comes to a head.
But that's a problem for another day.
You don't sound new. His words give her pause for just a moment before she mostly dismisses them. She doesn't have the panicked edge to her anymore that she'd had in her first weeks after terrigenesis, so that must be what he meant. But deep down, some part of her keeps hold of those words, turning them over in her mind, wondering... ]
Thank you. Do you know a place we can go? [ Hopefully giving him control of their location will help provide a little peace of mind, if nothing else. ]
A city like Hong Kong, there is no shortage of places to go.
[ Especially at night when the city is arguably at its best — the shops, the bars, the restaurants, everything lends itself to a whole other side of the city that doesn't exist during the daylight hours. It's vibrant and it's loud, oftentimes deafening. It's easy to get lost in it, to be so overcome by the stimulation that you can let it quiet the thoughts in your head. It's why Booker enjoys spending time here when he can, the mission simply an added bonus.
He considers some of the Guards' old hangouts while he puts his gun away, albeit a bit reluctantly. Even if she were to shoot him, he wouldn't die, and there's something about her that reminds him of Andy, of the way she'd been with him when he first woke up after his first death in 1812. It's that quality that he clings to, that he hopes won't lead him into some manipulation that dooms him. ]
[ She knows what he says about the city is true, though she has no personal experience with it. This is her first time in the city, her years with SHIELD having taken her many places but never here. China as a whole is mostly foreign to her save the stories that have shared by May's family the few times she's met them. It's something she wants to learn and experience more of if given the occasion. ]
I'm half Chinese, I'm pretty sure I'm genetically predisposed to consider dumplings a main food group.
[ It's meant to bring a bit of levity to things, but it's also true. That much, at least, she does know. And food is a good idea — food makes it easier to get through awkward pauses, gives them something to do with their hands, provides sustenance. Maybe, if it's really good food, it puts one more at ease. Given how this conversation started, she's ready to accept any help she can get in that department. ]
[ Booker's mouth briefly twists into something of an amused smile, but he nods, gestures towards the street ahead. Consider the levity brought; it does seem to put Booker a fraction more at ease, though he is by no means relaxed about this strange meeting. It was never a question of whether working alone could be easy because it wasn't. Not having someone to have his back if things went south was more than risky, it was a bit terrifying too.
He'd grown so used to being a part of a team, he'd taken it for granted when he thought only of himself, of Andy. But now was not the time to wallow in such thoughts. ]
All right then — follow me. It isn't too far from here.
[ Being lost without your team — that's something Daisy understands all too well. She might have been used to having her own back on missions, to fighting alone ever since Mack had been promoted to director, but the team had always been there. Her family had been there to support her in whatever way they could. Now, she's on her own completely, trying to decide what to do with her life. She has ideas, of course, and a half dozen offers to consider, but without her family to factor in... she just can't seem to take that leap.
Falling into step beside him, she keeps an arm's length between them and makes sure to keep her pace even with his. Moving behind him might put him on edge again, and she can't go in front because she doesn't know the way, so side by side it is. It makes it easier for her to get a good look at him up close, at least, and easier to casually pose a question. ]
How long until you leave the city? [ And before he can possibly ask, she adds: ] I've noticed you never stay in one place for very long.
[ Booker can't help the spine-tingling discomfort he feels knowing that she or anyone like her might have surreptitious eyes on him, tracking his movements around the world while he remains (mostly) unaware of their intentions. Likely none of them are good, of course, once they know what he can and cannot do; he'd learned his lesson well with Merrick. And yet, even knowing that, here he is — a fool — still making good time towards their destination without so much as a falter in his step.
Maybe it's the thought of Andy, and this woman's resemblance to his old friend, that he clings to. At the very least, he still has a couple of guns hidden in the upstairs hallway if Nicky or Joe hadn't gotten to them first. ]
[ He's not going to answer her question; she can tell as much from his casual side-step of it. Which, okay. That's fine. They're still building trust, so of course he wouldn't divulge that information to her. But she knows he will be leaving, and likely sooner rather than later since she's found him. She just has hope they can come to an understanding before he disappears again.
It's that thought that convinces her to jump straight into things. She's asking him for secrets — it's only fair that she shares one of her own. So, in a way that's too casual to actually be casual, she lays a piece of her soul at his feet. ]
[ Booker doesn't respond to her first comment, neither confirming nor denying — not at first, anyway. Maybe he's waiting for the hammer to fall, the troops to arrive, the shots to fire.
And when he finds himself still walking, the young woman keeping pace alongside him, that's the surprising part.
So, okay. He allows himself a question, an admission of fact, and takes note of the tense in her second statement. ]
[ It's the first admission he's made acknowledging that she was right about him. Up until this point, he could have just been some super paranoid guy who changes his address ridiculously often. Now... He's what she thought. At least, in part. There's always more to the story, details that never openly shared, but it's a start. ]
Some people called her that. To everyone else, it certainly seemed like it.
[ Even all these years later, it's still hard to talk about her mother. Her mom, the woman who should have been able to raise her. The caring figure she'd been Before and the broken thing she'd become After. It hurts even now. ]
[ Booker doesn't know how it works, how some people 'have the gift' (this is thought wryly) while others don't. It isn't genetic, that's for certain. If it were, perhaps Jean-Pierre would —
Well.
But the gears in his head are turning, trying to connect the dots between mother and daughter, whether that strange ability she'd demonstrated earlier is somehow connected to the randomness of immortality.
He's currently working with zero theories and a few more questions in its place. ]
[ It's all she can think to say, just a verbal acknowledgment of his words that make her heart ache with old grief so recently renewed. The first time she'd watched her mother die, it had been amidst the horrible revelation of how broken the woman had become in the wake of her treatment by Hydra. Jiaying had tried to kill countless innocent humans in the pursuit of protecting Inhumans, and she'd been willing to murder her own daughter in the process. But the second time she'd watched her mother die, she'd been introduced to the kind and generous woman she'd always been before, who loved her daughter with all her heart and would do anything to protect her.
Daisy owes so much of who she is to her mother. Her Inhuman genes had been passed down, granting Daisy a heritage she holds as so very precious. And she has to believe that some of her own boundless compassion came from her mother — and her father, at that. Hydra had torn her family apart, but she still carries them with her always.
She silent for a few moments, struggling to find something else to say in the wake of her grief, but then she sees a sign in the near distance and nods toward the building. ]
[ Booker is perfectly fine to continue on in silence for the rest of the time it takes to get to the small restaurant, and he chooses not to read into the quiet or the way the young woman's voice seems to soften at the edge of that one word.
One might say he has a knack for somehow being drawn to the grieving, due to his own deep (deep) seeded sorrow — but maybe it's simply that there are so many of them wandering around the world, lost in different ways it's easier than he thinks to find someone else like him.
The sign up ahead is a good distraction as any and as they approach the building, which has certainly seen better days, Booker simply waves a hand.
After you.
It's clear that the building might once have been attractive — years ago, in a former life perhaps — remnants of bright crimson exterior paint now dulled to a dirty reddish-orange, coming off in flakes to reveal chipped concrete beneath. The restaurant's sign in bright neon hums loudly in the otherwise quiet side street, but inside is the continuous sound of clinking plates, chopsticks, and chatter. It's quiet enough to hold a conversation over a small table of dumplings, but loud enough not to be overheard. People here leave each other alone, likely because the common clientele value their privacy.
Booker trails behind the young woman, lifting a hand to indicate a table for two. A server waves them towards a spot near the back. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Booker slows his pace to a momentary pause, turning briefly to look in her direction properly this time. He makes an attempt to scroll through the mental rolodex of faces he might have come cross in his life thus far, but this woman's face is a new one and that only makes him feel a little more nervous. After Copley and Merrick, one might say that his ability to trust strangers has been shaken, worse now because it had cost the trust of his family. To say he isn't feeling particularly generous with conversation, particularly conversations about him (and what he is or isn't), would be an understatement.
He's already making assessments for the environment around them, exit strategies, and maybe ... maybe at the back of his mind, he's trying to figure out a way to bring this interaction to the attention of the Old Guard. A pathetic, feeble way to claw his way back to them, perhaps.
He can already imagine the anger and annoyance on Joe's face, the stony silence in Nicky's, but he ignores that for now. ]
no subject
They'll be having a very different kind of conversation. ]
Making sure that no one else finds you the way I did. Not until you want to be found.
[ It's an offer of help, a show of understanding that he doesn't want to be known, but also a big red warning sign that he has been noticed. For people like them (is he really like her?), that is rarely a good thing. He needs help, whether from her or someone else, and he needs to be aware of that. ]
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[ There is an unnerving realization that this woman, whoever she is, is right in some sense, and it wars with the other part of him that wants to end this conversation here and now, disappear and fall back into the shadows. If she managed to find him, who else might be tracking his whereabouts, his habits, the way he lives his life? If someone could find him, could they figure out how to find the others?
It has him a little on edge, almost itchy with the prickly discomfort of feeling like prey slowly, languidly being hunted. It's too familiar, reminds him of how easy it was for Copley to track them down and lure them into a trap. Yes, they had made it out alive and in one piece (admittedly all thanks to Nile), but that kind of luck wasn't something they — he — could rely on. Copley wound up being ... something of an ally, someone who made mistakes like Booker did, but that wasn't going to be the case for everyone they came across. Booker is willing to bet the world was populated with more Merricks and his ilk than not.
So, where does this woman fit on the spectrum? Does Booker want to find out? ]
no subject
[ While their conversation may not be playing out exactly how she'd hoped, so far neither of them is attacking the other and that's a pretty good start in her book. She knows he's armed, no one fights for a living the way he seems to and doesn't walk around prepared to do what's necessary. But he hasn't pulled a gun or a knife on her yet — she's almost sad about the former, it would have made this part easier.
She glances around quickly, looking for something small and harmless. A gun would have been the best demonstration but alas. It's above them that she finds her answer: a florescent light that hums in the night. The crowd will be startled but the light will be assumed faulty, no one will guess it's actually her. So she holds up a hand, focuses—
The glass of the light vibrates, the fixture shakes, and then the glass shatters with a cracking pop, raining down between them. She steps back quickly to avoid it, wearing a half startled expression for the sake of the crowd, and then turns her attention back to the man a few yards away.
Watching. Waiting expectantly. ]
no subject
Impossible but ... deliberate. ] Well, that's different.
[ Booker doesn't ease up, letting his recklessness and the adrenaline drive him. If anything, every muscle in his body tenses, but stubborn as always he remains rooted to his spot even as the street clears with the cries and shouts of surprised passersby, most of them thankfully inebriated. Tomorrow morning, the suspicious ones will wake up questioning how much they'd had to drink. The others will quickly forget.
Moments pass until Booker and the woman are the only ones left, positioned at a distance from each other like they're involved in some kind of Wild West stand-off. And without quite realizing when, Booker has his gun in his hands like it's an extension of his arm, the barrel trained in the woman's direction. Perhaps a little too late to avoid the damage to city property, and certainly too late for the demonstration itself, but Book is done playing games now. ]
All right, you have my attention. [ He briefly flicks his gaze to the broken lamp. ] Who are you? How did you do that?
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And then it's just the two of them. A good thing, really. There are so many secrets the public doesn't know about, so many things SHIELD has helped cover up over the years... She knows it can't last forever, they've been incredibly lucky so far as it is, but she'll help keep the charade going for as long as possible — even if her younger conspiracy theory loving self would despise the very idea. ]
My name is Daisy Johnson. I'm an enhanced person, like you. Able to do things normal people can't. [ She hesitates for just a moment, watching him carefully, debating... and choosing not to ask. Not yet. ] I make it my job to help protect people like us. Please, can we go somewhere and just talk?
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[ Well that's got to be some kind of joke. He's heard many things over the years, most of them barely pinpointing the fact that they just live extra long lives; no new abilities, no extra strength, no — well, Booker couldn't force a lamp to explode, that's for sure. (That's the thing about keeping a low profile and, as Andy had wisely decided, never taking the same client twice: you get to live a life where no one really knows what you are, only what you can do for them.) Being referred to as 'enhanced' is admittedly a new one.
Unless she really does think he's capable of some extraordinary power, the same way some people used to think Andy was a god. She'd shown him and the others the evidence of people worshipping her some centuries ago, far before his time; there were paintings and statues and stories. Well, there would be no paintings or statues of Booker today or any other day. He just had the bad luck of not being able to die.
Still. ]
I have never seen you before. [ If she's an immortal like he and the others are, he hasn't dreamed of her yet. ] You don't sound new.
[ Which ... isn't a confirmation of his other theory, exactly, but it does give him pause. ]
Okay. Let's talk.
no subject
But that's a problem for another day.
You don't sound new. His words give her pause for just a moment before she mostly dismisses them. She doesn't have the panicked edge to her anymore that she'd had in her first weeks after terrigenesis, so that must be what he meant. But deep down, some part of her keeps hold of those words, turning them over in her mind, wondering... ]
Thank you. Do you know a place we can go? [ Hopefully giving him control of their location will help provide a little peace of mind, if nothing else. ]
no subject
[ Especially at night when the city is arguably at its best — the shops, the bars, the restaurants, everything lends itself to a whole other side of the city that doesn't exist during the daylight hours. It's vibrant and it's loud, oftentimes deafening. It's easy to get lost in it, to be so overcome by the stimulation that you can let it quiet the thoughts in your head. It's why Booker enjoys spending time here when he can, the mission simply an added bonus.
He considers some of the Guards' old hangouts while he puts his gun away, albeit a bit reluctantly. Even if she were to shoot him, he wouldn't die, and there's something about her that reminds him of Andy, of the way she'd been with him when he first woke up after his first death in 1812. It's that quality that he clings to, that he hopes won't lead him into some manipulation that dooms him. ]
What are your thoughts on dumplings?
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I'm half Chinese, I'm pretty sure I'm genetically predisposed to consider dumplings a main food group.
[ It's meant to bring a bit of levity to things, but it's also true. That much, at least, she does know. And food is a good idea — food makes it easier to get through awkward pauses, gives them something to do with their hands, provides sustenance. Maybe, if it's really good food, it puts one more at ease. Given how this conversation started, she's ready to accept any help she can get in that department. ]
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He'd grown so used to being a part of a team, he'd taken it for granted when he thought only of himself, of Andy. But now was not the time to wallow in such thoughts. ]
All right then — follow me. It isn't too far from here.
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Falling into step beside him, she keeps an arm's length between them and makes sure to keep her pace even with his. Moving behind him might put him on edge again, and she can't go in front because she doesn't know the way, so side by side it is. It makes it easier for her to get a good look at him up close, at least, and easier to casually pose a question. ]
How long until you leave the city? [ And before he can possibly ask, she adds: ] I've noticed you never stay in one place for very long.
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[ Booker can't help the spine-tingling discomfort he feels knowing that she or anyone like her might have surreptitious eyes on him, tracking his movements around the world while he remains (mostly) unaware of their intentions. Likely none of them are good, of course, once they know what he can and cannot do; he'd learned his lesson well with Merrick. And yet, even knowing that, here he is — a fool — still making good time towards their destination without so much as a falter in his step.
Maybe it's the thought of Andy, and this woman's resemblance to his old friend, that he clings to. At the very least, he still has a couple of guns hidden in the upstairs hallway if Nicky or Joe hadn't gotten to them first. ]
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[ He's not going to answer her question; she can tell as much from his casual side-step of it. Which, okay. That's fine. They're still building trust, so of course he wouldn't divulge that information to her. But she knows he will be leaving, and likely sooner rather than later since she's found him. She just has hope they can come to an understanding before he disappears again.
It's that thought that convinces her to jump straight into things. She's asking him for secrets — it's only fair that she shares one of her own. So, in a way that's too casual to actually be casual, she lays a piece of her soul at his feet. ]
My mother didn't either.
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And when he finds himself still walking, the young woman keeping pace alongside him, that's the surprising part.
So, okay. He allows himself a question, an admission of fact, and takes note of the tense in her second statement. ]
She was an immortal?
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Some people called her that. To everyone else, it certainly seemed like it.
[ Even all these years later, it's still hard to talk about her mother. Her mom, the woman who should have been able to raise her. The caring figure she'd been Before and the broken thing she'd become After. It hurts even now. ]
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[ Booker doesn't know how it works, how some people 'have the gift' (this is thought wryly) while others don't. It isn't genetic, that's for certain. If it were, perhaps Jean-Pierre would —
Well.
But the gears in his head are turning, trying to connect the dots between mother and daughter, whether that strange ability she'd demonstrated earlier is somehow connected to the randomness of immortality.
He's currently working with zero theories and a few more questions in its place. ]
'Nothing that lives lives forever.'
no subject
[ It's all she can think to say, just a verbal acknowledgment of his words that make her heart ache with old grief so recently renewed. The first time she'd watched her mother die, it had been amidst the horrible revelation of how broken the woman had become in the wake of her treatment by Hydra. Jiaying had tried to kill countless innocent humans in the pursuit of protecting Inhumans, and she'd been willing to murder her own daughter in the process. But the second time she'd watched her mother die, she'd been introduced to the kind and generous woman she'd always been before, who loved her daughter with all her heart and would do anything to protect her.
Daisy owes so much of who she is to her mother. Her Inhuman genes had been passed down, granting Daisy a heritage she holds as so very precious. And she has to believe that some of her own boundless compassion came from her mother — and her father, at that. Hydra had torn her family apart, but she still carries them with her always.
She silent for a few moments, struggling to find something else to say in the wake of her grief, but then she sees a sign in the near distance and nods toward the building. ]
Is that the place?
no subject
One might say he has a knack for somehow being drawn to the grieving, due to his own deep (deep) seeded sorrow — but maybe it's simply that there are so many of them wandering around the world, lost in different ways it's easier than he thinks to find someone else like him.
The sign up ahead is a good distraction as any and as they approach the building, which has certainly seen better days, Booker simply waves a hand.
After you.
It's clear that the building might once have been attractive — years ago, in a former life perhaps — remnants of bright crimson exterior paint now dulled to a dirty reddish-orange, coming off in flakes to reveal chipped concrete beneath. The restaurant's sign in bright neon hums loudly in the otherwise quiet side street, but inside is the continuous sound of clinking plates, chopsticks, and chatter. It's quiet enough to hold a conversation over a small table of dumplings, but loud enough not to be overheard. People here leave each other alone, likely because the common clientele value their privacy.
Booker trails behind the young woman, lifting a hand to indicate a table for two. A server waves them towards a spot near the back. ]