[A&G] Strangeness at Lunchtime

[Wes Uccello]

Shockingly, Wes did feel a ping of regret when he saw the emotion flicker on Michael's face. Perhaps his months of isolation had softened him. Or it was because this guy reminded him of his brother, or because he really did have just enough of a conscience to feel bad about calling a guy who's been nothing but nice to him 'stupid or crazy'. Maybe it was the intimidation factor from the guy in the mask suddenly staring at him (he did notice, and it WAS creepy on its own). Most likely it was some combination of all the above.

Either way, he didn't press any further. Rhyming guy wasn't acknowledging it; whatever.

"Well..." Wes thought about it a moment, licking the front of his teeth. "I had all the construction done before I moved in, and I've kind of kept to myself since then..." An understatement.

[Mister Stewart]

Secretly, Michael was pleased that Wes was deciding to drop the subject - he was more than happy to throw the focus off of himself. He was a modest young man, and he tended to hide behind Mister Stewart, in a way...it was easier to be in the background, the faithful servant. That was how he preferred it, and Mister Stewart didn't really mind being the focus of people's confusion or fear. The mysterious capitalist was used to being the pariah, the target. It didn't matter to him, really, for he would endure it in silence.

It was in silence, also, that Michael listened to what Wes had to say, finishing the first half of his sandwich. Mister Stewart was still staring at Wes - but behind the mask, his expression softened. At least this fellow seemed to have at least some manner of remorse for what he was saying. After a moment, he looked back away, eyes turning towards his little console again. He was a busy man, it seemed.

Finally, Michael spoke again. "If you are worried we are prying, you needn't frown, you needn't fret...if I said I wasn't curious I would be lying, but I wouldn't be so pushy with someone I just met." ...That incessant rhyming had to be tiring, seriously. If he knew he was doing it, it was quite a commitment on his part. If he didn't, it still had to be en exhausting way of speaking all the time.

[Wes Uccello]

Besides being intimidated by him, Wes didn't seem as interested in Mr. Stewart as he was in Michael. Speaking by proxy, face unseen; wasn't that what the newcomer had been doing for almost a year, now? It had been a while since he had a face-to-face conversation.

He was feeling a little uncomfortable with the silence, though; the masked man's continued staring didn't help, especially since there was no way to tell that he'd stopped leering. Wes exhaled a bit when he went back to the console. (Of course, if he knew what the console had been used for, he probably wouldn't have...)

"Eh, it's fair enough," he said with a shrug. "I guess that when you don't have many neighbors, you have plenty of room to wonder about them." He shifted in his seat to lean on his elbows again.

"Plus," he added with a grin, "you're not getting anything out of me that I don't want to tell you."

[David Young Henning]

Agent Henning got out of his car and stood for a while gazing up at the diner's faded signage. A&G... Cute, if a little obscure. He turned to go inside, but not before noting the variety of vehicles parked in the lot out front: Everything from your typical American muscle car to a stretch limo that he could hardly believe was sharing asphalt with the rest of the scrap metal sitting around it. He shook his head and pushed through the doors, now wondering if announcing his presence so officially with his slate-colored suit and red tie had been such a good idea.

The diner was neither especially full, nor especially empty. The black and white checkerboard floor tiles offended his sensibilities in a way he didn't quite know how to describe to himself, but he supposed the place had its dingy charm. He sat at an empty table and ordered tomato soup and a Caesar salad from a rather melancholy looking waitress, then sat there awkwardly, having nothing else to do but observe. And that's what he had been sent here to do, wasn't it?

When taking inventory of a room, always start from the corner and work outwards from there, Henning reminded himself; and to his surprise, he sensed that he'd hit the jackpot on his first try- There, in a corner booth, sat undoubtedly the most interesting characters in the diner. There were three of them, as mismatched as the cars in the parking lot outside: An elderly man in a wheelchair, wearing a gasmask (perhaps some kind of asthma protection, but why did it look like a human skull?); a youngish looking man in a brilliant white suit; and a rather fierce-looking individual who was sitting with his back to Henning, angular shoulders currently hunched in response to something one of the other two had said.

Something rang alarm bells in the back of his head. Henning got up and went to wash his hands, then exited the bathroom so that he was facing the other side of the trio's booth. Casually, he flicked his gaze in their direction, the man in the bomber jacket's scarred face momentarily visible as Henning walked past them back to his table. He sat down, a loud buzzing in his ears, hardly noticing the waitress as she placed his lunch in front of him.

It was a ridiculous notion, but the sharp-featured man looked oddly familiar. The Red Seed profiles? No... Some other case perhaps, long cold, buried in the back of his mind. It was the scars that had triggered it, looking like they'd been carved into the guy's face by a wild animal. Henning wished he could get a closer look, but he doubted he'd be able to pull off the bathroom stunt again. He continued staring at the back of the man's jacket as he sipped his soup, trying to remember what it was, trying to remember if there even was anything to remember in the first place...

[Mister Stewart]

Honestly, Michael almost laughed at Wes's would-be sly comment - he hid the fact by dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, smiling behind it. Oh, what irony...here was a man feeling sly and sneaky, proudly stating that he could cover his tracks...while he was sitting at a table with the one man who could access information on whoever he pleased at any given time. He wasn't a mean-spirited person and he didn't take any pride in making fun, so he held his tongue for a moment, collecting himself.

During this pause, the sound of someone entering the diner caught both men's attention, both of them glancing up to see who it was. Still another person neither of them recognized? What an interesting day this was turning out to be. Mister Stewart signaled for Michael to lean in, whispering something into the young man's ear. Michael gave a little nod before straightening again, turning his attention back to Wes for the time being. It wouldn't do to be rude, after all.

Meanwhile, Mister Stewart's attention remained on the newcomer, following him with his eyes as he got up to use the bathroom and then walked back past. Curious...he did look out of place, didn't he? Deft fingers tapped on the keys of his little console, closing out his little search about Wes. He knew what he needed to about him for the time being...but now there was another new character for him to check into. He couldn't be too careful, after all. Someone had just been murdered in town, and he was suspecting it had to do with things he'd hoped would never have to be addressed again.

He just...needed to rule out that the transplants hadn't instead brought new problems.

[Wes Uccello]

That was a shame, since Wes WAS a mean-spirited person who probably deserved the ridicule. He noticed Michael's lack of response but had barely gotten to considering it when he heard someone else enter; he never liked to hear someone else enter a small place like this. A full room... wasn't something he liked. Too many people trying to get inside your head.

His discomfort only grew when the man in the suit walked past the group that, objectively, was pretty suspicious looking. Wes watched as he passed, and the man fed his fears by watching him. Him - not the overdressed guy or the guy in a freaking skull-shaped gas mask.

He tried not to look affected, but his smile was gone.

"... You know him?" he asked Michael, quietly enough that this new guy wouldn't hear him. He certainly didn't care enough about not being rude to avoid diverting his attention, but this guy was sitting where Wes couldn't look without getting up, and he didn't want to draw his attention like that.

[David Young Henning]

Henning was getting frustrated. He very much wanted to get a good look at the scarred stranger's face, see if that would jog loose his memory, but whatever it was that had tipped him off was becoming as opaque as his half-eaten soup. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore. He toyed with his salad and thought to himself that he was probably in the worst possible position for this type of surveillance. After all, what good was six months training to read lips if the guy you were supposed to be watching had his back turned, and the other one was wearing a gas mask?

That left the young man in the white suit, who wasn't currently speaking. Henning's fingers absently started folding his napkin into random shapes. He didn't even know why he was suddenly so curious, but his mind wasn't used to idling, and tended to latch onto things whenever it could. Slowly, as the thin paper in his hands started to take on the likeness of a small origami bird, the shape of a plan was also forming in his mind...

[Mister Stewart]

Michael blinked at Wes's question, canting his head slightly to one side. The motion looked unnatural for him, somehow, as straight-backed as he was...he promptly corrected his posture, shrugging a little and softening his own voice. Admittedly, he was curious, too...though he knew Mister Stewart was probably right on top of things.

"...This fellow is new to us as well. Perhaps a tourist? I can't tell." Appetite gone, he slid his plate away, refolding the napkin in his wake (maybe a little bit OCD, but that would explain the overly-neat suit). Mister Stewart gave his little signal - Michael leaned over, cupping his ear and nodding before straightening up. His back must hurt, keeping up posture like that all the time. He didn't look like a man who got a lot of rest, either.

"Mister Wes. Many new people have been coming to town. Tourists, or transplants escaping their pasts. It is peaceful here, but when the first rain falls down, it is unclear how long that peace will last. So says Mister Stewart." His tone was the same patient and even one, despite the nature of the words he was reciting. Two things were clear - Mister Stewart was theatrical, and he knew something about the town that no one else did.

Either that, or he was just a crazy, senile old bat, spouting nonsense through a rhyming interpreter.

[David Young Henning]

The origami napkin bird was left without a head as Henning's fingers paused in their increasingly subtle administrations. In the back of his mind, he was absurdly grateful for the man in white's almost exaggeratedly precise manner of speech; he recalled one incident where he'd had to lip read off a heroin junkie in a San Francisco rave bar, strobe lights going off everywhere, people jabbing him in the ribs with glow sticks... By comparison, this guy was a walk in the park. Henning squinted across the room, focusing in on the man's mouth as it formed each exacting syllable:

THIS FELLOW IS NEW TO US AS WELL... Henning read. PERHAPS A TOURIST. I CAN'T TELL.

He stiffened. Were they talking about him? Now White Suit was bending over, Gas Mask whispering something in his ear. Then White Suit straightened and resumed speaking, staring straight ahead as if addressing a great crowd of people instead of the single man sitting across from him.

MR. WESS (The careful "oo" shape of the man's lips as he pronounced the W made this easy to decipher). MANY NEW PEOPLE HAVE BEEN COMING TO TOWN. TOURIST OR TRANSPLANTS (?) ESCAPING THEIR PAST. IT IS (A waitress walked in front of Henning at this point, briefly blocking his view of the booth) BUT WHEN THE FIRST RAIN FALLS DOWN, IT IS UNCLEAR HOW LONG THAT PEACE WILL LAST. SO SAYS MR. STEWART.

Henning leaned back in his chair, mind clicking away. He finally had some names to attach to the strange faces, at least: The fellow in the bomber jacket was Mr. Wess, and either White Suit or Gas Mask must be Mr. Stewart. Henning assumed Gas Mask, unless White Suit was prone to speaking in third person. The possibility became more and more distinct the longer he thought about it.

This isn't a town, it's a loony bin,, he thought to himself as he took out a ballpoint pen and the small notepad he kept in his suit pocket for these sorts of occasions. As he carefully jotted down what he'd heard, he could feel his apathy slowly lifting from him, flapping its wings and taking flight like some great white seabird. Suddenly the prospect of hanging around Greenvale in York's absence didn't seem so dreary after all.

These guys may not be connected to the murder of Anna Graham... But I'll be damned if at least one of them isn't guilty of something. Everyone's guilty of...

He stopped that train of thought, his face paling. But then it quickly resumed its normal color and he continued to write in his careful, deliberate handwriting, which, he noticed without amusement, seemed perfectly matched to convey White Suit's verbal lyricism.

[Wes Uccello]

That did not make Wes more comfortable. At all. In fact, it occurred to him that Mr. Stewart was easily one of the creepiest people he'd ever met, and he knew some pretty creepy people. Even if he was just an insane old man spouting nonsense, he had a really disarming way of doing it.

Wes was getting too nervous to even pick on Michael for calling him 'Mr. Wes.' Still, he showed off his poker face, keeping only a small frown.

"He's... pretty overdressed for a guy alone in a diner, isn't he?" he mused, raising an eyebrow. Michael, of course, was overdressed as well... but that didn't seem so odd placed next to Mr. Stewart.

He had no idea what to think about the speech, or at least how to respond to it. Mr. Stewart... was saying that he didn't trust the newcomers? That everything would fall apart when things when bad? That's what he made of it, anyway.

"Mr. Stewart's not one for straight talk, is he?" he asked with a slightly nervous chuckle.

Despite how much he wished otherwise, Wes' position made ensured that he was unaware of the agent's actions.

[Emily Wyatt]

The young Sheriff Deputy pulled her Tough Chap into the A&G parking lot and quickly hopped out of the car. She only had 30 or so minutes before the department meeting started and she wanted to grab a sandwich to take back to her desk, she was starving!

The FBI agent assigned to help with the Anna Graham murder should arrive any day now. George didn't seem thrilled with the prospect but secretly Emily was relieved the FBI was coming on board.

The department was still a bit shell shocked over Anna's murder considering there hasn't been a crime of this magnitude for what? 20 years? 30? The bizarre nature of the crime scene and the amount of violence displayed made Emily very uneasy. As far as she was concerned the department needed all the help they could get regarding this case.

Emily hesitated when she reached the diner glass doors debating whether she should she really go in. They were supposed to wait for the FBI before asking any questions regarding the investigation. Walking in may be a little awkward considering it was the young woman's former place of employment.

Emily's stomach gave a rather large growl and made the decision for her. She was hungry, and doubted a bag of chips from the department vending machine would do her much good. Besides it was too late to head over to the Milkbarn. She'll be in and out in of here no time!

She hurried to the counter where one of the part-timers gave her a half hearted smile and asked for her order.

"Turkey and Gravy sandwich, to go please."

Emily nervously drummed her fingers on the counter praying no one would try to talk to her about the investigation and let her eyes wander.

She could see Mr. Stewart and his aide, Michael, off in one corner talking quietly to another man. Hard to tell who it was since his back was to her but, hey he did have a pretty cool jacket. Her eyes continued to wander and she did a double take when she spotted a serious young man in a red tie and slate gray suit making copious notes on a small notepad.

That guy is definitely new, Emily thought to herself. With that demeanor and suit- wait is he the FBI agent? No, it couldn't possibly be him. He wasn't due into town for another couple days yet.

Traveling business man?

Yes that's it, probably just passing through...but still she couldn't get over the nagging feeling he was some sort of official. No matter, if he was from the bureau she's sure she'll hear about his early arrival during the meeting.

Speaking of which...Emily a glanced down at her watch, 25 minutes to go. She let out a sigh and willed the young waitress to hurry back with her order.

[Mister Stewart]

Despite the strangeness of the whole situation and the nervousness he knew Mister Stewart's message caused, Michael remained completely deadpan and calm, completely used to dispensing with cryptic quips for the older man. Just another day for him, really, despite the sudden upsurge in newcomers. It was unusual to see two in one day so close together...it made him wonder what was going on in this town. He would have to talk to Mister Stewart about it later on - something wasn't sitting quite right with him.

At any rate, they had lingered too long - Mister Stewart needed to eat, still, and it was nearing time for physical therapy. He pulled out a leather billfold, leaving the money for his lunch and a bit extra upon the table. Once this was finished with, he finally looked back to Wes, making the whole scenario even eerier by seeming not at all bothered by how uncomfortable he had just made the other man.

Maybe he wasn't quite as pure and kind as he came across. Or maybe he just didn't realize that there was anything wrong here.

"I am afraid we've a schedule to keep...please, treat yourself to something to eat. Interesting as the talk has been - perhaps another time we will see you again?"

Mister Stewart gave a little signal to Michael, who leaned over to listen, then slid out of the booth to stand beside the wheelchair at attention. Briefly, he regarded Emily, giving her a polite little nod of greeting - neither of them spoke to the Sheriff's Department, but Michael was always at least polite enough to greet Emily in passing.

[David Young Henning]

Henning watched the comings and goings of the diner patrons for a while, his soup half-eaten and his salad untouched. He wished the waitress would stop hovering around him like a fly; he just wanted to sit and continue his surveillance for a while longer. He turned his head slightly as the door opened and a young blonde woman wearing the tan uniform of Greenvale's police department stepped through, glancing around and walking with a quick step. She reminded him a bit of the White Rabbit from Alice In Wonderland, and it almost occurred to him to ask her what the rush could possibly be in such a small town...

Well, he supposed even a place like this could get as crazy as Wonderland with a murderer on the loose.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young man in the white suit stand up and start to wheel Gas Mask out of the corner booth. They didn't seem to look at him as they passed on their way out the door- perhaps they hadn't been talking about him after all? He didn't have to look around to know which car they had driven out of the parking lot, either. That was the sound of an expensive engine fading down the street.

Suddenly Henning saw his opportunity, and the black and white floor tiles looked like the surface of a chess board, a game he'd always been particularly good at. Moving casually, hoping the waitress didn't stall him and give him away, he stood up and moved over to the counter beside the blonde police officer.

From this vantage point, he had a better glimpse of the sharp-faced man in the bomber jacket, now sitting alone and hunched in the corner booth. His dark hair was partially covering his face, which was almost in profile, so his features were still mostly hidden. Even so, Henning thought he could make out traces of cosmetic surgery across one cheek. Good. Scars were good. They made things easier to trace.

Once he was at her side, Henning turned his head towards the young police officer and said with a friendly smile, "Hello, excuse me. I'm Special Agent David Young Henning from the Bureau. I couldn't help but notice your colors; you work under Sheriff George Woodman, am I correct?"

Might as well get acquainted with the local law enforcement while he was at it, Henning thought, keeping the mysterious Mr. Wess in his peripheral vision. Kill two birds with one stone...

[Wes Uccello]

Wes just didn't want to argue with Michael when he left money on the table. He didn't really want to take what he was offering, for the same reason as before, but at this point he was uncomposed, his social anxiety was choking him, and after that last speech (and the apparent unwillingness to acknowledge that it was said) he wasn't feeling inclined to try and fight them on anything. Not face-to-face, anyway.

As he heard the policewoman enter, his head sunk further and his shoulders hunched more. What was this, a lunchtime rush? Even in a tiny town like this, these places were busy during the right time of the day. He shouldn't have come at lunchtime. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He tried to shake it off and ignore all the other patrons. The guy's talking. Pay attention.

"Interesting is one way to put it..." he remarked quietly, looking up at Michael with something between a grin and a snarl.

Okay, maybe he still had a little fight left in him.

"Nice meeting you, Seuss!" he called out as the mysterious duo walked away. He had an odd tone; it was difficult to say if he was being sarcastic or not...

Once their attention was turned away from him Wes sighed, running his hand up through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts after the surreal encounter.

[Emily Wyatt]

Emily nodded and smiled back at Michael as he and the eccentric Mr. Stewart left the diner. It's funny, she can never remember ever having a direct conversation with the young man but he always made sure to give her a greeting of some sort. He was so prim and proper but seemed like a genuinely decent man. He was always very respectful and obviously cared for Mr. Stewart's well being...who cared if he felt the need to rhyme all the time.

So lost in her thoughts about Michael Emily didn't notice that the young business man had come up beside her at the counter. At his introduction she jumped slightly. Did he just say he was from the Bureau?

"Special Agent...Henning?"

Now Emily was confused, didn't George mentioned an Agent Morgan was on his way?

"I was under the impression you weren't going to be here for a couple days, did you just get in?"

Emily's voice lowered to a whisper and leaned slightly in Henning's direction.

"We were waiting for you before we continued further with our murder investigation. It's a relief that you are finally here and so early too!"

Emily broke into a wide grin but quickly got a hold of her enthusiasm and blushed. Giving Henning her hand she said, "Oh geeeze--what am I doing I haven't even properly introduced myself. I'm Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt."