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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 19, 2010 22:11:40 GMT -8
Time: Day 3, Morning
Weather: Cloudy
Warnings: None?
Characters: Wes Uccello, David Young Henning [CLOSED]
8:45.
It was a cloudy, chilly morning, and Was had somewhere to be for 8:45. Really, the meeting was scheduled for 9:00 but he wanted to the there early. This was important. An FBI agent had watched him at the diner, found his name and god knows what else, and possibly stalked him. He wanted -needed - to know why.
Again underestimating the distance between everything in this town, he arrived at the park a few minutes later than he wanted, but still before he really had to be there. He exited his car more put together than the day before. His hair was properly brushed, his shirt was tucked in, and his coat was zipped up. There was still gauze around his wrist, but it wasn't haphazard and red-spotted.
He wandered over to the park's gate, expression stern and determined.
Time to wait. He'd better show.
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 20, 2010 22:09:31 GMT -8
Henning looked up as he heard the sounds of an approaching vehicle from his vantage point behind one of the wooden signs pointing their way along the forest path. He leaned against it, half hidden by bushes, watching as the red Mustang slid past him and stopped in the parking lot just before the main gate.
He checked his watch: Fifteen minutes to go. He rested his head against the wood and breathed in the post-rain dampness of the plant life surrounding him, a deep, green smell that was both familiar and strange at the same time. Like something he wasn't used to, living in the city as he did, but had remained buried in his subconscious, a memory from a long-forgotten age... He had to laugh at the frivolousness of the thought. Well, enough strange things had been happening lately. He could afford a few random notions here and there.
In the meantime, there was the falconer, looking as if he meant business. Henning was beginning to wonder if his own precautions had been a little too well-thought out; parking his car off a side trail and walking the rest of the way here, coming half an hour early, and now spending all this time making Uccello sweat instead of just going out and getting it over with. But, on the other hand, he hadn't been properly at work for too long, and the admittedly childish act of spying on this guy did make him feel sharper. Even though Uccello looked more at the moment like a nervous schoolboy than a potential murderer/son of one of the most dangerous crime bosses currently on record.
And yet, even as he stood here waiting, even with the bloom of excitement he was feeling at the possibility of a lead... Part of his mind kept straying to red hair and blue eyes, where she was at this moment, if she was doing okay...
He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go.
[Feel free to timeskip to 9, or maybe even a little past 9. It's okay if the post is short, too... I'll have Henning pop in after your tag.]
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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 20, 2010 22:25:07 GMT -8
Wes tapped his foot as he waited for the time to pass. It was moving at a snail's pace; he kept looking around, eyes darting back and forth, at his watch, to the road, into the park. He strained himself to hear the sound of a car approaching, and was getting visibly irritated that he wasn't hearing it.
8:59.
Come on, Agent.
9:00.
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 21, 2010 13:42:04 GMT -8
9:03. Close enough.
Henning waited until Uccello's back was turned, then stepped carefully out of the bushes and started walking towards him. He deliberately scraped his shoes along the rough path so his sudden appearance wouldn't be as startling. As he approached, he noted that the falconer had gotten his jacket cleaned sometime between now and yesterday's breakfast... In fact, he almost looked respectable. Still begged the question of what had been going on to necessitate that gauze around his wrist, though.
"Hey, Uccello! Where's the bird?" Henning called. "You know, I wouldn't have minded if you'd brought it along. Falconry is a fascinating hobby, and I'm sure you'd have a lot to say on the subject."
He stopped a few feet away, hands loose and out in the open, thinking it actually would have been interesting to see the hawk in real life... But Uccello would probably think he was being sarcastic. Probably all for the best. This wasn't exactly the best time or place for pleasant conversation.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 21, 2010 20:51:05 GMT -8
Despite the agent's precautions, Wes was surprised when he finally (three minutes late!) heard footsteps. He hadn't head the approach of a car... had the agent taken a side route he wasn't aware of? Had he walked? Was he already here? The falconer was relieved to see him, but certainly didn't look happy about it.
The way that the man was talking to him like a friend served to anger him even more. "Why would I want to subject them to a person like you?" he asked, teeth bared, crossing his arms. He looked Henning over again; nothing in his hands, but that didn't mean he was unarmed.
Staying on his guard, he added, "You know I didn't come here to discuss my hobby with you. You owe me some answers." Tilting his head, he continued, "For instance... why are you calling me Uccello when I never told you that was my name?"
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 21, 2010 22:02:01 GMT -8
The falconer's sharp face was pinched with animosity, bubbling just an inch short of surface-level. The sudden flash of teeth brought it the rest of the way. It appeared to be an involuntary, almost animalistic response... But unlike an animal, Uccello seemed neither overtly ruled by instinct, nor too shrewd for his own good. Quite unlike what Henning had been expecting, Uccello instead seemed simply... Unhappy. In a very general sense of the word. As if it had seeped into the man from some dark long ago and hadn't completely gone away...
"Why would you think they'd let themselves be subjected?" Henning shrugged. "I'm no expert, but I doubt any bird would be foolish enough to get involved with messy human affairs like the one in which you and I are currently embroiling ourselves. That's probably why people like you enjoy their company, Uccello. Whatever you're projecting onto them, I don't think birds actually give a damn what you think, what you train them to do. Makes things cleaner, I suppose. As for how I know your name, well, that's not so clean."
Henning began to walk further away from the gate, deeper into the park. He didn't look back to see if Uccello was following him. It seemed so strangely peaceful out here. As if nothing bad could ever happen, amidst the gray-green foliage and pale gray clouds.
"I knew... know... of your father. Not personally, but I believe I shook hands with him once. At a party, years ago. He didn't know who I was, and if he'd asked, I would have told him something other than the truth. That's the only time I've ever met him face to face, and it didn't leave much of an impression on either of us; most of the important facts about him and you were buried in a file folder in my hotel room at the time. Anyway, I wasn't planning on asking you about Dominick, but he might feature into this conversation more prominently than I thought... Depending on what you tell me."
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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 23, 2010 0:49:11 GMT -8
"Unhappy" was a pretty apt descriptor, as were "high-strung" and "genuinely freaked out." Wes was determined not to let any of it show, trying to come off as only angry. Mean. Hateful. Anything but scared.
"I meant that I wouldn't subject them to your prodding and leering, but thanks for the half-baked psychoanalysis anyway." His tone was sharp and sarcastic before it changed to something darker. "I know they don't give a damn. Neither do humans. Neither will stick with you unless you have something to offer them, and when you stop giving, they're gone."
He actually felt better as the agent turned away. With eyes off of him, he was much more relaxed. Following Henning and listening, he was glad that he wasn't seen as his father was mentioned; he almost flinched and stopped short, staring at the ground with a grimace on his face. His father. Of course. He figured as much, but didn't want to hear it. He valued the distance he'd put between himself and his father as of late. It should have been a clean break. Now he had something else to blame them man for.
Wes wasn't sure what to make of the story. The agent's frankness startled him, and the lack of details worried him. It took him a minute to think through what he would say, and when he said it, his voice was still hesitant, and sounding like a nerve had been struck in a painful way.
"... Right. So, you're saying that you were after my father, Agent? And that's why you know my name? I wasn't aware that being born to the scum of the Earth meant that I was subject to having the Bureau follow me without warning."
He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. His next words were louder, more forceful, angrier.
"But if you weren't planning to talk about him, how do you explain the stalking? I want you to explain what the hell is going on here."
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 23, 2010 17:13:09 GMT -8
I know they don't give a damn. Neither do humans. Neither will stick with you unless you have something to offer them...
Melancholic little bastard, Henning thought, dispassionately. He vaguely remembered Dominick Uccello, and the files had confirmed his initial impression, as a charismatic, almost larger-than-life individual. Constantly making the rounds, handing out drinks, laughing with a mischievous glint in his eyes... Giving, always giving.
...And when you stop giving, they're gone.
He heard the footsteps behind him actually cease when Henning mentioned the father's name, and then Uccello's voice, thin with emotion that had been forcibly stripped away. The apple certainly had fallen far from the tree; in fact, it had probably sprouted wings for the very purpose of putting as much mileage between them as possible. Henning turned and began walking slower, in case the falconer decided he wanted to catch up.
"Well, I wish I was here to dispel your morose little view of humanity, but I'm afraid this conversation will probably only perpetuate it," he replied. "The difference here is, neither of us are under any illusion that I give a damn about you for anything other than information. Ours is a strictly one-sided relationship. Still, I'm going to level with you on a few things anyway, just to speed this up. What those things are and when I reveal them is entirely up to me to decide."
He went on without giving the other man a chance to respond. "The diner. I recognized your face from our files, pegged you as Dominick's son; all the cat-and-mousing was only a roundabout way of confirming your identity, since we've never met in person. Sorry if it looked like something more to you, but I didn't feel like asking directly."
He glanced sideways, smiling humorlessly. "You ever get that feeling? Of just not wanting to talk to certain people you're sure you won't get along with?"
He didn't add that, at the time, nothing serious had been meant by it. Just a bored FBI agent on vacation leave, with few compunctions about messing with the relatives of people he considered morally reprehensible. Knowing that Uccello seemed to feel the same way about his father that Henning did, though- That put a new spin on some things... And changed other things, not at all.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 27, 2010 0:56:39 GMT -8
Wes looked uncomfortable when Henning turned and slowed down. Of course, this meeting was beyond uncomfortable. He was terrified of this guy. The agent was currently doing almost everything that freaked Wes out; watching, analyzing, talking about how he already knew who-knows-how-much, asserting at every opportunity that he was the one in power here. And he was, right down to leading the walk. Wes wanted to shuffle ahead and take the lead, but didn't want the agent to be out of his sight. Settling for just speeding up and following, he listened to the speech, using up most of his energy trying to stay calm.
The fact that Henning didn't care was no shock at all, but everything else that was said just wound the falconer up tighter. What kind of information was this guy looking for, anyway? What information did Wes possess that was important but still unknown to him?
There was a moment of silence before Wes responded. "So, what you're saying, right off the bat, is that you're using me, not actually answering me, and you will only tell me what suits you. Then you say that you just happened to recognize me and that was it."
"Surely," he continued, his face twisting into a lopsided snarl, "You don't think I'm just going to believe that?" He was getting more visibly and audibly frustrated as time went on.
"Your story doesn't explain why I've been followed. Whatever it is that you want out of me, don't expect any straight answers without you giving me the same."
After a deep breath, he remembered one more thing, and said it quickly. "And, yes, I get the feeling that I won't get along with people all the time. But you probably know that, so stop trying to be funny because it's really just making me hate you more."
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 29, 2010 22:14:06 GMT -8
"First, I'll admit it, I'm not here on official Bureau business. Count yourself lucky, because if I were..."
Henning left the rest unsaid. "Second, I'm going to be charitable and assume that your general demeanor of skulking around is a natural character flaw and not necessarily the product of some hidden guilt, because hey, I'm not totally unaware that you chose to meet me here. But you're not stupid. There's a killer on the loose and it's my job to be interested, whether or not I'm on vacation, and you don't exactly come from angel stock yourself. I'm sure you connected the dots as soon as you heard the Graham girl was dead, long before I got into town."
He spread his arms, allowing a bit of natural exasperation to bleed through.
"Why the hell wouldn't an FBI agent be interested in you, Bird Boy? You disappear just long enough to catch our attention, and then you pop up again in what is probably one of the unlikeliest places for a killer to strike- not to mention in such a way that it would necessitate sending a field agent down to investigate. Not to mention your... pristine pedigree. And that's about as straight as I'm going to get with you until you answer a few of my questions.
"So let's pretend that there hasn't just been a recent murder, and you haven't just moved into the neighborhood, and that I'm just a curious tourist who just happens to be casually intrigued by the old lumber mill here in Greenvale."
He turned and looked directly at the falconer. "Nice place to walk the birds, the lumber mill? You seemed to like the graveyard, all right. I'd assume an abandoned building would serve just as well..."
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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 29, 2010 23:05:36 GMT -8
Wes noticed a difference between this explanation and the last. It was somehow both more and less comforting; more believable and most likely true if not lacking details, but outright judgmental, declaring all the things that Wes regrettably already knew about himself. His demeanor wasn't the nicest. He did come from bad stock. He was suspicious.
"Fine. Yes. I look pretty bad," he hissed, lightly kicking the ground as he walked. "I'm sure you won't believe me, but I didn't kill the girl. Never touched her. Didn't know her."
As they continued, Wes was surprised by the agent's line of questioning. The lumber mill? Why would he be interested in that? It obviously wasn't just casual intrigue. He was starting to consider what the best way to approach the subject was when Henning turned and looked straight at him. Stopping in his tracks, he immediately looked somewhere to the right of the agent's shoe; his usual aversion to eye contact, made worse by the situation. It occurred to him that this was some of the most suspicious behavior possible, and tried to correct it by pushing his hair back out of his face with a slightly trembling hand and looking back up. He managed as far as chest-level and tightly clenched his teeth.
".... The lumberyard, sure. The building, not so much. Why fly indoors? There's not enough room." His voice sounded forced; not like he was lying, but like he didn't want to speak, and was trying to sound less intimidated.
"What does the mill have to do with anything?"
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 30, 2010 22:19:04 GMT -8
"So you've been to the area, then. Recently?" Henning had stopped walking along the path and was now pacing restlessly back and forth. In his peripheral vision, it was painfully obvious that Uccello was avoiding eye contact, fooling around with his hair and generally acting spooked. The strain in his voice had been concealed poorly, and he sounded as if he'd been aware of it.
"Incidentally, and I know you have no reason to believe me, the mill doesn't have anything to do with anything," Henning added, only half lying. Uccello thought he was after Anna's killer, and as far as Henning himself knew, Charlotte's attack at the lumber mill didn't have anything to do with that...
As far as he knew.
"But if you don't want to answer that question, here's another that might be easier: How would a bird of prey go about eating, say for example, a rabbit? You spoke a little about it over breakfast and I'm curious. Do you chop it up into pieces before giving it to them? Do you chain the rabbit to a post and let them sort it out from there? What?"
He gave Uccello another look, the irritation welling up in him again despite his attempts to stop it. "And for God's sake, stop twitching. If you're trying to telegraph something, either say it out loud or calm the hell down. Humoring my harmless questions in the middle of a forest park is a lot more pleasant than your typical police interrogation scenario, so why not make the best of it? You know they're going to bring you in for questioning sooner or later; think of this as a practice run. I'm only on vacation, but my colleague is not, and the Bureau chose to send him here with damn good reason... If you can't convince me of your story, you sure as hell won't be able to convince him."
Privately Henning wasn't so certain about how York would actually handle the situation, but he was working under the assumption that Uccello hadn't yet met York and his various... methods. Only Uccello's response would reveal whether this minor bluff had paid off, or if it even mattered.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Dec 31, 2010 23:16:01 GMT -8
The first question certainly put Wes on the spot. This obviously had something to do with something, and he got the feeling there was a right and a wrong answer, but at this point he wasn't going to push his luck and guess what it was. His answer was hesitant but honest. "I... well, not too recently. Probably around a week and a half ago."
The second question also struck him as odd, but it wasn't difficult to answer. The colorful incorrect guesses got to him, though (he'd hate to see the guy angry...), and his answer wasn't hesitant but a little more nervous than he'd already been sounding. "Uh, no. None of that. It sort of depends on the type of bird, but, in general... well, it's not like I'm catching rabbits. I go hunting with them and flush things out, they do the killing. It the prey's small enough, they'll crush it, if not they'll tear in. They're perfectly capable of ripping apart and eating the thing on their own, which is what I usually let them do."
The point where Henning lost his patience was officially the point where Wes lost what was left of his calm. His ramble of a response was in a voice laced with anger, resentment and a sort of desperation.
"That's really easy for you to say, Agent! You have backup, you have the answers, you can incriminate me, hell, you can probably blow my brains out and cover it up. You probably want to. You probably already hated me thanks to my father. How the hell were you expecting me to react? Yes, I'm scared. I'm trying! Sorry I can't be a model suspect for you. I'm not good with people. You know that, right? I'm sure it was all over my files. Damned investigators always wanted to get into my head. I bet you do too."
He paused very briefly to look up and, for just a second, meet the agent's eyes, hoping to get a read and show some sincerity. His own eyes displayed fierceness as well as something like confusion; threatened and trying to fight but barely understanding why. Still looking the agent in the face, though not quite the eye, Wes continued, not any calmer; "Stay out, get out! You already invaded my privacy by having me watched. My thoughts are mine."
A couple of things had become abundantly clear; he didn't do well under pressure, and he saw Henning as the villain here. He was overreacting to this all, for sure; but in his head, it was quite a big deal. He was the victim of false assumptions and accusations, drawn out of his comfort zone into the messy world of human interactions, being played with by a lying fed.
Still, as he finished ranting, he shrunk, not unlike he had at the hotel the morning before. He seemed to have recognized that he lashed out, and could only hope that Henning would appreciate the honesty, and he hadn't made the situation much worse.
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 1, 2011 16:06:05 GMT -8
The irritation that had been steadily mounting since Uccello had flinched from making eye contact suddenly boiled over into real anger. Henning stopped pacing and faced the other man, jabbed a finger in his face.
"Listen, you little twerp. The Bureau doesn't just bury people they don't like and pull the rug over, otherwise your dad would have been the first one under the floorboards! And even if they did, they wouldn't send me... Because I go through the proper channels. Even if it means putting up with talking to you."
He dropped his hand, but his eyes were still blazing, and he was starting to get a little flushed. Improvisation had never been Henning's strong suit, but he found himself on a completely different track than the one he'd started out on, and he couldn't- wouldn't- get off.
"What's really pissing me off is you probably partially agree with me about your father! It's all over your face, let alone your files! Which, by the way, probably aren't nearly as complete as you think they are. You're slippery. But maybe the records should just state that you're nothing but a whiny crybaby who can't deal with reality, because that's all I see here. Forget about whatever it was you think I was after you for... It doesn't matter and you probably have the wrong idea anyway."
There was a brief pause that seemed to go on forever. A bird flew overhead and disappeared into the forest behind them, silent on the wing.
"You know, Wesley-" Henning said the name as if he were spitting out a wad of gum- "You're probably too engrossed in your own private drama of self-loathing to understand why I'm railing on you like this, so I'll lay it on the line: People like you make me sick. You know Dominick is handing out death like it was poker chips and he's running the casino, and you turn and run the other way. Why haven't we put him away yet? Because you won't help us. You and your stupid, sheltered little hang-ups have probably opened the door on more crimes than even we know about. Does the name 'Nicolae Lupan' ring a bell? Because it sure as hell sounds cracked to me!"
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 1, 2011 23:06:05 GMT -8
Wes flinched quite violently and generally seemed pretty scared by Henning's sudden movement until he realized that the hand was both unarmed and not trying to take his eye out. As the agent scolded him, he again found it difficult to look his way; he was facing the ground before Henning had lowered his hand. Of course what he was saying was true. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Of course, the subject had come back to his father. He knew that it would, no matter how hard he wished it wouldn't. Dear old dad, still in control of his life, even after being disowned and left on the other side of the country.
As the agent continued to reprimand him, he tried not to show much expression, keeping his face turned to the side. Although he was looking away at the time, Henning might have noticed that Wes' eyes widened a bit at the mention of Lupan; otherwise, he looked quite like an insecure child, listening to an angry parent scold him and get personal about it.
Once Henning finished, the first bout of response was quick and bitter. "I... thought we went through this. I am a human and I don't give a damn about you or what you think you see here. But you being after me does matter, I am sure I have the wrong idea and your reason why is what you have to offer me. Otherwise, I'm gone."
Afterward, there was another pause as he gathered himself
"... Look. You think that it's easy? That I just said, 'bye, dad' and forgot about everything? No. I wish I could just be the hero, wash my hands of him and go. But I've seen my father angry, I've experienced it, I know how he deals with his enemies, I know how he'd deal with my brother. How do you think he'd react to his real son stabbing him in the back? Not to mention trying to deal with the police, who were perfectly happy to treat me like a criminal instead of a victim before. By the time they actually believe me it'd be too late. Before I couldn't speak out without incriminating the rest of my family, and now there's no one who'd protect me."
He paused for a moment and added, not so much as an afterthought but as something it took him a moment to be able to say, "Lupan? How could I forget it?" The strain in his voice was back, amplified.
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